#Custom Roll Forming Machine

[jugmug-rollf-orming]

Crafting Stronger Rides – Bicycle Rim Roll Forming by Jugmug RollForming

In a world that is rapidly shifting toward sustainable transportation and healthy lifestyles, bicycles are experiencing a golden era. But behind the scenes of every smooth ride is a complex process of precision manufacturing. One of the most critical components of a bicycle is its rim—a part that demands accuracy, strength, and consistency. This is where Jugmug RollForming shines. Known for their excellence in roll forming technology, Jugmug is setting a new standard in bicycle rim manufacturing.

The Backbone of Bicycle Performance – The Rim

The bicycle rim isn’t just a circular frame that holds the tire; it plays a vital role in the overall performance, stability, and safety of a bike. It must withstand pressure, support weight, absorb shocks, and maintain shape under various conditions. This demands a manufacturing process that ensures precision engineering, material strength, and flawless finish. Jugmug RollForming delivers exactly that—machines designed to produce world-class bicycle rims with unmatched efficiency.

Jugmug RollForming: Pioneering Precision

Established with a clear vision of transforming India’s roll forming industry, Jugmug RollForming has steadily grown into a trusted name across sectors. From construction to transport, Jugmug machines are recognized for their durability, innovation, and ease of use. In the niche segment of bicycle rim manufacturing, Jugmug has raised the bar by offering high-performance roll forming lines tailored to the needs of rim producers.

Why Choose Jugmug for Bicycle Rim Manufacturing?

1. High Precision, Low Tolerance

Jugmug’s bicycle rim roll forming machines are built with tight tolerance control, ensuring that each rim matches exact specifications. Whether producing rims for road bikes, mountain bikes, or e-bikes, manufacturers can expect consistently accurate dimensions and perfect curvature.

2. Customizable Production Lines

No two manufacturers are the same. Jugmug understands this and offers customizable configurations that can be tailored based on rim profiles, materials (aluminum, steel), width, and thickness. From coil decoiling to final cutting and straightening, every part of the production line is optimized for user requirements.

3. Robust Construction

Every Jugmug machine for bicycle rim is built using heavy-duty components, ensuring long operational life even under continuous production cycles. This reduces downtime and enhances overall productivity for clients.

4. User-Friendly Automation

Incorporating advanced PLC controls and HMI interfaces, Jugmug machines offer easy operation, real-time monitoring, and quick changeover between sizes. This blend of automation and simplicity enables even semi-skilled operators to manage the line efficiently.

5. Energy Efficiency

Jugmug’s engineering team focuses on minimizing energy consumption without compromising performance. This not only reduces operational costs but also aligns with the eco-friendly ethos of the cycling industry.

From Coil to Rim – The Jugmug Roll Forming Process

Let’s take a closer look at how Jugmug’s machines turn raw metal coils into perfectly formed bicycle rims:

Decoiler Unit – The raw coil is mounted and fed into the system. Jugmug offers both manual and hydraulic decoilers, depending on production scale.

Feeding & Guiding System – The coil passes through precision feeders and straighteners to ensure flawless alignment.

Roll Forming Stations – The heart of the system. These stations gradually shape the strip into a rim profile using a series of hardened rollers designed for minimal wear and tear.

Cutting System – Once the required length or circumference is achieved, a flying or stationary cutter trims the rim to size.

Collection & Final Handling – The finished rim is smoothly collected and ready for the next process such as welding, hole punching, or painting.

Every step is engineered for maximum accuracy, speed, and consistency, all of which are crucial in mass production environments.

Applications and Versatility

Jugmug RollForming doesn’t cater to just one segment of the bicycle market. Their machines are used for:

Standard commuter bicycle rims

Mountain bike and off-road rims

Electric bicycle rims

Children’s bike rims

Specialty custom rims

With such versatility, Jugmug’s solutions appeal to both large-scale manufacturers and smaller, specialized producers.

After-Sales Support & Global Reach

Jugmug doesn’t stop at just delivering a machine. Their commitment continues with:

Installation and training support

Routine maintenance and servicing

Remote diagnostics

Ready availability of spare parts

With clients spread across India and growing international interest, Jugmug RollForming has proven that Indian manufacturing can meet and exceed global standards.

A Trusted Partner in Progress

What sets Jugmug apart is not just their engineering excellence but also their commitment to customer success. They work closely with manufacturers to understand production goals, budget constraints, and operational challenges. Their consultative approach ensures that each client gets a tailored solution, not just a machine.

The Road Ahead – Sustainability and Innovation

As the bicycle industry embraces lightweight materials, aerodynamic designs, and environmentally friendly production, Jugmug is already working on the next generation of roll forming technology. Research and development efforts are focused on:

Hybrid material roll forming

Tool-less changeovers

Smart sensor integration for quality control

AI-assisted production analytics

By aligning with the evolving needs of the industry, Jugmug is poised to remain a market leader in rim roll forming solutions for years to come.

Final Thoughts

“Crafting Stronger Rides” is more than just a slogan—it’s a philosophy that drives Jugmug RollForming every day. By delivering cutting-edge machines for bicycle rim manufacturing, Jugmug is enabling the production of safer, more durable, and more stylish bicycles across the globe.

If you're a manufacturer looking to upgrade your rim production, it’s time to partner with Jugmug RollForming—where innovation meets precision, and every machine is built to power the future of mobility.

[jooyeonsvape]

gym games: seungcheol smut

w/c: 2k

pairing: idol!seungcheol, female!reader

genre: smut

summary: seungcheol challenges his lazy girlfriend to workout. every level completed, a reward will be given.

a/n: i didnt know how to put the ‘keep reading’ link on my posts but now i do, i apologize if that annoyed anyone lol

your bed was your favorite place to be after a long day at work; unfair wages, annoying employees, nagging customers. when you're in bed, watching your favorite drama, all the problems go away.

"[Y/N]!!" you hear a distant voice shouting and look up to see your sweaty boyfriend, seungcheol, waving his hand to get your attention. "are you dissociating again?" he asks with his arms crossed and a mischievous smirk on his lips.

he's trying to get you at the gym more because after work you just lay around, and you promised him you'd be his workout buddy. "i'm sorry baby, but not everyone enjoys working out like you." you defend, crossing your arms to copy him.

"i know you don't like working out, that's why i came up with an amazing idea, hoshi, bring it in." you stare at the man coming in with a white board, raising an eyebrow. "what...is that?" you ask confused and seungcheol stands on the otherside of the board.

"this, my dearest, is the motivation to inspire you to work out." he proudly smiles, grabbing a hand pointer and slaps it against the board, making you jump.

"level 1, warmups, you get a kiss for every warmup you complete. level 2, cardio, run 1 miles on the treadmill, i'll give you a sexy hot oil massage. level 3, dancing, you complete a whole seventeen song, of your choice, you get head. finally, level 4, weightlifting, if you can lift 100lbs, you can pick the reward." seungcheol points to each level as he talks and you hide your blush away from the two men.

"hoshi, did you come up with this?" you ask and he laughs, looking at the board proudly. "i helped, the hot oil massage was my idea." you roll your eyes out of embarrassment, glaring at seungcheol. "okay, i accept your offer, i'll go through all the levels," you confidently nod your head and start the warmups.

"20 pushups, 20 squats, and 10 lunges." your boyfriend commands, acting like a personal trainer. you try to hide your laugh at his stern demeanor, you were usually the one telling him what to do so you found it cute.

"thats all? this is gonna be a piece of cake." you get down to a pushup form and seungcheol walks to you, hovering over your smaller frame. "i forgot to mention, its 2 sets of pushups."

you groan loudly at the thought of doing 40 pushups and plop on the ground, hearing hoshi maniacally laughing in the back.

"come on baby, kisses are in store when you finish." you roll your eyes again at the offer and get back in form. "with this many pushups, i better get a full makeout session, not just a peck." you hear your boyfriend hum in agreement, watching you start on the warmup.

when level 1 was complete, the last thing on your mind was kisses, you were sweating profusely and chugging your water until it was almost gone.

seungcheol goes to the white board and puts a checkmark by level 1, looking at you with satisfaction. "take a 10 minute break and start level 2." he commands, you instantly dropping to the ground in a starfish formation, groaning to yourself loud.

"man, how is she going to get through the other levels when she's dying on warmups?" hoshi asks, doing pullups in the background. "she'll make it, she's just dramatic." your boyfriend answers and you lift your head up. "i'm already plotting my revenge, don't make it worse for yourself."

level 2 starts with the treadmill, and it was quite easy considering this is the only machine you use when you want to stare at seungcheol work out. "i've done 5 miles on this before," you brag to your boyfriend when he hops on the one next to you.

"have you done it on 12% incline and 7 miles per hour?" he asks with another cheeky smirk, and you gulp. "i-is it hard?" you chirp out, scared of the pain you'll be in tomorrow.

hoshi comes up and presses buttons that were foreign to you, but you read 12% and start going at a jog as he heightens the miles per hour to 7. you whine when it starts burning your calves and never keeping your eye off the mileage. "i'll do it with you," seungcheol smiles at your cuteness, running beside you.

the more you run, the less it hurt, and it was actually making you more energetic. "i'm halfway done!!" you proudly shout to your boyfriend, breathing heavy and he looks over at your machine. "good girl, don't give up." he cheers for you and your cheeks turn red from blushing.

when it hits the 1 mile mark you turn off your machine, slowing down with the motor, and stepping off with shaky legs. "that wasn't bad at all." you announce to the two boys and hoshi gives you a highfive, holding a stereo with the other hand.

"good job, now level 3, dancing to one of our songs, which one do you choose?" seungcheol asks, getting off the treadmill as well.

you think hard about what song you want to choose, then stick your finger in the air. "i got it! 'very nice'." the two boys start laughing and you slap your boyfriends arm. "it's my favorite, leave me alone."

hoshi plays 'very nice' on the stereo he had earlier and you begin the choreography, hitting every beat. they look at you with wide mouths, not expecting you to know the entire dance, "go [Y/N]!!" hoshi yells out, doing the dance to himself while he watches.

when you finish you blow your boyfriend a kiss and he catches it, putting it to his heart. "level 3 complete, i'm impressed [Y/N], seriously." he says and gives you a hug, rocking the both of you back and forth.

level 4 was to lift 100 lbs but after all you did, seungcheol decided to go easy on you, and change it to 50 lbs.

you easily lift the weight above your head and cheer to yourself, setting the weight on the ground, dancing around. "i get kisses, hot oil massage, head (sorry hoshi), AND pick my own reward."

seungcheol lifts you up and waves to hoshi, "thank you for helping, i have to go fulfill my promises." he puts you over his shoulder and you feel a slap on one of your butt cheeks, making you squeal. "bye hoshi, sorry you had to be involved with his perverted behavior."

hoshi waves and laughs, watching seungcheol run out of the private gym under your apartment complex, with you still on his shoulder.

at the apartment, he lays you on the bed the both of you share, and spreads his arms open to welcome you in his chest. you curl up comfortably on him, rubbing circles around his cheek. "level 1 prize please."

seungcheol leans down and kisses your nose, making you huff. he chuckles and goes down further to your lips, kissing gently until you open your mouth so his tongue could enter.

the kissing lasted only a few minutes before your hands roamed his body but he pulls away, "uh-uh, we need to do level 2 now." you pout but change your mood when you see seungcheol bringing in the massage oil, him smiling from ear to ear.

"get undressed, i'll warm the oil up." he tells you and gets the warmer, while you take off the athletic ware you had on. you put a pillow at the end of the bed and lay belly side down, anticipating the feeling of seungcheol's hands on you.

the feeling of him straddling your waist from the back made you let out a deep sigh at his weight. "am i too heavy?" he asks, hearing your breath hitch but you just shake your head. "no honey, im good." you whimper out and he laughs, getting off your butt, kneeling on the bed next to you. "i forgot you're half my size." you giggle and lean your head up to kiss his lips, admiring his compassion for you. "i'll get started now." 

he pours the oil on your back slowly, the pain hitting your skin instantly but you old it in until you're used to it. seungcheol massages your shoulders first and you let out a low lingering groan which made him start laughing, but you ignore it. his muscles flexed as he rubs every knot that was in your shoulders, continuing to make unnatural sounds at the massage. 

"flip." he whispers so he didn't ruin your zen state, and you abide, turning over so you were now on your back. he gently rubs your shoulders from the front with the oil, dragging his fingers up your neck in the process, making chills run down your body. 

he moves his hands down to your boobs and you smile with your eyes closed, squirming around when he squeezes them tight. the oil wasn't as hot anymore so when he poured more on your chest it didn't hurt your boobs. 

seungcheol admires your body and hums, pinching your perky nipples so they could get hard. you blush and watch him take one of your now hard nipples in his mouth, your head thrown back when you feel him start nibbling on it softly. his tongue swirls around you and he looks up at you with a smirk, "do you want to move on to level 3?" 

you nod and buck your hips gently in the air, signaling you needed him. he kisses from in between your boobs to your belly button and rubs your inner thigh gently. "good girl." he whispers and kisses down to your pelvis, just swiping his tongue over your clit. you whine at his teasing and buck your hips again, "i need it." you whimper out, seungcheol listening and flicks his tongue over your clit in a fast pace. 

you let out a loud moan at his tongue and grip his hair in your hand tightly, looking down at him pleasuring you. he pulls away so he could spread your legs open wide, his tongue sliding through your folds skillfully, then back up to your clit. his tongue pace never lessens while he lifts your legs up to your knees so he could see more of your pussy. 

he slides his tongue in your hole, feeling the inside of you with a moan and rubs your clit with his thumb. the sensation of him inside you made your legs shake and you buck your hips fucking his face. "you have a magic tongue baby." you moan out and feel him chuckle, sending vibrations against your wetness. 

you throw your head back again, arching your back and push his face closer to you while you cum in his mouth, yelling loud for him. "fuck..." you whimper when he sucks up all your juices and kisses your now throbbing clit. 

"thank you my angel." you breathe heavy and he goes up to kiss you on the lips, rubbing your arm softly. "anytime, i love you." he mumbles, wrapping an arm around your naked body. "what do you want to do for level 4?" seungcheol asks after you catch your breath and you hum, cuddling up to him close. "watch my shows naked, eat, have sex, watch my shows, eat, have sex, repeat, until we fall asleep. if we fall asleep." 

"deal."

[fgumi]

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ THE BETTER

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; jungwon x reader, GENRE; fluff, one shot, WC; 2.3k, A/N; i almost scrapped this... i hope it's as cutie as i tried to make it... special shoutout to @hoonieyun because i finished this with her encouragement. also! tysm for 500+ followers! you guys are so kind. ilysm. }

what kind of girlfriend would yang jungwon have?

the answer seems obvious enough.

someone as kind and pure as jungwon deserved someone just as sweet. someone who smiled as brightly as he did, whose eyes sparkled like his did–someone that radiated the same loveable energy that attracts everyone to him.

but, in reality? you, as jungwon’s current (and first) girlfriend, were sort of a far cry from jungwon.

you weren’t cruel by any means, but you were blunt. you hated sugarcoating words and definitely didn’t go out of your way to make people feel comfortable. if people asked for your input, they should be expecting your straightforward, honest answers—not your fault if they didn’t like it.

if people compared jungwon to ragdoll cat—likeable, friendly, and cute—they’d probably say you’re like the black cat that’s historically considered unlucky and an omen. but, somehow, you two worked.

of course, people were always questioning your relationship.

when you two worked at the same cafe during your college years, there was a clear difference in how you treated customers. you weren’t particularly rude, just not cheerful like jungwon.

“i have two iced lattes for kiki!” jungwon happily shouted, pushing the two drinks out. the girl who picked up her shyly smiled at jungwon, only wavering when she noticed your dead stare at her. after that, she hurriedly away to her friend. you watched as they both giggled and glanced at jungwon wiping down the espresso machines.

“you’re too friendly,” you sipped your drink, glaring at the bashful girls.

jungwon smiled and turned to you with a teasing look. “it’s why i make more tips than you.”

you rolled your eyes, leaning back on the counter. jungwon placed himself next to you after throwing the rag in the bucket.

“you seem grumpier than usual,” jungwon poked at your side. “anything i can do to make it better?”

“be less cute,” you muttered, words slightly disappearing in your drink.

jungwon laughed before peaking his head into your view. you immediately softened at his pretty face.

“if i were any less cute, you wouldn’t put up with me.”

you snorted as you chucked your empty cup into the bin. you busied yourself, organizing the misplaced powders and syrup bottles. jungwon followed a step behind you, weaving from either side of you to get your attention. when he stuck his face too close to yours, you pushed him away before glancing around you.

“we’re at work,” you whispered.

jungwon shrugged. “it’s not like the boss doesn’t know. i told him that i applied because of you.”

before you could reply, the same girl—kiki—came up to the counter. you stepped forward.

“what’s up?”

she frowned ever so slightly before clearing her throat. “do you think i could talk to the other barista?”

you raised your eyebrow. “i could help you just as much as he can.”

her lips formed a straight line before jungwon cut in. “how can i help you?”

you resisted letting your eyes roll for the nth time, returning to organizing the counter.

