#how to make frothy coffee

[burningembers91]

Freak of Nature - The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: The Salesman can't get enough of you, he's drawn to you like a bee to honey. It's just a shame you don't know he's watching you.

A/N: I'm not 100% sure where I want this to go yet, and i've never written for a character like The Salesman before but Gong Yoo's unhinged performance has me hooked!

Warnings: 18+ only!, stalking, The Salesman needs his own warning

He’d always known he was fucked up; had always known he wasn’t “normal”. From a young age, his parents had thrown every penny available at psychologist after psychologist, desperate to find a cure for their little freak of nature. Nothing had worked though; nothing had been able to quell that constant desire deep within his soul.

He’d spent years being forced to subdue whatever demons he housed, fooling his parents into thinking the therapy was working. Nothing could save him though; nothing could rid him of the evil that had taken root. He enjoyed playing with people, relished in seeing how far he could take a person before they completely snapped. Human life was so fragile and fickle; why shouldn’t he be allowed to play with it? People so often wasted their lives; took what little time they had for granted. If anything, he was helping people. He was giving them a chance at a second opportunity for life. The games he played with people, the innocent, childhood games were all completely legal. He never made anyone do anything they didn’t want to, that was beauty of his job. Everyone always had a choice, he just made it hard for them to say no. People were greedy, hungry for fame and fortune. He gave those who sought riches beyond their wildest dreams a chance to make that dream a reality; it wasn’t his fault if they didn’t win the game.

This life he led was a lonely one though. Relationships had never been his forte. He’d always been too much for women, too intense. He had needs, desires that few could meet and those who could only stayed a short time. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of love. He knew he’d never loved his parents, had never loved any of the women he’d fucked. They were merely an object which he used to meet his own needs, all of them too vain and fickle for him. He enjoyed a challenge, wanted someone who could keep him on his toes. But how would he find someone like that when even he didn’t know how far he was wiling to go? How high did his freak flag fly? No one had ever stayed long enough for him to find out. He usually paid for the company of a woman, handing them wads of cash so he could feel a brief moment of ecstasy. He’d never felt anything for these women though; had never felt the burning desire that he felt when he was around you.

He'd watched you every day for three months now, sipping your latte in the same coffee bar, your laptop open as you marked your students work. You always sat in the same spot, right by the window with the view of the park opposite. He’d taken to sitting on a bench in that park, right opposite where you sat. He’d watched as your brow furrowed while you marked essays, he’d smile at the way your perfect pink tongue delicately flicked the frothy coffee foam from your top lip. You were perfect to him, so innocent and excruciatingly delicate. He’d followed you home a few times, keeping enough of a distance that you didn’t notice him in the crowds, but close enough that the floral scent of your perfume wrapped tightly around his senses like a hangman’s noose.

He knew you lived in a small studio apartment, number 235. Your bedroom looked out over a small restaurant, and he’d sit there some nights, watching the shadows of your form through your curtains. He’d never been this enamoured with a person before, never craved a person as much as he did you. He’d listened to you order your coffee a dozen times, your voice more beautiful than any songbird. He wanted to speak to you, but he didn’t want to shatter the perfect vision he’d created for himself. In his head, he broke you over and over again, but you enjoyed it. In his head, you were his, bending to his every will and demand. In his head, you were his perfect girl. But fantasy was always better than reality, and reality never lasted long. He wasn’t quite ready to show himself to you, choosing to lurk in the shadows as you remained blissfully unaware of him.

It was getting harder and harder to stay away from you though. Every day your very presence only fuelled his desires. One day soon he’d have to show himself to you. He just hoped you lived up to his expectations.

[fear-is-truth]

EVERYBODY’S SAYING YOU’RE NO GOOD FOR ME — LOGAN HOWLETT .

⟢ ꒰ tags .ᐟ ꒱ implied (legal) age gap ۶ৎ dirty talk ۶ৎ p in v ۶ৎ oral sex (f!receiving) 18+ . . . headcanons ꒰ note ꒱ ‧ happy bday camryn @newwavesylviaplath love you 𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

logan, who drinks his coffee black and scalding, while eyeing dubiously at your frothy, caramel-laced concoctions… though he does take a grudging sip when you push it toward him, the ghost of your lip gloss smudging the lid. his tongue swipes absently over the rim, but the whole time his eyes stay on you as savours the saccharine sweetness you left behind.

“too fuckin’ sweet,” he mutters, but he brings the cup to his lips anyway. later, when he kisses you, his breath is laced with burnt espresso and the faintest trace of caramel as he shoves his tongue down your throat.

logan, who doesn’t know what the hell you see in him, but he’s not about to question it too hard. you’re too young and beautiful to be tangled up with someone of the likes of him, but here you are, curled up against his chest and looking up at him as if he hung the goddamn moon. moments like these makes him forget all about the mileage on his body.

logan, who catches himself staring at you again, unblinking. he should look away, but he doesn’t. can’t. not when you stretch your arms, shirt riding up to tease the dip of your navel. not when you cross your legs, skirt bunching high on your thighs. and most definitely not when you take a slow sip from a glass coke bottle, lips wrapping around the rim, head tipping back, throat working. the uncomfortable strain in his jeans reminds him that he’s always been a filthy old man when it comes to you.

logan, who never thought he’d still be fucking with such gusto at his age. by now, his libido should be waning, settling into the slow descent of comfortable indifference. instead, you’ve dragged him back into the reckless hunger of youth, where lust eclipses reason. more often than not he finds himself feverish in your presence, aching for you like a goddamn adolescent again.

logan, whose stubble abrades your skin, a persistent friction. he doesn’t shave often—never for you—because he relishes the way it makes your thighs quiver with oversensitivity as he tongues you open.

