#hand blender machine uses

[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.

[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.

[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.” 

[re-freaks]

café worker!reader x vampire!manager part 1

you learn two things your next shift.

one: there’s a new café policy. free cookies for customers on nights with a full moon.

two: the werewolves have heard about it, and they arrive like it’s a festival. someone brings a tambourine. someone else brings their packmate’s emotionally unstable pet goose (lovingly inducted into the pack as “bertha”). you’re running on adrenaline, powdered sugar, and the kind of sexual tension that borders on medically concerning.

“we’ve got about forty cookies left,” you tell your manager, dragging the prep tray behind the counter like a stretcher on a battlefield. “should last until close, if no one cries, or shifts, or cries while shifting. which—uh—isn’t guaranteed.”

“noted,” he murmurs, barely glancing up from the cash register. “remind me to order more cinnamon.”

his sleeves are rolled again. you’re pretty sure you’ve developed some kind of pavlovian reaction to the sight of his forearms.

“totally,” you say, nodding like an idiot. “cinnamon. for the wolves. right, classic werewolf flavor.”

he looks at you like you’ve said something both incorrect and personally intriguing. you probably have.

by mid-afternoon, someone’s kid is sobbing over a dropped moon cookie, two vampires are arguing over who gets the last oatblood bar, and a mermaid is leaving glitter trails through the restroom like some kind of aquatic fairy godmother.

you’re holding on by a thread.

“we’re out of howlbread scones,” you relay to the kitchen, trying to rub frosting off your face with the hem of your apron. “and someone tried to steal the moonberry loaf again. i think it was the mothman. or maybe a very determined raccoon in a trench coat. it was hard to tell.”

your manager appears silently at your side. “you have icing on your collar.”

you blink. “i—oh. yeah. i was frosting, and then the bag exploded a little, and then a banshee sneezed and i think i panicked? anyway, yeah. sorry. i’ll go—”

he lifts a napkin and dabs at the spot gently. carefully. doesn’t touch your skin.

but you hiccup. spontaneously.

“thank you,” you squeak. it comes out weirdly high and breathy, like a victorian ghost thanking someone for a candle.

he studies you with polite interest, as if you’ve just done something scientifically notable. “you seem.. unusually energized today.”

“oh, yeah. totally, cookie fumes. sugar in the air. also i accidentally chewed a few espresso grounds instead of drinking coffee? i just. y’know. panic grabbed the wrong jar during the rush and then it felt weird to spit them out.”

“yes,” he muses. “that explains the dancing.”

you freeze. “what dancing?”

he gestures, barely. a flick of his fingers. “near the espresso machine earlier. a sort of.. interpretive shoulder movement. rhythmic. spirited, even.”

you stare in dawning horror.

“i was trying to get whipped cream off my sleeve. without using my hands. that also had whipped cream on them.”

“ah.”

a beat.

then he smiles. “still. spirited.”

you very nearly die.

he seems to consider something, eyes narrowing slightly. “you should be careful with the caffeine,” he says lightly. “it alters the taste.”

“the taste?”

his gaze flicks to your neck. “of your blood.”

you feel your soul leave your body and ascend to a plane of pure confusion. is that a vampire joke? is it concern? flirting? is he going to murder you? is he going to romantically murder you?

he doesn’t elaborate. just turns, calm, and disappears back behind the counter like he didn’t just drop a statement that sits somewhere between “you’re delicious” and “you’re delicious.”

you do not recover.

by closing, the café looks like it’s survived both a rave and a small exorcism. you’ve got flour in your hair. someone’s forgotten a baby basilisk in the lost-and-found bin. your feet are killing you and your brain feels like a blender on its fifth smoothie of the day.

but weirdly? you’re happy.

your manager stands near the front, tallying receipts by the register. moonlight slants across the floor. his posture is as perfect as ever, expression unreadable.

you grab a cookie from the tray—just one, slightly cracked. emotionally relatable.

you wander over and lean (badly) against the counter. your elbow slips. you recover like a pro.

“want one?” you ask, eyes fixed on a very interesting spot on the wall behind him.

he glances at the cookie. then at you. “no, thank you. i don’t eat sweets.”

“oh. right.” you nod, a little too enthusiastically. “dead teeth or whatever.”

he blinks. “pardon?”

“like. because you’re undead. not—not that your teeth are dead, your teeth are great! i mean, your fangs are. they're great. not dead. very vampire-appropriate.”

silence.

you consider if it’s medically possible to reverse your own blood flow and disappear.

he stares at you, amused. like he’s watching a raccoon attempt to pirouette.

“mm,” he says at last. “i see.”

you want to launch yourself into the sun.

he tilts his head slightly. “i assume you’ll be working next full moon as well.”

“unless i die.”

he nods, unfazed. “let’s avoid that.”

he gives you the faintest smile, like a ghost passing through a mirror. it barely registers. and still, you feel it in your chest.

“good night, then,” he says. “try not to dream about cookie theft.”

you laugh awkwardly. “right."

he watches as you scramble to gather your things, trip over your bag strap (for the fourth time this week), and nearly slam into the door before remembering how doorknobs work. a cookie falls out of your pocket on the way out. you do not go back for it.

the moon is smug and bright like it knows every embarrassing thing you’ve ever done. which is impossible, because after being hired, you’ve racked up quite the extensive list.

you don’t look back. you can’t.

you can feel him in the doorway, silhouette carved clean by silver light. watching.

professional.

..probably.

maybe.

(deeply, catastrophically, you hope his stare won’t be professional forever.)

[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.

[pearbunny]

first kiss // [an ot8 series]➥ HHJ

Hwang Hyunjin

part of the first kiss Masterlist, a simple unrelated drabble series of your first kiss genre: fluff! actor!hyunjin x actress!reader summary: Your director friend has someone in mind to play your romantic interesting in an upcoming movie: Hwang Hyunjin. word count: 3k warnings: Use of Y/N. Hongjoong appearance. Cursing. Writer has limited knowledge about audition processes lol not exactly proof read, hehe oops a/n: i'm struggling on these short drabbles, mostly because i feel compelled to overwrite to explain/build a backstory or connect. god idk how to feel about this one. ANYWAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY HWANG HYUNJIN!!!

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Hongjoong has been not only a close friend, but a trusted work partner since your second ever feature film. He’s only slightly older than you, but in a professional sense, he’s been directing since he was fifteen; back then it was music videos for friends who were aspiring musicians. He quickly adopted the starving artist attitude and worked on numerous projects– audition tapes, commercials, small inserts in shows or tv broadcasts, until finally he hit the jackpot with a very indie film that caught the attention of the masses. Since then, he’s found success after success, whether it be big or small. 

So when Hongjoong said he found a fresh new face –Hwang Hyunjin– on stage while watching a local play that would be a perfect fit for the role opposite of yours in your upcoming movie, you were 80% on board. The other 20% was skeptical; Hyunjin had only been in three small plays. He worked his way up from a background actor, a supporting role, and most recently one of the leading actors. 

“Y/N, trust me on this, okay? Have I ever steered you wrong?” Hoongjoong crosses his legs in his seat across from you and he lifts his cup full of espresso to his lips. He exudes confidence: perfectly tailored gingham printed trousers, a matching brown colored cardigan with a crisp white wide collar shirt underneath. He wears his glasses low on the bridge of his nose, eyes not even looking at you because he knows he’s right. 

“No, you have not.” Your eyes scan over the text of the script, flipping through the pages as you speed read through it. 

“And you know I’m right about these things,” Hongjoong clicks his tongue for emphasis. “I was right about you.” 

You glance at him now, annoyed at how true that was. Your story was a little different from Hyunjin’s: a child actress that started out in commercials, roles on lesser known TV shows, a small role in a movie. Then your agent found the script to one of Hongjoong’s movies and since then, you’ve worked on a couple of projects with him. So while you had similarities, you’re a… more seasoned actress. 