“i was wondering if you were free after your shift?”

you barely managed to disguise your laugh as a cough. jungwon pouted at you before looking back at her. “i’m actually getting lunch with my girlfriend! she’s been wanting to try this new brunch place and i promised to take her.”

the girl blinked, disappoint clear on her face. “oh. i hope you enjoy your lunch then.”

before you could move further away, jungwon pulled you into his side with a bright smile. “we will!”

disappoint made way for shock, her eyebrows raised. she didn’t say anything more, returning to her friend who excitedly awaited for news. you could see them exchange words before glancing back at you and jungwon, who was still holding onto you. you pushed yourself free and flicked his forehead.

jungwon winced at the twinge of pain and rubbed the spot. “hey! you’d think you’d be proud of me for mentioning you within 10 seconds of the conversation.”

“i told you we’re at work,” you lightly scolded. “do you want to get us fired?”

“the boss would never fire me,” jungwon cheekily said.

you knew it was true, so you just declined to respond. you made your way around the counter, choosing to clear dirty dishes and wipe down tables. jungwon shook his head smiling and finished up the work you left behind.

“that’s his girlfriend? no way. she’s like– a bitch.”

your ears twitched. you’re used to this unfortunately. from strangers to friends to family, everyone couldn’t believe that someone as sweet as jungwon would be with someone like you—someone a little mean (though, you resent that because you’d like to think you’re nice to people… you like).

“right? i don’t get it. she looked like she was ready to rip my head off for just ordering. like—sorry for making you do your job.”

“he deserves so much better.”

you agreed. not that you’d ever voice that to jungwon again. you say again because, in the early stages of your relationship, jungwon made it very clear that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thought—you were the better everyone wanted for him. you didn’t really see it but, after seeing how upset he’d get during those conversations, you stopped bringing it up.

you clenched your jaw, fingers gripping the dirty dishes, as you walked to the back. when you returned to the front, jungwon stopped you with a small smile and covered your ears. you frowned in confusion.

“don’t listen to them,” jungwon murmured, removing his hands for your ears to tuck the stray hairs behind your ear. “you’re exactly who i want to be with for the rest of my life.”

a blush burned your cheeks. maybe, just this once, you will ignore what others are saying.

it didn’t stop there though. those types of comments followed you into your adult life.

you made quite the reputation for yourself in your office. you were ambitious from the start and managed to make your way into a team leader position pretty early on in your career. but, it didn’t come without some office rumors about your character.

y/n’s harsh. she’s so cruel. i heard she blackmailed the manager for her position. y/n will rip you apart for any minor mistakes. interns, beware. the list goes on. you felt like they were unwarranted. what else did they expect in a high-profile company? your clients expected quality work that was free of mistakes. of course you were going to point out flaws. again, was your delivery cushy and sweet? no. but, they shouldn’t expect criticisms wrapped in pretty words.

their… opinions weren’t limited to work though. when jungwon stopped by your office to pick you up for lunch, they had plenty to say.

“hey,” he greeted cheerfully, stepping into the room with that effortless charm that drew everyone’s attention. your coworkers peered from their desks curiously, wondering how you interact with this stranger.

you glanced up from your desk, surprised to see him. “what are you doing here?”

“i finished all my errands early and thought i’d take you out to lunch,” he said, tilting his head cutely. “i can wait for you to finish up!”

you nodded, glancing at the papers on your desk. “give me 15 minutes.”

he gave you a thumbs up before softly whistling, looking around the office. jungwon walked over to the wall of excellent employees and grinned at your pictures hanging. he glanced at your coworkers, some having returned to their work. curious, he peaked over one of their shoulders. they jumped a little after noticing his presence.

he smiled sheepishly. “sorry.”

within minutes, he has the whole office laughing with him. when you finished reviewing the last proposition, you were met with the sight. you smiled softly. jungwon never failed to impress you with his ability to charm people.

you got up from your desk and walked over. “hey, i’m ready if you are.”

your coworkers’ laughs died down at your presence, a couple creeping back to their desks.

“i was just telling them about the first time we met!” jungwon laughed.

your eyebrow quirked. “when you fell into the fountain?”

he nodded as he reached to carry your bag. “still hard to believe you agreed to go on a date with me after that.”

you could practically hear the gears turning in your coworkers’ heads as they processed his words.

“you’re her boyfriend?” one asked.

jungwon grinned, clutching the straps of your bag. “yup! i’m a lucky man.”

“i think she’s the lucky one,” someone muttered under their breath.

you sighed and pulled jungwon towards the elevator, choosing to ignore their comment to go get lunch faster. jungwon waved goodbye as you entered the elevator.

before the elevators fully closed, you could make out someone saying, “someone as terrible as her with someone as kind as hi–”

you shut your eyes, performing breathing exercises you learned at the company’s mental health seminar. you could feel jungwon pull you into his arms before he peppered kisses all over your face. his attacks didn’t stop until you were giggling from how his kisses tickled.

“they don’t know anything,” he said, planting a final kiss on your lips. “they don’t know about how my girlfriend is the kindest person al–”

you covered his mouth before you exited the elevator. “not so loud. can’t have people knowing i’m a softie.”

jungwon kissed the palm of your hand, clasping it with his own as you walked out of the building. after years of being with jungwon, his pro-y/n propaganda got through to you, much to his delight.

but, even after all those years, jungwon’s friends still didn’t understand your dynamic.

“okay, real talk,” jake said during a game night at your apartment, gesturing between the two of you. “how do you two even work?”

“what do you mean?” jungwon asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

“dude, you’re like the nicest guy i know—i’m talking nicer than the grandmas that feed pigeons—and y/n is…” jake trailed off, glancing at you nervously.

“go on. say it,” you droned with no real heat, crossing your arms.

“intimidating? but, you know, in a cool, really chic way,” jake said quickly.

jungwon laughed and wrapped his arms around you. “it works because she likes me just the way i am. a nice loser that is way too nice sometimes.”

sunghoon’s eyebrows furrowed. “blink three times if you’re scared.”

jungwon puffed his cheeks in annoyance. “she’s not scary, man. she’s the sweetest, shyest, prettiest, most lovable–”

you covered his mouth, your face burning in embarrassment. “that’s enough.”

jungwon pulled away from your hand with the biggest grin. “see?”

jake snorted and nudged sunghoon. “maybe jungwon’s the one scaring her.”

you all laughed and, tactfully, they never questioned you guys again.

sometimes, though, it still bothered you. why was jungwon—someone who was sunshine-incarnate—with you–grumpy in female form?

one night, as the two of you cleaned up after a dinner party, you asked him directly.

“why do you put up with it?” you asked, your voice quieter than usual.

jungwon looked up the dishes, bubbles somehow making their way onto his hair. “put up with what?”

“all the comments,” you said, rearranging the centerpiece. “the questions. people saying you could do better…”

he frowned and shut off the water, shaking off the gloves. “do you still think there’s better than you?”

you hesitated, caught off guard by his sincere stare. “it crosses my mind from time to time?”

jungwon shook his head, stepping towards you and pulling your hands into his. “there isn’t,” he said firmly. “there’s no one in this world better for me than you.”

you tried to pull away, feeling ashamed for feeling this way after all these years, but he held on.

“i like that you don’t pretend to be someone you’re not,” he continued. “i like that you’re honest, even when the truth is hard to hear. and i like that you don’t care about flattering others, because it means even more when you do compliment people.”

your chest tightened, his words sinking into the cracks you tried so hard to hide.

“i also like that you don’t care if people know how truly kind you are, because i know. i see it every day. i see it in the way you prepare my morning coffee, even though you’re the one that has to go to work. i see it in the way you put yourself in between the street and grandmas, in case something happens. i see it in the way you keep working after everyone’s clocked out to make sure your proposition doesn’t get rejected. i see it. i see you.”

at this point, tears blurred your vision. “but, you can do so much better,” you muttered, blinking the tears away.

“you are that better. you make me wanna be better,” he said with a grin, pulling you into a hug. “it’s okay if the world keeps talking. it gives me an excuse to fire back and talk about my super cool girlfriend.”

a laugh escaped you as you rubbed your face into his chest, a smile creeping onto your face. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you love me for it.”

you really did. you loved him so much. but, according to jungwon, probably not as much as he loved you.

so, what kind of girlfriend would yang jungwon have?

someone who challenged him to be better. someone who didn’t sugarcoat things, who kept him grounded. someone who loved him so fiercely, even if they didn’t think they should be the one receiving his love. where others saw questions, he saw answers. you were it for him. and, hopefully, the ring sitting in his desk drawer was enough to prove it to you.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too! come chat! (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

tagged; @en-dream @heeheesang @bamguetismee @httpenhoon @r1kification

[obsessedwithceleste]

S is for Espresso (and also soulmates)

Mattheo Riddle x reader

Summary: modern! coffee shop au 🤝🏽 soulmate au

word count: 2k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

"Matt I swear to god, if you keep slaughtering the spellings of customer's names when you write on the cups, I'm taking you off register!" Theo shouts from the hand-out counter. "How did you manage to find a way to fit a 'U' into 'Madison'?"

"Don't threaten me with a good time! And you can fit a ‘U’ into any word if you spell it wrong enough," Mattheo shouts back, before plastering a smile across his face and gesturing for the next customer to approach the counter. "What can I get for you today?"

The only reason Mattheo even found himself behind the counter of the campus coffee shop was because he had succumbed to the peer pressure of Theodore and Enzo, who had already been working there for months before they were able to drag Mattheo down with them. Sure the extra cash was a nice bonus, but this definitely was not Mattheo’s idea of a good time.

On a completely separate and unrelated note, maybe Mattheo was also hoping to possibly meet his soulmate at this blasted shop, but he would never admit that.

If Mattheo were to roll up the sleeves of his very intentional, long sleeve shirt, the eloquent phrase “I’ll have a vanilla latte with as much espresso as you’re legally allowed to give me” would be seen scrawled elegantly across his forearm.

Everyone had it. Not that exact line of course, but everyone had the first sentence their soulmate would say to them tattooed somewhere on their body. Mattheo was no rocket scientist, but he figured the odds were high enough that with a line like his, he would probably be meeting his soulmate in a coffee shop. So here he found himself.

As the days went on however, he was beginning to lose hope. Mattheo was no stranger to those awkward interactions where he would welcome a customer into the shop and see their face light up. “Is it you?” They’d ask. And he’d awkwardly laugh and try to explain that no, he was waiting for someone to order a vanilla latte. Or sometimes he’d just sigh and throw Enz onto register instead.

“Chipper up Matty, you haven’t seen the real fun yet. Next week is finals week, and you do not want to be the one to stand between a student and their daily caffeine hit. The morning crowd’ll keep you entertained just you wait,” Enzo says, breaking Mattheo from his thoughts.

“Don’t remind me. I haven’t been to class in days. Don’t even know when ole Snape’s final is.” Mattheo groans, turning to face his friends.

“Thursday you dolt. Maybe if you actually came to class once in awhile you’d know a thing or two,” Theo replies, resigned to the fact that he would most likely be studying for the both of them next week.

“Aw c’mon Theo, that’s no fun is it? Sides, we all know the only reason you show up to that class anyway is cause Daphne’s in it.” Mattheo responds cheekily.

Daphne Greengrass was Theo’s soulmate. Their first interaction had been the perfect little meet-cute really. The kind you’d see in one of those cheesy romance movies. Mattheo would know, he was there when they met. He and Theodore had been running late to class (not his fault of course) and Theo had stumbled right into the girl, knocking her books to the ground. It was disgustingly cliche in his opinion, the way the words had tumbled from their mouths, and the way they were both so stunned it was as if time had stopped. But his friend couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the girl.

Just as Theo was about to retort with some self redeeming nonsense, the little bell above the door lets out a ring, announcing the presence of yet another customer. Turning, Mattheo’s eyes snap to the door and the pretty figure entering the shop, feeling a pounding start in his chest.

“I got it,” Enzo says, turning to face the register. “You wanna take over the machine Matt?”

Wordlessly (for once), as if in a haze, Mattheo finds himself standing in front of the espresso machine, pouring out the drink like a man possessed. By the time he realizes what he’s doing, the vanilla latte is already in Theo’s hands and being passed over the counter.

It was going to be a long two weeks. Finals week and the week leading up to it had a special way of sucking the soul out of students, and you unfortunately were one of those victims.

You weren't even really much of a coffee drinker, the bitter taste always got to you and you weren't exactly in the financial position to be blowing money on a daily cup of coffee. But these late nights were not doing you any favors, and Daphne had been raving about the campus coffee shop. Her soulmate worked there, so she was a bit biased you supposed, but hey, caffeine was caffeine and you were in no position to be picky.

Of course there was the other reason you tended to be a bit weary of coffee shops in general; the curly script running along your collarbone. "Oh great, more of this espresso shit." Not exactly the most romantic words to hear from your soulmate. It's not even like you were avoiding meeting them or anything, look at Daphne, she seemed perfectly in love. You just didn't feel the need to rush it was all.

A little bell rings out above the door as you enter the shop and you’re immediately hit with the strong scent of ground coffee and the eyes of three boys turning to stare at you from behind the counter.

“I got it,” you hear one of the boys sigh as you make your way up to the counter, eyes scanning the extensive menu hanging on the wall behind them.

“Uh, can I just get a vanilla latte? Medium. With like 3 extra shots of espresso?” You ask.

“For sure,” the boy replies, punching numbers into the register idly.

You hand over some crumpled bills before wandering off to wait for your drink. As you glance around the place, your eyes fall on the handsome boy running the espresso machine. You desperately wanted to rake your fingers through those wild curls.

Freezing, you shake the thought from your head. What on earth? Before you can chastise yourself, Theo appears with your drink in hand.

“Oh, hey y/n,” He greets, placing your drink on the counter in front of you.

“Hey! Thanks a bunch,” you reply before scurrying off.

You had no idea where that thought had come from, but you decide to head back to the coffee shop the next day, and the day after that. You couldn’t place why, it just felt like a magnet kept pulling you back to that place. Maybe they were putting crack in their coffee or something. It was growing on you.

Almost a week into your daily coffee shop visits, you were beginning to grow a bit frustrated, though you couldn't exactly pin point why. Or maybe you could. It had been almost a week and you still hadn't spoken a word to the boy who had grabbed your attention that first day you had stopped in. He was particularly elusive it seemed. Not that you didn't like Theo of course, or the other boy, Lorenzo, but there was something almost captivating about Mattheo. At least you assumed that was his name after hearing Theo shout it at him on numerous occasions. He seemed funny though, if his constant bickering with Theo was anything to go by, and his warm eyes were always gleaming with mischief.

You let out a sigh as once again, you collect your drink without uttering a word to the boy. Perhaps it just wasn't meant to be.

Mattheo was actually going insane. The rather attractive stranger that he had now fully convinced himself was in fact his soulmate had been in the shop every day now for the past week. They were his soulmate. He was certain of it. Or at least he would be if he were able to get a word in edgewise. But it was always something. He was either slammed at the drink making counter, stuck in the drive-thru window, or cleaning up the spilled drink some asshole had left at their table.

And now here he was. Six in the morning and silently stewing about yet another missed opportunity from the day before while Enzo is yapping on about some finals assignment that was due tonight. Mattheo lets out a loud yawn from the register.

"Sorry am I boring you?" Enzo asks dryly, giving Mattheo a light knock on the head.

"No, no, please, keep talking, I only yawn when I'm particularly fascinated," Matt replies, trying to stifle another yawn. It escapes anyway. He wasn't trying very hard.

Thankfully, a wave of customers walks in just then, saving him from Enzo's whining. It's almost methodic the way he works his way through the line of customers, charming them, taking orders, and scribbling names on cups. He'd gotten quite good at it if he did say so himself. And he did.

"God dammit Matt! What is this even supposed to say?" Theo shouts from the espresso machine, thrusting a cup in Mattheo's direction and breaking him from his rhythm.

With a sigh, he turns, squints his eyes, and leans forward.

"It says extra espresso. Obviously."

"In what world?" Theo asks. "This clearly starts with an S."

"I don't know man, squint and read the letters you think you see and quit your complaining," Mattheo retorts.

"Unbelievable. Illiterate arse," he hears Theo mutter as he goes back to aggressively making drinks.

He decides to leave it for now, opting to just turn and greet the next customer. Instead he's met with warm eyes and a poor attempt to hide a smile.

“I’ll have a vanilla latte with as much espresso as you’re legally allowed to give me” you say, a small laugh escaping you.

"Oh great, more of this espresso shit," Mattheo groans before he even has the chance to think. "wait-" He blinks once. Then again. It's you. And you said the thing. And then he said. Shit.

"Well you do work at a coffee shop," you say with a smile, trying not to laugh too much as you watch the boy in front of you visibly malfunction.

"And that's tattooed on you. Permanently," Mattheo states, still shell shocked.

"Yes it is," you reply, still smiling.

"Hey Matt, what's the hold up?" Enzo shouts from the pass out counter.

You see Theo lean back from the espresso machine to see what all the commotion is about.

"Oh hey y/n! Usual vanilla latte, shit ton of espresso with an E?" he asks, looking pointedly at Mattheo.

"Yup! That's what they ordered. That is the drink my soulmate ordered," Mattheo blurts out rather loudly.

Theo drops the carton of milk he was holding and you flinch as it hits the floor with a splat.

"So, see you after your shift?" You ask, feeling it was probably best to move this along, especially as there was a line growing behind you.