“s’what you get, doll,” he grunts, rubbing his jaw against your inner thighs, before licking a broad stripe over your slit, “wearin’ those skimpy little skirts around me like that. you wanted to drive me crazy, didn’t you?” nose pressed against your clit as he groans against the mess you make of his face.

logan, who never pulls out until you’re shaky and wrung out, begging in a voice that’s gone thin from overuse. his stamina is inhuman—superhuman, to put it more accurately, and your youthful energy is nothing in comparison, akin to a candle to a bonfire. he’s lived long enough to learn every way a body can come undone, and has no qualms about making you find out just how much you can take.

logan, whose healing factor keeps him in his prime— defying the limits of human endurance. he could go all night, dragging you through orgasm after orgasm until you were shaking, mindless, his name on your tongue like a prayer. and fuck, it made him feel so alive. made him feel young and reckless, like some cocky sonofabitch with something to prove.

logan, who fucks with the same ferocity when he fights: brutal, efficient, and ruthless in his intent.

logan, who doesn’t stop even when your hips stutter and your pussy clenches down on him like you’re trying to milk him for everything he’s worth. and he’ll give it to you, every last drop, but not before he’s wrung you out first.

“please lo, can’t take it—” but he just chuckles, presses his lips to your ear, tells you, “yeah, you can. c’mon, just one more, princess.” while his cock is still hard and throbbing inside you.

logan, whose mind is a machine—more animal than man in the ways it fixates, lingers, obsesses. age has only sharpened that edge, made him more unwilling to let go of the things he deems his. and god help you, because you fall right into that category.

logan, who never expected to find himself so goddamn obsessed with someone, but there’s just something about you that makes his restraint snap like a cheap matchstick every time you so much as look at him a certain way. it’s pathetic, really, how you have him wrapped around your little finger.

logan, who lets you get away with just about anything so he can punish you for it later (in private). passively allows you to bat those pretty lashes and push every single button you know will make him tick. sit in his lap, wriggle against him, whisper things—and then later, oh, does he make you pay for it.

fucks into you nicely but excruciatingly slow, his voice nothing but a low rasp in your ear. “gonna be a good girl now?” he asks, nudging deeper, and you can’t muster a coherent response, can’t even think past the way he’s stuffing you full.

logan, whose patience is worn thin by time but somehow tolerates your worst moods.

logan, who fucks you deep and slow with his dog tags cool against your burning skin.

logan, who ruins you for anyone else. he gets off on the perverse knowledge that you’ll never find someone who fucks you like he does. men your age? they’re all boys to him—soft-palmed, untested, don’t know the first thing about taking care of a lady.

logan, who watches you struggle to take all of him, only to melt when he rubs his calloused palm against your belly, feeling the thick outline of himself buried so deep inside you you swear you can feel him in your belly. “there it is,” he grunts, applying just enough pressure to make you keen.

logan, who doesn’t have the luxury of forever with you, but loves with a brutality that makes up for it. he won’t promise you a happily ever after, but he will give you everything else. his time, his body, his name in your mouth as he fucks you so deep you can feel it the next day. whatever he has left—it’s yours. wholly and completely.

[ryescapades-archived]

→ EVENT OVERVIEW

prompt: 1 - “are you asking me out?” characters: hoshina soshiro (kn8) x f!reader contents: fluff, established rs, officer!reader (not specified which dep.), dunno if i should tag this too but reader drinks coffee lol wc ~ 1k (no beta !!)

a/n: @purpleqilinwrites hewwoo kaija my beloved tysm for participating !! my apologies for taking so long to get to your orders but i hope they are to your liking (lmk if there's anything you'd like me to change!) <3 andd here’s your slice two !

piles of rubble and cracked buildings surround him, the kaiju corpses littered around now huddled by a throng of workers from the monster sweeper inc. hoshina barely spares a glance over the dead monsters as he flicks both of his swords in a quick swipe in the air, splashes of blood splattering onto the concrete below as he cleans his blades as efficiently as he could.

grabbing his coat from the vehicle he’d taken to get to his post, he takes a peek over his shoulder when a series of faint footsteps approaches from behind. “vice-captain hoshina! i’m here to report–” kafka starts, but hoshina brushes him off with a wave of his hand. “direct all reports to any of your platoon leaders. i have somewhere else to be.”

with no further clarification, hoshina immediately sets off, leaving behind a jaw-slacked kafka and a confused reno tottering behind him. they throw a simultaneous glance at each other, wordlessly questioning each other about their superior’s behavior.