Hongjoong flashes his pearly whites, taking your silence as a win. “Anyway, I set up a meeting with you guys since he’ll be your romantic partner. You guys can rehearse your lines for a chemistry read.” 

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You reread the text message from Hongjoong. He had given you the address of a cafe near his studio where Hyunin and you would meet. You look up at the large printed numbers above the entrance of each shops you pass by, trying to find the place. Soon, smell of coffee fills your nose and you know you’re closeby. 

When you find the shop and open the door, a soft murmur of conversations float through the air, just over the clinking and clanking of espresso machines and blenders behind the counter. You fall in line, deciding to grab a coffee before looking around the place for Hyunjin. With your latte in hand, you set out to find your possible co-star. 

You’re not sure what he looks like, really, but you’re looking at the tables, ruling out anyone that’s seated with someone already. The cafe looked like a good co-working space, with tons of outlets for laptop chargers, even a couple of work meetings happening, judging by fancy work jargon you weren’t familiar with; something about the measurements of last quarter’s KPI. 

Finally, your eyes land on a man with black hair that barely touches his shoulders, half of it tied up in an effortless way, with bangs that frame his cheekbones.  A pair of thin silver-framed glasses sits high on his nose bridge as his eyes peer down at his phone, a thick bundle of papers in front of him on the table. You confirm it's him when you read the title of the upcoming movie in plain text on the binded papers’ front page. 

You pull the chair out from across from him, smiling once he takes notice of you. His eyes are a little wide, taken by surprise. “Hyunjin? Hi, I’m Y/N.Hoongjoong told me a little bit about you.” 

Hyunjin’s dark brown eyes follow your form as you sit in your chair and place your coffee down in front of him. “Ah,” He scratches at the back of his head nervously and clears his throat. “Hi. Hongjoong didn’t…” He struggles for a little bit, wondering if he should say what he’s thinking. “Well, Hongjoong didn’t really have to tell me much about you.” 

“Oh?” You sit your bag and coat on the empty chair next to you. 

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve definitely seen a couple of Hongjoong’s films before. So when he said that the script was going to you, I rewatched Loveless, and I ended up watching a drama you were in.” Hyunjin straightens his back and sits up straight in his chair. 

You find him watching your past projects a little embarrassing. You’re nowhere near as known as Hongjoong himself is, you choose to do smaller films and short series on television; you aren’t sure you’re ready to do anything more than that. Loveless was the movie you had first done with Hongjoong. It was a romance movie about two star crossed lovers that ended on a bitter note.  As for dramas, you have been in a few. “Which one if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My Secret Life.” Hyunjin’s smile stretches the corners of his lips to show a dimple and you find yourself smiling back at him, purely based on the energy his smile radiates. 

“Oh no, that was a very… fluffy and cringy show!” You laugh off how self-conscious you feel all of a sudden. 

“Oh yea, it definitely was.” Hyunjin takes a sip of his drink. It looks to be a strawberry-matcha-something-or-other if you were to go by the colors. “But you were really good in it! The fact that I felt second hand embarrassment in those scenes meant you were delivering your lines well.” 

You give Hyunjin a lopsided smile, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling ear to ear. The praise he was giving you was enough to inflate your ego, but you quickly shook it away and nodded your head. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Your eyes glance at the script in front of him. “Have you read it over?”

Hyunjin takes his phone off of the cover and slips it into his pocket. With one hand, he flips opens the script and flips through a couple of pages. “Yes and I have a couple of notes that I wanted to go through with you, if you didn’t mind?”

Your eyes light up, pleasantly surprised at how professional and prepared he came, despite this possibly being his first film. “Wow, yeah of course! We can go to hongjoong’s studio if you’d like. He’s got a conference room we could use.”

“Perfect.” Hyunjin stands up and grabs his script, tucking it under his arm while he grabs his drink. He comes around the table to your chair and while you move to stand up, he takes your coat and bag in one hand, offering it to you and scooting the chair back in behind you. 

It's then you notice how tall he is, how his black knit sweater seems to just drape over his body. The slim silver chain around his neck dangles, elongating his tall frame even more. You almost struggle to keep up with his long strides.

The walk to Director Hongjoong’s studio was only a couple of blocks away, but it allowed you to get to know each other more. 

Hyunjin walks next to you, letting you lead the way. When you pause at the crosswalk, you look both ways as you ask, “When was the first time you’ve ever acted?”

Hyunjin smiles as he reminisces. He remembers small Hyunjin, eight years old, way too excited for his one-line part in a school play. “Elementary school. I was Sheep Number 2’ during a manger scene during the Christmas play. ‘He’s here! He’s here!’ That is the only thing I said for the one and a half hour show.” He shakes his whole body, trying to get rid of the embarrassing memory. 

You find it cute. 

“What about you, what was your first acting experience?” 

“A diaper commercial." You laugh, as you usually do, when you tell someone about how your dad signed you up for a diaper commercial, convinced you were the sweetest and most beautiful baby ever. "How'd your audition go with Hongjoong?"

"It went alright," Hyunjin shrugs, a little lacking in confidence. If Hongjoong picked him for the role, it went more than alright. You knew that Hongjoong did not settle for anything less than the vision in his mind. "I was a little surprised that he came up to me after that play to tell me to audition."

You give him a reassuring smile, "Well I'm excited to rehearse with you. Hongjoong doesn't pick just anyone."

Soon, you find yourselves in front of Hongjoong’s creative studio. Large windows to let in all the natural light, low couches in earth and jewel tones. A lot of the furniture was a mix-matched amalgamation of sorts, yet they all came together to form a cohesive vibe. Because of all the natural light, there were many plants around including tall monsteras, snake plants, vining and crawling ones, and a succulent wall piece. 

Hyunjin’s mouth dropped as he gasped. The place was beautiful. 

However, being friends with Hongjoong now for a couple of years, it was just how Hongjoong was. Not to discredit how beautiful the place was, but it just made sense for him. 

“We can use the room at the end of the hall.” 

Hyunjin nods and takes the initiative to lead the way, opening the door for you and closing it behind him, then taking a seat next to you. 

No longer is he the wide-eyed boy with a sweet smile and dimples that you saw out in the lobby, his brows are straight with focus as he goes over the script, pencil in hand as you both takes notes straight on the script’s page. 

You go back and forth over how you should deliver certain lines, seeking validation from each other and giving criticism and offering advice. In order to nail the chemistry read, the both of you had to really have a good grasp of the characters’ personality at that point in the script. 

Hyunjin places his pencil on a specific line. “So, at this point, my character seems to be more himself. Like he doesn’t have to hold back.” 

You nod, leaning over slightly to read his script for context since you were on another page. “Oh, m’hmm.” You hum. “I think that’s where my character kind of knows what she’s gotten herself into with him.” You bite the inside of your cheek and look back at your own script, turning it to the same page as Hyunjin’s. “I was thinking that she should be a little more bold and really just go for this kiss.” 

Hyunjin tilts his head, mulling the choice over. “Do you think that would be a drastic change though? Like she just suddenly gets the confidence?” 

Your brows scrunch together and you flip back through the pages, quickly reading over the lines to see your characters’ interactions with one another. At this particular point in the plot, your character has mostly shown characteristics of someone that was a little timid, a little cautious to go after something that isn’t considered a ‘safe’ choice. Hyunjin’s character is the type of guy that has fallen for your character who isn’t exactly his type, so he’s gentle around her, but this scene seems to be a small moment that leads into a later big moment. 

Finally, you nod and make your own notes. “You’re right. I think this scene is supposed to be a bit more subtle. Like a small action that makes her realize there’s no going back.”

Hyunjin’s eyes beam as he nods. “Yes, exactly! She’s supposed to be this girl who’s typically very level-headed, a creature of habit, but here she sees the option of ‘Do I choose something I’m not used to or do I go back to something I know’.” 

The excitement in Hyunjin’s voice and his animated gestures are infectious and now you are also excited about the direction of the scene. Obviously, Hongjoong would have the final say during filming, but it was always good to be on the same page, especially since this was for a chemistry read. 