"You can have him now, he's annoying," Theo calls out.

"No they can't, we're busy," Enzo interjects.

"I'm off at noon," Mattheo says, finally snapping out of it.

"Perfect, see you at noon then," you say with a smile before heading over to the pick-up counter where Enzo already has your drink waiting.

"Wait, don't you want my-"

"It's already on their cup," Enzo says, interrupting his friend. "Now get to it, that line isn't gonna clear itself."

"Bye y/n," Theo calls as you wave to the three of them on your way out.

It’s still a bit chilly out and the cool morning air hits you as soon as the shop door swings shut behind you, but you can’t help the warm feeling growing inside you.

You really did love coffee you think to yourself, grinning as you turn your cup to see a series of numbers scribbled on the back.

[chanelrolls]

heyy hope you’re doing fine!

I saw this hc of Xavier I wanted to know if you could write something about it? (only if you want tho no pressure)

He has a fever and calls MC to like watch out for him, give him medicine and all BUT he gets freaky and then things happens between them

Lovesick | Xavier

synopsis. xavier isn't just in a fever, he's in heat. and he wants you to take care of him.

tags. mdni, nsfw, mature content, mutual pining, tension, so much tension, yearning!xavier, t!t-pleasing, f!ngering during a phone call, etc.

wc. approximately 3.5k

the coffee machine whirred behind you, steaming with the usual early evening chaos. customers murmured by the counter, some tapping impatient fingers, others scrolling on their phones. you were halfway through wiping down a table when your phone buzzed inside your apron.

you shouldn’t have checked it. you weren’t supposed to have phones out, but something about the timing made you glance.

xavier (7:46 PM): You free?

you blinked. the message was simple. no teasing, there were no smartass remarks. simple two words, coming from xavier, and that was practically a cry for help.

you typed back quickly.

: at work. why?

there was a pause. then three dots from his chathead. then nothing.

you hesitated, peeking out at the line of customers forming by the register. your coworker was mid-order, so you ducked into the stockroom and pressed the call button.

he answered after the first ring.

"hey," he said, voice hoarse, lower than usual, softer too.

“xavier? what’s going on?” you asked, keeping your voice down.

“i think i’m dying.”

you rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “what kind of dying are we talking about here?”

“i’m... sick,” he muttered. “probably a fever. my head’s spinning. i didn’t eat anything all day.”

you leaned against the shelves, sighing. “did you take anything? medicine?”

“nope.”

“water?”

“forgot.”

“xavier.”

“i—” he paused. “didn’t want to be alone. so i called you.”

that silenced you for a moment. you could hear rustling on the other end, the faint sound of a blanket being dragged over him. you could almost picture it—xavier, curled up in bed, hair a mess, hoodie probably pulled over half his face, looking pitiful in that annoyingly charming way of his.

“i’m at work,” you said softly. “i can’t leave.”

“i know.”

“but i’ll come after.”

“...you will?”

you sighed once more, adjusting your apron. “yeah. just... stay alive until then, okay?”

“noted,” he replied, voice tired but teasing now. and just like that, he hung up.

you stared at your phone for a second longer, then stuffed it back into your apron and headed out to take the next order. but your mind was already somewhere else. or rather, with someone else.

your shift ended later than expected. the rush hour crowd had dragged on, and you'd stayed behind to help close up. by the time you made it to xavier’s apartment, your limbs were sore and your feet were screaming, but the moment you stood in front of his door, all of that faded.

you didn’t even have to knock. he'd texted you his spare keycode months ago, something about “just in case i pass out drunk or dead,” typical xavier. and for the first time, you were grateful for his melodrama.

the door creaked open. complete silence.

you stepped inside quietly, toeing off your shoes. the living room was dimly lit by the city lights bleeding in through the window blinds. his cardigan was tossed over the back of the couch, and the faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air.

you didn’t call out. he was probably asleep, and you didn’t want to wake him.

instead, you headed to the kitchen.

you knew his cabinets by heart. he always left the mug you gave him on the second shelf. the rice cooker blinked on standby. you moved automatically; washed your hands, checked the fridge, started cooking something simple.

that’s when you noticed it.

a small table nearby, and a box of tissues aloft.

and right next to it—your photo. not the one from high school graduation, or from a group hangout. no, it was a candid shot you barely remembered anyone taking. you were laughing, head turned slightly, sunlight catching your cheek. you didn’t even think you looked particularly good in it.

you froze.

for a moment, the quiet of the apartment felt heavier. like it knew something you didn’t.

why would he keep that photo? why would it be out like that, with tissues beside it? was he… crying? no, could it be...?

you were just reading into it again, like you always did.

you swallowed, turning back to the stove, but your hands moved slower now. more uncertain, more careful.

he always called you first, since the prologue of your childhood friendship. and you've had the biggest crush on him for a while, and yet his ambiguity made it difficult for you to open that up.

and that photo... maybe it was just the flu.

you nudged the bedroom door open with your elbow, careful not to spill the bowl of porridge balanced in your hands.

he was buried beneath his blanket, cocooned like a child. the tip of his hair stuck out from the edge, tousled and damp with sweat. you couldn’t even tell if he knew you were there yet. the room smelled faintly of mint and something warmer, muskier. like heat.

you set the tray on his desk and turned on your heel to grab the small bucket of warm water you’d prepared from the kitchen. a washcloth dangled from the edge. he probably needed help wiping down his face, he always got annoyingly dramatic when he was sick.

but when you walked back in, your breath caught in your throat.

he was awake.

sitting up.

and staring right at you.

his blanket was slung low around his hips, exposing the cut of his collarbones, the slight sheen of sweat across his neck, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. his eyes were glazed, feverish, but locked on you like you were something he hadn’t decided what to do with yet. hungry, almost?

you clutched the bucket tighter.

“you’re awake,” you said, suddenly very aware of the silence. “i—i made you something. porridge. you haven’t eaten, right?”

still, he said nothing. he just watched, before flickering his gaze down the floor, like he was contemplating something.

it made your skin feel tight, like his gaze was unraveling something you didn’t know how to hide. “...you okay?” you asked again, gently this time, your voice just above a whisper.

something in the way he looked at you made your chest twist. he was beautiful. even like this—flushed, messy, and sick. too beautiful for your own good. and you had no idea what was going through his head.

you dipped the washcloth into the warm water, watching steam rise gently before wringing it out with a practiced hand. the room was utterly silent, save for the quiet drip of water and the soft hum of the air conditioner.

when you turned to wipe his face, you almost froze.

xavier was propped up slightly against the headboard. the blanket was haphazardly draped over his hips, his chest rising and falling with a slow, heavy rhythm, still staring at you.

but not at your face at least.

his gaze had dipped lower, fixated somewhere near your collarbone, unmoving. lips parted, his breathing uneven.

you cleared your throat and brought the cloth to his forehead, gently wiping along his temple.

“you’re burning up,” you murmured.

he let out a breath, shaky. almost a whimper. “I know…”

you frowned at the sound he made. “xavier?”

he blinked once, sluggishly, then finally looked up at your face. “i heard you come in,” he said, voice low and distant. "knew it was you."

“mmh, didn’t know you were awake.”

he didn’t answer right away. his gaze dropped again, this time to your thighs as you sat beside the bed. “you wore that... last week.”

you blinked. “what?”

“those jeans,” he said flatly, though there was a tremble at the end. “i remember—” a second whimper slipped out, barely controlled.

that’s when you started to notice it. his jaw was clenched too tightly, fingers gripping the sheets, and flexing rhythmically. his pupils were a little too blown despite the half-lidded gaze.

and when you leaned closer, the scent of something—not just sweat—hung in the air.

your hand stopped mid-wipe. “xavier, are you… are you sure this is just a fever?”

he didn’t respond right away. he just took the time to breathe slower. then finally, with a near-broken edge in his voice: “i didn’t want to call you... but i couldn’t- couldn’t think straight.”

he sounded desperate with that strained voice of his. like his body was at war with him.

and for the first time since stepping into this apartment, you realized—this wasn’t just sickness. something else was happening to him. and you were the one he called first.

you kept your hand steady, even though your pulse had picked up. you continued wiping his cheeks, temples, and neck with slow, deliberate strokes, trying not to react. trying not to notice how his eyes traced every movement of your fingers like it hurt him to look, but worse to look away.

he was quiet now, except for the occasional unsteady breath and soft, involuntary whimpers—small, bitten-off sounds like he was trying to hold them back. it was subtle, but enough to startle you. you glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

his skin was flushed deeper now. jaw tight. his chest rose and fell faster.

still, you didn’t say anything.

you just dipped the cloth again and moved on.

until you heard him speak, barely above a whisper. “…it’s worse when you’re close.”

you froze mid-motion. “what?”

xavier’s eyes slid shut, like it took effort just to keep them open. his hand gripped the blanket tighter near his abdomen. “i didn’t want to make this your problem,” he said, voice hoarse. “i just wanted to hear you. thought maybe it’d help if i heard you.”

you didn’t respond. because your heart was hammering too loud in your chest now. and you were beginning to understand.

this was his body asking—no, begging—for relief from something else entirely. and the fact that it was you he called, of all people, said more than his trembling lips could.

still, you swallowed it down, wrapped it up in a calm voice.

“i made you some food. you should eat before it gets cold,” you said softly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. you stood up slowly, brushing off your jeans, carefully reaching for the tray on the side table. but before your fingers could curl around the handle, a firm grip closed around your wrist.

“xavier…?”

his grip wasn’t painful, but it was strong. his hand was burning hot around your skin. when you turned back to face him, his eyes were already on you, heavy-lidded and desperate.

“i said it’s worse when you’re close,” he mumbled, “but i didn’t tell you to move away.”

“xavier—”

before you could even take a breath, he tugged. you stumbled forward, catching yourself with your free hand against the mattress just beside his hip.

“wait—”

he shifted, his body rising slightly despite the clear strain on him, and in one fluid motion, he guided you down onto the bed, your back hitting the sheets with a soft thud. his palm pressed against the mattress beside your head, caging you in, while the other still held your wrist against his chest.

your heart practically stopped.

he hovered there, breathing heavily above you, eyes scanning your face like it grounded him. “…i’m sorry,” he muttered, leaning closer. “i just… i can’t pretend i don’t need you right now.”

you could feel every bit of his warmth. every bit of restraint teetering on the edge of collapse. and despite everything—your confusion, the unspoken history between you—you didn’t push him away.

his eyes flicked down, just for a second.

not at your face.

lower.

and he didn’t even try to hide it.

still hovering over you, his breath warm against your skin, he let out a shaky exhale and muttered, “you shouldn’t wear stuff like that when you’re around me…”

there was a tension in his jaw, like he was biting back more than just words. his hand that had been holding your wrist slowly loosened, fingers trailing down the length of your arm in a way that felt both deliberate and unsure.

then, his voice came again, this time, laced with a strange, monotonous rhythm. “…you smell too nice.” a pause. “it’s hard to think.”

he whimpered quietly, like it escaped him without permission. you saw his brows furrow as if frustrated with himself, his knuckles turning pale where they gripped the blanket beside you.

“damn it…” he whispered, and another shaky sound followed—half-breath, half-moan.

you wandered your eyes beyond his stare, afraid to prolong the tension in the eye-fucking you've been doing since earlier. but the presence just above you made it impossible to keep your eyes anywhere but on his.

“…say something,” he whispered, almost pleading. “before i- before i stop thinking straight.”

you watched as xavier's adam's apple bobbed with a hard swallow. you could see the internal struggle playing out behind his eyes, the war between his self-control and the primal instincts screaming at him to take you, to claim you as his own.

"xavier... i.." you couldn't even form anything coherent.

he leaned into you for a brief moment before catching himself and pulling away, shaking his head. "i need you to go. now."

despite his words, he made no move to leave, instead staying rooted in place, his eyes still drinking in every detail of your face, your body, like a man starved. you could see the outline of his hardening length straining against his sweatpants, impossible to hide in such close proximity.

"xavier..." you breathed out, your own heart beginning to race as you realized the true nature of his condition. "you're not fine. you're in... heat."

you said the words gently, almost hesitantly, not wanting to believe it yourself. but the evidence was undeniable, from the feverish look in his eyes to the prominent bulge in his pants. he was fighting it, fighting you, and he was losing control fast.

suddenly, xavier's eyes flicked down to your chest, lingering on the swell of your breasts straining against your shirt. he swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips.

"can i... can i see your chest?" he asked, his gaze still locked onto your breasts. then he looked up at you, his eyes pleading and filled with a hunger you'd never seen before.

you hesitated, knowing that giving in would be crossing a line. but the desperation in his eyes, the way his body trembled with need, made it impossible to say no. with a reluctant nod, you slowly began to unbutton your shirt, your fingers shaking slightly as you exposed more and more of your soft skin.

it wouldn't hurt to try, right?

xavier watched, his eyes following the path of each button until your shirt fell open completely. he let out a shaky exhale as he took in the sight of your lace-clad breasts, his gaze darkening with lust.

"beautiful," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "you're so beautiful."

his hands clenched at his sides, as if he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch you. after a long moment, he looked up at you, then— "can i touch them?"

you hesitated for only a second before nodding, your heart pounding in your chest. xavier didn't waste any time, reaching out to cup your breasts in his large hands. he grunted at the feeling of your soft flesh yielding beneath his touch, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples through the thin lace.

but that wasn't enough for him. so he leaned down and pressed his mouth against your tits, his lips brushing over the sensitive peak of your nipple. you gasped at the sudden contact, your back arching slightly as a jolt of pleasure raced through your body.

xavier seemed to take that as permission, his mouth opening to draw your nipple between his lips. he suckled hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he ate at your breast. his hands kneaded the soft flesh, squeezing and groping.

you could only moan in response, your fingers tangling in his hair while he worshipped your breasts. the sight of him, face buried in your chest as he suckled and licked at your nipples, was almost too much to bear. you could already feel the heat building between your legs, your core aching with a need that demanded to be filled.

xavier seemed just as affected, his hips rocking forward and grinding his hard length against your thigh. you could feel the damp spot of pre-cum soaking through his sweatpants, the evidence of his arousal impossible to hide.

when the moon called for unfortune, the shrill ring of your phone pierced the charged air, startling you both. xavier glared at the offending device, a hiss of frustration escaping his lips. you reached for it, answering the call and trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

"h-hello?" you managed to say, your voice only slightly breathless.

xavier watched you intently, his eyes dark with lust and a hint of mischief. as you tried to focus on the conversation, you felt his fingers at the waistband of your jeans. with a deft movement, he undid the button and zipper, his hand slipping inside to cup you through your panties.

you had to bite back a moan, your hips instinctively canting into his touch. "y-yeah, I'm still here," you struggled, trying to keep your voice steady as xavier's fingers began to move, rubbing your clothed slit with a growing pressure.

the person on the other end of the line seemed to sense something was off, asking if everything was alright. "i'm fine," you assured them, even as xavier's fingers pushed your panties aside, his bare digits brushing against your slick folds.

you could feel the wetness gathering at your core, your body responding eagerly to xavier's bold touches. he explored your slick heat, fingers teasing your entrance before dipping inside, just barely, a shallow thrust that made you clench around him.

"okay, i'll... i'll see you soon," you said, struggling to keep your voice even while xavier began to pump his fingers in and out of you, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub. with a muffled moan, you hung up the phone, tossing it aside carelessly.

xavier imperceptibly smirked at your reaction, "all alone now," he murmured, "and all mine." with that, he crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his fingers never ceasing their movements between your thighs. you could only moan in response, still feeling uncertain despite the overwhelming pleasure that tugged at you. but one thing was for sure, you wouldn't stop xavier until you both reached the peak of this night. you wouldn't stop him from claiming what he craves for tonight.

[nighttimealone]

NEED ghost one!🥺

The house’s out of detergent and neither Simon or you noticed until you both staring at the filled laundry basket this morning.

“Well, I suppose I’m gonna go out and buy a bottle or two now. Or else we’ll need to go all naked tomorrow if we don’t do the laundry today.” You ruffle your hair in slight frustration, you both just woke up minutes ago, planning to dump the clothes into the washing machine then slump back on the bed again for another hour of slumber.

“Not that I mind that.” Simon voice’s still a bit hoarse from sleep too, but he’s in a good mood apparently, almost make you roll your eyes at his shameless comment, but your lips form a grin when you shoot him a side glance.

“You come with me or you stay home being cheeky?”

“You know the answer.”

Simon must admit, he’s still a bit sleepy from waking in early hours on vacation, eyes half-lidded from grogginess at first.

But he’s pushing the shopping trolley behind you as you navigate through the alley in the supermarket, he doubts he has ever been this awaked before.

The cap and disposal mask conceal his gaze directly sticking on your ass. You rummaged through your closet and finally got a pair of shorts to wear before you do the laundry. It’s an old shorts you own for years, been washed for countless times before it retired due to faded color and shrinkage, tucked in the deepest part of the closet until you fished it out today.

The shrunk fabric clings snuggly to your plump cheeks, a bit too small and tightening around your upper thighs, digging into the flesh faintly and allow them to spill around the hems just right.

He can’t tear his eyes away from how your butt jiggles every time with your steps, almost bump the trolley into other customers when he sees you bend down to pick up a bottle of detergent. “Sorry.” He mutters quickly to the poor customer, fixating on how your supple cheeks bounce tantalizingly when you straighten up that he misses the skeptical look from the customer gives him.

