#How to make espresso with instant coffee

[simmeringstarfruit]

Moka Pot Espresso with Crema

Homemade easy espresso using a moka pot! How to use a moka pot at home to make wonderful espresso-style coffee, topped with the crema. Drink your espresso as is, or use it for a wide variety of homemade coffee drinks, hot or cold. Including instructions for how to use a moka pot, clean your moka pot, and how to recreate amazing coffee crema topping. No espresso machine required! Inspired by the…

[ribbittrobbit]

still thinking about how the hipster coffee shop i went to got snobby on me and refused to give me cold brew with milk bec “we dont do that here”

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Bad Guy x Reader

I am currently in my Natural Born Killers nostalgia, and so I'm borrowing its vibes and bringing you this: a bad-to-the-bone, rock-and-roll attitude yandere who constantly makes you question your own morality. Featuring an old OC!

Content: gender neutral reader, violence, murder, male yandere

He fell in love with you at first sight. A goody two shoes, quiet and obedient. Shy. Oh, terribly shy. You couldn't even meet his eyes. He knew you were the kind others would step on, take advantage of. But there was more to it, much more to uncover.

Who was it? A relative, a friend, a coworker? You know, that person holding you back, keeping you in your place. The one who'd always make you feel small and insignificant. The one who would always find something to criticize. How did it feel when you found them on the ground, bashed in and bloodied up? He was standing above the lifeless body, catching his breath, a cocky smile plastered on his face. His way of courting you.

He looked so tall in that moment, towering above your hesitant self, his gaze of a confidence and intensity you'd never known before. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get in", he said, gesturing towards a convertible he most likely stole earlier that day. What possessed you in that moment to join him without delay? Was it his charisma? Or did you know in the depth of your soul that he wouldn't take no for an answer?

You see, he's known it from the beginning. Someone like you needs someone like him. You’re a sweet little lamb lost among the wolves. The world would eat you right up if you were left by yourself. But now you have him. And he won't let his precious prey get away. Oh, dear, no. If he wants something, he gets it. And he's never wanted anything more than you.

"You didn't...even tell me your name", you sheepishly spoke up from the passenger seat, trying to keep your mind away from the crime you'd just witnessed. "Just call me Tig", he said casually with a yawn, speeding away. "Won't you be in trouble, Tig? Why would you even kill-" you tried to reason. "What kinda question is that? They treated you like shit and it pissed me off." He glanced at you with a frown, taking another drag off his cigarette. "You're mine now, so whatever happens to you is my business. Got it?" You just stared. Was that his way of asking you out?

Tig lives by his own rules, as you quickly learned from becoming his companion. Always on the run, indifferent to the world. For the most part, to your surprise, he's well-behaved. If people don't mess with him, he doesn't mess with them. Simple as that.

Anything involving you, however, sets him off terribly. Like a rabid, ferocious guard dog, he's ready to pounce on whoever approaches you the wrong way. Last week you stopped at a highway diner for coffee, and on your way back to your table, you jokingly pulled a clumsy dance move to the song playing from the speakers. Tig observed you with an amused smile, sipping from his cup. A passerby joined you, resting his arm on your waist flirtatiously. Tig's smile dropped in an instant, and next thing you knew, the whole place was splattered in blood. No one made it out.

"I didn't even finish my coffee", you whined, already used to the occasional massacre. The man hopped behind the counter and threw on a bloodied cap. "What will it be, sir/ma'am?" he pretended, dangling a takeaway cup and starting the espresso machine. "I never told you, but I used to be a barista", he declared proudly. An entirely different person from the unhinged killer you witnessed minutes ago. "What? You said you were a mechanic", you questioned with raised brows. "That's also true. I'm a jack of all trades, I suppose. You know what I'm best at, though?" He lowered himself until his forehead touched yours. "Pleasing you."

The man is romantic in his own way. He twists the key, and the engine stops. You follow him out of the car in confusion. "Why did we stop here?" He briefly lifts himself up onto the tall fence securing the bridge, and inhales deeply. "Isn't it a nice view?" he says, nodding ahead. It is a scenic sight, sure. The river slithers along the lush valley, and the setting sun gives everything a dramatic tint. "Give me your hand", he suddenly demands as he goes to grab it himself. Before you can ask for an explanation, he quickly drags a blade across your palm, and you wince in pain. He repeats the gesture with his own hand, locking his fingers with yours over the rail. You watch as fresh blood trails along your skin, eventually falling into droplets and vanishing into the river. "Now we're going to be everywhere", he remarks playfully. "Okay, but what was the point?" you insist, a little baffled.

"Isn't it obvious? Maybe this will help", he continues, procuring a ring from his pocket. "I'm saying I want to marry you, (Y/N)."

You open your mouth to answer, but he already slides it up your finger, eyes glimmering in excitement.

"You're never getting away from me, love."

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

On the Edge of Innocence

Corrupted!Wanda Maximoff x innocent!fem!reader

Word count: 1K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon, power impalance, edge play, memory alteration, manipulation, gaslighting, Mommy kink, magic-induced immobilization, magic used like a drug

Authors notes: Sorry it's a little late everyone!

The atmosphere between you and Wanda had been easygoing from the start. After Natasha introduced you to her at the coffee shop, you felt an instant connection, unaware of the storm brewing beneath Wanda’s calm surface.

She found you refreshing—a break from the usual chaos that surrounded her. You had a certain innocence that drew her in, a softness that made her feel powerful in ways she couldn’t resist. It didn’t take long for Wanda to learn just how easy it was to make you blush, to see that flash of bashfulness in your gaze when she gave a playful tease or brushed her hand against yours.

But that innocence awakened something else in her. Darker desires stirred as she realized how little you understood the effect you had on her. And she had power. Her magic allowed her to erase the memories of those moments where she’d let that hunger slip, when she’d let her hands wander or leaned close enough to breathe in the sweetness of your innocence.

Each time, Wanda would reset you, erasing the moments when her magic had coaxed you to the edge, leaving only traces of warmth and longing you didn’t understand. You thought it was natural—the flutter of nerves whenever she looked at you too long, the way her fingers lingered when she brushed them along your arm. And, each time, she’d bring you right back to the start.

Only Wanda knew how many times she’d used her powers to draw you in, to unravel that innocence bit by bit, savoring every innocent smile and lingering gaze. And she’d keep it that way—your best friend, the only one you really trusted, the one who held every secret, every forgotten moment, in the palm of her hand.

It was a quiet evening, with only the sound of the espresso machine humming in the background. You were about to close up when Wanda walked in, her eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist—part nervousness, part thrill. She smiled as she stepped closer, her presence warm and intoxicating.

"Hey, thought I'd keep you company while you close up," she said smoothly, her voice low, a little too soft. You nodded, always grateful for her company, though the way she looked at you sometimes made you shy.

As you went about cleaning, you could feel her eyes on you, watching closely, like she was studying every move. You turned to face her, your cheeks pinking as you noticed how close she was.

"Wanda… do you, um, want some coffee?" you offered, trying to steady yourself.

Her lips curled into a knowing smile, and she shook her head. "Not coffee," she murmured, her hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I was thinking something a bit sweeter." Her fingers trailed slowly down the side of your face, grazing your jaw, making your breath hitch.

There it was again—that feeling, warm and heady, making you forget the world outside of Wanda’s gaze. You wanted to pull away, the intensity overwhelming, yet you couldn’t move, held by the softness of her touch and the way her voice wove around you.

“You’re so cute when you’re shy,” she teased, her fingers now tracing lightly over your collarbone. “All that blushing… like you’ve never been touched before.”

Her words sent a flush through you, and you dropped your gaze, feeling both flattered and utterly vulnerable. You never understood why her words hit so deeply, why they made you feel both embarrassed and needy in a way you’d never experienced before.

Unseen to you, Wanda's eyes glowed faintly as she reached into your mind, blurring your memories, pushing a wave of calm over you to cloud any hesitations. The moment she was ready, she murmured, "You can trust me, right?"

You nodded, unable to resist the soft spell of her voice. "Of course, Wanda."

She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your skin as her fingers grazed along your waist, her magic keeping you still. Each touch was electric, sending a shiver through you, but her hold kept your thoughts fuzzy, soft. Her mouth was so close to yours, just barely hovering over your lips, leaving you gasping for air and yet unable to move.

“Just let go for me,” she whispered, and her magic pulsed in time with her words, melting away any remnants of resistance. She guided you, leaning you back against the counter as her hands settled firmly on your hips, her eyes dark with desire.

For a fleeting moment, you felt something shift, something that told you this was more than it seemed, that there was a different intent behind Wanda’s warmth. But before the thought could form fully, Wanda’s magic washed over you again, taking away your doubts and leaving only her touch, her scent, and her quiet commands.

A wave of her hand and you look down when you feel something hit your thigh. A red strap with her magic swirling around it. 

“W-Wands…I–” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Shhhh just be Mommy's good girl like always and take it.” She says and you don't have a chance to respond as your words turn into choked moans. She's pushed herself fully inside of you and started pistoning her hips. 

“Fuck Y/N you're always so tight for me. You always feel so fucking good.” Wanda growls by your ear as you cling to her moaning. 

You don't know what she's talking about when she says ‘always’. This is your first time. Maybe she's fantasized about this? Yeah that has to be it. 

You feel yourself building up fast, you've never experienced pleasure like this, but just as you're teetering on the edge she stops and pulls out. A whine escapes your lips as you try to pull her back to you. 

“Oh no moya dorogaya. You aren't allowed to cum just yet. Mommy is going to savor you like she always does. We aren't over until I say we are and when I'm finally finished you won't remember a thing.” Wanda whispers by your ear, sending a chill through you. 

Tomorrow, like she'd said, you’d remember none of this—the press of her body, the whispered promises, the way her hands had claimed you. You’d remember only the warmth you felt, the lingering shyness, and how, in Wanda’s presence, you always felt so safe, so completely hers.

[solxamber]

A valentines request 💕 (the influx of requests after book 7’s update must be overwhelming haha, please take your time!!)

Vil, romantic, “If it’s make believe, why does it feel like a vow we’ll both uphold somehow? What if he’s written ‘mine’ on my upper thigh only in my mind?” (Guilty As Sin - Taylor Swift)

Link : https://youtu.be/OOYlWF6V8t8?si=su5K_CNvS_W2G5jN

Showmance || Vil Schoenheit

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 820

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Costars to lovers, showmance, Mutual pining

The first time you met Vil, it was under the glare of stage lights and the scrutiny of a dozen casting directors. The chemistry was instant, electric in a way that made the producers exchange delighted glances.

You didn’t know it then, but that moment would mark the beginning of something far more complicated than just playing pretend lovers.

The romance drama you both starred in had captivated audiences, a story dripping in tension, longing gazes, and kisses stolen in the rain. Every scene, every carefully rehearsed embrace, every whispered confession felt real—maybe too real.

Late-night rehearsals blurred into early mornings. You knew how Vil liked his eggs—soft, just barely runny, seasoned with a pinch of pink salt. He memorized your coffee order, down to the precise ratio of milk to espresso. It wasn’t just acting anymore; it was instinct.

But you weren’t the only one suffering under the weight of blurred lines. Vil, composed and refined, carried himself with a grace untouchable by most. Yet, even he wasn’t immune.

He was always the perfect co-star, always professional—until the cameras stopped rolling, and his touch lingered just a second too long. Until his eyes, sharp and piercing, softened in ways they shouldn’t when he looked at you.

Still, you played your roles.

Hand in hand, you navigated through paparazzi, his presence a shield against the blinding flashes. On red carpets, he stood close, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as he murmured, “Tilt your chin slightly. The lighting will flatter you more.”

In interviews, he praised your talent, spoke of you with a reverence that made your chest ache. The way he gazed at you—steady, unwavering—left audiences convinced.

"They’re so in love," the headlines declared.

If only they knew.

Vil dreamed of you. He dreamed of untying the ribbons of your outfit, tracing the dips and curves of your silhouette like an artist memorizing their masterpiece. He dreamed of calling you his, not for the cameras, not for the show, but in a way that would make the entire world understand that you belonged to him.

You dreamed of him too. Of his hands, his voice, the way he could undo you with nothing but a single glance. You dreamed of his name against your lips, of him writing "mine" on your skin, branding you with devotion.

But they were only dreams.

The script for the final episode was spread between you, its pages crinkled from hours of flipping back and forth. The last scene was a confession, the culmination of everything your characters had fought against, every moment of tension reaching its inevitable breaking point.

You were curled into Vil’s couch, script in hand, reading the lines under your breath.

"I never wanted to fall for you. I tried to stop it, I really did."

You turned to Vil, expecting his usual measured advice on how to deliver the words. Instead, you found him already watching you. The golden glow of the lamp cast shadows across his features, his lips parted as if caught mid-thought.

“Vil?”

He inhaled sharply. “Say it again.”

You blinked. “Say what?”

“The line.”

You cleared your throat. "I never wanted to fall for you. I tried to stop it, I really did."

His jaw clenched. “And yet?”