Hyunjin stretches his arms above his head, loosening his stiff back muscles from sitting at the table for so long. You two were working so hard to ensure the chemistry read would go well that you hadn’t even noticed how dark it was outside. “So, why don’t we rehearse a couple of times and then we’ll call it?”

You agreed, standing up from your chair and stretching, too. You had to admit to yourself that Hyunjin’s work ethic was admirable. You wonder if it was that young starving artist feeling that you seemed to have lost at some point; you hadn’t felt this optimistic about a script in awhile. Whatever it was, it motivated you to match his energy: exciting for the possibilities that the film could present. Though he worked hard, it wasn’t at all intimidating, especially since he shared his thoughts with you often. It helped you engage one another and it made you feel comfortable. 

You both flip to the correct page of the scene you were to present to Hongjoong. 

Hyunjin clears his throat and reads his lines one more time before placing himself at the edge of the table, leaning back on it casually. He takes his glasses off and folds them neatly, placing them on the desk. Finally, to put himself into character, he rolls his sleeves up, showing off his strong forearms. When he looks up at you, your met with slightly hooded eyes, sultry, like there was only one thing on his mind: You. 

Your mouth goes dry under his gaze. You nearly have to remind yourself to get into character, that this was apart of a scene. You quickly pull yourself together and, similar to Hyunjin, you become your character: a little trepidatious, but intrigued. You don’t have to look at your lines, you’ve gone over them in your head multiple times already while jotting down notes. 

“So, Mina was right?” You deliver the line in such a way that your voice toes the line between playful curiosity and accusatory. 

Hyunjin acts on his notes on the script, crossing his arms over each other, a body language tick that shows he’s feeling cornered and withdrawing a little from the question. “It depends, what did she say?” 

Your eyebrows knit a little and your lips twitch into a small smile, but it’s a sad one, as if you’re hoping it’s not true. “You don’t do relationships.” 

Hyunjin uncrosses his arms, and pushes himself off the table. He grabs another chair and sits it across from you. His body is turned totally towards you while you are looking at him from the side, body turned 90 degrees away from him. “No. I don’t. They’re… “ He pauses, as if searching for the right words, despite knowing his next line.  “Messy.”  His voice is gentle despite how much they’re supposed to sting your character’s heart. 

“Well, I mean, they don’t have to be?” Your voice poses it as a question, as if trying to persuade Hyunjin into giving a relationship a try. 

“No, they don’t have to be,” Hyunjin pulls your seat closer to him, turning it around so you face him. His legs are spread apart, while yours together fit in the gap between them. “But why mess thing’s up?” Hyunjin reaches his hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your face to get a better look of you. A small smirk dances on his lips as he leans forward. He allows a pause, space for your character to dismiss him, to back away, to shoot him down. 

Instead, you lean into his touch and exhale deeply. 

Hyunjin’s smirk turns into a smile and he leans in even more, his lips so close to yours. For a moment, it’s tense with him just hovering there. 

“This is where we would kiss.” 

Hyunjin swallows a lump in his throat, chuckling to himself awkward. “Yeah,” He doesn’t make a move to back away as his cheeks grow warm with clumsiness and embarrasment. 

You quickly take a glimpse of him and notice that he’s staring, just staring, at your lips. Subconsciously you lick your lips, almost a plea for him to go for it. 

“Ah, fuck it.”

 You almost laugh, but before it can escape you, he’s crashing his lips on yours. The kiss is electric, it sends tingles down your spine, all the way to the tips of your toes. His long fingers and large palm cradles your face while you not only accept, but return the kiss. Your lips mold onto his, soft and pillowy. There’s a short fight for dominance until your whole body relaxes to his touch. When you pull away, you’re left breathless. You can’t even look him in the eyes, you’re embarrassed. 

How could a novice actor rock you to your core like that?

Hyunjin clears his throat and nonchalantly backs his chair away from yours and turns his attention back to the table and his open script. 

You finally catch your breath, running your hand through your hair to compose yourself. Your manicured fingers tug at the collar of your shirt before you roll your chair next to his, following his example. You take your pencil and gesture to jot down notes into the margin of your script, but all you’re doing is scribbling circles next to the line that state that the characters kiss and you can’t help but to feel like you’re drawing how your stomach feels, fluttery, jumbled up, nervous and excited. 

You sneak a look at Hyunjin through the corner of your eyes, only to see that the blush has stayed on his cheeks. He is however writing down notes. You sit up in your chair a little straighter to give you a good look at his messy writing. 

‘Confidently kiss her. Make sure it’s a kiss that leaves her wanting more.’ 

You’ll have to tell him another time that that is exactly what that kiss was giving. 

Right now, you have to tell Hongjoong that there will be no need for a chemistry read. The chemistry was there, alright. 

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an: thanks for reading! i appreciate you c:

[millie-multifics]

Miles to Go

Jack Abbot x f!Attending!Reader

The Kraken brings noise to the Pitt, and well, you don't do well with noise as Jack learnt the hard way.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, PTSD and vague descriptions of domestic disputes. A little angst between Jack and Reader.

Word Count:~1.6k

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Shucks, a day late but I got sucked into a double shift yesterday and did not have this transferred into my app yet

Comments are welcome of course... pls i beg

x x x

Hour Seven: On The Rocks

10:00am

One thing you had talked to your therapist about was the new, crippling anxiety that struck you in confrontational situations. Together you deduced its cause being your attack, the aggressor being forceful and loud had activated these components as being triggers to quickly unravelling anxiety attacks.

It was why you were in a supply closet, hiding from the abundance of noise that had suddenly filled the Pitt. Nurses and security rushed about outside, placing bets on the whereabouts of the ambulance that had been stolen from the bay. No one else seemed affected by the yelling coming from the behavioral room that had been housing an agitated psych patient, but it had startled you. The first yell had made you momentarily freeze before checking your immediate surroundings for any sign of danger, quickly wrapping up with the patient you had been with to investigate. The longer his loud yells and thumping of his body being thrown around the bed went on, the more you found yourself feeling affected. Your skin itched and your hands shook as your brain slowly fogged with a growing level of panic. You ducked into the closest empty room, a small supply closet that was rarely ever accessed.

Your fingers shook as you dug your cellphone from your pocket. You had intended to call your therapist, allow them to ease the heavy overwhelming sensation settling in your chest but you instinctively clicked on Jack. Your thumb hovered over the call button, debating if you deserved being selfish for a second, craving to hear the roughness of his voice even though he was at home, presumably asleep.

You often found yourself awake at night, unable to sleep without the comfort of Jack in your bed. You both masked your feelings with logic; it made no sense to get a restless 8 hours of sleep at opposite times when you could get restful sleep at the same time. He used your shared moments in the morning to motivate himself to finish handover on time; though on this particular morning, extra time was unavoidable. Your quiet morning of reading medical journals was interrupted by the deep yell of your upstairs neighbour. Quickly the young couple’s early morning tilt escalated into a full-blown argument, complete with loud yelling and stomping of feet. You could feel it creep up on you, the unexplained itch. Noise had never bothered you before but as the clash continued your hands developed a tremor and a cold sweat prickled up your chest to the back of your neck.

You needed something to block out the noise.

The removal of your heavy cast and introduction of the more mobile walking boot had been a welcome development. Crutches had replaced the wheelchair as your collarbone and ribs healed, allowing you to get around your apartment at a reasonable speed. It made the journey to the kitchen much easier. You leaned against the granite countertop as you cut the stems off a handful of fresh strawberries, tossing them into the blender with a scoop of yogurt, half a banana, ice and a splash of milk.

The volume of the pulsing blender as it crushed the ice was welcome despite the early morning hour, the hum covering the screaming that travelled through the thin ceiling.

The smoothie was past smooth when you turned the machine off, the drink a thin pink liquid as you gripped the blender in your hand to hop across the kitchen for a cup.