“Got the detergent. let’s go.” You saunter back to him, reach down to set the bottles in the trolley.

A Dangerous move without you knowing, because the next moment his palm covers one of your cheeks, gives it a firm knead and makes you yelp out in surprise.

“What the hell, Simon?” your neck snaps up to meet his gaze with wide eyes, and you find his eyes, swirling with lust and wickedness inside.

“ 's your fault for keeping flaunting that perfect arse of your in front of me.” Simon quickly pushes the trolley to the self-checkout counter, unceremoniously tossing the bottles of detergent with another hand practically shoving the cash into the machine.

Having a closer look at that ass perfectly hugged by your shorts finally break his last string of restraint. He ignores your confused questions at his sudden action, swing the shopping bag over his shoulder and take your hand, striding back to the truck with you following him and try to figure out what happened.

“So this is why you’re all worked up, huh?” You’re dragged into the driver seat along with Simon, now straddling his hips, raise an eyebrow at the tent forming at his crotch.

“Hard not to stop my cock from getting hard when your arse kept jumping up and down the entire time I was walking behind you, love.”

“We’re supposed to go home now and launder those dirty clothes, you know?”

“Adding a few more dirty clothes into the basket won’t be a big issue.” His hands find their way back to your cheeks again, palming them in “And I’ve already said, I don’t mind you have to go about the day without clothes tomorrow.”

note: please feel free to request for part 2 (aka smut) if any of you wants it, thanks

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Autoenshittification

Forget F1: the only car race that matters now is the race to turn your car into a digital extraction machine, a high-speed inkjet printer on wheels, stealing your private data as it picks your pocket. Your car’s digital infrastructure is a costly, dangerous nightmare — but for automakers in pursuit of postcapitalist utopia, it’s a dream they can’t give up on.

Your car is stuffed full of microchips, a fact the world came to appreciate after the pandemic struck and auto production ground to a halt due to chip shortages. Of course, that wasn’t the whole story: when the pandemic started, the automakers panicked and canceled their chip orders, only to immediately regret that decision and place new orders.

But it was too late: semiconductor production had taken a serious body-blow, and when Big Car placed its new chip orders, it went to the back of a long, slow-moving line. It was a catastrophic bungle: microchips are so integral to car production that a car is basically a computer network on wheels that you stick your fragile human body into and pray.

The car manufacturers got so desperate for chips that they started buying up washing machines for the microchips in them, extracting the chips and discarding the washing machines like some absurdo-dystopian cyberpunk walnut-shelling machine:

https://www.autoevolution.com/news/desperate-times-companies-buy-washing-machines-just-to-rip-out-the-chips-187033.html

These digital systems are a huge problem for the car companies. They are the underlying cause of a precipitous decline in car quality. From touch-based digital door-locks to networked sensors and cameras, every digital system in your car is a source of endless repair nightmares, costly recalls and cybersecurity vulnerabilities:

https://www.reuters.com/business/autos-transportation/quality-new-vehicles-us-declining-more-tech-use-study-shows-2023-06-22/

What’s more, drivers hate all the digital bullshit, from the janky touchscreens to the shitty, wildly insecure apps. Digital systems are drivers’ most significant point of dissatisfaction with the automakers’ products:

https://www.theverge.com/23801545/car-infotainment-customer-satisifaction-survey-jd-power

Even the automakers sorta-kinda admit that this is a problem. Back in 2020 when Massachusetts was having a Right-to-Repair ballot initiative, Big Car ran these unfuckingbelievable scare ads that basically said, “Your car spies on you so comprehensively that giving anyone else access to its systems will let murderers stalk you to your home and kill you:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

But even amid all the complaining about cars getting stuck in the Internet of Shit, there’s still not much discussion of why the car-makers are making their products less attractive, less reliable, less safe, and less resilient by stuffing them full of microchips. Are car execs just the latest generation of rubes who’ve been suckered by Silicon Valley bullshit and convinced that apps are a magic path to profitability?

Nope. Car execs are sophisticated businesspeople, and they’re surfing capitalism’s latest — and last — hot trend: dismantling capitalism itself.

Now, leftists have been predicting the death of capitalism since The Communist Manifesto, but even Marx and Engels warned us not to get too frisky: capitalism, they wrote, is endlessly creative, constantly reinventing itself, re-emerging from each crisis in a new form that is perfectly adapted to the post-crisis reality:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/31/books/review/a-spectre-haunting-china-mieville.html

But capitalism has finally run out of gas. In his forthcoming book, Techno Feudalism: What Killed Capitalism, Yanis Varoufakis proposes that capitalism has died — but it wasn’t replaced by socialism. Rather, capitalism has given way to feudalism:

https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/451795/technofeudalism-by-varoufakis-yanis/9781847927279

Under capitalism, capital is the prime mover. The people who own and mobilize capital — the capitalists — organize the economy and take the lion’s share of its returns. But it wasn’t always this way: for hundreds of years, European civilization was dominated by rents, not markets.

A “rent” is income that you get from owning something that other people need to produce value. Think of renting out a house you own: not only do you get paid when someone pays you to live there, you also get the benefit of rising property values, which are the result of the work that all the other homeowners, business owners, and residents do to make the neighborhood more valuable.

The first capitalists hated rent. They wanted to replace the “passive income” that landowners got from taxing their serfs’ harvest with active income from enclosing those lands and grazing sheep in order to get wool to feed to the new textile mills. They wanted active income — and lots of it.

Capitalist philosophers railed against rent. The “free market” of Adam Smith wasn’t a market that was free from regulation — it was a market free from rents. The reason Smith railed against monopolists is because he (correctly) understood that once a monopoly emerged, it would become a chokepoint through which a rentier could cream off the profits he considered the capitalist’s due:

https://locusmag.com/2021/03/cory-doctorow-free-markets/

Today, we live in a rentier’s paradise. People don’t aspire to create value — they aspire to capture it. In Survival of the Richest, Doug Rushkoff calls this “going meta”: don’t provide a service, just figure out a way to interpose yourself between the provider and the customer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/13/collapse-porn/#collapse-porn

Don’t drive a cab, create Uber and extract value from every driver and rider. Better still: don’t found Uber, invest in Uber options and extract value from the people who invest in Uber. Even better, invest in derivatives of Uber options and extract value from people extracting value from people investing in Uber, who extract value from drivers and riders. Go meta.

This is your brain on the four-hour-work-week, passive income mind-virus. In Techno Feudalism, Varoufakis deftly describes how the new “Cloud Capital” has created a new generation of rentiers, and how they have become the richest, most powerful people in human history.

Shopping at Amazon is like visiting a bustling city center full of stores — but each of those stores’ owners has to pay the majority of every sale to a feudal landlord, Emperor Jeff Bezos, who also decides which goods they can sell and where they must appear on the shelves. Amazon is full of capitalists, but it is not a capitalist enterprise. It’s a feudal one:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is the reason that automakers are willing to enshittify their products so comprehensively: they were one of the first industries to decouple rents from profits. Recall that the reason that Big Car needed billions in bailouts in 2008 is that they’d reinvented themselves as loan-sharks who incidentally made cars, lending money to car-buyers and then “securitizing” the loans so they could be traded in the capital markets.

Even though this strategy brought the car companies to the brink of ruin, it paid off in the long run. The car makers got billions in public money, paid their execs massive bonuses, gave billions to shareholders in buybacks and dividends, smashed their unions, fucked their pensioned workers, and shipped jobs anywhere they could pollute and murder their workforce with impunity.

Car companies are on the forefront of postcapitalism, and they understand that digital is the key to rent-extraction. Remember when BMW announced that it was going to rent you the seatwarmer in your own fucking car?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/02/big-river/#beemers

Not to be outdone, Mercedes announced that they were going to rent you your car’s accelerator pedal, charging an extra $1200/year to unlock a fully functional acceleration curve:

https://www.theverge.com/2022/11/23/23474969/mercedes-car-subscription-faster-acceleration-feature-price

This is the urinary tract infection business model: without digitization, all your car’s value flowed in a healthy stream. But once the car-makers add semiconductors, each one of those features comes out in a painful, burning dribble, with every button on that fakakta touchscreen wired directly into your credit-card.

But it’s just for starters. Computers are malleable. The only computer we know how to make is the Turing Complete Von Neumann Machine, which can run every program we know how to write. Once they add networked computers to your car, the Car Lords can endlessly twiddle the knobs on the back end, finding new ways to extract value from you:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

That means that your car can track your every movement, and sell your location data to anyone and everyone, from marketers to bounty-hunters looking to collect fees for tracking down people who travel out of state for abortions to cops to foreign spies:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/n7enex/tool-shows-if-car-selling-data-privacy4cars-vehicle-privacy-report

Digitization supercharges financialization. It lets car-makers offer subprime auto-loans to desperate, poor people and then killswitch their cars if they miss a payment:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4U2eDJnwz_s

Subprime lending for cars would be a terrible business without computers, but digitization makes it a great source of feudal rents. Car dealers can originate loans to people with teaser rates that quickly blow up into payments the dealer knows their customer can’t afford. Then they repo the car and sell it to another desperate person, and another, and another:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/27/boricua/#looking-for-the-joke-with-a-microscope

Digitization also opens up more exotic options. Some subprime cars have secondary control systems wired into their entertainment system: miss a payment and your car radio flips to full volume and bellows an unstoppable, unmutable stream of threats. Tesla does one better: your car will lock and immobilize itself, then blare its horn and back out of its parking spot when the repo man arrives:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

Digital feudalism hasn’t stopped innovating — it’s just stopped innovating good things. The digital device is an endless source of sadistic novelties, like the cellphones that disable your most-used app the first day you’re late on a payment, then work their way down the other apps you rely on for every day you’re late:

https://restofworld.org/2021/loans-that-hijack-your-phone-are-coming-to-india/

Usurers have always relied on this kind of imaginative intimidation. The loan-shark’s arm-breaker knows you’re never going to get off the hook; his goal is in intimidating you into paying his boss first, liquidating your house and your kid’s college fund and your wedding ring before you default and he throws you off a building.

Thanks to the malleability of computerized systems, digital arm-breakers have an endless array of options they can deploy to motivate you into paying them first, no matter what it costs you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Car-makers are trailblazers in imaginative rent-extraction. Take VIN-locking: this is the practice of adding cheap microchips to engine components that communicate with the car’s overall network. After a new part is installed in your car, your car’s computer does a complex cryptographic handshake with the part that requires an unlock code provided by an authorized technician. If the code isn’t entered, the car refuses to use that part.

VIN-locking has exploded in popularity. It’s in your iPhone, preventing you from using refurb or third-party replacement parts:

https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13

It’s in fuckin’ ventilators, which was a nightmare during lockdown as hospital techs nursed their precious ventilators along by swapping parts from dead systems into serviceable ones:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/3azv9b/why-repair-techs-are-hacking-ventilators-with-diy-dongles-from-poland

And of course, it’s in tractors, along with other forms of remote killswitch. Remember that feelgood story about John Deere bricking the looted Ukrainian tractors whose snitch-chips showed they’d been relocated to Russia?

https://doctorow.medium.com/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors-bc93f471b9c8

That wasn’t a happy story — it was a cautionary tale. After all, John Deere now controls the majority of the world’s agricultural future, and they’ve boobytrapped those ubiquitous tractors with killswitches that can be activated by anyone who hacks, takes over, or suborns Deere or its dealerships.

Control over repair isn’t limited to gouging customers on parts and service. When a company gets to decide whether your device can be fixed, it can fuck you over in all kinds of ways. Back in 2019, Tim Apple told his shareholders to expect lower revenues because people were opting to fix their phones rather than replace them:

https://www.apple.com/newsroom/2019/01/letter-from-tim-cook-to-apple-investors/

By usurping your right to decide who fixes your phone, Apple gets to decide whether you can fix it, or whether you must replace it. Problem solved — and not just for Apple, but for car makers, tractor makers, ventilator makers and more. Apple leads on this, even ahead of Big Car, pioneering a “recycling” program that sees trade-in phones shredded so they can’t possibly be diverted from an e-waste dump and mined for parts:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/yp73jw/apple-recycling-iphones-macbooks

John Deere isn’t sleeping on this. They’ve come up with a valuable treasure they extract when they win the Right-to-Repair: Deere singles out farmers who complain about its policies and refuses to repair their tractors, stranding them with six-figure, two-ton paperweight:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

The repair wars are just a skirmish in a vast, invisible fight that’s been waged for decades: the War On General-Purpose Computing, where tech companies use the law to make it illegal for you to reconfigure your devices so they serve you, rather than their shareholders:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/01/10/lockdown-the-coming-war-on-general-purpose-computing/

The force behind this army is vast and grows larger every day. General purpose computers are antithetical to technofeudalism — all the rents extracted by technofeudalists would go away if others (tinkereres, co-ops, even capitalists!) were allowed to reconfigure our devices so they serve us.

You’ve probably noticed the skirmishes with inkjet printer makers, who can only force you to buy their ink at 20,000% markups if they can stop you from deciding how your printer is configured:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/inky-wretches/#epson-salty But we’re also fighting against insulin pump makers, who want to turn people with diabetes into walking inkjet printers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/10/loopers/#hp-ification

And companies that make powered wheelchairs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/08/chair-ish/#r2r

These companies start with people who have the least agency and social power and wreck their lives, then work their way up the privilege gradient, coming for everyone else. It’s called the “shitty technology adoption curve”:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

Technofeudalism is the public-private-partnership from hell, emerging from a combination of state and private action. On the one hand, bailing out bankers and big business (rather than workers) after the 2008 crash and the covid lockdown decoupled income from profits. Companies spent billions more than they earned were still wildly profitable, thanks to those public funds.

But there’s also a policy dimension here. Some of those rentiers’ billions were mobilized to both deconstruct antitrust law (allowing bigger and bigger companies and cartels) and to expand “IP” law, turning “IP” into a toolsuite for controlling the conduct of a firm’s competitors, critics and customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

IP is key to understanding the rise of technofeudalism. The same malleability that allows companies to “twiddle” the knobs on their services and keep us on the hook as they reel us in would hypothetically allow us to countertwiddle, seizing the means of computation:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

The thing that stands between you and an alternative app store, an interoperable social media network that you can escape to while continuing to message the friends you left behind, or a car that anyone can fix or unlock features for is IP, not technology. Under capitalism, that technology would already exist, because capitalists have no loyalty to one another and view each other’s margins as their own opportunities.

But under technofeudalism, control comes from rents (owning things), not profits (selling things). The capitalist who wants to participate in your iPhone’s “ecosystem” has to make apps and submit them to Apple, along with 30% of their lifetime revenues — they don’t get to sell you jailbreaking kit that lets you choose their app store.

Rent-seeking technology has a holy grail: control over “ring zero” — the ability to compel you to configure your computer to a feudalist’s specifications, and to verify that you haven’t altered your computer after it came into your possession:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/30/ring-minus-one/#drm-political-economy

For more than two decades, various would-be feudal lords and their court sorcerers have been pitching ways of doing this, of varying degrees of outlandishness.

At core, here’s what they envision: inside your computer, they will nest another computer, one that is designed to run a very simple set of programs, none of which can be altered once it leaves the factory. This computer — either a whole separate chip called a “Trusted Platform Module” or a region of your main processor called a secure enclave — can tally observations about your computer: which operating system, modules and programs it’s running.

Then it can cryptographically “sign” these observations, proving that they were made by a secure chip and not by something you could have modified. Then you can send this signed “attestation” to someone else, who can use it to determine how your computer is configured and thus whether to trust it. This is called “remote attestation.”

There are some cool things you can do with remote attestation: for example, two strangers playing a networked video game together can use attestations to make sure neither is running any cheat modules. Or you could require your cloud computing provider to use attestations that they aren’t stealing your data from the server you’re renting. Or if you suspect that your computer has been infected with malware, you can connect to someone else and send them an attestation that they can use to figure out whether you should trust it.

Today, there’s a cool remote attestation technology called “PrivacyPass” that replaces CAPTCHAs by having you prove to your own device that you are a human. When a server wants to make sure you’re a person, it sends a random number to your device, which signs that number along with its promise that it is acting on behalf of a human being, and sends it back. CAPTCHAs are all kinds of bad — bad for accessibility and privacy — and this is really great.

But the billions that have been thrown at remote attestation over the decades is only incidentally about solving CAPTCHAs or verifying your cloud server. The holy grail here is being able to make sure that you’re not running an ad-blocker. It’s being able to remotely verify that you haven’t disabled the bossware your employer requires. It’s the power to block someone from opening an Office365 doc with LibreOffice. It’s your boss’s ability to ensure that you haven’t modified your messaging client to disable disappearing messages before he sends you an auto-destructing memo ordering you to break the law.

And there’s a new remote attestation technology making the rounds: Google’s Web Environment Integrity, which will leverage Google’s dominance over browsers to allow websites to block users who run ad-blockers:

https://github.com/RupertBenWiser/Web-Environment-Integrity

There’s plenty else WEI can do (it would make detecting ad-fraud much easier), but for every legitimate use, there are a hundred ways this could be abused. It’s a technology purpose-built to allow rent extraction by stripping us of our right to technological self-determination.