You hesitated. “And yet, I couldn’t help myself.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy, suffocating. You felt it like a storm rolling in, inevitable, inescapable.

Vil moved before you could process it, his fingers threading into your hair, his other hand tilting your chin. His breath fanned against your lips, and for the first time since you met him, he wasn’t composed. He wasn’t refined.

He was desperate.

The script slipped from your fingers, landing in a forgotten heap on the floor. Then his lips were on yours, warm and insistent, tasting of wine and unspoken promises.

Your fingers found purchase against his chest, gripping the silk of his shirt as you pulled him closer. He made a noise—a low, aching sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

His hands traced the shape of your jaw, your throat, as if memorizing you in ways he hadn’t been allowed to before. He kissed you like you were the most exquisite sin he’d ever commit, like he was willing to bear the guilt if it meant he could have you.

When you finally parted, breathless and dazed, his forehead rested against yours. “Tell me this isn’t just a dream,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You cupped his face, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone with your thumb. “If it is, I don’t ever want to wake up.”

Vil smiled then—soft, real, breathtaking.

The next time you sat in an interview, fingers intertwined beneath the table, the answer was no longer a lie.

Because this time, when Vil looked at you like you were his entire world, it wasn’t for the cameras.

It was simply the truth.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[hotchnerwrites]

Two Inches Away

◁ part one

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 0.8k

Warnings: SFW, established relationship, domestic fluff

A/N: i couldn't resist writing a follow-up and including the part about Hotch using touch as an indication he should come closer. yet another day goes by where i wish soft aaron was real and mine, sigh. enjoy reading! much love to anon especially for the inspiration <3

Dividers by @/strangergraphics-archive My requests are open :) Send me stuff! Images from Pinterest

7 months later

The heat wakes you. Your body feels clammy with sweat, and the thin tee you wore to sleep sticks to your skin. As you turn to check the clock on your bedside table— 04:00 am— you notice that the other side of the bed is empty. It hadn’t been that way a few hours earlier. You rub the sleep from your eyes as you swing yourself into an upright position. 

The door creaks gently as you slip out. The house is still, save for a faint hum from the refrigerator. The only source of light is an orange glow coming from the study. 

Must be time for annual reports again.

Silverware clinks softly as you dig through the kitchen cabinets for a bowl. The cool tile beneath your feet grounds you, and you turn to open the freezer. The ice cream is soothing; it’s what you need to cool off from the humidity. As you lick the spoon, your eyes flicker to the closed study door. You wonder if you should grab another bowl, but Aaron doesn’t need ice cream right now. Not when he’s buried in paperwork like this. 

One of the first things Aaron showed you when you moved in with him was how to brew the perfect cup of coffee. You’d never liked the taste of caffeine, but Aaron changed your mind. There was a world of difference between burnt instant coffee and properly brewed espresso. So, you grab the coffee beans, a ritual the two of you now share. It’s one you know he needs, even on the warmest nights, when most would go for something cold. The cup of coffee was his comfort, something to keep the world at bay when it got too heavy.

The rich aroma fills the space as the machine hums to life. It’s just coffee, you muse, but it feels important. In the same way that Aaron knows how you like your eggs made just so, you’ve memorised his little quirks too.

When it’s ready, you grab the cup and your bowl and head to the study. 

You don’t knock. Just walk in like you always do.

Aaron’s seated at his desk, shoulders tense under the weight of whatever he’s working on now. He looks up as you walk in, his gaze softening at the sight of you, cup extended in his direction.

“Why’re you awake?” His voice is low but carries that familiar undercurrent of affection.

Always so worried about you.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” you tease, setting the coffee down in front of him. He doesn’t drink it immediately; it’s too hot. But his fingers brush the side of the cup, warmth leeching into his skin.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his quiet amusement. Aaron’s always been like that— unhurried, content to exist beside you. The kind of love that’s felt in the stillness, in the small gestures.

You pull up a chair next to him. The ice cream is melting in your bowl. The minutes tick by slowly, punctuated by the sounds of Aaron’s pen scratching and your spoon clinking against the bowl. The quiet stretches between you both like an invisible thread, before Aaron leans back slightly in his chair. Without looking up from the papers, his hand reaches over and steals a spoonful of ice cream from your bowl. His thumb brushes against your wrist as he takes it, the light touch enough to make you shiver just a little.

You let the contact linger. You know what’s coming next, even before he pulls your foot toward him with a gentle tug.

Aaron looks at you then. His eyes are like two drops of the coffee he so loves to drink in a cloud of milk. He looks tired, you think. Not from the lack of sleep but from the unending pile of files he takes on. You wonder if the team knows that they get less paperwork because Aaron bears the brunt of it.

He blinks, a million expressions flitting across his face in a flash.

“You’re too far away,” he says quietly, voice rough.

He doesn’t wait for an answer; he doesn’t need to. The pressure against your ankle becomes more insistent.

You don't argue. You let yourself be pulled in closer, drawn to him without a single spoken word.

He leans in, resting his head against your shoulder. His familiar scent fills your senses— faint notes of aftershave and laundry detergent.

Aaron moves his hand to rest it against your thighs. His thumb traces light patterns onto your skin.

The weight of the world slowly slips away as your eyes begin to flutter shut.

“You should sleep,” Aaron mumbles, not moving from your embrace. His tone— gravelly but warm— belies his words. He doesn’t want you to leave him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reply softly. That’s all it takes.

He doesn’t have to ask you to stay. He doesn’t need to. You’re already here.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

ps. anyone catch the movie reference?

[exhaslo]

Hello! This is something kind of niche but I was wondering if you could write a Pornstar!Miguel x Pornstar!Fem!Reader, where he is a new pornstar and meets with her the day before their shoot. He’s like super sweet to her and they have an informal hangout/date to like be comfortable around each other. Reader tries their best to ease his worry him cuz he seems kinda shy, but the day of their shoot he’s a total freak in the sheets and it totally catches her off guard? Dirty talk, dom and all.

I love your writing so much and I know you’ll do a great job writing whatever your heart desires for this one! Thx in advance <333

No lie this sounds cute as fuck! Here we go!

Warning: MINORS DNI, Smut, rough sex, dirty talk

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

It was another beautiful day. You were ready to receive your next paycheck, but first, you had to help the new guy. A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you walked into a popular coffee shop. You were actually excited for this secret meetup. Normally, it was informal to meet your coworkers before a shoot, but this new guy? Oh, he was your type!

You were a pornstar. It is a long story on how you got into the business, but you were good at acting. A little too good. As you waited in line, you let out a soft sigh. While the paychecks were nice, you were really ready for something new. Cue, your manager making you a teacher and setting you up with newbies.

"Two extra shots of espresso." You muttered, trying to avoid groaning at the thought.

Despite the struggle of your job, you were eager for tomorrow. The new porn star, Miguel, was going to be your next partner. You saw his file and the man was huge and good looking. He was the one who actually asked to meet you in person. It was cute how shy he sounded over the phone.

"(Y/N)?" Miguel waves slowly, sitting in a corner table. You approached him with your drink,

"Hi, Miguel!" You said with a chirp, "My god, you're so tall."

"Sorry," Miguel went to shake your hand before immediately sitting down towards your comment.

You sat across from him, admiring his features. The man chose to become a porn star than a model? He was going to be an instant lady killer! Hopefully his acting was decent.

"Thanks again for meeting me. As you can tell, I'm a little nervous with this being my first shoot and all." Miguel said. You smiled,

"It's no biggie. It's kind of fun breaking the rules like this. Why don't we just chat about ourselves, get more comfortable with each other? I'm sure it will help you out a lot." You offered.

Miguel took the suggestion and the two of you spoke for hours. There was a chemistry there and you sensed it. You were disappointed when you had to leave for the night. Miguel parted ways with and kiss to your hand. He was such a gentleman! You were already imagining the slow and soft sex he was going to give you tomorrow.

It would be different for sure, but you were looking forward to it. Hopefully, Miguel won't disappoint you like all of your other coworkers. It was frustrating to work in the porn industry, but could never cum in your own videos. You always had to fake an orgasm and pleasure yourself later.

"Let's not think of the negative! Just...look forward for tomorrow," You told yourself.

-----------

"Alright, you know the rules. First shoot, newbie gets to pick the theme. We will go from there afterwards," Your manager called out to the crew.

You glanced at Miguel, seeing him nervously look around, "Hey, it's going to be okay. I promise I won't bite, unless you want me too."

"Haha," Miguel smiled towards you, "Is it okay if we do something simple?"

"You get to pick. Why not something that will get you in the mood?" You suggested and showed him the costume room, "Is there something you want to see me wear?"

Miguel looked around, his eyes sparkling at some of the outfits. He glanced back at you,

"I know what I want to do."

---------

"Mhm~ I don't have any money for this massage~ Is there any other way I can pay you?"

You laid against a soft bed, spreading your naked legs apart. Your gaze towards Miguel as you slowly rubbed your own clit. Miguel had chosen a massage sex scene. Something where he could feel your body to get you prepped. How kind and generous of him. You hummed sweetly, faking a moan as you dove your fingers towards your hole.

"No money? That's fine, I'll just have to massage one more place before you can leave."

You're eyes widen as Miguel removed his pants. He hovered over you, stealing your lips in a forceful kiss before his hands roamed your body. You pressed yourself against him, your hand heading towards his cock. Miguel grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head before growling lowly,

"I'm giving the massage. Not you, chica (girl)"

For once, you felt a shiver run down your spine. What happened to the shy man from yesterday? You're eyes widen as Miguel's fingers started to enter your pussy. He started with one, stretching you out more than some of your coworker's dicks. You raised your hips slightly, wanting to help him get more access, but once again he pinned you down.

"Tsk, tsk, do you come onto all your massage therapists?" Miguel spat lowly, "Being such a slut?"

You shivered once more to his cruel tone. He sucked against your breasts while another finger entered your pussy. Miguel's fingers were wandering around your gummy walls, searching for that sweet spot. This was different. You're eyes widen once he curled his fingers, making you moan for real.

"That's right. Pay your bill in full." Miguel whispered.

You gasped lowly as Miguel pumped his fingers against that spot. He removed himself from your breasts, keeping you held down. His thumb pressed against your clit, causing you to squirm under him. Miguel just kept making eye contact with you. It was as if he wanted to watch you break because of him.

"What a slutty face. You like this kind of massage right?"

"Y-Yes." You whimpered, feeling your body burn with pleasure.

This was actually happening. You felt a tight knot growing in your lower abdomen. Miguel's fingers only went faster. It wasn't long until he entered a third finger that really made you break. You arched your back, moaning and whining as he wrecked your pussy with just his fingers alone. With one more curl, you finally felt that tight tension burst.

"You're getting my work area dirty, that's going to cost extra."

You were panting softly from your intense orgasm. Miguel withdrew his fingers, causing you to shiver slightly. You were feeling the need, the want. Your pussy was throbbing and begging to be filled. Miguel was the first person who actually made you cum. You gasped, forcing a smile as you saw him position his dick right against your folds.

He was fucking big! You spread your legs, teasing your entrance for him. This was just part of the job. Miguel grunted as he grabbed your legs, placing them over his shoulders. He bit against your inner thigh before pushing his dick inside you. You whimpered, arching your back as you pretended to be fine.

Miguel's dick was stretching you out. This was a first. His dick felt hot and strong. Once he was fully inside you, Miguel pinched your clit, causing you to moan and whine. He smirked, pounding the life out of your pussy, breaking you down even more.

"So fucking tight. You don't get much exercise here, do you?" He mocked.

You moaned in response, focusing a little too much on how good this felt. His dick beating against your pussy with each rough and wet slap of his hips. His tip kissing your cervix each time, threatening to remind you that this was his moment. You were his fuck toy. You whined, your eyes nearly rolling back as Miguel rubbed your clit again.

"You're going to have to come back. I'm going to have to remind this pussy that it owes me payment." Miguel grunted as he went faster.

You felt your growing orgasm once more. Miguel held your body down against the bed, pressing his dick further inside you. Your mouth formed an 'o' as you started to see stars. Whimpers and moans were all you were able to say as you cam hard against his dick. Even after a second orgasm, you still could not believe that this was happening.

"That's a good fucking sign. My little slut is finally relaxing," Miguel spat as he griped your hips tightly, cumming inside you.

Your body trembled as you felt his hot, sticky load fill you. With a pop, Miguel pulled out, leaving your pussy a mess. A mixture of your juices and his cum pouring out of your abused hole.

"Cut! Good job (Y/N), Miguel! I think that's going to be a killer!" You managed yelled out.

"Are you okay?" Miguel asked as he helped you up. You panted softly, regaining your composure,

"Y-Yeah,"

"I didn't go overboard, did I? You're not hurt?" He kept asking, giving you a towel to wrap yourself with.

"You did amazing. I'm the opposite of hurt," You told him as the two of you walked towards the showers, "In fact, you did something none of my other coworkers could do."

"I did?"

"Yes, and I would love to be your partner for ongoing shoots. If not, then...maybe we can meet outside of work?" You whispered the last part to him, feeling slightly embarrassed. Miguel just smiled,

"I would love that."