Only you had yet to notice the strawberry that had fallen on the ground moments earlier, your heel landing on it perfectly had a surprised yelp escaping your lips as your foot slid across the tiled floor. Smoothie and glass rained down around you as your back hit the floor, a groan escaping as the air was forced from your lungs upon impact. You wheezed as you lay in the cold liquid, luckily untouched by any glass shards of your now broken blender.

“What the fuck?” Jack had arrived home at the wrong moment, an hour late and it happened to be the moment your laughter shifted to tears. He was by your side in an instant, doing his best to kneel despite the ache in his leg.

“I’m fine.” You frantically wiped the tears from your eyes, batting away his hands as they hovered over your body to assess for injuries. “Jack, I’m fine.”

“Why on earth are you making a smoothie this early anyway?” He grabbed your forearms, balancing himself on his good foot before he helped lift your body off the filthy floor. He helped you lean against the counter to help steady you on your feet. “Couldn’t wait until I got back to help you?”

“I can make a smoothie, Jack.” The lingering prickle sparked in your chest, a new fog creeping in the edges of your vision as you watched him gather paper towels to mop up the mess. “I slipped on a damn strawberry. I can make a smoothie on my own, I can be on my own!”

“You could have hurt yourself.”

“I said I’m fine!” The intensity of the words felt like they had exploded right out of your chest.

“Hey, take a breath.” Jack recognized it, being all too familiar with the turmoil that seized you. He had been waiting for it truthfully, waiting for you to break down and let it out. He thought it would happen sooner, but you had a self-determination that withstood even his own threshold.

“No, I’m not going to take a breath.” Your chest heaved, the anxiety digging its nasty hooks into you once and for all as you stood chest to chest. “I keep telling you that I am fine, you are the one who is not hearing me!”

“Just because it’s expected of us to be okay, doesn’t mean we have to be!” Jack recognized his mistake as you flinched. It had been unintentional but his volume rose to meet yours as determination to get through your stubborn exterior clouded his sense.

“Y-you should go.” Your voice cracked as your eyes welled with unwept tears.

Jack was sure his heart cracked along with your voice, his hands gently raising to cradle your face. His warm palms caressed your jaw, his thumbs brushing away the slowly escaping tears from your cheeks. “You don’t have to be okay.”

“Jack, please,” His distraught gaze was drawn to your teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip. You leaned close, shattered breaths mingling with an inch of separation until your hand pushed softly against his chest. “Please go.”

“Everything okay?”

The sudden voice startled you, your phone clattering to the tile as it slipped from your grasp. Samira had been passing by when she noticed your form through the small window, standing eerily still with a faraway look in your eye. She had not meant to startle you, but grew concerned the longer she observed you. You quickly bent down to pickup your phone as the dial tone echoed loudly from its speaker, you must have hit the button to call Jack before you dropped it. You quickly cancelled the call, hoping that you had not in fact interrupted Jack’s rest, despite how badly you craved his comfort.

“Everything is fine.” You assured her, “I am fine.”

It was a lie of course, one that she easily recognized. It was quiet for a moment as she studied you, the way you tried to shift all your weight to your right foot without being noticed. “Did your physiotherapist give you any conditions for your return to work?”

“A proper pair of orthopedic shoes,” You tapped the stiff rubber sole against the tile, “And frequent rest breaks.”

She nodded thoughtfully, assessing your condition and treatment as she slipped into doctor mode. “Come with me.”

She kept a close eye on you as she led you through the Pitt, toward the staff lockers. It was quieter here, not even the muffled yelling could be heard unlike the supply closet. You watched curiously as she opened her locker, retrieving a neatly folded item from the top shelf before handing it to you; compression socks. “Wear these, they should increase circulation and help alleviate some of the pain.”

You accepted the socks gratefully, silently cursing yourself for not having the thought yourself before leaving for work in the morning.

“I’m really sorry for icing you out.” You hesitated, not because the apology was unnecessary but because of the genuine weight of regret for shutting your friend out. “I should have called you back, but I didn’t know how to feel about what happened, and I let it linger and fester for far too long.”

A crease formed between her brows as her eyes filled with care. “And now?”

“It’s getting better.” You were honest, “Jack helped me a lot, he gave me a card for his therapist so I’ve been working through it, properly.”

“Good.”

“Look Samira, I think you should know that Robby asked me to keep an eye on your pace.” You were honest, not wanting to create any more distance with one of your closest friends. “I’m not trying to start any problems, but I had to be honest with you.”

“It’s a rough day for him.” She sympathized, understanding her flaws while accepting the microscope Robby’s irritability brought upon them all today.

“Regardless, you are super fucking smart, Samira. You see the bigger picture and if you can’t then you find a way. You’re an amazing teacher, blunt when you need to be and compassionate when it matters. If you have any questions or want to present a case that won’t earn an exasperated sigh, I want you to come to me, okay?”

x x x

Tags: @nosebeers @eugene-emt-roe @wolfbc97 @qardasngan @obsessed-fan-alert @silas-aeiou

[concreteangel92]

I'm so happy that your requests are open hehe🥹💕

I'd kill for some soft work of yours, like the whole day spent together with Noah doing something together. Going to the zoo or beach day or painting each other (the tiktok trend you know) and then finish it with some soft smut, Noah talking you through it, holding hands, soft touches and stuff🥹

Basically the softest version of Noah you can think of haha, please and thank you💕

Noah Sebastian x female reader

18+

Warnings: soft smut, praise, PiV, just some overall cuteness basically haha

The painting trend is such a cute idea that I had to use that one for this request! I hope you enjoy ☺️

So this is soft, gentle!Noah….mean dom!Noah is next on my request list 👀

Permanent Taglist: @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @bloody-spades @lacy1986 @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95 @w0manof-flesh44 @dream-machine-love @thisbicc @amelia-acero @badomensls @fadingintothegrey @tosoundlessdarkistare @ichoosetenderomens @hurricanesfollowyou @concretejunglefm @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @xmads-omensx @chey-h @xxkittenkissesxx @lyschko666 @rumoured-whispers @renegadebirch @floodflameschosen @ami--gami

Let me know if you wish to be added!

Masterlist

“So, what are we doing again?”

You rolled your eyes with a grin as Noah flopped into the chair across from you. “Painting each other.”

He raised an eyebrow, already smirking. “Like… one of your French girls?”

You reached over and gave his arm a playful slap, the both of you laughing. “Shut up, Noah! No. I saw this cute trend on TikTok and thought it would be fun.”

He leaned back with that cheeky smile, eyes lighting up with mischief. “You gonna post this on TikTok, babe?”

You giggled as you got comfortable in your chair. “That depends on how good they turn out.”

The next hour passed in a mix of giggles, paint smudges, and stolen glances. Every time you peeked up from your canvas, Noah was already looking at you, his gaze warm, soft and intense. It made your stomach flutter every time.

You wiped the back of your hand across your forehead to move some hair from your face, unknowingly streaking a bit of paint across your cheek. “Right… I think I’m done.”

You set your brush down and looked at your “masterpiece,” already cringing internally. You were no artist but you’d tried.

Noah, who had finished a few minutes before you, was watching you with a grin, clearly holding back laughter.

“Let me see, then,” he said, eyes sparkling.

“No, you first,” you said quickly, hiding your canvas from his gaze.

He shrugged and turned his around with a dramatic flourish.

You gasped. It was…actually good. Like, really good. Not perfect, but you could see yourself in it, the way your eyes squinted when you laughed, the curl of your smile. Your heart flipped a little.

“Okay wow…that’s actually really good” you admitted.

He looked pleased. “I used to draw a lot when I was younger. You make a good muse. Ok now yours”

Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly turned your canvas around.

Noah stared at it for a second, then burst into laughter, not cruel, just utterly amused. “What the hell is that?”

“Shut up!” you laughed, covering your face. “It’s….abstract!”