Releasing a technology like this into a world where companies are willing to make their products less reliable, less attractive, less safe and less resilient in pursuit of rents is incredibly reckless and shortsighted. You want unauthorized bread? This is how you get Unauthorized Bread:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/amp/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

[Image ID: The interior of a luxury car. There is a dagger protruding from the steering wheel. The entertainment console has been replaced by the text 'You wouldn't download a car,' in MPAA scare-ad font. Outside of the windscreen looms the Matrix waterfall effect. Visible in the rear- and side-view mirror is the driver: the figure from Munch's 'Scream.' The screen behind the steering-wheel has been replaced by the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.']

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[rogersideup]

I'd like to drop a prompt:

The avengers have a night off in Las Vegas after a mission. Thor makes sure Cap has his fair share of Asgardian liquor so Steve ends up drunk and wanders off alone. He meets our dear reader who just got dumped by her friend group and is equally drunk. They hit it off and decide to get married. The next morning both of them are confused but decide to make it work as memories of the night before come back to them. (Surprise surprise dear reader is from New York too)

‧₊˚✧⚁⁠♧777♤⚄✧˚₊‧

Steve Rogers X Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Steve gets himself into some trouble while having a night off in the city of sin.

Word Count: 4,717

Warning: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

"Miss?"

Flashing lights separated and splayed through the drying tears in your watery eyes, music and ringing from hundreds of slot machines overstimulated your senses as you simultaneously pulled your dress up and down in different places.

"Excuse me miss? Can I get you something to drink?"

Coming back to your senses, you turned around to face the bartender. "Yeah, uh..." really, you tried your hardest to think of something, literally anything to help move along the buzz you were already riding but no proper words made it to your brain. "Sorry. I'm not sure what I want. Can you just make it strong and fruity?"

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed, already grabbing bottles off the shelf.

Watching him masterfully work helped you zone out and relieved all of your overwhelmed senses. Pouring, shaking, more pouring, a garnish, then a fruity elixir of a bunch of liquids you most definitely could not pronounce was placed right in front of you atop a cocktail napkin. Not a single drop was spilled, even the ice was perfect.

Reaching into your purse, you handed the bartender your card and shouted to try and compete with the volume of drunken gamblers and rolling dice. "You can close the tab."

"Don't worry about it. This one's on the house, you look like you need it." He kindly denied your form of payment.

You chuckled to yourself. "That bad, huh?"

"No, but I know a sad chick when I see one." He noted. "Happens pretty often in Vegas."

"Well, thank you, I appreciate it." You raised the glass. "Cheers to you and all the bartenders making the world go round."

"Amen to that" He smiled before walking off to serve yet another drunken customer.

You sat at the bar on a little leather stool fully contemplating how you ended up in this situation as you looked out into the hotel casino and nursed your drink. It didn't take long for you to realize that the Vegas bartenders didn't take the word strong as a joke. Because every sip stung your throat and swirled your thoughts around in slow motion.

The speed at which your thoughts came at you didn't help the fact that every single one of them revolved around nothing but yourself.

What were you going to do now? Where should you go from here?

Drinking wasn't the answer, but not drinking wasn't the solution. Finding shelter in the Caesars Palace hotel was a good enough temporary fix to your problems, so you ignored that you were on the complete opposite side of the Las Vegas strip that you actually needed to be on.

However, getting to your hotel on the complete opposite side was the problem. Your shitty friends completely ditched you, or maybe you ditched them. The details were all so unclear, but the fact was they were all making stupid choices and you couldn't stand to stick around long enough to see the end results of them.

But now you were all done up in high heels and a small little dress in a city you had never been in before, notorious for sex, drugs and alcohol. Luckily, pepper spray in your purse and a back pocket full of self defense techniques that have been drilled into your head ever since you were a little girl were amongst some of the better choices you made tonight.

Then came along all of the dumber choices you would make tonight in the form of yet another fruity drink, and a tall, blonde man looking painfully confused at the roulette table right in front of you.

He was tall and broad, even more handsome than the massive statues of Roman men all around the hotel. But much like the statues around you, he looked like he was carved from marble. The muscles you could see sculpted through his suit jacket could've only been a result of a piece of fine art.

It was easy to pick up his wholesome sweetness behind his big blue eyes, that also did a lot to tell you how drunk the man was. He towered over the table and watched a few rounds, trying his hardest to understand what was happening. Much like him, you watched the ball spin round and round before landing in a slot.

Some of the players would moan and groan at their fate, while others would cheer happily and exchange loud laughter and high-fives.

Mesmerized by the game, you missed the glances the blonde man snuck of you. He really couldn't help it though. His friends had left him all alone while his capacity to make good decisions was at an all time low, and you were just so pretty and maybe a bit sad.

Another round was about to start, so the dealer started taking bets. Everyone around the table started placing their chips on a color and number, and the blonde was still confused.

He looked around again before his eyes met yours, and a stupid invasive smile smeared across your lips. When he noticed your friendly demeanor, he took a few stumbles over to you.

"Do you have any idea how to play this?" The man asked you.

Now you could smell the expensive yet deliciously pleasant cologne he was wearing, and you could take in all the details of his black suit.

Giggling at his cluelessness, you swallowed down the sip of cocktail in your mouth. "I do. Would you like some help?"

"I'm assuming you have to guess if the ball lands on red or black?" He asked as his lopsided smile and squinted eyes told you everything you needed to know about his sobriety... or lack there of.

"That's exactly it, good job." You nodded. "But you can also guess the number, or a group of numbers it'll land on. The payout at the end is based on how accurate your bet is."

"So what should I bet?" He asked you, having already built a strong sense of trust for you in the few minutes he had been observing.

"Oh no, that's not up to me." You shook your head before taking another sip of your drink. "You gotta trust your own gut."

The man's eyes darted around the table once more before his arms motioned to it. "But look around! All of these men have pretty girls telling them what to do, and that's why they're all winning money. You guys are so much smarter than us, and I'm alone so I need you to tell me. Red or black."

Usually, a statement like that from a man like him would have you rolling your eyes and cutting the conversation short. However, either your gut or the alcohol was telling you that he wasn't an asshole.

For some reason, you felt calm and comfortable in his presence all while being unable to wipe the dumb smile off your face. Something about his hair that was once perfectly styled now being a little jostled, and the twinge of pink in his cheeks made him seem so distantly familiar.

"Well thank you for that backhanded compliment." You laughed. "I think you should bet red."

He nodded, trusting your opinion far more than he trusted himself. "Should I place a more specific bet too?"

You thought for a moment, but you were in Vegas so... fuck it. "Yeah. Give me your chip"

The man happily placed the roulette chip into your hand, you stood up in one big sweep and started walking away from the bar. "Woah, don't leave your drink!"

Pleasantly surprised that he had your best interest in mind, you mumbled out a statement of gratitude as he handed the glass to you too. Approaching the table, looked at it for a few moments and tried your hardest to contemplate the best number to place a bet on, but once again no rational thoughts occupied the empty spaces of your brain.

So, you threw the chip on your favorite number, lucky 25.

"There ya go!" You used your free hand to pat the man's shoulder. "Good luck, Blondie."

"What happens if I win?" He asked you, smiling as you let your hand linger. Even with your highest heels on, you were nowhere near as tall as him.

"Then it's your lucky day, and you'll get a shit ton of money." You giggled at his question.

"And if I lose?"

"Then you're unlucky and you're about to lose some money." You snorted.

"That's not going to happen, you're my good luck charm." He declared.

"I don't think anything about my night tonight is radiating lucky energy, so I doubt that."

"What? No way! I feel like I've been the luckiest guy in the whole world today, so maybe I'm your good luck charm."

"I guess we will let the roulette wheel speak the truth of the universe tonight." You shrugged.

"Should we place our own bets on the bet?" The man asked.

"Like what?" You questioned, hoping this wasn't the moment the sweet stranger turned weird and pervy.

"I think if I lose I should probably call it a night and go back to my room because this is the drunkest I've been in probably 80 years." He stated. However, his words flew over your head figuring his drunken words were exaggerated, and you found yourself to be a little sad that your time with the stranger would be cut short so soon.

"I think if you win, you should stay out for a little while and have another drink with me." You smiled, going way out of your own comfort zone.

If you were sober, or maybe even drunk in a bar anywhere other than Las Vegas, you would've been caught dead before being caught to be so bold. But he was pulling you in faster than you've ever felt, and something about him felt so natural and warm.

"Deal." He agreed.

"Look, they're about to spin the wheel." You pointed at the table.

The dealer spun the wheel, and the ball was moving so fast that you could barely even follow it. Even as it slowed down and started to tease each individual slot, the motion of following the sphere going round and round was quite honestly making you a bit dizzy, so you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation.

"No way." The blonde stated. "No fucking way!"

His arm wrapped around you from behind and his big warm hands very gently shook the tops of your arms. "Look! It's on red! I can't see the number, but it's on red!"

You giggled and tried your best to keep your balance as he shook you around. When you opened your eyes you could see that the drink in your hand was sloshing around and spilling over onto the impeccably maintained carpet beneath your feet. But the loss of some of your drink was a small price to pay when the dealer picked the ball up out of the wheel and announced "25 Red!"

Simultaneously, you and Blondie let out little screeches in surprise and joy when you realized you had actually placed a winning bet. In all your years on this planet, nothing like this had ever happened to you. You never even won $5 on a penny slot, let alone a fat wad of cash that was being placed into the man's hands.

After the cheering celebration and laughter died down, he turned to you. "See! I knew you were lucky!"

"You trusted your intuition, and you won!" You noted with a smile so big and long lasting it was starting to make your cheeks sore. "Good job."

"Here! This is yours." He placed the wad of cash in your hands.

"What? No. You bet your own money, it's yours." Not being able to accept it, especially when you saw it was all $100 bills.

"No it's yours! You placed the winning bet, you knew the magic number so I want you to have it." He explained kindly. "You said nothing about your night was lucky, so consider this your sign from the universe."

"I can't just accept all of this money from a complete stranger." You denied once more. "You're very sweet, I would feel so guilty taking this from you."

"Fine, if you can't accept the money for yourself, how about we go spend it together?" He offered. "I owe you another drink anyways, then after that the Las Vegas strip is our oyster!"

"That's a little better" You agreed with a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't even get your name."

"O-oh!" The man seemed to be taken back by that statement for a second. A look of momentary confusion furrowed his eyebrows before a happy smile returned to his kind face. "Sorry, I'm Steve!"

You made a small mental note of his initial shock that you asked for his name, but your drunken brain didn't hold onto that for very long.

"Alright Steve, here's the plan." You rocked up on your tippy toes and kept yourself braced with a steady hand on his solid shoulder so he could hear you better in the loud and chaotic environment. "Half my drink just ended up on the floor when you won, so I'm going to order another one. Then after that, I somehow need to end the night at my hotel on the complete opposite end of the strip without getting taken or murdered. So if we can somehow make it from here to there while blowing through that money you just won, then I'd be more than happy to help you spend it."

Steve's eyes went wide in concern at your statement. "Where are you staying?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "My gut is telling me not to tell a strange man where I'm staying."

"Smart girl, but I'm not letting you walk down the strip alone at night. The people here are crazy." He challenged. "No funny business. Pinky promise."

Steve raised his pinky for you with a genuine look of promise and concern on his face. "Do people often trust you to get them to safety?"

His cheeks turned pinker, and he let out an adorable giggle. "Yeah, I think most people find me to be very trustworthy."

"No funny business." You lifted your hand and wrapped your pinky around his with a quick handshake. "I'm staying at New York, New York."

"Oh wow, we have a long way to go with lots of chances to blow through that stack." He smiled. "What are you drinking? I'll order you another one."

"Honestly, I have no idea." You admitted, smile coming back to your face.

"Okay great! That helps me a lot" The blonde laughed.

"Excuse me" You politely flagged down the bartender. The same one from earlier coming back, you showed him your glass. "Can I get another one of these please? And whatever he wants?"

You looked to Steve who looked between you and the bartender. "Just two waters please."

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed.

"What? You're not going to have a drink?" You questioned.

He pulled a copper flask out of the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. "I'll drink more, but this is stronger."

"Oh, nothing here is strong enough for you?" You raised a brow, your smile growing just as lopsided as his.

"Nope. This stuff is special, it comes straight from another realm."

Laughing at his joke, as you handed the bartender cash straight from the wad Steve gave you. "That's funny, because I hope this is strong enough to make me feel like I'm no longer in this realm, so cheers to that!"

You and Steve sat at that bar for a solid two hours as conversation topics flew at the two of you unexpectedly fast. Each one new topic was short lived as an enthusiastic response would happily slip off one of your tongues, so excited that the two of you had so much in common.

Then, Steve decided to start the shopping spree. He offered you a hand to help you off the stool, which quickly turned into a protective arm around you, or ushering you the entirety of your time together. He knew that the men on the Vegas strip were pigs, but he underestimated how bad it really was.

But the cat calls, whistles, and lingering eyes were drowned out by the city sounds and the big flashing marquee lights that littered the sides of every building you passed. It was just as mesmerizing as the night before, skipping down the streets in a drunken haze with your best friends.

Now you were mesmerized by not only sin city, but the mysterious man you were following around as if you'd known him your whole life.

With a sense of childlike wonder the two of you ended up in silly places like the M&M's store, and the Coca-Cola store, but you also ventured into more classy designer establishments where you convinced him to buy a lovely new belt at Louis Vuitton.

It looked good, he looked good. You had to work really hard to contain the drool in your mouth as you watched him take off his old belt to replace it with the new one.

He tried to buy you a new bag, but once again you were being stubborn and were having a hard time accepting such a generous offer.

So, you suggested another drink. Just one more.

More sitting and chatting with Steve, you swallowed down the liquid in your cup while he shot the rest of the liquid in his flask.

That last drink was the worst of your poor decision making that night, or so you thought.

Because the last memory you had was sitting at that bar and really admiring him.

The alcohol had turned his cheeks and the tip of his nose a rosy pink color that somehow made his blue eyes shine even brighter, and add to the wholesome energy you felt radiating from him.

Sweet, silly, carefree, handsome, safe.

Then, you woke up.

Slowly at first. Your eyes opened and the dull pounding at the back of your skull wasn't nearly at bad as you deserved. The air conditioning did wonders keeping you comfortable, the light peaked through the black out curtains, and your belongings scattered across the room confirmed that you were definitely in the right place.

You looked around more. M&m's bag, Louis Vuitton bag... Converse bag? You didn't remember buying shoes. Wait... how did you get here?

Only then did you wake up FAST. You sat up, and your heart pounded as you realized that Blondie was in your bed. The sudden movement made your head pound even harder, but the good news was that he was fully clothed and was sleeping above the covers.

You were also asleep and fully clothed, but both of you were in different clothes than you had on last night. That's probably what those shopping bags in the corner were...

Carefully rolling out of bed to try and make yourself somewhat presentable and aid along trying to process what happened last night, you walked into the bathroom.

Wash your face, brush your teeth, fix your hair.

By the time you came out, Blondie was sitting up in bed with his legs on the floor, shooting you an apologetic look. He was apprehensive, scared to gauge how sick and unenthusiastic you would be by his presence this morning.

"Good morning." He said quietly, voice deep and raspy from inhaling the dry air and residual cigarette smoke.

"Morning." You tried to be polite, clutching the side of your head. "What happened? How did we- how did any of this-"

"Nothing happened." Steve reassured you. "I would never take advantage-"

"Okay, okay." You nodded slowly, feeling slightly relieved. "Advil. I have Advil."

Waking over to the table in the hotel room, you grabbed the bottle of painkillers and a water. You opened both and popped two little pills in your mouth, washing them down with water.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember much either. It's been a really long time since I've gotten drunk. This is really out of the ordinary for me." He explained.

"I guess we're on the same boat then." You agreed with him before a couple pieces of paper catch your eye.

"I guess I should probably go?" Steve stated, but it was more of a question. This was the first time he ever found himself waking up next to a stranger.

"No, you stay right there." You insisted frantically, picking up the piece of paper.

Certificate of marriage.

Your name signed at the bottom next to another signature that read Steven G Rogers.

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

You studied the signature, looked at his face, looked at the signature, then his face again.

In the table, there was a picture of the two of you kissing. Him in his suit, you in the dress you wore last night but also a veil.

"Oh my god" You exclaimed, so much information to process.

"What?" Steve questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Oh my god!" You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath.

"What happened?"

"You didn't tell me..." You puffed out a breath, then an unexpected giggle left your throat. Of course, this would happen to you the one time in your life you didn't behave like a perfect angel. "Captain America?"

"Oh... Guilty?" Steve's shoulders sunk. "I introduced myself, no?"

"As Steve." You exaggerated.

"Yeah, I'm Steve." He agreed.

"Well, at least I was safe." Finding the benefit of the doubt. "Do you remember getting married last night, Steve?"

You passed the paper and the picture to him, and his face contorted into an expression you couldn't quite read. "...wow."

"Wow?" You questioned. "I unknowingly married Captain America last night and all you have for me is wow?"

"Holy shit." Steve looked up at you.

"That's better." You nodded.

"You don't look panicked" Steve noted.