You watched Miguel enter the shower first, wondering to which part he agreed to. Unsure, you followed him into the shower, still daydreaming about his dick.

You found out afterwards that Miguel agreed to both.

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

I hope you liked it!!! Not really sure how porn videos actually work, haha

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Seeing Stars 2

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

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

Character: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Summary: You struggle to be star struck by the world's most famous super soldiers. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: Guess this is happening.

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

Your image in print makes you cringe again. If you keep doing that, you're going to form a few new wrinkles. It's hard to describe the expression on your face; somewhere between a gape and a grimace. Bonita doesn't seem to notice as she waves the signed photo in glee. 

"Oh my god! Mo is going to hella jealous," she chimes. 

You grumble. Another pair of thunder gods barge by and you stop short to keep from getting bonked by a foam hammer.  

"They couldn't crop me out?" You wonder. 

"Heyyyyy, no way. Then it'd only be me and cap," she whines. "You look fine." 

She isn't looking at you. She's too obsessed with herself, perched perfectly in Steve Rogers' arms. You glower at your likeness and roll your eyes.  

You shrug as if trying to wriggle free of the touch no longer there. It's there in the picture, that unwelcome embrace. It just happened so fast. You don't touch. You don't hug. Bonita gets on for her birthday and one for Christmas and outside of that, you have your bubble. 

"My feet are killing me," you drone. 

"You're not tapping our already, are you?" She chirps. 

"No, but I could use a coffee. Maybe sit for a few." 

"I don't want to miss the costume competition," she hums. "How about you come find me?" 

"That works." 

You'll agree to anything if it gets you a break from all this. You feel your battery flickering. You're at 12% socially and recharging will take days, if not weeks. 

"I'll text if I get lost," you assure her. 

You part and go in search of one of the vending machines you passed a few minutes ago. You're not outwardly sardonic, or you try not to be. When people describe you as deadpan, you're often surprised they pick up on that. You say as little as you can but some people take silence negatively.  

You tap your card for the overpriced instant cappucino. The machine churns noisily and a cup drops down onto the tray. The brown espresso mix spits from the nozzle. Its aromatic even if you expect a watered down flavour. 

You take the cup and blow over it. You keep away from the hordes of fandom devout. You wind along the wall and find a quiet hallway. You lean by the emergency exit and sip your coffee. 

You close your eyes and sigh, tilting your head back as you let the coolness of the wall soothe you. You inhale as the thrum of the crowd drifts in. You don't want to go back. 

There's some scuffing at the end of the hall. Your head snaps up and you stand straight, expecting a staff member to chase you out. Worse. It's one of them. 

"Oh hey," the blond slows as he comes down the hall, stopping midway. "Um... didn't expect anyone back here." 

You stare at Steve Rogers and take another drink, "just on my way out." You glance at the door to your left; 'Employees Only'. The placard beneath denotes a restroom. Makes sense, he can't piss with the peons. 

"You got a photo," he says as you edge down the hall, keeping near the wall as you try not to get close. 

"My friend did, yeah." 

"Wait? You didn't get a copy? I can pull a few strings." 

"No thanks," you stop a foot away from him, realising he's too big to squeeze by.  

"You alright?" He asks, sounding genuinely concerned. Your forehead furrows but you stop the frown from reaching your lips, "I'm fine." 

"These things give me a headache too," he says. 

How presumptuous. Even if your head is feeling a bit dull. 

"VIP is pretty nice. There's a lounge. I could get you and your friend some passes. Hear they got real coffee too," he gestures to your cup. "I don't know for sure, I don't get to enjoy it much." 

"That's... too nice," you insist. "Excuse me, I gotta find my friend." 

You motion past him but he only moves an inch, "need help?" 

You look at him and shake your head, "I'll find her." You waggle your phone at him and turn, sidling by slowly. At last your free but at the cost of a few drops of coffee as it sloshes in your cup. It's bland. You toss it at the first bin. What a waste. 

You find Bonita near the contest banner. She looks unimpressed as she pouts and crosses her arms. You near as a yawn threatens to break free. 

"What's up?" You ask. 

"Didn't qualify for the contest," she mopes. "So, guess I'll watch." 

"Hm, there's a prize?" 

"Just a gift card but still," she says. 

"Ah, too bad." 

"Well..." she looks around, "how about the raffle? The grand prize is a your of the Avengers compound or something." 

You try not to show your disinterest. She better not invite you to that too. Ha, it's a long shot anyway. You'll humour her for a bit longer. 

"Sure, why not." 

You follow her over to the table. The staff at the table fill out the ballots for you using your ticket numbers. You give your information mindlessly, figuring there's enough people there that you'll forget you even bothered. 

"That's so awesome," Bonita trills. "Can you imagine?" 

You would hate it. You know. You like a museum tour or even a solitary stroll through the library but some good will act for good PR? You'll pass. 

"I hope you win," you say to Bonita. 

"Me too. I have so many questions!" She begins to ramble as you only half-listen. 

As you walk along the booths, your eyes wander through the milling bodies. You squint as a head of golden hair bobs at the far end of the room and pauses. Even on your toes, you can't see enough to confirm your suspicions. What does it matter anyway? Good luck to the Cap finding his way back through these fanatics. You don't envy his lot, you hardly covet your own. 

[sterredem]

Espresso

Charles leclerc x Singer!reader

Face claim Sabrina Carpenter

Summary Y/n releases a new song for 2 reasons

It was also a request

Warning none, not proofread

A/N this is I think one of my favourite I have ever made an my best(?). I really like it! It took a day to make it (working on and off on this). It is pretty long but I love it! I also tried a bit of a change to the theme! I hope you like it!

Sorry to the person that requested it that it took so long! I wanted to make it earlier but than I was watching Star Wars with my mom and fell asleep so I had no time.

Don’t forget to Like, comment and repost! And give me feadback! It helps a lot! Let me know what you thought about it!

Part 2

Instagram

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 2.689.638 others

Yourusername Suprise! I thought I would put out a little song before Coachella! And for celebration of something special🩵🤍

View all 10.738 comments

Conangray So exited!🩵🤍 liked by author

User1 instant coffee boost

GracieAbrams I know what it is!🩵🤍

Yourusername 🤫🤫🤍🩵

User11 NO DONT SUSH GRACIE

GracieAbrams 🤫🤫

User2 so exited!

OliviaRodrigo Love the song!🩵🤍💜

Yourusername 💜🩵🤍

User12 SHE HEARD IT?!?! Liked by OliviaRodrigo

User3 SO EXITED! I will go to Coachella so I hope I will hear it!

User4 Why did Charles Leclerc like?

User5 who is that?

User4 he is and Formula 1 driver!

User5 Oh I heard of him! My dad watches it!

User6 but why would he like? It is so random!

User4 so real! No body else likes!

User7 Taylor, billie, girl in red and now Y/n?! We are getting spoiled!

User8 the cover art is so pretty!

Charles_leclerc 🩵🤍

Yourusername 🤍🩵

User9 OMG?!?!

User10 I hate coffee but I will love espresso

User13 THANK YOU MOTHER

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Charles_Leclerc added to his story

Yourusername replied to your story

Omg! Charles! So weet

Of course min amour

❤️❤️

🤍🩵

Carlos_Sainz replied to your story

Simp

Stut up

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Twitter

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Instagram

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 2.589.085 others

Yourusername Espresso out tonmorow🩵🤍☕️

Music video out soon

View all 4.795 comments

OliviaRodrigo Love the song!☕️🩵🤍 liked by author

Conangray ☕️🩵🤍 liked by author

TaylorSwift Amazibg song!🤍🩵 liked by author

GracieAbrams I love coffee 🤍🩵 liked by author

Charles_Leclerc 🩵🤍☕️ liked by author

User1 The comments?!?!

User2 girls don’t want boys they want Y/n Y/l/n

User3 I think I’m gay

User4 Love the song

User5 love this new era

User6 arrested?! So exited for the music video and song! 🩵🤍

User7 arrested for being too gorgeous

User8 love the aesthetic

User9 beautiful women ❤️❤️

User10 ISSHJEHAKGS HOW ARE YOU SO GORGEOUS?!?!?!

Yourusername Thank you love😘💋

User10 ISBHEBEBSJSIGSN I LOVE YOU

User11 ☕️🩵🤍

User12 ITS ME ESPRESSO

User13 song of the summer!

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Instagram

Liked by TaylorSwift and 1.584.962 others

Yourusername my give a fucks are on vacation… espresso out now🩵🤍

View all 4.147 comments

TaylorSwift 🤍🩵☕️

Conangray Espresso…

OliviaRodrigo love it!

GracieAbrams It’s me espresso!🩵🤍

Charles_Leclerc thinking bout you every night

User1 this WILL be stuck in my head forever. And I’m not complaining

User2 SONG OF THE SUMMER FOR REAL

User3 real pop music is back!

User4 literally Brabie!

User5 can we just talk about the cover art?!?!

User6 literally a pop princess!👸

User7 SONG OF EVERY SEASON

User8 CHARLES’ COMMENTS!????!!!!! IS IT ABOUT HIM?!?! Liked by Charles_Lecelerc

User9 GORGEOUS WOMEN. Liked by Charles_Leclerc

User10 I’m in love with you. Liked by Charles_Leclerc

User11 Anyone sees Charles like and dislike the comments?!?!

User12 how many letters are there in Espresso?!

User13 ATE

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Instagram

Liked by CarlosSainz and 2.784.952

Yourusername Espresso music video out now☕️

How many cups have you had today?🩵🤍

View all 5.832 comments

GracieAbrams 🩵🤍☕️

Conangray 📹📽️🎥🎬🎞️🩵🤍☕️

OliviaRodrigo 😘🥰💋

TaylorSwift 🤍🩵☕️❤️😘🥰🫶

Charles_Leclerc ☕️🫶❤️🤍🩵🥰💋😘

Carlossainz love the long☕️☕️

User1 WHAT IS WITH ALL THE EMOJIS!?!?!??

User2 Love all the singers and drivers comments

User3 it’s called espresso bc you get a caffeine boost from this song

User4 people’s pop princess 👸

User5 you’re THAT girl

User6 Obsessed

User7 angel🤍

User8 LOVE THE MUSIV VID

User9 HOTTEST PERSON ALIVE

User10 I love you

User11 WHO IS IT ABOUTTTT?!?!?!

User12 the smile 🫠🤭🥰

User13 I CANOT GET OVER HOW PRETTY YOU ARE

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Instagram

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 1.926.825 others

Yourusername @coachella weekend 1, thank you to my incredible band, dancers, crew, team, friends, family for this special night I'll always remember. just a blue motel and a dream

And a special thank you, it was an honor to wear 2 custom @roberto_cavalli looks on this day in memory. rest in peace.

see you next weekend!

View all 3.725 comments

Charles_Leclerc 🩵☕️🤍

User1 LOVED TO SEE YOU!

User2 love the last pic

User3 u are so perfect

User4 icon

User5 love the T-shirt

User6 princess, queen, everything

User7 Y/n y/l/n always eates and leaves no crumbs

User8 my queen

User9 loved the chill vibes and the intro of Espresso

User10 star✨⭐️🌟💫

User11 stunning!!

User12 Amazing! One of the artists that I loved seeing live!

User13 SOO PROUD OF YOU!!

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Instagram

Liked by yourusername and 3.373.829 others

Charles_Leclerc Photo dump?

View all 1.583 comments

Yourusername love the aesthetic

Charles_Leclerc Yeah, I got inspired

Landonorris ?!?!?!?!?!?!

User1 he thought that with the thirst trap and Leo we wouldn’t notice the soft launch

User2 and it worked

ScuderiaFerari ❤️

CarlosSainz trying something new

Charles_Leclerc always

User3 THE 1ST PUCTURE🥵😍

User4 soft launch?!?!

User5 she is probably just using him for money

User6 AWWW LEO IS SO CUTE

User7 the 90s beach aesthetic? Loving it! It’s giving Y/n Y/l/n!

User8 2 SHIRTLESS PICTURES?!?! WE ARE GETTING FED!! THANK YOU MYSTERIOUS GIRL!!

User9 so hot

User10 dog dad era

User11 never beating the babygirl allegations

User12 what is going on with all these side quests?!

User13 Charles surfer era when??

User14 who got u smiling like that?? Maybe some twisted humor??? (Iykyk)

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Twitter

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Instagram

Liked by TaylorSwift and 4.378.167 others

Yourusername The other special thing fans the 2nd reason of me releasing Espresso. happy anniversary love🩵🤍

comments are limited

TaylorSwift So happy for you! He’s a keeper,

GracieAbrams Such cuties!

ConanGray love y’all or whatever (jokes on you so happy for you!)