“It looks like a Picasso painting went through a blender!”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, it was genuinely bad. “In my defense, you wouldn’t sit still!”

Still chuckling, Noah stood up and came around the table. “Hold on, you’ve got something…”

He reached up and brushed a smudge of brown paint from your cheek with his thumb. His touch lingered longer than it needed to, fingers grazing your skin softly.

Your laughter faded with a smile as you looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close he was.

He leaned in, his voice softer now. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Your breath caught just a little. “Even with paint all over me?”

“Especially then…I’ve loved painting with you today” he murmured.

You smiled, your voice low. “Yeah?”

“Mm. Especially when you’re so cute when you’re focused on creating your ‘masterpiece’”

You giggled and blushed as you looked at your painting again.

“Guess I wont be quitting my day job any time soon”

“Maybe not just yet babe” he whispered and then his lips met yours.

The kiss was warm, slow, and sweet, his hand gently cupping your jaw. You melted into it, fingers still streaked with paint curling into his shirt as he pulled you closer.

His mouth was soft, coaxing, and when his other hand slid around your waist, your body responded easily, pressing into him like you were always meant to fit there.

He pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against yours. “You wanna…?”

You nodded before he could finish. “Yeah.”

Noah pulled you back into another kiss and you felt his hands wandering over your body as he lead you backwards towards the sofa, both of you removing different articles of clothing until you were both pressed against each other’s bare skin.

“You’re so fucking perfect”

He took his time, worshipping every inch of your skin with lips and fingertips, like he was still painting you, only now with devotion instead of a brush.

A choked gasp left your throat as you felt him slip inside, stretching you beautifully as he started a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts.

You both moaned into each other, your lips never leaving the other for long. You both took your time, feeling no need to rush, you were both completely lost in the moment.

“Noah…”

His name fell from your lips like a prayer. You could feel every inch of him, buried deep, the pressure building with every gentle but firm stroke. Sweat slicked your skin, making each brush of your bodies feel even more intense. You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the world, not wanting this moment, this connection, to ever end.

His hips never stopped, every thrust was sending a warm ache through you as you felt your stomach twisting beautifully. You moaned into his lips, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Noah…” you whispered, breath catching as he rolled his hips just right, hitting that spot that made your eyes fall shut and your head to fall back against the sofa.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple as one hand slipped between your bodies to touch you, coaxing another desperate whimper from your throat. “So good for me…you’re so fucking beautiful…”

You couldn’t hold back your cry as you fell apart underneath him, your body trembling in his arms as your nails dig into the skin on his back.

Noah’s hips stuttered once, twice, then he was spilling into you with a low, drawn out moan, clinging to you like he was falling apart too. His breath came in hot pants against your skin, his hands cradling your waist like he never wanted to let go.

You both relaxed into each other’s arms, your breathing laboured as you both came down from your highs.

Noah leant up and he brushed away some of your hair which was now damp against your face as he smiled down.

“I love you so much”

“And I love you Noah, I couldn’t imagine ever being apart”

[carolmunson]

love language eight

on a tuesday! love language set list a collection of short blurbies of you and eddie in the 90s, no real plot. (though, this one has a couple call backs) cw: very soft, not really anything bad. sort of implies that reader's dad died? sort of? not really?

“Hm,” he mumbles when he gets home, work boots left at the door, doe eyes half closed. The gray tank he wore under his cover alls dips in tone where it caught all of his sweat from the garage. The blow of the air conditioning wraps around him like a cunning snake, beckoning him further in where he knows you’ll be.

You haven’t been feelin’ good and he knows it, meeting you in the kitchen to kiss once, twice, three times on the center of your forehead before he even speaks. Dinner plates full, just like your hands. Just like your head.

At least it’s not storming tonight.

He takes his time, rough hands on each cheek, nose to nose. He leans in to kiss your lips, appreciating you for dinner, for being here, for being you. In the hot hot heat over the stove while he’s in the hot hot heat under hoods.

Plush pink lips have their final landing on the fat of your cheek. He pushes in, curls tickling your face, enough for you to giggle.

“I got us some ice cream,” you say, “For later.”

He knows you only wanna make milkshakes when you’re not feelin’ good. They remind you of the carnival with your dad — humid nights and sugared air, all the lights twinkling to make up for blocking out the stars. He wonders what you were like when you were a kid. Did you like the Ferris wheel? Did your dad ever rock the cabin? Eddie’s dad did. It always made him scared. He wonders if you ever get scared. If you do, you never say it.

“I’ll make ‘em,” he murmurs back.

You turn the lights off a lot when it’s hot, even with the AC on. Always mumbling that the lights are hot too, so you eat in the glow of the stove light — cast in a grayish green. He stares at you while you sit there, staring down at the plate. It’s not storming but something is wrong, something’s on the brink.

Eddie swallows his bite, pushing away from the table to the freezer where the ice cream is. Silently, he takes out the blender, casting glances over at you while you poke and prod at your food. He wishes you’d eat it, it’s delicious. Pretty girl in his kitchen, pretty girl that makes him dinner, pretty girl who will have a pretty ring on soon. Pretty, pretty, pretty.

The half smile he gets from you when he pushes your plate away to replace it with the milkshake is as bright as the carnival lights you used to stare at. He sits across from you with his, passing you a straw from the junk drawer.

You look down at the cup and then up at him, sizing up the offering — you always make them, and you always make them the best. His words, not yours.

Cold and thick, pooling in your mouth — it tastes better than the sugared air and the Tilt-a-Whirl and your dad’s wheezy laugh mixing with yours. It tastes better than the roasted candied peanuts and the way your dad would rock the cabin on the Ferris wheel.

Eddie looks at you eagerly, eyes shining like the sign on the Zoltar fortune machine. You wonder for a moment, with the shake in your mouth, if anything you wished for ever even came close to him.

You guess nothing ever could. All the quarters in the world couldn’t add up.

“Hm,” you nod in approval, on your way to your second sip.

“Hm.”

[27dragons]

Countdown to 2025: Dec 8

Coffeeshop AU / Marvel - Winteriron / Fur Coat

Thank god for the mid-morning lull. It gave Tony time to clean out the assorted blenders, mixing cups, spoons, mugs, and other paraphernalia that had built up during the morning rush. Usually they worked in a rotation that kept on top of it, but Clint had texted in sick that morning, and it had thrown off their whole rhythm.

The door jingled to announce a customer, and Tony called over his shoulder, “Be right with you!” He stacked the last of the mugs in the rack to dry and turned.

Tony’s favorite regular, Bucky, was leaning against the counter, face looking red and windblown. His jacket was balled up in his hands.

“I thought maybe you weren’t coming today,” Tony told him. “Why aren’t you wearing your coat? The wind chill is like fourteen out there!” He started a cup of espresso, operating the machine on muscle memory alone.

Bucky slid onto a barstool, putting his bundled-up jacket on the counter in front of him. “You got any breakfast sandwiches left over?”

Tony glanced over at the pastry case. “Yeah, there’s a couple left, though I’m going to have to reheat them in the microwave. You oversleep or something?” Bucky didn’t usually order breakfast.

“Egg an’ bacon, if you got it,” Bucky said. “Don’t need to heat it up, just throw it on a plate.”

“Uh. Sure, I guess.” Tony got a plate and reached for the tongs. “You okay?” he asked. “You’re being a little weird.”

“Yeah, sorry, I just, uh.” Bucky looked around the shop like a spy checking for a tail, then carefully unfolded the top few folds of his jacket, and a head popped out.

Tony started, then leaned closer. Wrapped up in Bucky’s coat was a kitten, small enough to curl up in the palm of Tony’s hand. It had white fur that was filthy and matted, and huge blue eyes. It gave Tony a suspicious look, then opened its mouth wide and let out a squeak that was barely even audible.

“Oh my god,” Tony breathed, “it’s so tiny. I can’t stand it.”

“Found ‘im half frozen to death in the trash,” Bucky explained. “Someone had dumped him, I guess. I couldn’t just leave him, could I?”