"I'm not panicked because at least you're a superhero." You explained. "That counts for something right? Like people won't think I'm totally inane for marrying a stranger when they find out it's Captain America? And like... a superhero means you have people who come and clean up after you right? Someone can fix this right?"

You watched the gears turn in his head. "... I have to call Tony."

Tony. Who's Tony? Think. Superhero, avengers, Steve, Captain America. Tony... IRON MAN.

"Stark?" Your eyebrows raised. Steve nodded, pulling out his phone. "Now I'm freaking out. I'm really freaking out."

"It's okay, give me a second." Steve said calmly.

You nodded, the remembered you should check your phone too. As he spoke quietly to Tony, you looked around for your phone before finding it on the night stand, flooded with dozens of missed calls and texts from friends wondering where you were. You quickly sent off a text in a group chat saying you'd explain later, and that you were okay.

Eventually Steve ended the call. "He said he'll be here in a minute or two."

"Oh, okay great." You said exaggerating your nonchalance. "No biggie. Iron man coming over to read my marriage certificate to Captain America."

Steve giggled at the ridiculousness of the situation. "My mother would be over the moon to find out I'm married."

"My mom might have me 6 feet in a grave if she ever finds out about this." You sat back down on the bed next to him.

"When do you leave Vegas?" Steve questioned.

"My flight is at nine tonight. What about you?"

"Flying home at six thirty." He informed you. "Where do you live?"

"New York" You said simply. "Queens."

"We both live in New York and we’re staying in a New York themed hotel? What a small world." Steve noted. "Maybe we don't have to fit in a divorce before this evening."

"I mean... you are very handsome so I definitely wouldn't mind staying married to you for a few days until we get this figured out." You grinned.

A small blush stippled his cheeks at your compliment. “You’re so pretty I would’ve never had the courage to talk to you if I wasn’t drunk.”

Just like him, you blushed at his admission, and giggled at his words. “This doesn’t feel like real life.”

“Maybe I should’ve gotten you a ring instead of whatever the hell we bought last night.” Steve thought.

You looked down at your left hand, and sure enough, there was a pretty ring on your finger. You lifted it up to show him. “Looks like you were two steps ahead of yourself”

“Oh, good.” He chuckled. “At least there’s that.”

Then, there was a knock at the door.

You looked at Steve with wide eyes and nervousness building up in your tummy at the thought of being in the same room with one third of the Avengers.

“I’ll get it” He reassured you, standing up to answer the door.

Before you knew it, Tony Stark confidently barreled into the room. Firing some teasing words at Steve, you knew the poor guy would never hear the end of it.

“Oh look, here she is!” Tony announced.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Stark.” You shook his hand.

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine Mrs. Rogers.” He smiled.

“Tony” Steve warned with a glare.

“Where’s the paper work?” Tony asked.

You quickly handed him the picture and the signed document that was on the table. Steve stood right next to you as you both watched him read over it, and evaluate the legitimacy.

Tony took out his phone snapped a few pictures, and made a weird face. Nervously, you his your face in Steve’s arm and he instinctively rubbed your back to comfort you.

Then, Tony started laughing. “Rogers you’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware, but what’s so funny?” Steve complained.

“It’s fake.” Tony said.

“What?” Your head popped up.

“Little white chapel, married by Elvis just for the gag type of thing. There’s no marriage license, it’s not a legal marriage.” He explained, handing you the papers back.

Both you and Steve let out a huge sigh of relief. “Maybe I’m not that much of an idiot after all.”

“No, you’re still stupid.” Tony denied. “Out of all the people in the world I would’ve never expected this from you, Cap.”

“This is Thor’s fault.” Steve pointed his finger.

You didn’t understand how the god of thunder had anything to do with this, but you had no mental capacity left to even ask.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. Just be on time for the flight home and stay out of trouble.” Tony told him. “Hope to see you around again soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

And just like that, he was out faster than he came in.

“I know Tony made it seem like everything is okay, but it’s not and I have a giant mess to clean up with the team.” Steve explained to you.

“Yeah, I’d assume so.” You smiled.

“Which means I really should go.” He let you down. “But regardless of this fiasco, and from what I do remember, I had a lot of fun with you last night. Would you want to exchange phone numbers and maybe hang out again when we get home?”

“I would love that, Steve.” You agreed.

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours. Both putting in your phone numbers and names before swapping them back.

At the same time, you both burst out laughing at the contact names.

Unplanned, he put his name as Husband, and you put yours as Wife.

“Ridiculous!” You laughed, walking him to the door.

“Maybe we really were meant to be.” Steve pondered.

“Maybe.” You agreed. “But in all seriousness, thank you for getting me home safe last night. I was really lucky to run into the right person at the right time.”

“Of course.” Steve grinned. “Travel safe, and let me know when you get home so we can set something up.”

“You got it.” Rocking up on your tippy toes, you kissed his cheek. “Have fun cleaning up that mess, Husband.”

“Don’t tell your Mom about this, Wife.”

You locked your lips and threw away the key. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

‎‧₊˚✧⚀♡⚁⁠♧⚂♤⚄♢⚅✧˚₊‧‎‧₊˚✧⚀♡⚁⁠♧⚂♤⚄♢⚅✧˚₊‧

[revelboo]

Gah, the swindle fic was so, so good!!! I feel so bad for saying it, but I was talkin’ about Swerve, the lil dork that runs the bar in Lost Light!!! I’m so sorry!!! 😭

This little bozo!!! :)

Yes, you were xD I was working on the next Scavengers when I saw it and my brain just went: Swindle. Ignore me, it’s cold and I’m struggling. 18+ 🌶️

Lose Control

IDW Swerve x Reader

• Placing a clean glass back where it goes, Swerve surveys his kingdom. Aside from Trailbreaker sprawled across the bar top making a low rumbling sound as he recharges, the bar is empty and quiet. It’s something he never thought he’d have, a space to call his own. Where he’s in charge and listened to. “Third last call, big guy,” he says, reaching out to nudge Trailbreaker with a servo. “You know you can’t keep sleeping in here.” Mostly because when he wakes up, he’ll start drinking again and he can’t open if Breaker drinks all the inventory. Again.

• “Seriously? Don’t make me drag you,” he groans, knowing it’s an empty threat. Trailbreaker is as big as two of him and then some. There’s no budging him short of going and asking Magnus for help. And listening to the complaints about his bar and Magnus’s love language- rule violations. No, he’d rather take his chances with one very over energized mech. Which means babysitting all night to protect the bar. Frag.

• After kicking Trailbreaker’s stool again, he wanders around the bar. Bored and tired. “I don’t care if you’re my best customer,” he mutters, dragging a table slightly away from a wall. And there’s a sharp cry and a tiny shape darting from the shadows. Somehow that manages to wake up Breaker. Everything seems to slow as he sees the small form running alongside the bottom of the bar, sees Breaker shift and slide out of his stool, a ped coming down. And he’s running, diving with his hands outstretched. Feels that soft body hit his palms as Breaker steps on him instead and comes down on him.

• Flung off balance, you roll end over end and go sliding. Realizing that the big monster had almost stepped on you without even noticing and the smaller one had pushed you out of the way to take the brunt of the impact himself. Your confused brain is screaming at you to run, but as your rescuer groans, you can’t. “What happened?” The bigger one complains as the red one hits him, flailing to get free.

• “You’re crushing me,” Swerve snarls, venting raggedly as he gets loose, head turning to find the human still there, eyes wide as you stare up at him. Tensed to bolt, but waiting instead. “Hey, tiny.” Wiggling his fingers at you only makes you back up a step, expression uncertain. “I wouldn’t run. I at least see you,” he tries, as Trailbreaker gets to his feet and staggers away, gawking. Of course he’d heard the rumors of Brainstorm’s screwup, but the machine was destroyed. Right? And you glance from him to Breaker and back, and take a tentative step forward. A human that shouldn’t be here, doesn’t belong. Too small to survive, and he gets being smaller than every other bot except maybe Tailgate. He’s short, but you can be stepped on. “Little things need to stick together.”

Next

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ big gym energy (is this my fantasy?) | fushiguro toji

wc: 2.0k

summary: who would have thought the rippest DILF in all of Japan would get you to go to the gym everyday?

contains: gn!reader, non-curse au, college au, appearance of itafushikugi (mostly nobara), reader has a huge and lowkey delusional crush on toji, age gap

a/n: the gym toji fic! tone in this is a bit different from what i write, and it's lowkey a crack fic but i hope it's still enjoyable! listened to: big energy - latto & area codes - kaliii

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: going to the gym for yourself (and totally not for that cute guy who sometimes says hi)

“You’re going to the gym?” Nobara halts smack in the middle of the busy hallway. Groans huff behind her, the rest of your class filing out of the lecture hall. You bow your head apologetically as you pull her to the side. 

“Yes.” 

She squints, skeptical, “You.” 

You nod.

“The gym.” she says it slower this time, tilting her head down. 

You nod again. 

Nobara blinks, shifting her weight as she reaches one hand inside the pocket of her overalls. There’s a long pause, rushed footsteps amplifying the suspense, then—

“Okay, what’s the bet? How much did Maki put out? I want in.” 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you loop your arm around hers and continue walking. 

There’s good reason for her to doubt you; she knows you best after all. In your little quad, you are the least likely to be found doing any physical activity or sport whatsoever—and that’s saying a lot, considering the other fourth of your group is Megumi. But at least he walks his dogs regularly. 

“Rude,” you scoff jokingly, “there’s no bet, just testing it out because they have a free trial promo.”

It shouldn’t hurt to check it out, you think. One of your resolutions this year is to finally get started on your fitness journey, whatever form it may be. 

“You should come.” 

Nobara snorts, “Wrong person,” you both turn at a corner, “ask Itadori.”

The gym is just a few blocks away from your campus, a good 18-minute walk if you’re counting—which is also part of what makes it so appealing. The ad you’d seen for the free trial is an early bird promo to attract new customers for the gym’s new branch launch. 

And it does make the most sense to ask him; he is the sports science major after all—

“No way,” you step out on the sidewalk, “telling him is practically committing to a membership.” 

—but Yuuji is a bit too eager when it comes to things like this. No doubt he’ll be at your heel, wagging his figurative golden retriever tail at the prospect of being your certified gym buddy. It’s endearing and you know he means well, but that’s way too much pressure for someone who’s just starting out. 

She laughs, readjusting her bag, “He’d know how to use the machines though.” 

“I watched some videos…” you mumble, because Nobara has a point, but if you’re being honest, you feel just a teensy bit embarrassed at the idea of anyone else knowing about your attempts at fitness this early on, lest it fail in the end. “I can probably ask someone there…” 

“Try the most jacked up person in the gym.” 

You shove her jokingly, her laughter echoing down the road. 

. 

The first person you meet at the gym is the lady at the front desk. Her ponytail sways as she greets you, a chirpy smile welcoming you in as she holds an iPad to her chest while touring you around—at the center, the main floor plan is decked out with machines; towards the back sit the squat racks, and to your sides are the private cycling rooms and multifunctional spaces. According to her, they also offer yoga classes every 6:00 p.m. on Wednesdays. 

You’d expected a lot more people to be in here at 7:00 p.m., but you suppose it makes sense others would prefer to spend their Friday nights elsewhere. 

Looking around, you spot a middle-aged lady you swear is Megumi’s English professor; on the treadmills, a couple your age share a laugh as they try to match pace. There are some machines you’ve never even seen in your life, Youtube videos included.

You take a deep breath. You can ask for help. 

After all, the crowd feels friendly enough, not too intimidating—

—until your eyes land on him, on the benches; an absolute tank of a man doing chest presses with what you think are probably the heaviest dumbbells on the rack. 

You try not to stare, catching only a glimpse of the way his biceps flex against the tight sleeves of his black compression shirt. 

Don’t be a creep, you tell yourself, walking towards the leg press machine. You may be new here, but you’ve learned that gym etiquette isn’t so far off from acting like a civilized human being. 

Thank god you never take Nobara seriously, because you can’t even imagine the stuttering mess you’d be if you had to ask him how to work any of these god forsaken machines. 

.

It’s a good thing, then, that help comes to you without you having to say a word. 

This is number four out of five sessions in your free trial promo, and you have no idea how to get the goddamn plates out of the barbell. You pull some out from the other side and the whole barbell comes along with it. When you attempt the other side, it does the same. Then when you finally do manage to get off the plates on one side, the whole barbell drops, clanging loudly against the metal foot of the squat rack set-up. 

(Now that you think about it, maybe it isn’t such a good thing that you’ve been offered help instead of you asking. There must be a reason someone thinks you could need it.)

Someone, who is also the last person you could ever possibly want to embarrass yourself in front of.

Someone, who just so happens to be the jacked up tank of a man you’ve admittedly glanced at a few times in your past few visits here. 

“To make it easier,” he crouches beside you, laying down a smaller plate and rolling the larger ones on the barbell over it. 

He unloads them like they weigh nothing—and with his physique, it isn’t hard to believe that they probably do. His biceps look to be the size of your head, chest popping out in ways you’ve only seen on those Tiktok thirst edits; his one hand is larger than a 2.5 kilogram plate, and his forearms look like they could ch—

Mind out of the gutter, you blink away, focusing instead on the metal bar in front of you. 

God, you don’t even know this man’s name. 

“T-thanks.” you stutter, embarrassed. 

He gives you a half-smile, lips turned on one side, “Sure.” then he walks away, the tightness of his black compression shirt hugging the ridges of his back muscles. 

You gulp. 

So begins your year-long gym membership.

(And maybe, just maybe, the kind-of-meet-cute of a lifetime. Who knows, really?) 

.

“Who would have thought the rippest DILF in all of Japan would get you to go to the gym everyday,” she snorts, fingers grazing over the curved edges of the heart-shaped watermelons in the fruit aisle.

You hush her, scanning the area around you for anyone who might have overhead. 

It’s 11:00 p.m. on a Thursday, so you doubt it, but you can never be too sure.

“He’s nice, you know.” you pout. 

“Yeah, what’s his name?” Nobara gives you a look. 

You glare, touché. 

Maybe you don’t know his name. Yet. 

But he’s always offered to stack on the heavy plates for you, and will oftentimes help in unloading them too. There are times when you aren’t quite sure how to work the machines and he swoops in like the gym buff version of prince charming, teaching you proper form just so you don’t get injured. He’ll wipe down a mat for you to use some days, because—

“Stretching is important,” he never fails to mention.

He’s nice. 

And you have an insanely delusional crush on him, but you don’t care, because why else would he be giving you this much attention if he wasn’t interested in you too? 

.

You find out many things about your gym crush, most of them completely unexpected. 

One: his hair is unusually soft for someone who looks so rough. Or, well, you think it looks soft, you can’t tell for sure; you haven’t actually touched it to be able to tell. The black mop on his head falls flat over his eyes on the few days you assume are right before his next scheduled haircut. It surprises you even more when he walks in the gym with a small hair tie holding his bangs up. 

Two: he does a considerable amount of bodyweight exercises for someone his size—Calisthenics, specifically. 

You watch him pull himself up the bar, biceps and back straining against the movement. The muscles ripple across the fabric of his tee, and it’s impressive how smoothly he’s able to go up and down; as if he isn’t exerting any effort at all. Then, the push-ups and dips. He can do them all, in every variation you never even thought existed, and it’s always done with so much ease. 

It gives you reason to believe that he could be gentle, controlled. In what? Well. You know. 

Three: he likes fruity things. You expected his go-to to be straight black, maybe a chocolate protein shake on other days too. But he shows up one day with a smoothie in the shade of vibrant magenta. Dragonfruit, you assume, from all the black specks floating in it. 

This also happens to be the first time you initiate the conversation with him.  

“Your smoothie looks good,” you mumble, a little hesitant. 

God, so awkward. 

He looks up from adjusting the plate stoppers on your bar. 

A hum rumbles from his throat before he flashes you the same half-smile he always does, “Strawberry, banana, and dragonfruit.” 

You don’t really know what to say after that other than, “Cool.” 

And you mentally facepalm yourself. 

. 

In your fourth month at the gym, you learn a few more unexpected things that change everything. 

You’ve just finished freshening up and you’re on the way out when you bump into— 

“Megumi?” 

He looks up from his phone, dark strands hitting the tips of his eyelashes as he pushes back one side of his headphones. He raises an eyebrow, confused and surprised.  

“You gym?” 

“What’re you doing here?” 

Pink dusts his cheeks as he ducks his head, motioning for you to go first. 

“Sorry,” you chuckle, adjusting the strap of your duffel bag, “I started going here a few months ago. You?” 

He looks a little surprised by it, probably more so at the fact that you’ve kept it a secret from him for so long, but he nods, “That’s good. You did mention wanting to work on your fitness more this year.” then, he shifts, adjusting his weight before hanging his headphones by his neck. 

“I’m waiting for my dad.” 

In the past few years you’ve known Megumi, he’s never mentioned his dad. You never bothered to ask because you suspected there was a good reason he never talked about him in the first place. 

And so comes number four, and maybe the last unexpected thing you find out about your gym crush— 

“Megumi!” 

You both turn around to the voice of none other than Nobara’s proclaimed rippest DILF in Japan; the most jacked up tank of a man who also happens to be the man you’ve crushed hard on for the past four months.  

Everything is snapping into place, information forming bridges you would rather not cross right now. 

He walks up to Megumi, duffel bag slung across his chest as he reaches for your friend.