OliviaRodrigo switch en up like Nintendo🤍🩵

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Instagram

Liked by Honeymoon and 2.372.839 others

Yourusername Coachella weekend 2

that was one of the most fun shows I've ever played. I can't believe i got to sing Don't Know Why with the one and only magnificent @norahjones .... I can't believe my keyboard is haunted... and i can't believe you guys were already singing along to all the words in espresso. I feel so lucky. thank you to everyone who came to watch !!!!

the biggest thanks again to my team, crew, band and dancers for all your hard work and making such a dream show come to life. Love you alllll

Comments are disabled

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Instagram

liked by Charles_Leclerc and 1.936.729 others

Yourusername what’s your favourite lyric

View all 7.472 comments

User1 MY “GIVE A FUCKS” ARE ON VACATION

User2 I’m working late cause I’m a singerrrrrrr

User3 HE LOOKS SO CUTE WRAPPED ROUND MY FINGERRRRR (I don’t have any boy)

User4 “switch it up like Nintendo” is iconic

User5 too bad your ex don’t do it for ya

User6 OMG I just realised; if it is about Charles than that is about Alex!!!

User7 my twisted humorrrrrr make him laugh so oftennnn

User8 THE WHOLE SONG GIRLLL

User9 I CANT RELATE TK DESPERATION (continues to lives in desperation anyway)

User10 I know I Mountain Dew it for ya😎😎

User11 obsessed with the whole song

User12 The best song EVER

User13 all of them

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♫ y/n y/l/n - Espresso

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 3.738.926 others

Yourusername coolchella

View all 5.527 comments

Chappelroan Ya exactly

User1 Exactly

User2 THE 7th PICTURE HAHAHAH

User3 cutie

User4 LOVED SEEING YOU!!

User5 SABCHELLA

User6 Cus I’m a singaaaaaaaaa

User7 CHAPELLL

User8 👸👑

User9 POPSTAR PRONCESS

User10 who the boy from the past post??

User11 GORGEOUS

User12 MOTHER

User13 ❤️❤️

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Instagram

Liked by Charles_Leclerc and 5.835.180 others

Yourusername heard someone was copying me🤷‍♀️

All jokes aside, Happy 1 year anniversary my love🫶 I am so happy to be sharing my time with you. Thank you for all the support and being with me through it all.

To the fans; thank you for being with me through it all and supporting me. Fans, meet Charles, Charles meet my fans. I hope you can learn to live each other and simp over me together (yes this is a direct attic at you charles (he ruined my plan with liking)(and how can you soft launch and put Leo in the same post??!!))

Love you all! See you sometime else!

View all 9.537 comments

Charles_Leclerc Love you mon amour❤️🫶

Yourusername 🩵🤍🫶❤️

Landonorris WHAT THE FUCH

Carlossainz I knew already!!

TaylorSwift So happy for you all

GracieAbrams ❤️ He is the only one I trust you with!

Conangray He’s okay I guess

OliviaRodrigo You left me for a man?!?!

Yourusername I’m sorry my love. Let’s run away!

OliviaRodrigo Already packed my bag

Charles_Leclerc ????!!!

Yourusername nothing to see here my love

User1 WHAT?!?!

User2 OMG I LOVE IT

User3 I LOVE THEM ALREADY

User4 LOVE THE REACTION FROM SOME OF THE DRIVERS (Lando)

User5 OMG HOTTEST COUPLE ALIVE

User6 SGE A DOG MOM TO LEO!!

User7 ‘switch en up like Nintendo’ for real

User8 POWER COUPLE

User8 LOVE THAT THE AESTHETIC IS STILL THERE

User9 THE PICTURES🥵😍 WE GET CHARLES THIRT TRAP Y/N THIRT TRAP AMD THEM TOGJETEHR????

User10 SO HOTTTTT

User11 THE CAPTIONNN🫠🫠🫠

User12 SHE IS A WAG NOW!!

User13 Can’t wait to see her paddock fits!!

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[enflixx]

Off script - jake sim

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

genre: fluff

warning(s): none!

word count: 920

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

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

The phone screen lights up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t feel like someone who made it.

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

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

You fix it. And you apologize. Twice.

No one tips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you pick up anyway.

“Hey,” you say, flat.

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

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

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

Your feet stop moving.

“What?”

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

“Me?” you croak.

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

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

You tap it open, hands trembling.

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

You brace yourself.

“Guess who.”

“Just tell me.”

“Jake Sim.”

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

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

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

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

You hang up, stunned.

You Google him. Of course.

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

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

You’re... still trying.

You open the script.

The first line:

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

You sit with it.

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

[hatsbuckets]

Coffee head canons of the 141 and friends. (I'm not a coffee drinker by any means so please forgive me in advance. I really on drink it socially or if someone wants me to try theirs. I've gotten to TRY a lot of varieties but only on minimum occasions because of friends.)

Price: Yes, black, strong and probably sometimes instant coffee. Ikik.

I think he has a secret soft spot for Lavender Honey lattes. He had one once in a tiny café during leave, sat outside while it rained, and it just did something to him. He won't ever order it in public but will drink it if you bring it to him with a “didn’t know what you liked.” I think he has a French press that he acts like he doesn't care about but keeps clean.

Ghost: Straight espresso shots.

but also dirty chai. Spices and espresso, warm and sensory. I think he relies on energy shots or drinks when he's busy busy though (he's not proud).

Soap: Double shot latte with one sugar and oat milk because it tastes nice

He is also not immune to seasonal drinks and will get a pumpkin flavored cold foam. Social coffee drinker!

Gaz: A flat white. Something nice.

I think he'd like Vietnamese iced coffee too (sua da?) (i got to try some once and mmmmm) That sweetened condensed milk got him hooked. He knows the difference between beans and he cares.

Nik: Something strong and stovetop brewed, with or without sugar. A traditionalist or whtv.

He also likes sweetened condensed milk in his coffee! He has tried so many different coffee preparation methods and traditions and he does have opinions but will never turn a drink down. Will also make people something without being asked.

Alejandro: Classic café con leche---coffee with milk. Drinks it with meals

He also likes frappes, the sweeter the better. I think he has a sweet tooth. (He won't admit it, coward)

Rudy: Café de olla that he learned how to prepare at a young age. :3 He likes it with cinnamon, sometimes an orange peel, and if he's got it on him he'll add piloncillo. (He always makes extra for Ale and brings it in a thermos) (I've had this before and it was hnngngjhghgh mmmm)

Also has the tiniest sweet tooth for a good horchata cold brew, he didn't think he was going to like it,, but he does.

Farah: If she drinks coffee... Turkish coffee strong and unfiltered and in tiny cups. Bc if she's going to do it then it won't be half assed. Alex tries it (bc of course he does) and sees God.

I think she'd also like lattes with cardamom in them. Cozy and homey. But ultimately she's a tea over coffee girly any day.

Alex: Black coffee, got used to it being deployed. He's a traditionalist like that too. I believe this man cannot go without caffeine, so he literally drinks it like water. (my poor baby someone hug him)

I think he'd like cold brews with sweet cream. and he likes to crunch on the ice, so he gets extra.

[vomittedsoap]

How characters in AMC The Terror would drink their coffee (/morning drink)

John Franklin: Black, your grandpa's instant Kirkland brand coffee. Either that or 7/11 big gulp that smells like motor oil and piss. Owns a "world's best boss" mug but uses it as a pen cup.

Francis Crozier: black (with whiskey). Jopson makes it for him in one of those plaid Thermos or green old-fashioned Stanley.

James Fitzjames: he takes Starbucks and Dutch Bros very seriously. Big fan of a chai latte as well. Anything with cinnamon sprinkled on it. (insert Larry David Latte joke from Crozier)

Blanky: Same as Crozier but with some sugar and cream

Jopson: owns a French Press that he uses to make Crozier's coffee, drinks his with just a LITTLE sugar but a lot of milk. Also likes espresso sometimes. Drank from a simple white cup or whatever's available.

Hodgson: uses Jopson's French Press (and lost the lid one time). Adds CoffeeMate flavored creamer, pumpkin spice is his fave but hazelenut is fine. Really enjoys stupid mugs so most of the mugs on the Terror belong to him. His favorite is the Rainforest Cafe frog one.

Little: a double-quad-shot of espresso in a Solo Cup means nothing to him. But alas he drinks it anyways. Such is life. Sometimes will have a coffee in Hodgson's mug with a picture of a kitten and puppy playing on it.

Irving: insane amounts of sugar and milk, but will never admit it. One time a shipmate accidentally mistook it for his and instantly spat it out. Irving claimed he didn't know whose it was. The mug changes but says his favorite is the one with John3:16 on it (but actually he covets the Rainforest Cafe frog mug).

Goodsir: actually he's an herbal tea guy. Likes chamomile or things with rose/lavender. Brews them in a mug Hodgson gave him that had some dumb science pun on it, a gift for which he's unnecessarily thankful.

Stanley: black. No fun allowed.

Tozer: regular coffee with french vanilla creamer. Normal.

Hickey: Panera lemonade that kills you. Also takes sips from Crozier, Tozer, or Irving's drinks when they're not looking. ("if you have a milkshake... and I have a milkshake... and I have a straw; see? Watch it. My straw reaches across the room... and starts to drink your milkshake: I... drink... your... milkshake!")

Gibson: doesn't like coffee, but is a big fan of coffee-flavored things.

Collins: espresso with lead and an extra side of lead (with whipped cream)

Silna: Haznelnut latte with which to take her ibuprofin. Lord knows she needs it. Drinks from a baby-blue Stanley Goodsir gave her.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the brie

buttercup, chapter two

a/n: i was originally gonna go into more detail and dive into and actually write the traumatic moments, but i decided to go a little bit more easy on myself, just focus mostly on the healing part and regaining the good.

summary: “well, we’re going out to our usual watering hole, or it’s not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun… might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.”

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, wingman foggy, reference to croissant theft, alcohol consumption, drunk munching on cheese, kissing, crying, retelling of trauma (if it gets too much for you, then please feel free to just skip the last part of this chapter)

word count: 4978

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Scooping one divided lump of dough closer with the bench scraper in your grasp, you put it down before first folding the bottom of the blob over itself, then the sides and then stretched the top down as well before you rolled it all up to create that much more tension in the loaf. As you plopped the soft mass into one of the nearby dusted bannetons, nippily pinching the seam and giving it a few stitches, the ingrained dance only kept on as your fingers moved on to shape the next loaf of sourdough. 

To your left, not at the central table where you worked, stood your uncle Howard, a piping bag of vanilla-flaked cream in his grasp as his rotund frame bent over rows and rows of delicate, flaky little pastries, filling the sunken centre up before he could top them off with little chunks of crimson berries. 

“Are you alright, cupcake?” you glanced up to see Walter leaning against the doorframe that led directly behind the counter, “you look like you’re about to nosedive into the dough and use it as a pillow.”

“I’m alright, just didn’t sleep much last night,” you blinked back down at your work, noting how your weary eyes stung slightly from the lack of rest, “I had a nightmare that was really, really not fun, and immediately when I woke up I started crying and shaking, like instant panic attack, so I couldn’t really fall asleep again after that,” you glanced back up at him and offered a tight-lipped smile. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“I just don’t get why it has to feel so real,” you let your hands halt their waltz as you shared, Howard too glancing over in your direction, “why my body needs to remember it so vividly when I fall asleep. It hasn’t forgotten it while I’m awake, so I don’t feel like I need the reminders… sorry…”

“Don’t apologise, it’s–…” instead of uttering the painful truth, Walter instead let a heavy sigh flow and offered, “…do you want me to make you a cup of coffee? Maybe that could be nice, just a little bit?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, “thanks,” before clapping the worst of the flour off your hands, briefly wiping them against the chocolate brown apron that partially covered your t-shirt and jeans, and wandered around the table, shadowing Walter as he fiddled with the espresso machine, making it hum and puff, till he handed you a steaming mug that had a little heart in the frothy foam floating on the top. 

“Here you go.”

Bringing it up to your lips, you offered him a genuine smile, “thank you, Walt.”

Staying behind the counter as Walter disappeared into the back, the chime of the small bell above the door brought your attention to the pair that then strolled in. Setting down your latte and expecting it to be just any other customer, your eyes instead went wide as you saw who it was.  

“Heya, neighbour!” 

“Y/n, hi,” Matthew smiled as both he and the floppy-haired man beside him came to a stop on the other side of the stocked display case, “uh, Y/n, this is my friend Foggy Nelson,” he gestured to the friendly looking fellow, “Foggy, this is my new neighbour Y/n.”

“The pastry goddess!” Foggy exclaimed excitedly, “I bow to the.”

“Goddess?” you giggled, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you glanced over at Matt, secretly in hopes that he’d gotten that nickname from him, “oh, I don’t know about that. My uncle’s the one who oversees most of the pastries. He studied in Paris back in the 70’s, so in other words he’s a bit of a control freak. But, he is getting better! Slowly letting me take care of more things that I’m more than capable of doing… I’m talking a lot, aren’t I?” you sucked in a sharp breath as you noticed your rambling, “I’ll shut up. The point was just that he is the one who makes most of the pastries here, not me. He’s the goddess.”

“Well, I tasted one of your croissants the other day–”

“Actually,” Matt raised a hand and interrupted his friend, “you stole it.”

“I did not–”

“You came over and I turned away for two seconds and the next thing I knew you’d obliterated the entire bag.”