“Of course not,” Tony agreed. He reached in with a finger to try to pet the kitten’s head, and got bitten for his trouble. “Ow! Those teeth don’t look like much but they’re sharp as fuck.”

Bucky grimaced. “Sorry. He’s scared and at least half-feral. An’ I know pets ain’t allowed in here, but--”

“Yeah, we should get him out of here.” Tony pulled off his apron and threw it onto a hook, then ducked into the staff room for his own coat. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“We’re taking him to my place,” Tony said. He hung a “Closed - Back Soon!” sign on the door, then beckoned impatiently at Bucky, who was still sitting on the stool, looking confused. “He can’t stay here,” Tony repeated, “and my place is close by. Because unlike your friend there, you don’t have a fur coat. Let’s go. My neighbor has a cat; she can probably loan us a few drops of cat-safe shampoo and a tin of food. You can hang out while he dries off and you both warm up, watch a movie or something, and I’ll be back when my shift ends, right after lunch. And then we’ll figure out what to do with him.”

Bucky kept staring for a long moment, but then shook himself and stood up, his jacket and the kitten cradled in his arm. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, that sounds great. And maybe, uh. Maybe I can take you to lunch or something, to say thanks?”

Tony grinned. “Sounds great, hot stuff. Let’s go.”

[moanologue]

Say It Again

Chapter 4 - Flustered Detective

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Rating: Mature

Category: M/M

Fandom: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)

Relationship: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams

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The morning draped Oahu in a golden haze, the air thick with the promise of heat, heavy with the scent of salt and blooming plumeria carried on a lazy breeze. The sun is already climbing, painting the sky in streaks of coral and amber, as if the island itself is stretching awake. Inside our little slice of chaos, I wake to the grating screech of our ancient blender, a sound like a chainsaw chewing through metal, punctuated by Steve McGarrett’s frustrated growl. It was a noise that could wake the dead or at least me, still groggy from a night of tossing and turning, my dreams a tangle of case files and Steve’s infuriatingly smug grin.

“You piece of junk! Blend, damn it!” His voice carried that dangerous undercurrent he usually reserved for cornered suspects or, apparently, malfunctioning kitchen gadgets. It was the kind of tone that made you want to snap to attention or duck for cover, depending on your relationship with him.

I shuffle into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from my eyes, my bare feet sticking to the cool, slightly tacky tile floor. The air smelled of burnt coffee, a faint whiff of something grassy, like a lawnmower’s revenge, and the sharp, metallic tang of Steve’s determination. He stands at the counter, broad shoulders hunched, his Navy SEAL physique filling out a faded gray T-shirt that clung to him in ways I was actively trying not to notice. Dark hair was still mussed from sleep, and his jaw was set in a way that suggested he is waging a personal war against the blender.

“You can’t force it, babe,” I say, leaning against the counter, my voice still rough with the gravel of sleep. I cross my arms, the motion pulling at the thin cotton of my own T-shirt. “That thing’s older than both of us combined. It’s practically a museum piece. You should donate it to the Smithsonian under ‘Artifacts of Misguided Optimism.’”

Steve doesn’t look up. He jams the lid down harder, his knuckles whitening, as if sheer willpower could bully the machine into submission. “I need it to work, Danny,” he says, each word clipped and sharp, as he is defusing a bomb instead of making breakfast. “This is non-negotiable.”

I raise an eyebrow, fighting the urge to laugh. “Why? You whipping up another one of your lawn-smoothies? What is that, kale and regret? Spinach and existential dread?”

He snorts, finally pausing to shoot me a look. “It’s a protein blend. For stamina.” His lips twitch, not quite a smile, but close enough to make my chest do a weird little flip.

“Stamina,” I echo, dragging the word out, leaning forward just enough to catch his eye. “For what, exactly? Solving crimes in record time or swimming laps around Oahu with a pack of sharks trailing you?”

He straightens, wiping his hands on a dish towel, and that’s when the full, cocky, and infuriatingly charming smirk breaks free. “Both,” he says, stepping closer. “You questioning my multitasking skills, Danno?”

Before I can fire back with something witty or at least something that didn’t make me sound like a flustered idiot he moves past me, his hand grazing my lower back as he reaches for a glass on the counter. Just two fingers, brushing against the thin cotton of my T-shirt, right at the base of my spine. A casual touch. Meaningless. Except it wasn’t. The warmth of his hand lingered like a static charge, spreading up my spine and rooting me to the spot. My breath hitches, and I hate myself for it. And on top of that my heart gives a single, hard thud, like it is trying to break free and make a run for it. I turn, ready to call him out, but he is already pouring a vile-looking green sludge into a cup, acting like he hasn’t just short-circuited my entire nervous system. His focus is on the drink, his brow furrowed in that way that made him look like a man on a mission. I open my mouth, then close it. What was I even going to say? Hey, stop touching me like that because it’s messing with my head?

Instead, I grab a mug from the cabinet, pour myself some of the burnt coffee, and lean back against the counter, watching him sip his smoothie like it was fine wine. The kitchen is quiet now, save for the hum of the fridge and the distant crash of waves against the shore outside. I study him, the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his fingers grip the glass just a little too tightly. There was something about Steve in these moments, when the world wasn’t watching, that made him seem… human. Not the invincible SEAL, not the fearless leader of Five-0, but just Steve. A guy who gets pissed at blenders and drinks smoothies that looked like swamp water.

“You know,” I say, breaking the silence, “if you spent half as much energy on paperwork as you do fighting that blender, we’d have the governor’s office begging us to slow down.”

He chuckles, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “Paperwork’s your thing, Danny. I’m the action guy, remember?” He leans against the counter opposite me, mirroring my stance, his arms crossed over his chest. The space between us is maybe three feet, but it feels like inches, the air charged with something I couldn’t name.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, taking a sip of coffee to hide the way my eyes keep drifting to his. “Action guy. More like reckless guy. You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days, you know that?”

His smirk softens and he tilts his head. “You’re tougher than that, Danno,” he says quieter now. “You can handle me.”

The words hung there, heavy, and I swear the room gets smaller. I swallow, my throat tight, and force a laugh. “Handle you? I’m still trying to survive your cooking.”

He laughs then, a real laugh, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes my stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the coffee. “You love it,” he says, pushing off the counter and heading for the sink, leaving me standing there, my heart pounding like I just ran a marathon. Did he know what he was doing? Did he know how that low teasing tone hit me like a punch I hadn’t braced for?

I watch his back as he moves to the sink, the muscles in his shoulders shifting under T-shirt, the one that was just tight enough to remind me he is built like a weapon, all precision and power. The faucet hisses to life, and he rinses his glass with the kind of focus most people reserved for disarming explosives. Casual. Oblivious. Or maybe not. Maybe he knows exactly what he is doing, tossing out those words, that touch, like grenades he doesn’t stick around to watch explode.

My heart is still hammering, each beat loud enough I was sure he could hear it over the running water. I want to say something, anything, to break the tension coiling tighter in my gut. Something sharp to cut through the haze, to put us back on solid ground. But my mouth is dry, my tongue stuck, and all I can do is stare at the way his hands move: deliberate, steady, like he could dismantle my defenses as easily as he takes apart that blender.

“Danno,” he says, not turning around, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful. The nickname rolls off his tongue like it is second nature, but there was something else in it this time, something that makes my breath catch again. “You’re awfully quiet over there. You okay?”

I force a laugh, the sound rough and unconvincing even to my own ears. “Me? I’m fine. Just wondering how you manage to make a smoothie look like a war crime and still act like it’s gourmet.”

He chuckles, low and warm, and finally turns, leaning back against the sink with his arms crossed, the dish towel slung over one shoulder. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, I forget how to blink. “You’re deflecting,” he says, his lips twitching into that half-smirk that drives me up the wall. “What’s got you so rattled, huh?”