Megumi looks like he wants to wither away, embarrassed at you seeing him tucked under his dad’s arm. But all your brain can really comprehend is that Megumi, your good friend, is currently squished between the bicep and chest you’ve been staring at since your first day at the gym.

You hold your breath, the realization creeping to the forefront of your mind. There had been signs that your gym crush was a dad; apart from being built like one, he’d offhandedly mention ‘son’ a few times. You didn’t think it would be—

“Oh, you two know each other?” your gym crush tilts his head, turning to you, “you didn’t tell me your friend signed up for this gym, Megumi.” 

“I didn’t know,” Megumi grumbles, and the look on his face can rival yours, for sure. Tough competition on ‘who looks like they want to die the most right now?’. 

But he can’t win. 

Because when Megumi begrudgingly introduces your gym crush to you as his dad, you’re pretty sure you’ve buried yourself twelve feet underground. 

(It doesn’t ease the embarrassment when you learn unexpected thing number five: he’s been a trainer at the gym this entire time.)

thank you notes: to @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for encouraging me all the way!! ily ari

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[jugmug-rollf-orming]

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[indigosunsetao3]

You walk past the new gym every morning to see four extremely large, intimidating men working out. You saw it on accident one morning, but since then, you’ve made it a habit to walk that way to work. Seeing them sweat, push one another for one more rep, and challenge each other makes something in your stomach squirm.

You tell yourself you’re being a creep, that this will be the last time. But then, as if the universe heard you trying to take away the highlight of your day, you see a sign up paper in the window. One free month.

A month wouldn’t hurt.

You could just walk on the treadmill and watch them. Get the fantasies and thoughts out of your head, then slip away into the night. Like the stalker you were.

You sign up using the QR code with your phone and show up the next morning. It’s strangely empty except for your the four men were there. Already deep in their workouts, with towels tucked in their shorts or tossed over shoulders. Sweet dripping down their backs and faces as they do yet another set of pull ups.

Staking claim to a treadmill, you get to walking, doing your best not to downright stare now that you have an uninterrupted view. It’s difficult, especially when the grunts and pants of exertion make your toes curl.

They don’t pay you too much mind the first few days. But then the biggest, and scariest, of the four approaches you, and asks why you never use any of the other equipment. You stammer out your lack of knowledge or skill and he shushes you saying he’ll show you himself.

You don’t question him or try to tell him no. You feel silly as you learn on the lightest weights as they lift barbells stacked to your body weight like it’s nothing. Your exact weight, actually. Weird.

Week two, Kyle, as he introduces himself, notices you limping a bit. Bit stiff getting on and off the equipment and groaning as you stand. He offers to help you stretch properly. Laying you out on the floor and bending you this way and that. Getting you to groan and sigh in relief as his palms brace your thighs.

Week three, Johnny has you watching him to perfect your form. He asks you to look at how straight his back is in a push-up and feel how his abs move on the standing crunch machine. Then he has you doing the same moves with his hands across your abdomen and back, making sure your core is tight. He grips you a bit hard as you fight to get that last push up grunting from the effort.

By the time your last free week rolls around, you're beginning to question your plan. This was supposed to be a month of getting these guys out of your system. A month of all the fantasies your heart could desire, then walking away. But you don’t want it to end. And it seems they don’t want it to finish either. John approaches you with an offer to continue your trial. You tell him you can’t afford it, not even knowing the price, you can’t take on another expense.

John insists it’s okay. He says he talked to the manager and worked out a deal. You’re making such progress, and they’d miss the company if you left. They need more people using the gym to attract customers anyway.

Which, you realize, is just you and these four guys. There are never any other patrons there. You assumed it was because of how early you’d all work out. But even in the evenings on your way home the space is barren. No one using the equipment and the lights dim.

You agree, sheepishly.

John gives you a wicked grin and a form that oddly has all your information on it already. You just need to read it over, so you start going through all the boring legal parts. But you can feel them all staring as you go paragraph by paragraph. Johnny is standing right next to you with a pen, eager and all smiles. The pressure makes you flip to the last page and just sign. It’s not like they could lock you into something that bad, right? It’s just a gym membership.

“Now the real training begins,” Simon states quietly, pulling the ten page contract out of your hands as Kyle pulls the blinds and flips the lock.

[woradat]

Dear, memories #2

<- back — PT2 (here) — next ->

It’s not like you wanted to care. Really, you were just trying to mind your own business. But the way that loud-mouthed buffoon was screaming at a bot who clearly couldn’t fight back—or if it could, would still lose spectacularly—was just grating on every last functioning wire of your patience

Whether you stood up for that poor, glitchy stranger because it reminded you of the walking disaster you used to be, or simply because you couldn’t bear another second of listening to that local thug bark like a malfunctioning alarm siren, well... you know exactly why you did it. Deep down. Don’t pretend otherwise

And then—oh joy—there was him. Sitting right next to you like it was the most casual thing in the galaxy. Who wouldn’t recognize that Decepticon death machine? You’d have to be spectacularly stupid not to. That iconic mask, the absurdly overcompensating fusion cannon, and the kind of looming “I-will-kill-you-in-your-sleep” vibe that makes even seasoned warbots reconsider their life choices. That wasn’t just any Decepticon. That was Tarn. From the Decepticon Justice Division. Literal walking nightmare fuel. The kind of guy who turns ‘dangerous’ into a full-blown art form

Your instincts screamed at you to back away from this dude. Slowly. Carefully. Maybe even leave a decoy behind and fake your own shutdown. You didn’t know what he wanted from this conversation—but when someone like Tarn wants something, it usually ends badly for everyone else involved. Any bot with half a CPU would know it’s never worth tangling with the DJD. And Tarn? Tarn is the kind of ‘don’t-touch’ hot stove that burns down your entire house if you so much as look at it funny

“You know” he said in that rich, carefully measured voice of his “it's rare these days to see someone stand up for someone else. I think that deserves a few drinks, on me. You wouldn’t object, would you?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a decree dressed up as a compliment

A few light taps on the table—and just like that, drinks appeared out of thin air. Not even a delay. Apparently, the staff knew who the purple guy was, because when you had ordered earlier, the wait time was somewhere in the range of “eternity plus ten.” But now? Instant service. Because of course. Gotta love that two-tiered customer experience

“To courage” he began, lifting his drink—

“I don’t want your drink”

The words sliced through the moment like a sharpened blade. Tarn froze for a nanosecond, visibly stunned, before letting out a soft laugh. It wasn’t a happy laugh. More like the laugh of someone restraining themselves from flipping the table and turning you into decorative wall art. He didn’t even roll his optics at you—though you could tell he wanted to. Badly

Obviously stubborn. Obviously defiant. He figured you already knew who he was and what he could do—and even if you didn’t, you clearly didn’t give a damn. The rebel type. The difficult kind. He’d met your kind before. The kind that never liked authority. Not back when you were in the academy, and certainly not now. Judging from how you were treating him, that hadn’t changed one bit

Cute, if you asked him. In an infuriating, problem-child sort of way

“So I take it you're not the social type—no mingling, no parties?” he asked with the kind of polished eloquence usually reserved for politicians or used-car salesmen. His voice was velvet, sure, but velvet can still suffocate you if you’re not careful. And you're not stupid. Tarn wasn’t charming—he was a walking red flag with excellent diction, and you had to remind yourself of that. Repeatedly

“I just don’t like you. Is that sufficient?”

“Fair enough... but we will be seeing each other again”

Which, frankly, sounded like both a promise and a threat. Pick your poison

With that final exchange of polite hostility, the infamous Decepticon excused himself, rose with theatrical flair, and walked away. You didn’t stop him. You didn’t even pretend to be sorry. Honestly, his disappearance felt like a personal favor. Finally—a moment of peace. Alone, just the way you liked it. Well, at least until you had to rejoin your own team, who were arguably just as annoying, just in more colorful ways

And about that “free drink” you mentioned earlier? Yeah, that was a total lie. You’d take a free drink from anyone foolish or brave enough to offer you one. Not that many bots were lining up to do so—but hey, a mech can dream

But that little farewell line—“We’ll be seeing each other again”—what was that supposed to mean, exactly? Was he planning to hunt you down across the galaxy? Surely not. From everything you’d heard, Tarn and his little Justice Division fan club weren’t your average bloodthirsty maniacs. No, they were principled bloodthirsty maniacs. And yeah, you kinda hate yourself for putting those words together in the same sentence, but here we are

They didn’t just kill for fun—they killed for reasons. Big, dramatic, morally-questionable reasons. According to them, anyway. Only a fried processor would actually buy into that sanctimonious scrap, but still—the DJD didn’t kill at random. They had a list. A purpose. Neutral bots like you? Not even on their radar. Statistically speaking, you were probably fine

Probably

And if, by some cosmic misfortune, you did end up tortured to death just because your mouth couldn’t stay in its lane... well, that’s on you. That’s the risk you take when your sarcasm has a kill switch

But surely the great and mighty Tarn wouldn’t waste time holding a grudge over a petty insult. He didn’t even know your name. You were just another snarky nobody who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time

Hopefully

You shook your head, as if that could dislodge the creeping anxiety, and downed your high-grade in one go. Not like overthinking ever saved anyone anyway

.

.

“So they’re all on the same team, right? According to the intel we’ve gathered..”

“Yes, Tarn. That appears to be the case. Though, we’ll be eliminating all of them soon enough, won’t we—”

“Not this time. We’ll need to interrogate them first. It wouldn’t be fair to punish those who truly didn’t know... that wouldn’t be very just, now would it?”

[taesanluv3r]

latte art

kim leehan x reader

sort of love at first sight? barista!leehan improves his latte art just for his very first customer <3 those concept pics possessed me to write this hehe. super cutesy, i love u leehan! lowercase intended. pls excuse any spelling mistakes or grammatical errors! enjoyyyy

wc: 2,008

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

ding!

the bell above the door rang as it squeaked opened, alerting the handsome barista that was busy setting up his fancy coffee machines for the opening of his tiny café. kim leehan looked up, eyes widening at the figure that turned around to reveal itself- or rather, herself. the most beautiful girl the boy had ever seen in his entire life that would become his very first customer.

"uh...? hello?"

he must've been too into his head, not realizing that the pretty lady had moved from near the door over to stand right in front of him at the register. "huh? oh! hi! um...what can i- uh" he didn't ever expect to stutter this way- especially not when he had already went through every friendly barista greeting the night before this grand opening, but the boy couldn't help it. not when the very first person to enter the shop was this stupidly gorgeous stranger in front of him.

leehan sighs, "i'm so sorry...today's the opening of this place and you're the first customer so..." she giggles, "no worries...i get it" they share a smile. "would you totally hate me if i asked you to walk out and back in again so we can restart this?" he asks, smiling until his eyes formed crescent shapes. the girl laughs, "if you insist"

the scene replays all over again. this time, he was ready to greet her with a friendly smile as she re-entered the café. "hi there! welcome to kim's coffee. what can i get for ya?" the stranger couldn't stop the giggle from escaping her lips, finding the cute barista's sudden bubbly-ness amusing. "hm..." she begins, fingers against her chin as she looked up at the menu on the wall. "well...uh, leehan..." the girl trails off, learning his name from the tag pinned onto his apron. "what do you recommend?"

the way his name fell out naturally from her mouth sent about a gazillion butterflies to roam free in his stomach, a light pink blush brushing against his pale cheeks. "well uh..." he almost stuttered again from the sudden shyness but quickly straightened his back and regained his almost cocky confidence. "for a pretty girl like you...how 'bout our signature cappuccino? i could do some incredible latte art too" she widens her eyes, shocked by the compliment. "incredible latte art you say? i'll be the judge of that" leehan grins at her playful personality. "iced or hot?" he asks, beginning to click on the buttons displayed on the screen of the register. "hot, please"

"alright...one hot cappuccino for...?"

"yn!" - "one hot cappuccino for yn coming right up!"

yn nods, watching as he retreated to his coffee machines before she allowed herself to explore the café. it was a relatively small place- but the pretty blue paint on the walls made the space feel a little bigger. "you must be really into fishes..." she says, staring at the framed paintings of all kinds of sea-life and spotting the tank filled with fish over at the corner near the bathroom. the barista guy laughs, "yeah...if i weren't a barista i'd be underwater scuba-diving right now" she nods along with his words, finally taking a seat on one of the chairs at the bar-styled table, giving her the clearest view of the working boy.

"so why open a café?'' she asked, revealing to the boy her curious personality. "it's fun!" he says, his voice a little louder now to overpower the buzzing noise from the milk frother. "and..." he said, mindlessly pouring the fluffy milk into the coffee. "there's a possibility i get to meet pretty girls like you" she rolls her eyes at his comment, watching as he adds finishing touches to the coffee.

"et voila, one cappuccino for yn~ enjoy"

the girl chuckles lightly when he dramatically bows, placing the cup of coffee on the table right in front of her. his head that faces the floor lifts up quickly when he hears her breaking out into a fit of laughter. leehan looks up confused, eyebrows furrowing and head tilting off to the side. "so much for incredible latte art..." yn says, still in between catching her breath. he's still confused, but one look down at his creation was enough to understand the girl's reaction.

"ah..." the boy sighs, looking disappointingly at the lame excuse for latte art he had poured into the cup. "i mean what were you going for here? a...an alien?!" the girl exclaimed, causing herself to giggle all over again. he rolls his eyes playfully, "i was actually going for a rose...but i see where you got alien from..." he clicks his tongue, "guess that's something i still need to work on" yn agrees with him, "but try it, as long as it tastes good..." he watches in anticipation as the girl brings the cup to her lips, blowing on the hot beverage slightly before taking a sip. her eyes widen, "oh my god..." leehan is nervous, "what? is it bad?" she shakes her head hastily. "no, no! not at all! this is the best cappuccino i've ever had ever! like seriously"

yn's comments make him sigh in relief, pressing a hand over his chest. "oh thank god...i thought you were gonna bully me like you did my latte art" she laughs, "it wasn't bullying...think of it as harsh feedback!" the sweet smile on her face contradicted the sharp words that she said, it intrigued the barista boy...there was something about her he just seemed to really like- apart from how pretty she was.

a couple minutes went by and soon the cup of coffee was empty. "thank you for the yummy coffee, how much do i owe you?" yn asks, rummaging through her purse in search of her wallet. leehan shook his head, "no! in honor of being my first customer, it's on me" she furrowed her eyebrows, "don't be silly! c'mon give me a price" but he only shook his head once more, "nope! think of it as compensation...for the underwhelming latte art" she sighs, giving up on arguing with the handsome barista. ''if you come again tomorrow though, i'll let you pay~" his smile made her insides melt like chocolate, and she sighs. "sounds good..." she trails off, beginning to get off the chair and closer to the exit. before she leaves she turns to look at him once more.

"better show me that incredible latte art you keep boasting about though!" he laughs, "trust me...i'll be up all night perfecting it...just for you"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

sure enough, the barista boy kept his word. the next morning rolled around and the boy begins to tiredly opened up his shop. slight dark circles evident under his eyes from the sleepless night he spent frothing milk at home and endlessly pouring them into cups of coffee. with a little more trial and error, and about a dozen more cappuccinos later, he finally perfected the art. the girl kept her promise as well, waking up bright and early so she could get dressed and head straight to the brand new coffee shop.

ding!

a feeling of deja vu washed over him at the familiar noise of the doorbell. "look who it is!" leehan cheered, clapping his hands together as the girl he was expecting entered the shop. yn smiled, "i expect you have perfected that latte art?" he nods, "well i promised you, didn't i?" she giggles, "ah yes...if i recall...just for me, right?" the girl teased, repeating the pretty words he had told her the other day. the boy blushes softly, scratching the back of his head.

"why don't you take a seat? one hot cappuccino with incredible latte art for the beautiful yn, coming right up!"

just like the previous day, the girl sits at the bar. patiently waiting for the barista to do his job. this time she notices the droplet of sweat that formed to the side of his forehead, his eyes narrowed like a hawk as he stared at the liquid he was pouring into the cup. "wait!" he suddenly says, frantically stopping himself and turning to his one and only customer. "what?" she asked, just as frantic as he was. "can you like not look at me while i do this...it makes me nervous" yn opens her mouth in shock, rolling her eyes once before she turned around in her seat, her back now facing him.

"okay..." she heard him whisper to himself, assuming he had finally begun pouring the frothed milk into a design on her coffee. then the girl hears him let out a breath, followed by his footsteps and a clink of a cup meeting the surface of the bar-like table. leehan clears his throat before beginning to speak.

"a hot cappuccino with improved latte art, for one pretty lady"

yn took his words as a signal to turn back around. honestly the girl had kept her expectations low, not really believing that anyone could perfect such art overnight. however, a look of pure surprise washed over her complexion as the cup of coffee came into sight. it was perfect. the foam in a clear rose shape, totally different from the alien-looking image she saw just the other day.

"what did i tell ya? perfect, right?" leehan grins widely, overly proud of his professional talent. he watches in amusement as his customer nods, "wow...this is amazing, leehan!" yn exclaims, pulling out her phone from her bag and snapping a couple pictures before she had to ruin it to drink. "and..." she begins, taking a sip out of the drink. "still delicious!" the barista smiles happily at her satisfaction.