“That sounds more like a you problem,” Foggy joked, managing to keep a straight face as Matt chuckled, “you’ve known me how many years now? You should know not to trust me with baked goods unless you mean for me to enjoy them,” turning his attention back to you, he leaned his folded arms against the tall section of the counter, “anyways, Y/n, that croissant was properly one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“Really?” your face lit up with a bright grin. 

“Yes, it was so buttery and flaky and urgh!”

“Well, if you liked that, you might like today’s special…” your feet began to carry you further to the left to the very far side of the counter. 

“Oh, please do tell me,” he followed along like a magnet.

Pointing down to the pastry row on the other side of the glass, you explained, “it is this rhubarb danish that also has a little base of pastry cream at the bottom to balance out the tart compote.”

“Oh… my… god…” Foggy nearly salivated, his hypnotised gaze never straying from the treat, “you gotta be some angel sent from above.” 

Busting out a laugh, you grabbed a brown paper bag, “should I take that as confirmation?”

“Yes, please,” he nodded as you plucked one up with a set of tongs. 

“Will that be all?”

“I don’t know if it ever can be all, but slowly but surely I’ll get through your spread, and that is a promise,” Foggy accepted the bag into his waiting fingers, “but for now, yeah.”

“Matt, do you want anything?” you asked, feeling the flutter of butterflies wake up within your stomach as you returned your attention to him, “do you want me to describe the options for you?”

“No, I’ll just have the same as Foggy, as well as–, do you sell coffee?”

“Oh,” the scent wafting off your half-empty mug probably caught his attention, “yes, we do.”

“Then I’ll have a cup as well.”

“Oh, one for me too,” Foggy interjected. When you’d packed up another pastry and filled up two to-go cups, the shaggy-haired man pipped up as they were paying, “hey, what are you doing later tonight?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Properly just head home and rewatch some series for the billionth time,” you said, putting the cash they’d handed you away in the register, “why?”

“Well, we’re going out to our usual watering hole, or it’s not just us, Karen, who works with us, is also tagging along. Would you wanna join? Might be fun… might tear the city up, dance all night and watch the sunrise or whatever kids do these days.”

A laugh then rumbled within Matt’s chest, “we’re not gonna go dancing, Foggy.”

“You never know,” Foggy sang, “I’ve got moves like you wouldn’t believe!” he snuck a small sip of his steaming coffee before meeting your eye, “so, Y/n! Please tell me you’re coming?”

“…and then Karen was like what’s that? Turns out a giant piece of glass had stabbed my side,” Foggy clutched onto his drink as he told his dramatic tale, “I nearly died.”

Cutting her sip of beer short, the golden-haired woman sitting beside him at the round bar table objected, “you did not nearly die.”

“Oh yeah?” Foggy squinted light-heartedly back at Karen, “says the person who barely got a scratch. I single handily rescued both you and Mrs. C from that building and got a sick ass scar to prove it.”

Their voices faded away like grown-ups in a Saturday morning cartoon as you glanced back down at your drink and let the radiating heat of the man next to you seep into your bones. As your fingers brushed down the sides of the glass and played with the condensation, Matt suddenly reached out for his own, though in his search for the stout glass that stood ever so close to your own, his touch briefly grazed against your skin. But if that wasn’t enough to spike your heart rate, when his long fingers enveloped his short glass, the back of his hand pressed up against yours at the proximity.

You weren’t sure how long it persisted before he raised his dark drink up to his lips, but it didn’t seem like he was in a rush to let the contact fade. Your breath managed to grow ragged in the chunk of time you got to stare down at his hand, it looking so massive up against yours. Though the light in the dingy bar was low, you could still manage to make out the dizzying pattern of prominent veins that cascaded off the back of his hand like a calm rainfall rolling down a windowpane. 

For a moment there, assisted by the few drinks in your system, you let yourself dream, just for a little while, just until Foggy’s voice cut through your haze and stirred you from your fantasy. 

“… I mean, am I right? I’m right. Come on, Y/n, back me up here!”

“Huh? I’m sorry, uhm…” you blinked, in some ways feeling more drunk than you had a minute ago, “wha–what did you say?”

As Foggy then began to explain what you’d missed, Matt leaned down close to your ear and whispered, his hot breath tickling your skin and causing goosebumps to erupt. 

“You okay?”

“Mhm,” you hummed fuzzily. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you glanced down and noticed how rapidly your chest was rising and falling. 

“Do you wanna go home? I can walk with you if you want,” he offered quietly. 

“Uhm…” you blinked up at him before uttering, “sure, but I don’t wanna end your night before you want to.”

“No, you’re not,” he reassured you, “I’m ready to go home myself.”

“Alright then,” you nodded before Matt turned to the others. 

“Guys, we’re gonna head home.”

“No!” Foggy boomed, “really?”

Throwing her hands up, Karen added, “but we haven’t even gone dancing yet!”

“Sorry,” Matt got up from his tall stool, “another night.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” you tugged your jacket back on, “I had a lot of fun.”

To your surprise, they both got up and hugged you in return.

“Thank you for coming!” Karen gave you a tight squeeze before Foggy took over. 

“And we’ll be seeing you for the next one, right?”

“Uh, sure,” you gave his back a light pat, “if I have time and stuff the day that it happens, then I’d love to tag along.”

Casting his glance upon the other lawyer, “bye, Matt,” Foggy then yanked him into an embrace, “I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Matt chuckled, clapping his friend’s spine, “I know, buddy.”

“You love me too, right?” Foggy pulled back, though still kept his hands fast on Matt’s broad shoulders, “don’t leave me hanging, it’s bad for a man’s health.”

“Foggy, I started a firm with you. Of course, I love you,” Matt smiled back at his sloshed pal, “good night.”

“Night, night,” Foggy patted his scruffy cheek before letting him out of his gasp, though adding as you turned to exit the bar, “night, Y/n! I love you too! I just met you today, but I love you!”

Soft giggles bubbled out of you as the door slammed shut behind you. 

“So, those are your friends...” you smiled into the night, “I like them. They’re nice.”

“Yeah,” the corners of Matt’s lips turned further up till dimples bloomed, “they’re good eggs.”

As the two of you began to move along, the silence didn’t last very long at all. 

“This is really nice of you, walking me home like this,” you uttered, “I know it’s just because we’re neighbours and headed in the same direction, but–”

“It’s not.”

“What?” your eyes found him.

“It’s not because we’re neighbours. It’s just, you know, the decent thing to do.”

“Right,” you exhaled, casting your glance back down onto the sidewalk as you momentarily got your hopes up. 

“And you know how this city can be,” Matt went on, “it’s not smart for anyone to walk alone at night.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying to keep your tone nonchalant, “of course.”

When a street then appeared before you, slicing the path you journeyed on, and even though there wasn’t any traffic in sight, your hand still instinctively shot down to grasp Matt’s forearm before the two of you could cross.

Realising what you’d done, you quietly muttered, “sorry,” though couldn’t find the strength to withdraw your touch just yet. 

“It’s okay,” his low voice slid from his lips like silk. 

“I just didn’t want you to walk straight out into ongoing traffic...” you tore your gaze away from him and forced yourself to look at the road before you, “but there aren’t any right now, so we can cross the street…”

Guiding his palm up to the curve of your elbow, he accepted the gentle aid as you began to cross the lane. 

Once you’d reached the other side and his grasp slowly began to drift back down. When his palm reached the height of your own, you softly caught it before timidly testing, “…do you mind if we–…”

“Hold hands?” with a gentle smile, he filled in before you might wonder if he could even sense your shy touch at all.

“Yeah…”

“No,” you felt him weave his fingers with your own, “not at all.” 

His touch somehow felt even better than you’d imagined. Though surprisingly gruff, with harsh calluses all throughout, he cradled your palm with such care, like he’d held it a thousand times before, occasionally swiping his broad thumb over your knuckles, presumably just a subconscious gesture from his end that still caused shivers to trickle down your spine every time he did so. 

You wanted the latter part of your walk home to last forever, engulfed in the comfortable silence of endless possibilities. But alas, when you did reach your building’s front door and then climbed the steps all the way up to your respective apartments, you couldn’t get yourself to let go just yet. 

“Are you hungry? Because I kinda am,” you weren’t really, but anything to just stretch the night a little longer, “or maybe it’s just my subconscious taking care of me and lessening my hangover by giving me a sudden craving for cheese.”

“I don’t think I have any cheese.”

“I do,” you said maybe a bit too fast, “do you want some?”

Exhaling lowly, a soft smile twitched at his lips as he then uttered, “sure.”

As you unlocked your door, you finally let go of his hand, “make yourself at home!” you placed your keys down on the slender entry table before kicking your shoes off and peeling off your coat, hanging it up on the row of hooks, “oh, do you want me to, uh, describe the layout for you? Or just plant your down on the couch?”

“Just tell me the direction and I think I’ll be fine.”

Facing him, you haphazardly explained, “alright, the hallway goes on for a few steps and then it’s to your right–, no, wait, my right, that’s your left. It’s to your left.”

Whirling around, you delved deeper into your home till you reached the kitchen. Ripping open the fridge, you snatched up a block of half-eaten cheese before seizing a clean butter knife from the dishrack and a roll of seedy crackers from a cupboard. 

Matt was already comfortable on your sage couch as you laid the humble spread out on the coffee table and joined him. 

“I hope you like brie because that’s what I got. Unless you want a single slice of american cheese, then this is all the cheese I have to offer.”

“Brie it is then,” he relaxed into the cushions as you unwrapped the snack. 

“Here, let me make you a bite,” slicing off bits of soft cheese, you spread it both on a cracker for him and one for you. Gently picking up his hand to place his snack in his palm, you then popped your own in your mouth and nearly melted into the couch next to him, “yep… that’s the spot…” you grinned hazily out the tall windows at the night sky as you chewed, “there’s just something about eating cheese when the moon is out that’s just so right in a way I can’t describe…” 

Your murmuring conjured a light chuckle to rumble within Matt, one that swayed your gaze to train on him. Resting your head against the back of the couch, you watched as the moonlight reflected in his tinted glasses. 

When the silence stretched on, Matt eventually cocked his head, “…what?”

Not tearing your eyes off of him, you breathed, “nothing…”

“You’re quiet,” his dark brows furrowed gently, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you repeated, feeling almost like you were floating in a calm sea. 

“You tired? Do you want me to go so that you can go to bed?”

“No, please don’t, I–…” you reached out and grazed his arm, “could–… do you want to go?”

Letting his body relax once more, he breathed, “not particularly…”

Gazing up at him, your bottom lip snuck its way in between your teeth, “Matt…”

“Yeah?”

“You–… you’re–… I–…” your pulse pounded in your ears. 

“Mhm?”

“I really, really wanna kiss you right now…” you uttered thickly before you had the chance to chicken out. Like a wave crashing a shore, you didn’t even think as you let yourself dive in and press your lips to his. The kiss however didn’t last too long as you swiftly drew back as soon as your brain turned back on and you realised what you’d done, an apology hastily rushing out of your lungs, “Oh my god… I am so sorry.”

“Y/n,” hearing your name on his silky tongue did not help matters. 

“I didn’t mean to just–”

“Y/n,” he repeated, trying to cut through your fog. 

“We can just forget any of that ever happened, I totally get it if you don’t–”

As he brought his hands up to cradle the sides of your face, your nervous ramble fell short. When he ghosted his thumb across your cheekbone, you swore that you stopped breathing entirely. 

“…can I kiss you?” he slowly asked, leaving you utterly dazed. 

“W-what?”

Drawing in a breath, he repeated for you, “can I kiss you, Y/n?”

Blinking back at him, you hazily hummed, “mhm,” before he leaned in and brushed his lips against your own. The kiss was soft, just as your shoddy attempt had been, but it made your limbs feel like they morphed into jelly. When the pecks soon departed, you filled your lungs with a shaky breath as you gazed back at him in total awe, “holy shit…” only staying there a moment before you had to have another taste. 

Slowly growing more confident, the intoxicating kiss gradually grew more hungry. When his fingers then weaved into your hair, you realised that up till now he’d been holding himself back, gatekeeping a kiss that caused your frame to crawl into his lap, starving for more. Your little whimpers vibrated against his tongue as he danced it against yours, growing dizzy as you melted into the heart-stopping sensation. 

But suddenly a tormenting flash stabbed your being, and you abruptly tilted your lips away from his, breathlessly uttering, “wait, wait, there’s-, there’s-, uh…”

“What,” he breathed thickly, nose grazing yours before you retracted further, “are you okay?” 

“I’m…” carefully crawling off his lap, you kept going till you were a safe distance away on your own side of the couch, “Matt, there’s something I need to–, uhm, tell you…”

Staying silent, he patiently waited as you gathered up the courage needed to jump off the cliff and tell him.