You, I want to say. You and your stupid smoothie and your stupid hands and the way you keep saying my name like it’s a secret we’re both in on. But I just shake my head, take a too-hot gulp of coffee that burns my throat, and mutter, “You’re a menace, McGarrett. That’s what’s got me rattled.”

He laughs again, and the sound is like a match struck in the dark, lighting up something I wasn’t ready to face. He pushes off the sink, closing the distance between us in two easy steps, and for one wild, stupid moment, I think he might touch me again. But he doesn’t. He just grabs his keys from the counter, tosses them in the air, and catches them without breaking eye contact. “Come on,” he says. “We’ve got a day to survive.”

And just like that, he is out the door, leaving me to follow, my heart still racing, my head a mess of questions I wasn’t sure I wanted answers to.

The call comes in just after noon, shattering the quiet rhythm of our morning. A body had been found near Waimanalo Beach, half-buried in the sand, wallet gone, signs of a struggle etched into the scene. Steve’s demeanor shifts in an instant, like a switch flipping from laid-back partner to Navy SEAL commander. He is on the phone before I can blink, barking orders to the forensics team, his voice sharp and precise as he maps out possible routes the suspect might have taken. It is like watching a machine come online, all focus and purpose, the playful Steve from the kitchen gone in a heartbeat.

I grab my badge and follow him out the door, the weight of the case already settling over us. That’s what I do, I follow him, whether it’s into a crime scene or the kind of trouble that leaves scars.

The drive to Waimanalo is brutal. The sun is a relentless hammer, beating down on the truck’s windshield, turning the cab into a sauna. My shirt clings to my back, damp with sweat, and every bump in the road sends a jolt through my spine. The air conditioning is fighting a losing battle, wheezing like an asthmatic in a dust storm. I glance at Steve, his sunglasses reflecting the glare of the sun. He doesn’t seem to notice the heat, or if he does, he is too stubborn to acknowledge it.

“You okay?” my voice cutting through the hum of the engine.

He doesn’t turn, just gives a short nod. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About the case?”

He hesitates, then shrugs. “Among other things.”

I shift in my seat, the leather creaking under me, the heat making my shirt stick to my skin in all the wrong places. The air conditioning is losing its fight, and the cab smells faintly of salt, motor oil, and the clean, sharp scent of Steve’s aftershave. I want to ask. God, I want to ask. What other things? What’s got you so deep in your head that even you, Mr. Navy SEAL Zen, look like you’re wrestling with something you can’t punch into submission?

However the moment slips through my fingers, like sand on that damn beach we are headed to. I glance at him, his profile sharp against the glare of the sun, sunglasses hiding his eyes but not the tension in his jaw. He is always like this on cases, but there was something else today, something quieter, heavier. Like he is carrying a weight I couldn’t see.

“You sure you’re okay?” I try again, my voice softer this time, almost lost in the hum of the engine. I didn’t know why I am pushing, why I can’t just let it go. Maybe because I was tired of the unspoken things piling up between us, the half-glances, the touches that lingered too long, the way he’d say my name like it meant more than it should.

He doesn’t answer right away. His thumb taps the steering wheel. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Just… got a lot on my mind.”

I open my mouth to push harder, to demand something concrete, but the radio crackles, Chin’s voice cutting through with an update on the crime scene. The moment snaps shut like a trap, and Steve’s focus shifts, his posture straightening as he responds with a clipped, “Copy that.”

I lean back, my head against the headrest, and let out a slow breath. The truck roars on, carrying us toward the beach, toward the body, toward the kind of chaos that is easier to deal with than whatever is brewing between us. I tell myself it didn’t matter, that I’d let it go. But the question “what other things?” burns in the back of my mind.

The crime scene is worse than I’d imagined. The body - a man in his late twenties - lies partially exposed, one arm twisted at an unnatural angle, his face half-covered by sand. Bruising bloomed dark and ugly across his throat, a map of violence that told a story of rage, not randomness. I crouch beside him, the heat of the sand searing through my pants, and study the marks. This wasn’t a robbery gone wrong. This was personal.

Steve stands a few feet away, his sunglasses reflecting the glare of the sun, his posture rigid as he scans the scene. “We’re looking for someone close,” he says.

I nod, brushing sand from my hands as I stand. “Family, ex, maybe a roommate. Someone who knew his routines, knew he’d be out here.” I squint against the glare, the salt air stinging my eyes. “This wasn’t random. You don’t choke someone like that unless you’re angry. Really angry.”

He turns to me, his eyes hidden behind those damn shades. “Let’s start with who he was with last night.” Then, without warning, he tosses me the keys to his truck, the metal glinting as they arc through the air.

I catch them, my fingers closing around the warm keyring, and stare at him, my brain short-circuiting for the second time that day. “You’re letting me drive your truck?” I ask, my voice laced with disbelief. Steve’s truck is his baby, his sacred chariot. He doesn’t let just anyone behind the wheel. Hell, he barely lets me touch the radio.

He shrugs, already walking toward the crime scene tape, his boots kicking up little clouds of sand. “Don’t make it weird, Danny.”

But I am already making it weird. I climb into the driver’s seat, the leather hot against my thighs, and grip the wheel a little too tightly as I start the engine. I slide the key into the ignition, my fingers still buzzing from the weight of the keyring, from the way Steve tosses it to me like it is no big deal. The truck’s engine comes alive with a deep, guttural snarl, vibrating through the seat and into my bones, amplifying the restless energy that is building all day. My hands tighten on the wheel, the leather warm and slightly worn under my palms, and I can feel Steve’s presence beside me, a steady heat that is somehow louder than the engine. I don’t look at him. I can’t. Not when my head is still spinning from the crime scene, from the way he stands there, all sharp edges and quiet intensity, scanning the sand like he can see the answers written in it. Not when my skin still remembers the ghost of his touch from that morning, a fleeting brush that had no business lingering this long. I shift the truck into gear, the movement jerky, my foot a little too heavy on the gas as we pull away from the beach.

“You’re driving like you’re mad at the road,” Steve’s voice cutting through the low growl of the engine. I can hear the smirk in it, that infuriating mix of amusement and challenge that always makes me want to either punch him or pull him closer.

“Yeah, well,” I shoot back, keeping my eyes on the road, “maybe I’m mad at the guy who thinks tossing me his keys makes him less of a control freak.”

He laughs, a short, sharp sound that fills the cab and makes my chest tighten. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he says, stretching out in the passenger seat, one arm propped against the window, the other resting casually on his thigh. “Not everyone gets to drive my baby.”

I snort, risking a glance at him. Big mistake. He is watching me, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, his eyes catching the late afternoon light in a way that makes them look like the damn ocean we just left. “Don’t get used to it,” I mutter, forcing my gaze back to the road. “This is a one-time deal. Next time, you’re back to playing chauffeur.”

“Sure, Danno,” he says, and there it is again. I grip the wheel harder, my knuckles paling, and try to focus on the road, on the case, on anything but the way his voice wraps around me. The truck’s growl is steady now, a low rumble that matches the tension in my gut, a reminder that no matter how fast I drive, I can’t outrun whatever this is.

The radio crackles again, Kono’s voice updating us on Kai’s background check. I let Steve handle it, his tone all business as he asks for details, but my mind is elsewhere, tangled in the weight of his keys in my hand, the trust in that small gesture, and the question I still haven’t asked: Why me? Why now?

We track down the victim’s roommate by mid-afternoon, a wiry bartender named Kai with a rap sheet for petty theft and a nervous twitch that screamed guilt. We find him at his apartment, a cramped, dimly lit place that smelled of stale beer and desperation. He is pacing when we walk in, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes darting between us like a cornered animal.

“Kai, sit down,” Steve leans against the wall, arms crossed, every inch the predator sizing up his prey.

“I didn’t do nothing,” Kai stammers, collapsing onto a sagging couch. “I swear, man, I just-”

“Save it,” I cut in, sitting across from him, my notebook open. “You and your roommate, Jason, you had a fight last night, didn’t you? What was it about?”