"no but seriously, how did you manage to perfect it overnight?! you a wizard or something?" yn asks, editing the picture she had taken so she could upload it on her instagram story. leehan giggles, listening to her talk as he cleaned up his station in case other customers began showing up. "i'm starting to think you've always been good and just messed it up yesterday on purpose so you could get me to come back here" she states, making up scenarios for the boy's sudden perfection. he turns to her with a smirk, "and what if i did?" his teasing question makes her ponder for a moment before she displayed a similar smirk on her lips.

"well then it worked, didn't it?"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"so how much do i owe you? you promised i could pay if i came back today" yn spoke, her wallet already prepared in the palm of her hand. "fine, it's $4.99" leehan says, pressing on a couple buttons on the screen. "okay, here...sorry, i don't have any small change right now" the girl pouted, handing him a $20 bill. "no worries..." he replied, opening up the cash register to collect her change. "oh shit....looks like there is a worry, i don't have change either..." the girl's eyes widen, "oh no!" she frowns, "what should we do?" they both look up for a minute, trying to come up with a solution. she could tell he thought of something when a cheeky grin takes over his face.

"say..." leehan begins, handing the $20 bill back to her. "you keep this...and you can just give me your number instead! pay me for the coffee at our date this weekend" the barista's sneaky solution surprises her once again. yn rolls her eyes, "now i'm really convinced that everything you do is a rouse to see me again" but her actions contradict the uninterested tone of her voice as she steals the pen from the pocket of his apron, grabbing a piece of tissue and beginning to jot down her digits.

"there...you better call me" he nods happily as he retrieves the tissue from her hands. "i promise, and you know i always keep my word" she giggles, "just for me though, right?" yn asks one last time before making her way over to the door. and right before she leaves leehan replies,

"just for you"

the end.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

AAAAAAH i loved writing this fic sm :3 also i luv barista leehan LIKE THOSE PICS FROM YESTERDAY #needthat 🤤 also cant wait for this comeback heehehsgegehhe i hope u guys liked this! reblogs and feedback r greatly appreciated as always. tysm for reading! love, kona.

[dragonakito360]

Boothill x Mechanic!Reader

I was inspired by a post from @buggytales so please show them some love for this amazing idea!

CW: I feel like Boothill is OOC and has my own hcs mixed in since it's written before his release, but that's about it.

Names Used: Darlin', Sweetheart

For as long as Boothill can remember, he's been the rootin' tootin' cyborg cowboy of the galaxy. The gunslinging galaxy ranger, fighting evil and bringing justice. His mechanical augmentations were a byproduct of his lifestyle, starting off with just an arm, then a leg, or perhaps a part of his chest? It was a blur now, because before he knew it, he was less human than machine. But that never really bothered him, not when he's got the best mechanic this side of the galaxy; you.

You weren't his first mechanic by any means, but you certainly were the first he trusted with all his being. Your shop was small, hidden away in a busy market district of your home planet. It wasn't famous, nor was it busy at any given day, so it always made you wonder what got Boothill to visit your shop. Some would call it fate, or maybe it was mere chance that he stumbled into the store needing urgent repairs. Nevertheless, since that faithful day, he's been your loyal customer ever since. Whether it be a phone call from you asking how he's been, a routine maintenance to make sure his systems are in working order, or repairs from a battle, he was happy hearing you, seeing you, he loved everything about you.

His heart may now be a machine, having a steady, rhythmic beat. But he swears it beats faster when he's close to you.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

"Welcome!" You greet, looking up from your desk behind the counter. A smile forms on your lips once you see it's Boothill. He returns your bright smile with his own as he leans on the countertop. "It's not your maintenance day, so do you need anything repaired?" You ask as you eye him up and down for any visible damages, to which there were none.

"My handgun ain't workin', was hopin' you'd take a look at it."

"You can place it on my table-Oh!" You couldn't help but giggle when Boothill placed his left arm on your desk, his body halfway over the counter.

"What? Ya said to place it on your desk!" He laughed along with you, his heart skipping a beat when he heard your laugh. He's heard it countless times, but it always made his day to hear it.

"Come around here and let me take a look." Boothill nodded and circled around the counter, sitting next to you on the spare stool. You gently took his left arm, using a tool to inspect it further. "It seems the cylinder isn't revolving like it's supposed too... Don't worry, it's an easy fix!" You smiled reassuringly, carefully dismantling the arm and repairing it. "This has been broken for a while now, weren't their any repair shops on the planet you were on?"

"There's plenty, but none of 'em were as good as you."

"If you say so." You playfully rolled your eyes as you continued the repair. That is until a question caught you off guard.

"Why you always so gentle, darlin'?" The cyborg couldn't help but ask as you work. "Am I more fragile than I'm thinkin'?"

"No, no, I'm just... worried I might hurt you, that's all." At this, Boothill laughed heartily, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye out of habit.

"You ain't gonna hurt me darlin'! I trust you, more than any mechanic in the galaxy." Your cheeks flushed red and you avert your gaze, opting to stare at the floor. "Aww what's that look for? It's only the truth."

Taking a deep breath, you look up at him. "T-That's really sweet of you, but why me? I don't think I'm the best, you know." Boothill gave a dismissive wave and took your hand in his.

"You don't gotta be the best, you've taken care of me plenty! I'm trustin' you with all of me, sweetheart, don't ya forget it." He winked and you felt your heart pounding in your chest as your face reddens.

"Thank you..." You take deep breaths and calm your emotions.

"I should be thankin' you." He let go of your hands, allowing you to finish your repair work. A soft smile on your face as you work, he was mesmerized watching you. He couldn't take his eyes off of you for even a moment. Before he knew it, you were already done. Which sadly meant it was time for him to go again.

Aeons did he hate leaving your side, even if he came back in a few months for a check-up or a repair within weeks.

But that's why he cherishes every moment he's got with you working on him. Perhaps one day, when he's not so busy, he'll take you out for a date or two.

"Before you go, I have an idea I have for a new augmentation!" You pulled out a few blueprints from under your desk and showed it to the cowboy. Boothill snorted and tried to contain his laughter.

"Butt lasers? Darlin' I don't think I'm gonna have use for that."

"What? But think about it, what if your arms and legs malfunction and you can't move?"

"What makes ya think anyone's gonna defeat me and I ain't able to kick and shoot 'em?"

"Well, um... It's just a precaution, that's all." Boothill stood up and took your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckles.

"Don't worry too much darlin'. I ain't gettin' roughed up all that much, wouldn't want ya to worry." He thought for a moment. "But if it makes ya happy, feel free to add it next time I visit. Some extra firepower will do me good, even when I got three guns." He slapped the gun on his waist and flexed his metal arms, causing you to giggle.

"Okay then. I'll see you around, space cowboy." With a tip of his hat, Boothill headed out of your store.

"See ya, darlin'."

[tinyshyteacup]

TW: cussing, sexual act mentioned briefly (if you squint)

Part 3

A Charming Detour - Part 4

You've fallen into the daily rhythm of Teller-Morrow. Mornings are a whirlwind of ringing phones, impatient customers, and Gemma barking out orders like a general on a battlefield. You’ve gotten better at juggling it all—handling invoices, ordering parts, and filtering through the never-ending stream of calls.

And, of course, there’s the guys. But lunch?

Lunch is its own kind of chaos.

It starts the same way every day.

“Lunch run!” Bobby announces, like a town crier delivering the most important news of the day.

And then, all hell breaks loose.

“What’s the order?” Jax asks, already reaching for his wallet.

“Anywhere but that shitty taco place,” Tig grumbles, stretching out on one of the picnic benches.

“Gave me food poisoning last time.”

“That’s ‘cause yer ordering fish tacos from a gas station,” Chibs says, shaking his head.

Happy—who rarely speaks unless it’s absolutely necessary—grunts. “Not the pizza place.”

“What? Why?” Juice asks, eyes narrowing.

Happy shrugs. “Just don’t trust ‘em.”

Juice rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah? What about the burger place?”

“Had it yesterday,” Jax says.

Juice huffs. “Jesus, you guys are so picky.”

Then—like it’s a goddamn tradition—everyone turns to you.

And you freeze.

Because you hate picking.

you just shrug. “Uh… whatever you guys want?”

SAMCRO collectively groans.

“Fucking useless,” Tig mutters, shaking his head.

“Alright, Juicy,” Jax says, smirking. “You’re on pickup duty.”

Juice groans. “Are you serious? Again?”

Jax grins. “Shouldn’t have lost last night, bro.”

Juice mutters a curse under his breath, grabbing his keys. Then, just as he turns to leave, his gaze lingers on you for a second too long—like he wants to say something, but can’t quite figure out how.

Finally, he sighs. “Alright. Be back soon.”

And then he’s gone.

Which means…

You’re alone with the guys.

Juice had been gone twenty minutes. Twenty fucking minutes. That’s all it took for things to go to shit.

Balancing three takeout bags in his arms, he shoves open the Teller-Morrow truck door with his shoulder, stepping out into the midday heat. The picnic table sits just a few feet away in the shade.

And that’s when he sees it.

His stomach drops.

Tig is sitting next to you.

Not just sitting next to you—leaning in. Elbow on the table, legs stretched out like he owns the place, grinning like a fucking wolf.

And you—short little unaware you—are just sitting there, drinking from your water bottle, listening intently like this is some kind of casual conversation instead of Tig fucking Trager.

Juice almost drops the food.

His brain goes into overdrive.

Best-case scenario? Tig is just talking shit. Normal level Tig bullshit.

Worst-case scenario? Tig is flirting.

…Oh, fuck, Tig is flirting.

And you—sweet, professional, unprepared you—don’t even realize.

Juice watches as you tilt your head, blinking up at Tig with a slightly puzzled look, that tiny wrinkle forming between your brows.

Goddammit.

Juice knows that look. It’s the same one you get when trying to figure out how to work the ancient fax machine inside.

Which means you have no clue that you’re being hit on.

Tig, meanwhile, just keeps smirking. “So, sweetheart… you ever been with an older man?”

Juice panics.

He barely stops himself from dropping the food as he rushes forward. “Okay! Food’s here! Everyone shut up and eat!”

Tig barely glances at him. “Relax, Juicy. Just making conversation.”

Juice shoots him a glare before turning to you. “You—uh, you hungry?” His voice cracks slightly, but he pretends it doesn’t. “I got your order.”

You smile, reaching for the takeout bag. “Oh, thanks, Juice!”

But before he can bask in the warmth of that smile, Tig leans in again. “So, tell me—do you like bad boys?”

Juice chokes on air.

You, wrinkle your nose slightly. “Like… badboys ... or actual criminals?”

Tig just grins. “Sure ... badboys. Let’s go with that.”

You consider for a second before shrugging. “I mean, I guess it depends on how bad?”

Tig grins. “You ever hear that saying? Once you go older, you never go—”

Juice panics.

Tig just smirks, barely glancing at Juice before turning back to you. “I was just tellin’ her she’s gotta be careful around guys like us, ya know? We’re dangerous.”

Juice glares. “Yeah, no shit. That’s the problem.”

Tig chuckles. “Relax, Juicy. I ain’t gonna break her.” Then, turning to you with a wink, he adds, “Unless she wants me to.”

Juice glares.

You roll your eyes between them both.

Tig leans forward, voice smooth as silk. “I’m a real man, doll. I can show you things.”

Juice sees red.

But before he can so much as move, you cross your arms and complete deadpan,

"Like a seniors discount ? 'Cause you’re also what ... twice my age ?”

The entire table erupts.

Jax actually slaps his knee.

Bobby has to wipe his eyes.

Even Happy smirks, shaking his head.

Tig, to his credit, grins. “Damn. I like her.”

Juice practically shoves Tig’s food at him like it’s some kind of weapon. “Shut up, Tig.”

Juice exhales sharply, and sits down across from you, eyes darting to Tig every few minutes like he’s making sure the bastard doesn’t try anything else.

But he should’ve known—This is Tig, he never lets shit go.

Tig grins at Juice before he changes tatic and leans in toward you, dropping his voice to a mock-whisper. “Y’know, sweetheart, Juice is real shy, but don’t let that fool you—he’s got a big—”

Your whole face contorts “Unless the next words outta your mouth are 'personality' or 'heart' I do not wanna know"

Juice blank screens.

After what feels like an eternity of teasing, the lunch break starts winding down.

Most of the guys wander off, but Juice lingers behind, desperately trying to erase the last twenty minutes from existence.

You glance up at him, smiling. “He likes to mess with people, huh?”

Juice snorts. “He fucking lives for it.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about all that. He's just —”

“Gross?” you supply.

Juice blinks. “Uh. I was gonna say an asshole, but—sure.”

You giggle, shaking your head. “It’s okay. I'll pull him up.”

From the doorway, Gemma leans against the frame, she'd been watching the absolute circus at the table.

She crosses her arms, smirking.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. “Bunch of goddamn teenagers.”

But she sees the way Juice looks at you.

She shakes her head.

After lunch, you head back into the Teller-Morrow office, still amused by the chaos outside.

Gemma is already behind her desk, glasses perched on her nose as she flips through invoices. “’Bout time,” she mutters.

“Figured Tig was gonna keep you out there all damn day.”

You frown, still a little confused. “Why does Juice get all werid around him ?”

Gemma smirks without looking up. “Because Tig’s an asshole. And Juice is a puppy.”

You blink. “A… puppy?”

She leans back, arms crossing. “Yeah. One of those dumb ones that runs into walls, trips over its own feet, but gets all feral if someone messes with their favorite person.”

You open your mouth to argue—but then you think about how Juice had practically thrown himself between you and Tig's commentary earlier.

“…Huh.”

Gemma chuckles, turning back to her work. “He’s a good one, though.”

You can’t help but smile a little to yourself as you glance up Jax strolls in, radiating that, too-cool presence he always seems to have.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets smoothly, shooting you an easy grin before turning to Gemma.

“Ma, you seen—”

“Check the garage,” Gemma interrupts without looking up, flipping through an invoice.

Jax sighs, muttering something about “idiots” under his breath before glancing at you again. He pauses, giving you a once-over like he’s trying to gauge something.

Then, with a slight smirk, he asks, “You comin’ to the party tonight?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Party?”

Jax tilts his head. “At the clubhouse. Figured the guys would’ve told you by now.”

You glance between him and Gemma, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “No one mentioned it.”

Jax huffs a short laugh. “Figures.” His tone is teasing, but there’s something knowing in it—like he’s well aware of why no one’s told you.

You hesitate. “What kind of party?”

Jax gives you an amused look, but before he can answer, Gemma snorts.

“She don’t even know what that means, Jackson.”

Your frown deepens. “It’s… a party?”

Jax leans against the desk, arms crossed. “Yeah. But, uh…” He glances at Gemma before giving you a look. “Might be a little different than what you’re used to.”

You shift uncomfortably. “Different how?”

Gemma exhales like she’s preparing to give a well rehearsed speech.

“Look, sweetheart, I like you. You’re a good girl, and you ain’t like the rest of the trash that usually drifts through here.”

You blink, caught between gratitude and mild offense. “Uh. Thanks?”

She gestures at you. “That’s why I gotta tell you—clubhouse parties? Not what you think.”

Your stomach tightens. “…So, like, what? Keg stands and loud music?”

Jax laughs under his breath.

Gemma smirks. “Try half-naked crow eaters and guys gettin’ blown in hallways.”

You stare at her, your brain short-circuiting. "Jesus Christ"

Then "…wait, what's a croweater ?”

Jax chuckles. “Told you.”

You can feel your face heating up. “That’s, uh—That’s a little different”

Gemma just shrugs. “No shit.” Then after a beat she adds. “Now, I ain’t sayin’ don’t go. But if you do? You stick close to Juice.”

You blink, startled. “Why Juice?”

Jax raises a brow, amused. “You really gotta ask?”

You frown.

Gemma sighs. “Because, sweetheart, he’s safe.” Then, after a beat, she smirks.

"And if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, he’ll probably lose his damn mind.”

You blink.

Jax snorts. “Yeah, Ma, real subtle.”

Gemma smirks. “Ain’t gotta be subtle, Jackson. That guys an open book.”

You bite your lip, feeling a strange warmth creep up your neck.

Juice is in the garage a slight smile on his face, still thinking about lunch. About you. How you had laughed at Tig’s antics, how you didn’t seem to mind when Juice tripped over his words trying to talk to you.

How you looked at him—like he wasn’t just some nerdy guy with scalp tattoos and a fauxhawk.

He’s so caught up in his own head that he doesn’t hear Jax approaching until a firm pat lands on his back.

“So… she’s coming to the party.”

His head snaps up so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

“What—Who—What?!”

Jax, looking far too smug, just crosses his arms. “You heard me, man.”

Juice stares at him it takes a second before he manages to laugh, “No, she’s not.”

Jax just pats his shoulder again. “You better be on your A-game, man.”

“Oh, no,” Juice mutters under his breath. “Oh, no no no.”

Jax laughs. “Relax, man. It’s not like we’re throwin’ her to the wolves.”

Juice snaps his eyes back to him, as he hisses. “Jax. She proably thinks ‘crow eaters’ are bird enthusiasts.”

Juice watches, horrified, as Jax walks away.

Because suddenly, the reality hits him.

You—the tiny, sweet, girl he has a stupid crush on—are about to walk into a SAMCRO party.