Casting your gaze up to the tall and dark ceilings above, you felt your limbs begin to tremble, “okay, alright… I have no idea how to, uh, say this, so I’m just gonna do it,” and like a band-aid, you uttered, “I-, I was raped,” your eyes squeezed shut, not daring to risk glancing at his reaction, “a little over a year ago… and I haven’t–, uhm, done or tried anything with anyone since… so yeah, I just thought that was a good thing for you to know since even though I hope for there not to be any problems, I just don’t know, I don’t know what it will be like for me, if my body will suddenly freak out, but I just wanted to tell you so that in case something does happens, that you know not to automatically take it personally...” drawing in a shaky breath, you fluttered your gaze open and waited for his response, “Matt?”

“Yeah?” he answered carefully. 

“Please don’t say that I’m scaring you away right now…” you shifted your position, turning to face him once more.  

“You’re not, you’re not,” his head softly shook from side to side, “I just–… I really, really sorry.”

“Yeah…” you exhaled slowly, feeling tears sting the corners of your eyes, “me too…” staring at him a moment, you then bared your all and uttered, “I really like you, Matt,” a faint smile accompanied the declaration, “I think you might be the only guy in all of New York that I’m not scared of,” every other man you could think of had all had at least a second, a little flicker, of something that over the past year had terrified you, “and I don’t want you to think that I’m made of glass, that’s not what I want, that’s not why I’m telling you this. Please trust me when I say that I want to, I wanna do–…” a weighty exhale flowed from your lungs as your lips remembered his taste, “I wanna do everything with you… if–, if that’s something you’d like as well… but if we do, even though I really, really want to, I think it’s probably smartest to go slow, no pressure, you know, just in case, so that my body doesn’t freak out. Also, I’d really appreciate it if I at any point indicate for you to stop or even just pause a moment, that you’ll do that, that you’ll listen to me,” you briefly glanced down at your fiddling fingers, “and you know, I’m not saying let’s only do PG things, there are so, so many wonderful steps on the way that we can have fun with… I just–, I wanted to let you know now, before, so that we wouldn’t potentially have this conversation when something did happen.”

Only parting his lips when he was sure you were done, he uttered, “thank you for telling me. Are you–… are you okay? Was what happened before too much?”

“No…” you shook your head gently, “no, it wasn’t,” taking his hand in yours, you shared, “and I’m okay, I think… I mean, some days it still feels like it just happened, and others I notice something, something small, that I’ve gotten back, that I’ve regained…” absentmindedly tracing the lines of his palm with your thumb, you asked, “do you–… do you have any questions? Is there anything you wanna know?”

“No, I–… I just want you to tell me however much or little you feel comfortable with sharing.”

“…can I tell you? About it?” you asked slowly and he swiftly offered you a soft nod. Drawing in a deep breath, you began, “It, um, it was a Saturday night… I’d just gotten back from the bakery super late, maybe close to midnight… and when I was getting ready for bed, my roommate came home, he’d been out drinking as he usually spent his weekends. I remember we stayed up a while, just talking about the mundane stuff we always did. It was like any other Saturday, really. That was until I got too tired and went to go to bed, but he didn’t wanna stop talking, so he followed along into my room while I got ready and stuff,” averting your gaze, your bottom lip began to tremble, “we were just talking, it wasn’t anything special and then the next thing I knew, he was kissing me. It just–… it happened so fast… his hands were all over me… I remember he pushed me up against my closet so hard that my back was bruised the next day, and I don’t bruise that easily. He was just so wasted that I don’t think he realised or maybe even cared what he was doing. I tried to say something, tried to make him stop, but he didn’t listen to me. If he heard me, then I don’t think he understood what it was that I was saying… I would have pushed him away, slapped and hit him, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t move my body, not even a little, I just froze…” 

“I can still feel what he felt like… like my skin won’t let go of the memory…” tears rolled down your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to ignore how your palm tingled with recollection, “how he forced me to touch him and held his hand over mine, making it move as if he just thought I didn’t know what to do… he was my friend, you know? He wasn’t just some stranger who dragged me into an alley and held a knife to my throat. He was my friend. He would always make offhand jokes about seeing me as just a little sister and how he wasn’t attracted to me at all. Made such a big deal of it that I never thought he’d try anything… I have no idea how long it actually went on… I don’t even remember when it was that I landed on the bed, if it was before or after he–… after he–… did stuff, t-touched me… I just remember I was laying there when it happened. The masked man, the devil of hell’s kitchen, he ripped him off of me…”

“He’d somehow heard… I think maybe if I hadn’t opened the window that night to air out the room, he wouldn’t have saved me… he beat him up... knocked him out… he told me to call the police, but I couldn’t, so I instead asked my uncle to come get me… my body’s never shaked the way it did that night… I remember I was so confused because I wasn’t cold, didn’t get it till the masked man said I was in shock… it didn’t stop till the next night… when he was about to leave, I asked what if Mi–,” you couldn’t get yourself to utter Michael’s name out loud without feeling as if your whole world would crumble around you, “what if he woke up before Howard arrived, and so he just stayed there with me, right till he somehow heard my uncle walking up the stairs and then he slipped out the way he came in, right before I heard the front door unlock.” 

Letting out a long and unsteady breath, you raised a trembling palm up to wipe your cheeks. 

For a while, the silence got to encompass the space completely, your left hand still shaking in Matt’s as you eventually heard him ask. 

“Did you ever go to the police?”

“No. In the small window that I had to do one of those kits, I was just way too overwhelmed and confused and I just couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t do anything but relive that moment over and over again, so I didn’t do anything in time. But the longer time that passes and the more it sinks in what he did and the ways that I’m still paying for it, the things he ruined inside of me that I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to get back, the more I wish that I had gone to the police. But it’s too late now.”

“No, it’s not,” his fingers squeezed slightly around yours, “I could help you, I’m a lawyer after all.”

“No, Matt,” you said firmly, “it is. I don’t wanna sit there and hear them go oh, it’s your word against his, sorry, and have them think that not enough happened technically for them to take it seriously. Enough happened, trust me. I’m eternally grateful that Daredevil saved me from whatever else he could have done to me that night, but enough happened. Just because he didn’t stick it in me doesn’t mean nothing happened. That is the kind of belief that only belongs to people who think that the only sexual act that counts as sex is when a penis is in a vagina, and that is just so incredibly wrong,” an enraged laugh tumbled out of you as you fumed, “they are the kind of people who think that someone queer, disabled or just someone who isn’t into that sexual act isn’t actually having sex when they are. Sex is about connection, it’s about pleasure and there are endless amounts of things that can give a person pleasure,” clenching your jaw, you let out a heavy sigh, “I wish it could be different, I wish many things, I wish it hadn’t had happened at all, but it did, and I hope that at the very least he learned something from it, that he changed, that he wouldn’t do it again to someone else.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[alicewrotethis]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨﹒

ㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒synopsis!! kuroo decided to stop for coffee before practice, he didnt expect to meet you ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚౨ cw!! k. tetsuro x fem!reader ﹒ ◠ note!! frank oceans 'blonde' album just reminds me of kuroo in all ways idk, PART TWO SOON this was just on my mind i had to write some of it ౨ wc!! 1k, wanted to make it longer but im so sleepy i cant think of words, next part will be longer !! big plot twist coming soon trust

The sound of Frank Ocean's voice in your airpod quickly replaced the silence as you flipped the sign indicating you were now open, you had hoped it would be a slow morning today since you'd be the only one here for the next few hours. Your manager couldn't make it due to a 'family emergency', and you believed him, well, you believed him the first four times he used that excuse this month. You'd like it better if he told you straight up that he'd like to sleep in some more, you'd have no problem doing a job that's meant for two people. With school starting up again most of your coworkers had quit, now devoting their time to academics, which you didn't mind.

You grabbed the broom that was sitting behind the counter, wanting to do one last sweep before the regulars came in for their usual morning coffee and pastry, and it's not like you had anything better to do having already made fresh pastries two hours before opening.

You began quietly humming along to the lyrics, not hearing the ringing coming from the door.

"Hello," A gruff voice spoke out, and usually you'd be cheery, replying in an instant, but usually you'd hear the customer.

Kuroo instantly recognized the song you were humming along to and a smile appeared on his face from familiarity. Though he was visibly confused about why you kept sweeping, had he not spoken loud enough?

This wasn't his usual coffee place but it was the only place that opened at six in the morning and was spoken very fondly of by Lev.

He cleared his throat preparing to speak out louder this time, but you quickly spun around and took out both your airpods, a shocked look prevalent on your features as you hastily spat out apologies while bowing profusely.

Kuroo let out a small chuckle at your actions, a hand coming to the back of his head as he stood their awkwardly.

"Frank Ocean?" His voice snapped you out of your apologetic state, your flustered blush never moving.

"Yeah! I just lost track of time and thought I'd have a bit more time to finish sweeping and I swear I wasn't igno-"

"It's okay, things happen, I remember when I was young like you." He cut off your rambles before you spoke yourself into the grave.

Only then did you realize how tall this guy was, he was tall but he didn't look old. What did he mean by that? How old was this guy? His bedhead hair gave him an even taller illusion. He wore a red tracksuit, a clothing item you're familiar with, he must be from Nekoma. Then what the fuck did he mean by 'young like you'? You brushed away your confusing thoughts and wondered if he knew Lev.

"Can I get a coffee now?" He asked, taking note of how long you stared him up and down, which silently inflated his ego.

"Yeah! Of course! Sorry," You quickly led him to the counter, letting the broom rest against the brick wall, turning to log into the register.

"Do you need a menu?" You asked, staring up at him, you hadn't seen him here before, you usually remembered all your regulars and customers since you've worked here since, well, you could legally start working. And you're sure you'd remember a face like his. He had distinctive cat-like eyes, and the way he stood, like he knows he's attractive.

"I'll just get an Americano," He spoke, reaching for his wallet as the price displayed on the register.

"Don't worry about it, it's on me for not paying attention" Your hands shot up dismissively.

A smile grew on his lips, "You sure? It's not a big deal," He didn't mind that you weren't paying attention, but a free coffee is a free coffee.

"Yeah! It's only espresso and hot water," You explained, turning around to start the espresso machine up.

You felt nervous under his gaze, knowing that he could see your every move. It had never made you nervous in the years you worked here, but now it was the only thing on your mind. You weren't sure why you were so nervous, it's not like you hadn't seen an attractive guy before, you didn't even know this guy's name.

"And a name for the order?" You said playfully, back still turned to him to hide your blush, but if you were facing him you'd catch the playful smirk he displayed while watching your form.

"Kuroo,"

"Kuroo," You repeated, testing the way it rolled off your tongue, and he relished in the way you said his name, how innocently you pronounced it. He couldn't help the way his eyes drifted lower and lower.

The espresso machine beep cut both of your thoughts shut. Kuroos eyes snapped back up while he internally cursed at himself.

Placing the to-go coffee cup lip in place you grabbed the sharpie from your smock pocket and popped the lid off, writing 'kuroo :)' on the side and promptly handing him his drink with an innocent smile, hoping you had spelled his name correctly.

He returned your smile and placed his large hands around the cup, brushing against your smaller fingers which sent a shiver down your spine, something that didn't go unnoticed by him.

"I'll be seeing you,"

"Yeah!" You watched as he turned towards the door, the bell chiming as he took his leave. The silence of the coffee shop settled in and you had already missed his presence. You knew today would be a long day, would he be here tomorrow?

Kuroo made it halfway to Nekoma before he realized he didnt even get your name, he didn't even think to ask, he debated on running back and asking for your name but you'd probably be busy by now, he would just need to ask next time he went. He wasn't sure when next time would be due to practice and his matches, but for now all he could do was trace your handwriting with his thumb as he entered the Nekoma boys gym.

mlist. rules. tags.

© 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ─ please don't copy, translate, or post any of my work without my permission !

[hyunjincanraptoo]

No exit for love- chapter 1

Ok hehe so this is more like an introductory chapter but it's funny and has a lot of teasing. You can read more about this fic in the menu

Word count: 5.0k

Warnings: smut

Alexa, play No doubt by Enhypen

Chapter 1: You

It’s a quiet Tuesday.

Monte Carlo is still pulsing from the afterglow of the Emilia-Romagna Grand Prix— celebrations, commentary, headlines buzzing about overtakes in the final laps and tire strategy. But in the café where you work, everything moves slower. Mostly locals. 

You wipe down a table by the window. That's when you see him— Yang Jeongin.

He’s dressed casually— blue jeans, white t- shirt, black cap— but he still moves like someone used to being watched. But right now, he’s not. No one pays him much attention— no fans, no flashes, just the bell above the door and the way your breath catches in your throat.

He spots you instantly, then smiles brightly. Not for the cameras, just for you. You try to act natural, you always do. And you fail— every single time.

“Hey”, he says, like he belongs in this small place, “Back in Monaco for a few days. Missed your coffee”

You arch an eyebrow, “Do you even remember your order, Yang Jeongin?”

He tilts his head like you had offended him, “You hurt me like that”

Still, he gets it wrong. He asks for almond milk instead of oat but you correct him without hesitation, and that makes him laugh. That sweet sound you only heard once after you tripped on a loose cobblestone outside the café weeks ago.

He waits while you prepare his drink. Doesn’t pull out his phone, doesn’t rush or do some small talk about the weather. He watches you like people watch fire— from afar but with quiet fascination.