Kai’s eyes widen, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard and fingers twisting the hem of his shirt. “It wasn’t a big deal, okay? He owed me money, and I… I got mad. But I didn’t mean to-” His voice cracks, and he buries his face in his hands.

Steve slowly pushes off the wall. “You didn’t mean to what, Kai? Push him? Choke him? Leave him out there to die?”

Kai’s head snaps up, his face pale. “No! I didn’t- I mean, I pushed him, yeah, but I didn’t think he’d… I panicked, okay? I didn’t know what to do!”

The confession spills out like water from a broken dam, messy and unstoppable. Kai’s shoulders slump, his bravado crumbling as he admits to the fight, the shove, the moment he realizes Jason isn’t getting up. Steve’s voice cuts through the air, low and teasing, with that familiar lilt that always catches me off guard. “Book ‘em, Danno.”

My heart thuds too loud in my chest. The words hit me like a wave, not because of what they were, but because of how he says them. His voice is warm, anchoring, carrying a weight that feels… different. I glance over my shoulder, and there he is, leaning against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket, the other resting casually on his hip. His sunglasses are off now, and those damn ocean-blue eyes lock onto mine, a half-smirk playing on his lips.

I stand, pulling the cuffs from my belt, the metal cool against my palm. “Kai, you’re under arrest for the murder of Jason Reed,” I say, my voice steady despite the adrenaline humming through me. I grab his wrist, twisting it behind his back, the cuffs clicking into place with a sharp, final sound.

“Get him to the car,” I mutter, shoving him toward the uniforms waiting by the door, trying to shake off the feeling.

Steve doesn’t move, just watches as the uniforms take Kai away. I stay behind, scribble my notes for the report, pen scratching against the paper, but my focus keeps slipping. I can still see him in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he owns the place, his posture loose and his sharp eyes pinning me in place. That smirk. The way he says my name, like it is more than just a catchphrase, like it carries a weight I wasn’t ready to unpack. My fingers flex, the tingling spreading up my arms, and I shake them out, trying to ground myself in the task at hand.

“Detective Williams?” One of the uniforms, a young guy with a buzz cut and a nervous edge, hovers nearby, holding out a clipboard. “Need your signature for the transfer.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I take the clipboard, scrawl my name, and hand it back, my eyes drifting to the doorway where Steve is. He is gone now, probably outside coordinating with Chin or checking the perimeter, doing whatever it is he does when the adrenaline starts to fade. But his absence doesn’t make the room feel any less charged, like the air is still holding its breath, waiting for him to walk back in.

I step toward the window, the late afternoon sun slanting through the grimy blinds, casting long shadows across the floor. Oahu stretches out beyond the glass, all vibrant greens and shimmering blues, and it feels distant, like a postcard I couldn’t quite reach. The day is a whirlwind: crime scene, suspect, confession, all of it moving too fast to process. And yet, my thoughts keep circling back to him.

Why did that… stand out this time?

[dallasgallant]

Time period post- appliances and thrift

Originally was going to skip making this post, as I thought it’d be boring but I was informed (many times) how it was wanted. Going to combine appliances and some thrifting and shopping related things. As I think it would be beneficial, as the boys are poor/impoverished so we should look at some of that side of purchasing - as many of my general time period posts are very middle class to soc range (at least in the images of new cleaned and polished) Home related posts;

Here and here

Something to keep in mind is location and the community. Some places, especially smaller towns take a long time to change or update, a lot of “mainstreets” or “squares” in older parts of town have the same buildings or styles from maybe even when they were first built or at least updated in the 1960s and still look like it today. So imagine back then! Lol. Even if a community has a rich minority, like the socs- that’s no guarantee the area modernizes into something brand new over night.

Convenience, gadgets and built ins-

Truly the time to be a lover of the gadget or the trinket. The continuation of post war production boom and making products with the idea of convenience in mind. A lot of it was ridiculous but really there was some cool stuff. The big trend was : Automatic and electric.

Electricity and electric things had really started to take to the public in the 1880s and we never really stopped electrifying basic items. Notable cases here; Electric knife, electric beaters/mixers (still hand held but not done by hand), electric/motorized can openers.

Gadgets! Things that would’ve been done by the stove and the over now with dedicated little devices. Now toasters and waffle irons and grittles had already been around for some time but were booming. Meat grinders (electric ones anyway), roasters, blender, drip coffee maker, hot trays/warming trays.

Another reason for the rise in gadgets or specific tools like a warming pan would be just how popular hosting and throwing parties was. (Much more soc). At the same time as more specific gadgets were made there was also a trend of combining! As kitchens were small and again, connivence.

You’d also see radios or even later counter tvs (impossibly tiny) pop up in kitchens.

Laundry-

A lot of homes at the time would only have one bath, especially if older and it was likely added in (if very old), so forget a laundry room. However, they were slowly rising in popularity and bathroom numbers too in more modern homes. Laundry machines did exist for a while but it’s sort of like electricity and AC some people didn’t have them or are still getting around to getting them — and when they did it’d sometimes be on the porch or garage or where they’d fit.

Laundromats would populate towns, still do but in this case it was less common than today to have a full set and bonus gadgets in your home. (Though your iron etc at home) or maybe there’d be a woman who does it for the neighborhood or apartment complex etc (headcanon Steve’s mom as a washwoman. I know they still existed but all the info I get is 1700s Scottish women… I feel insane)

Not so fast -

The world wasn’t like it is with microtrends and using/wearing/having something for a week or a summer and then tossing it out. There were trends but far longer lasting, and if someone was to make a commitment to say doing their home in a design trend, once all that work is done they wouldn’t change it for years (some never do! Look at all the untouched houses on the market every so often)

Appliances were made to last and often came with a Warranty, either discounted or free replacement or repair for a certain period of time. If you’re lucky a lifetime warranty. This stuff was built to last a lifetime! Tough, dependable, durable. It’s why the “garage fridge” exists in so many middle class homes today, it’s out of style but it still works perfect so now we have a soda fridge or extra storage.

Honestly if you had to replace or update annually back then it’d probably be seen as a bad or cheap product!

This isn’t to say people never updated, or changed based around style. But you first have to have the money for it and two it’s a treat, not a regular occurrence. So maybe in 10 or 20 years if you need new kitchen appliances or would like to restyle you go for it.

Thrift and used-

Especially relevant to the guys. Think it’d be rare if they bought a single thing new - that wasn’t used or loaned etc

Thrift stores, surplus stores, charity’s, churches, there’s always been ways to get things at a much more affordable rate. Even thrift food stores in some circumstances (no it’s not pre used).

Used car lots were also incredibly common, honestly it’s how most kids got their first car. Most people really! Now if you didn’t get totally swindled.

Thrift isn’t just relegated to physical thrift stores either, a lot of local businesses (places that aren’t the department store or major chain) would often have a used section or “used store”. Appliances, records - just about anything.

Layaway! A store sets an item or a bunch of purchases aside and you make incremental payments until the purchase is paid off. Then it’s yours. (Began during the Great Depression)

Rental, and rent to pay started conceptually post ww2 but Rent-A-Center itself was founded in 1973 so I’m not completely set on renting.

Coupons! Another way to save money and be able to make purchases, given in newspapers, adds, by the stores themselves. Rewards programs really kicked off in the 60s, one of the most common being S&H Green Stamps. (Some hang on the builtin board in the museum.) these would be gotten at check out and some other businesses and collected by customers, to be redeemed for items from their catalogs. You could get everything from appliances to makeup from how you saved and spent.

While I’m not getting into it, I did include thrift and some other things that are more relevant to the boys -> 1964 Food Stamp Act that saw the Creation of SNAP (food stamps) would be huge. However programs stem all the way back to the depression once again, more here

They Would have way older appliances and machinery- 40s old sometimes. Boys specifically have a Dixie stove and this old washer is an assumption of mine (if they had one at all!!)