You slide his drink across the counter, “Welcome back”

He takes a sip, letting  a deep groan emerge from his throat, “God, I forgot how good this is. What’s the secret?”

“You were just drinking pit lane sludge in Italy”

“Fair enough”, he says, then leans his forearms on the counter, “I really did miss this place, tho”

“You just missed Riviera espresso”, you tease.

“No”, he says, serious, “This”

You know he doesn’t mean the shop. There’s something in the way he says it, looking at your eyes. You feel it, it’s electric— he missed you.

You quickly change the subject, “How was Imola?”

He talks about the rain delay, the chaos in Turn 2, his car’s balance. You realize he’s not bragging just by the way he tells it— honestly, chaotic, full of laughter. 

And then, after a pause, he says, “There’s a party tomorrow night”

You look at him, quite confused. There’s a party in Monte Carlo literally every day. So… why would he even mention this one?

“A yacht party”, he continues, saying it like it’s no big deal. Like it’s not the kind of event with guest lists and champagne that costs more than your rent. 

“Just a few drivers, some sponsors. Not too much”

You cross your arms, “And why are you telling me that?”

His smile turns sheepish, boyish, even,  “Because I want you to come with me”

Your breath hitches, “Jeongin…”

“You don’t have to say yes”, he adds quickly, reading the instant tension in your body

“I know it’s a weird ask. I just…”, he shrugs, “I think you’d like it. The wind, the view. It’s different from here. But… I would like to have you there by my side”

You stare at him. His world has always felt miles above yours. But now, he’s reaching down, not to pull you up, but to meet you halfway.

You swallow, still hesitant,  “I don’t have anything to wear”

But that just makes him smile wider, “I have a friend with a styling studio. I can take you there. Or we just say screw the dress code and show up in café aprons. I wouldn’t mind”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling wider too. And suddenly, you realize you’re saying yes.

“Good! I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon after your shift”

“But, Jeongin, I…”

But he is not listening to you anymore, he grabs his coffee cup, wears his cap back and walks out that door smiling like it is the best day of his life.

•°. *࿐

When a black Porsche pulls up outside the cafe, you almost hesitate. You almost convince yourself it’s better to stay in the world you know— aprons, espresso, and spoiled clients. But when the window rolls down and you see Jeongin with his cap backward, grinning wide and saying

“Get in, apron girl”, you forget everything you were questioning.

“No way. You drive like a lunatic”

He smirks, “And yet you’re curious”

He is right, you are. And you hate it.

As soon as you buckle your seatbelt, he pulls away fast, tires skimming the cobblestones. The Monte Carlo streets blur around you— the sea glinting to your right, wind catching in your hair. For a second, the whole city feels like a dream.

He drives fast. Not reckless, but playful. He weaves through turns with a skill that can only come from instinct and thousands of hours behind a wheel. Every time the car dips, your stomach lifts. Every time he laughs, you do too.

“This is insane”, you yell over the rush of the wind.

“You mean amazing”, he yells back.

He doesn’t take you to some designer boutique by the marina. Instead, he turns inland, toward the quieter side of the city, and stops in front of a little corner atelier. The windows are filled with soft fabrics, and the woman inside greets him like she is an old friend.

Jeongin leans in, “I told her I was bringing someone important”

You flush, “You’re ridiculous”

But that stays with you.

•°. *࿐

The boutique smells like lavender and expensive fabric. A soft French song plays on the speakers, murmured under the rustling of tulle and silk. The owner holds swatches to your skin, murmuring things in French, then in accented English. 

Jeongin lounges on the velvet sofa in a loose cream shirt, black slacks and that boyish, amused smirk that comes and goes like breath, one leg crossed over the other, elbow draped casually over the armrest.

But every time you step out from behind the dressing curtain, he sits straighter.

He tries to hide it— taps his phone, plays with his rings— but his eyes can’t lie. It keeps moving up to your calves, your thighs, the curve of your spine. Like he’s cataloguing the exact moment he’ll fall in love.

And then you step out in that dress. Cherry red. Low back. The silk clings to your shape like a magnet— fitted at the waist, soft cowl neck draping across your collarbones, ending just past your ankles.

Jeongin whistles.

You freeze, clenching your fists, “I don’t know, I think it’s… too much”

He doesn’t move.

Then slowly, hypnotized, he rises from the couch and crosses the plush carpet in three quiet strides. His eyes drag over every inch of you with a reverence that feels overwhelming. Without asking, his hand comes up, brushing a loose piece of hair from your cheek, fingers lingering just long enough to leave your skin burning.

“You look like Monaco made you itself”, his voice is soft, almost like a whisper.

You turn toward the mirror, inspecting the fit, the price tag glaring at you, “It’s expensive”

But he’s already pulling out his wallet with zero hesitation. Like buying you this dress is as natural as breathing, “It’s yours”

You stare at him, “Jeongin…”

He looks at you, eyes fixed on yours, and then, in a moment too smooth to feel real, his fingers brush your bare shoulder as he reaches the open zipper at your back.

“May I?”, he murmurs.

Your breath falters as you nod

His hand is steady as he zips the cherry dress up slowly, carefully, his knuckles ghosting over your spine. You feel his hot breath near your neck.

 “You… wow”, he says under his breath, as the zipper locks in place, “You actually might kill someone”

You give a shy smile, “Is that a compliment or a warning?”

“Both”

Just as the stylist returns, Jeongin’s name is called from across the boutique— one of the employees holding a garment bag with his tuxedo.

“Right on time” he says, stepping back, “I borrowed mine from Chan but figured I should try something less boring”

You raise a brow, “What happened to yours?”

Jeongin groans, “Don’t ask”

You smile, “That bad?”

He stares off into the distance, traumatized, “Seungmin”

“Ah”

“I left it hanging by the window after getting it steamed. Perfect. Ready”

You nod, “And then?”

“And then Seungmin decided to open the balcony door to ‘get some fresh air’ ”

Your brows furrow, “And…?”

“And apparently Monaco fresh air means seagulls”, Jeongin says flatly, “One flew in. Shit directly on the tux, like it was aiming. It got completely ruined”

You cover your mouth, choking on a laugh, “No”

“Oh yes. Seungmin just looked at it and went, ‘Well. That’s unfortunate’. Unfortunate!  Like it wasn’t his fault!”

You start giggling, “What did he do after?”

“Took a photo, laughed and walked away. Said he warned me about not trusting him”

“That sounds like him”

“I’m never trusting that son of a bitch again”

You shake your head, still grinning, “Well. At least you get to buy a new one”

He looks at you in the cherry dress again, eyes softening, “And at least I get to see you in that while I do”

“You like it?”, you ask

“More than like it”

He winks and then disappears into the changing room just to return minutes later in a sleek black tuxedo— double breasted, satin lapels, shirt unbuttoned at the top.

“Need help with your bow tie?”, you ask, tilting your head.

Jeongin steps toward you, “Since you are offering”

Your fingers move to button the top of his shirt for him and then, they find the fabric of his bow tie. He doesn’t move as you tighten it gently. He just watches you, mouth parted slightly, eyes darker than before. As you finish the last button, your knuckles graze his throat.

“Careful”,  he murmurs, “You keep touching me like that and we’re not making it to that yacht”

“You need to behave”, you whisper.

“Not when you’re this close”

And for a second it feels like the boutique around you disappears. Like all the fabric and mirrors and quiet music are just decoration for the tension between you.

When the stylist returns, breaking the spell, Jeongin steps back— still watching, still thinking god knows what in the back of his head.

"Well", he says, slipping his hands in his pockets, "at least we look like Monaco’s most dangerous couple"

You smile.

“Yeah. I think we do”

•°. *࿐

Afterward, he insists on one more stop before taking you home. He drives you up a winding road that curves above the sea. At the top, he parks, kills the engine, and steps out with a quiet, “Come on”

You sit on the hood of the Porsche side by side, watching the sun slide into the Mediterranean. Your knees are touching, his shoulder brushes yours every time he shifts.

He glances sideways, his voice suddenly softer, “You know... I used to be broke”

You blink, “You?”

He nods, “Lived in a tiny flat with my parents and two brothers back in Busan. Drove old karts until the wheels fell off. I know what it’s like… to want something and feel like the whole world’s laughing in your face for trying”

You say nothing, throat tightening

“I didn’t bring you with me today because I wanted to show off”, he adds, “I brought you because… I don’t know, I think maybe you forgot what it’s like to believe you deserve good things”

He turned to look at you— not the playful, teasing look from the café. Not the casual, cocky grin from the Porsche. But a quiet, intense look. His gaze drops to your mouth and hovers there just a little too long.

You inhale holding your breath as he leans closer. And then, just before it can happen— he pulls back, clearing his throat, “I should get you home”

You nod, cheeks burning, heart pounding against your chest, mouth still tingling from the ghost of his touch

•°. *࿐

Minho’s still sweating from the padel match. His shirt clings to his back, chest heaving slightly as he sinks into the cool cushions of a white leather chaise on the rooftop. Jisung and Hyunjin are laughing over something at the bar. The glass doors are open, and music spills softly from inside.

Laughter echoes behind him— his girlfriend’s voice.

“Minholicious, did you hear me?”

He blinks. Damn, he hates this pet name. 

With a heavy sigh, he looks over his shoulder. She’s gorgeous, of course— glossy blond hair close to perfection, long tan legs, flawless face even when she’s just standing. She’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a phone in the other. 

“There’s a yacht party tomorrow”, she says, stepping barefoot on the white marble floor, “George is hosting. Champagne, photos, sponsors, the whole deal. We have to go”

He doesn’t answer.

She pouts, “Don’t tell me you forgot. This is Monaco. You’re the golden boy here, everyone’s watching. You in Tom Ford, me in Dior? It’s brand synergy”

He turns back to the sea. He has everything they promised him— the wins, the wealth, the apartment overlooking the ocean, the girlfriend with the perfect smile.

And yet, the champagne doesn’t taste like expensive anymore. The adrenaline fades too fast. The nights are too hollow, even when they're busy. There are days when the sound of an engine is the only thing that drowns out the restlessness, the aching echo inside his chest. Days when he doesn’t even remember why he wanted this life in the first place.

Her voice takes him from his mind again, “Are you even listening to me, Minho?”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the horizon like it might tell him something he desperately needed to hear cause while she talks about fancy parties and selling the perfect couple image, he can only think about how hollow he had become.

She steps closer when he doesn’t reply for the third time, “Minho, she says, voice high pitched, “I’m trying here. Why can’t you just…”

Still facing the sea, he finally speaks, voice low and flat, “You’re always trying”

She crosses her arms, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He turns his head slightly, eyes scanning the coastline, not her, “That every time we talk, it feels like a campaign. Like I’m your brand and you’re mine. Do you even care about what I want, or just what would look good in a headline?”

There’s a pause. 

Then, she exhales, sharply, “You’re being dramatic”

He finally looks at her with tired eyes, unreadable as usual,  “No. I’m just tired”

Of the rooftop, of the pressure, of pretending he doesn’t notice the way she only touches him when the cameras are on. Of people congratulating him on a life that feels nothing like his own.

“You’re just stressed. I get it. After the last GP and Jeongin…”

He cuts her off, cold, distant, “Go to the party tomorrow. Wear whatever you want”

She raises an eyebrow,  “You’ll be there with me, right?”

He doesn’t answer that part. Instead, he leans back into the chaise, eyes returning to the horizon, like giving up is just easier than fighting back.

“Let me know what time”

She stares at him for a moment longer, then huffs a quiet breath and disappears inside. And when she’s gone, Minho stays there wondering why he feels lonelier with her than when he’s actually by himself.

•°. *࿐

The door clicked open, and Jeongin stepped into the quiet calm of his oceanfront penthouse apartment . He paused for a second, still holding the boutique bag in his hand, the goofiest grin tugging at his lips that hadn’t left his face since you tried on that cherry red dress and spun in front of the mirror just for him.

He could still smell the faint trace of your perfume on his hoodie— and worse, he kept catching himself reaching for it, just to bring the scent closer.

“There he is!”

 Chan’s voice came from the living room, where he sat sprawled across the couch in joggers and a tank top, sipping Dom Pérignon. 

 “Took your time, didn’t you? I was starting to think you’d kicked the bucket”

Jeongin set the bag down carefully beside the console and kicked off his shoes.

“Had errands”

“Errands?”

 Changbin popped his head out of the kitchen. He had a blender jar in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other.

“Dressed like that? You left here in cologne and confidence, bro. Just tell us. She’s hot, isn’t she?”

Jeongin just blinked, without answering and walked to the fridge to grab a water bottle. He tried to keep it cool, but his face had already betrayed him.

“Oh no. Oh my God”,  Chan pointed, eyes widening,  “You’re smiling. You’re doing that stupid dimple smile”

“No, I am not”

“Jeongin. You’re blushing, bro”

“Shut up”

“That smile’s too soft”, Changbin said, pointing the wooden spoon at him, “You’re done for”

Jeongin ignored them and opened the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the counter, trying not to replay the way your skin felt so warm against his fingers as he helped you with the zipper or how you looked at him in the dressing room while you buttoned his shirt.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about”

“Don’t try to lie to us”, Chan chuckled, “I know that look. That’s the ‘I’d buy her the entire damn boutique if she asked’ kind of look”

Jeongin rolled his eyes, “You’re exaggerating”

But then his phone buzzed, and the second he saw your name on the screen, his face lit up— flushed cheeks and dimples showing up.

He smiled at the screen, feeling his heart thud a little too fast.

You:

Thanks again for today. I still can’t believe you bought me a dress 😭😭 I’m still smiling.

You:

Being that dangerously charming should be illegal, yang jeongin

He exhaled slowly and texted back:

Jeongin:

You’re the one who’s dangerous. 

Jeongin:

Glad I could make you smile. Still thinking about that dress and your breath dangerously close to my neck , pretty girl.

He hit send. When he looked up, two grown men were staring at him like he just proposed to someone on live TV.

“You did not just call her ‘pretty girl’ ”, Changbin said, stunned.

“Our Jeongin?!”, Chan added, blinking, “Who once said he’d rather die in a car crash than cuddle after sex’ just called someone ‘pretty girl’ in his kitchen?”

“You’re already whipped”, Changbin said.

“I am not whipped”

“No, no. You are. Fully, hopelessly, tragically whipped”

Jeongin tried to hide his grin behind the water bottle. But he failed. Completely.

 Changbin leaned on the counter like this was an investigation, “Who is she? Monaco girl? Grid girl? A gambler? Maybe a hooker?”

The youngest blinked, completely speechless

“You two are the worst”

“We’re your friends”, Chan corrected, “Which is why we’re allowed to mock you while watching you fall head over heels like an idiot”

 Chan set his glass down slowly, “Where’s the guy who once said dating was ‘a mechanical failure waiting to happen’?”

He turned to Changbin for backup. Changbin nodded, grinning wide.

“Yeah, he literally told that reporter in Brazil last year that ‘love is for people who don’t qualify on pole’”

Jeongin buried his face in his hands, “You guys have an incredibly good memory for things I regret”

“You mocked Han for catching feelings on a one night stand”, Chan continued, pointing accusingly, “You said romance was a ‘media strategy with worse consequences than a bad pit stop’. I remember that because it stayed with me”

Jeongin groaned, dragging a hand over his face,

“You guys are making stuff up”

“Nope”, Chan leaned back, grinning, “I even saved the quote in my notes app. Just in case you ever fell in love”

Jeongin’s ears turned bright red. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

“That guy”, Changbin said solemnly, “Is dead. Buried. Six feet under. R.I.P”

“May he rest in peace”, Chan added, pressing a hand to his chest, “Because that Jeongin? That one? He’s gone. Whipped. Soft. A simp”

“It’s not like that…”, Jeongin began.

And right on cue, Jeongin’s phone buzzed. The screen lit up: your name again

You:

“Also… you know you didn’t have to help me with the zipper, right?”

Jeongin didn’t even look up from his phone, just smirked. Which made his situation even worse.

Then a second buzz:

You:

But I didn’t stop you 😇

“Is it not? Jeongin. Or should I say Simpeongin?”, Chan asked, narrowing his eyes

Jeongin:

Was I supposed to resist that dress?? Be serious

Changbin grabbed a throw pillow, sulking into it,  “He used to be one of us. A commitment phobe. An elite member of the emotionally unavailable club”

 “What happened to, ‘If she can’t keep the pace, I ain’t going down on her’?”

Jeongin finally looked up, “Guys, I never said that last one…”

“YOU DID! In Belgium. 2024. It was raining”, Chan snapped.

Jeongin’s phone buzzed again. He opened the message app and read the message.

You:

Still thinking about how warm your hands felt on my back…

And then— he bit his lip. The kind of lip bite that would make any woman get on their knees

“Shit! He’s biting his lip now!”, Chan shrieked, “We are witnessing his demise”

“Text her back, lover boy”, Changbin growled, “Tell her she just assassinated years of reputation with one single line”

Jeongin, still flushed, grinned to himself and typed something with one thumb, completely unbothered,

Jeongin:

You really want me to lose it with Chan and Changbin here??

You replied seconds later, 

You:

Humm… maybe 😌

Meanwhile, Chan was lying flat on the floor whispering, “The man who once said 'romance is a scam run by wedding rings and chocolates companies' is now texting with his feet kicking in the air like a teen in love…”

“This is worse than early retirement”, Changbin muttered.

“No”, Chan said dead serious, “This is domestication”

Jeongin just shakes his head, resting his chin on the counter, smiling like an idiot.

“Yeah”, he says softly, “I’m doomed”

There’s a moment of silence. They exchange glances, then Chan claps his hands. 

“Alright, sex drawer! Do you need condoms? I have extras. All types. Latex free. Assorted flavors. The green ones even glow in the dark”

Changbin perks up, “No, wait. Those ones suck. I’ve got the ultra thin ones. Max sensitivity. You want to feel everything, trust me”

Jeongin chokes, “Okay, first of all…”

“Lube?”, Chan interrupts, “Water based is safer, but silicone based is slippery like a Formula 1 in the rain. Just saying”

"Okay, no. No no no!”, Jeongin says quickly, “We are not having this conversation”

“I have the one that gets warm on contact” Chan continues, ignoring the younger.

“And I’ve got the flavored ones” Changbin adds, “For, you know, activities”

“Please stop talking”, Jeongin says nearly choking

“We’re just trying to help”, Changbin says, looking hurt, “Also, positions. Start with missionary, obviously…”

But once there’s trust,” Chan says thoughtfully, “spooning hits different. Very underrated”

Jeongin looks like he’s about to implode. He clasps his hands together like he’s praying for divine intervention, “I am begging you”

Changbin leans in, “Wait. Are you gonna eat her out first or…”

Jeongin drops his head onto the counter, “I literally hate both of you”

 Chan says cheerfully, “It’s called support”

“Do you two realize I’m not a virgin?!” Jeongin explodes, throwing his arms up 

Changbin blinks. “Wait, what?!”

Chan’s eyes narrow. “Since when?!”

“Since none of your business!” Jeongin shouts. “Why am I being subjected to a TED talk on missionary like I’m nineteen and at a virgin summer camp?!”

“We were just trying to help,” Chan says, half defensive.

Jeongin wheels on them, pointing like he’s in court, “Oh really? You? Help me? What the hell do either of you know about functional dating?”

Chan and Changbin exchange a look.

Jeongin doesn’t wait.

“Changbin, your last relationship ended because that yoga instructor told you crying during sex was ‘way too much’ ”

Changbin turns scarlet, “That was taken wildly out of context…”

“She said, ‘your whimpering disrupted my chakra alignment’ ”

Chan nearly falls over laughing.

“And you!” Jeongin turns to him,  “You once told a girl you couldn’t commit because Mercury was in retrograde, but then got back with her because you missed her dog!”

Chan defends, “He was a very good boy!”

Jeongin doesn’t stop, “You’ve both been in more situationships than actual relationships! Half of your exes think you are serving in the Korean military!”

Changbin hides his face on his hands

“And the other half are in a group chat called ‘Did Chan actually ghost us or is he just an asshole?’ ’”

Chan gasps, “That chat exists?!”

Jeongin storms off toward his room, mumbling, “Unbelievable. TED talks, fluorescent condoms, and love life coaching from two men who treat romantic attachment like it’s a seasonal illness”

Changbin mutters, “You know, he used to be the quiet one”

Chan sighs, “They grow up so fast”

•°. *࿐

Later that day:

Jeongin lays back shirtless on his bed, one arm bent behind his head, skin still warm from the shower. The sheets are tangled loosely around his waist as he scrolls when your name pops up again.

You:

Photo message

His chest tightens.

It is a mirror pic. You are in the yacht party dress, or more precisely, almost in it. The zipper is halfway up. The curve of your back are exposed

No face, no nudes— just that.

Just enough to short circuit his brain

He sucks in a slow breath.

You:

Guess I need help with the zipper again 🥺

He coughs once, sits up slightly, presses a hand over his face like that would help. It doesn’t.

Then, he types

Jeongin:

You are actually dangerous

Your response is even more dangerous:

You:

Photo message

Another mirror angle  this time, from the front. Still not showing everything, but enough to see the neckline and the soft press of your chest beneath it. Just a hint. 

He nearly drops the phone. His stomach flutters and his hips shift under the sheets.

You:

Does it still drive you crazy, or should I find another dress?

Jeongin exhales a curse, thumb trembling slightly as he types

Jeongin:

That dress is gonna live rent free in my brain forever

I’m genuinely scared to see what you’d do if I were actually there

A few seconds passed before your reply comes

You:

 Wanna find out?

His breath catches. He leans his head back, thudding softly against the headboard, a grin creeping across his face. He doesn’t answer right away, just stares at your photo again.

He'd help with the zipper again.

And again.

And again.

A moment later, his fingers move, typing slow.

Jeongin:

Good night, pretty girl. If you need help with that zipper tomorrow too… you know where to find me 👀

He sets the phone down. The screen goes black but your image stays— carved into him.

Jeongin doesn’t move at first. He couldn’t. His fingers twitch against the sheets, his pulse pumping in his ears. Your dress had slipped down one shoulder— just one— but it was enough to undo him.

The memory of your hands on him earlier, tracing the buttons like it meant something more, makes his skin burn. And that laugh against his jaw?

That finished the job.

He turns on his back, eyes closed, breath shallow. His body is still reacting— too much too fast. Every inch of him misses you. Every part throbs with the kind of hunger that can’t be fed by imagination alone. But it doesn’t stop him from trying.

Jeongin slides a hand over his stomach, fingers dragging across the tense muscles— slow, testing. His breath hitches as he dips lower, pressing his palm down like he could soothe the ache. He is already hard, already aching, the sensation dizzying and full of frustration. He pushes his sweatpants lower with a grunt, his movements impatient. His other hand grips the sheets, knuckles white.

And then he touches himself.

Not rough, not rushed— mindful. Drawing it out the way you would if you were there. He imagines your eyes on him, watching how his body responds. Imagines you leaning in, whispering something wicked, lips brushing his ear.

Jeongin’s hips shift, his jaw clenches tight as he pumps slowly, teasing himself the way you would tease him— pausing, squeezing, exhaling your name alone in the dark. The rhythm builds with every thought of your mouth and your hands on him, your warmth pressed on his side when you sat too close on the hood of his car. He isn’t even halfway to undone and he is already falling apart.

He curses under his breath.

His thighs tense up. His head tips back against the pillow, sweat starting to bloom in his temple. And still, he keeps it slow. Torturous slow. Each motion is another memory as Jeongin drags his thumb over the tip, hips jolting with the jolt of sensation.

He bites down on a groan, swallowing it.

Everything feels too much but not enough. His muscles burn with the need to hold onto this a little longer— to stay in the feeling of you, the ghost of that almost kiss.

He can imagine you— dress slipping lower, knees parting slightly as you’d whisper, “You gonna do something about it, Red Bull?”

And with that, he loses rhythm,  hands moving faster, breath ragging His release hits hard— violent and helpless. It tears through him with a sharp gasp, hips jerking, fingers clawing at the sheets. Your name breaks from his lips like a surrender.

He lays there after, ruined and shaking— chest heaving, sheets twisted, eyes still on the ceiling.

Because even after, there in the dark— you still have a hold on him.

All he can see, hear and breathe. 

Is you.

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[shoku-and-awe]

More baking! Dark chocolate espresso crinkle cookies. Recipe from my mom's friend behind the cut.

These guys have an AMAZING texture: crunchy outside but with an inside like a nice chewy brownie. They are a little sweet — not as sickeningly sweet as a lot of American cookies — so I added extra salt and next time would add extra or stronger coffee and the darkest chocolate I could get. Or confront the eternal conundrum I always face with cookies: how much can you reduce the sugar without sacrificing the perfect texture?

RECIPE

Makes 64 cookies  2 eggs  1/2 cup butter, melted  1 cup granulated sugar 1/2 cup packed brown sugar  2/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (I use Hershey's special dark)  2 t instant espresso powder  1 1⁄2 t baking powder  1 1/2 t vanilla  1/2 t salt  1 1/2 cup flour  1/2 cup dark chocolate (I use dark chocolate morsels) 

Powdered sugar 

In a large bowl, stir together eggs and melted butter until combined. Add granulated sugar, brown sugar, cocoa powder, espresso powder, baking powder, vanilla extract and salt; stir until combined. Stir in flour and chocolate. Cover and chill for 1-2 hours or until dough is easy to handle. 

Preheat the oven to 350. Line cookie sheets with parchment paper; set aside. Place powdered sugar in a small bowl. Shape dough into 1 inch balls and roll balls in powdered sugar to coat. Place balls 2 inches apart on prepared cookie sheets. 

Once all sheets have balls and just before going into the oven, roll a second time into powdered sugar. 

Bake for about 9 minutes or until edges are set and tops are dry. Transfer to a wire rack to cool. They freeze really well!!