“and there he goes,” nakanoshima’s voice catches their attention. when she’s asked for the reason, all kafka and reno received is a shrug of her shoulders and a muse of “he’s a man in love. what else do you expect?” as if it’s an explanation enough.

and hoshina is, indeed, a man in love and a man on a mission. one that doesn’t include taking out dangerous beasts, but instead facing all his exhaustion head on just so he could go to you. combat suit still in operation, he makes good use of its power to hop over the buildings to the next, heading straight to that quaint little place he knew where you’d be.

the corner of his lips quirk up when he remembers the text you’d sent him prior to the mission. ‘heard your mission is in xx city. if things go haywire, i’ll be nearby to clock in asap just lmk :)’. always ready to help even when you’re off duty; one of the many things hoshina loved about you. he amusedly shakes his head at the thought.

as the mission retains minimal damage, the surrounding towns are thankfully unaffected by the destruction. the smooth cobblestone path thuds softly underneath his feet when hoshina lands in the alley, glad that your location isn’t that far from his. he pulls on the coat over his form, shoulders flexing from the movement as he rounds the corner.

even from the outside of the shop, he could already smell the roasted beans and sweet pastries. hoshina inhales deep, taking in the delightful scent before he cranes his head here and there, eyes roving over the bustling crowd until his amaranthine hues finally settle on what he’d been searching for.

and much like a heartfelt homecoming, a wholesome reunion, or like how the sand meets the shore, how the sun touches the horizon, how the morning light kisses the sheer curtains, how the coffee swirls in warm frothy milk; the familiarity of it all overwhelms him.

you stand there, all beauty and wonder, stealing hoshina’s breath and rendering him speechless as he stops in his tracks for a moment. before you can draw in a puff of breath, he is already marching towards you, closing the distance with purposeful steps.

“hi,” eyes widening slightly in surprise, you breathe out a small chuckle as you look up at him. hoshina mirrors your smile, soft and affectionate as he digs his hands into the pockets of his uniform. “hi.”

you absently lick your bottom lip, though you do notice the way his gaze flickers down to the action for a split second. taking a few glances around, you wonder if any of his officers might somehow emerge from thin air. “aren’t you supposed to be…” forehead creasing, you shrug lightheartedly, “i don’t know. slaying kaiju or something?”

“the operation just ended, sweetheart.” he beams, and his adorable little fangs make their appearance. your eyebrows raise high at his answer. “... but you’re here.” you state, trying to decipher why he’s standing in front of your very eyes, still in his combat uniform (which has people glancing ever so often) rather than reporting to his captain back at base, or freshening up at home.

“but i’m here,” he parrots, watching in interest at the way your expression unfolds. hoshina’s grin grows at your confusion, so wide and cheery that your hands itch to reach up and pinch his cheeks from endearment. instead, you wring your hands behind your back to fidget on them secretly.

the swordsman notices the lack of a plastic cup in your grasp. he takes a quick look at the coffee shop the two of you had been standing in front of before turning back to you, “ya had lunch yet?”

“nope.” you simply reply.

he shifts on the balls of his feet, directing a thumb towards the shop, “... wanna grab somethin’ together?”

a second of silence goes by. and then a laugh breaks out, bubbling from the very back of your throat as you let the mirth freely flow out of you. “soshiro, are you really asking me out right now?”

hoshina bites down on his own smile and lifts a shoulder, “well, is it working on ya?” you shake your head in response, still coming down from your giggles, “i can’t believe you.”

“you love me anyway,” he tilts his head, violet strands softly swaying from the movement. you let out a contented hum, a hand stretching out to brush his hair away from his eyes.

the afternoon sun gleams down on the two of you, but the heat from your little touch burns brighter than anything hoshina has ever felt. he thrives on it, craves it. his skin tingles where it made contact with yours, and his heart races when the sunlight catches on the metal band surrounding your ring finger.

“i do love you,” you agree with a dreamy sigh. “in fact, i’ll love you even more if you make good on your words and buy me a coffee right now, husband.”

oh don’t he love the sound of that label coming out of your lips. perhaps he should call you his wife more often now…

taglist open. and yes they’re married your honour !!! feels like i’m writing about spiderman!hoshina for a sec there (ᵕ—v—)

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[angel06babysworld]

hi love! can i request baby!daddy!rafe getting jealous when he sees his kid’s teacher flirting with reader?🤭

baby!daddy!rafe x blackcat!reader

A+ in Jealousy

You hear Vivianna before you see her. Her voice carries down the preschool hallway, bright and fast and full of the kind of chaotic detail only a two-and-a-half-year-old can summon. Something about a bug on the playground and how Moon the cat knows magic now. You close your eyes briefly, pressing two fingers to the bridge of your nose. “Too chatty” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

You glance at the time. Two minutes until the meeting. Rafe said he’d be here. You didn’t ask him to come—but he offered. Said it like he was proud of himself for remembering, like the bar wasn’t resting on the floor.

Then you hear it: his footsteps. That soft scuff of sneakers moving just a little too fast, the familiar voice trailing after it.

“Hey, hey—I made it,” Rafe says, a little breathless, slowing when he spots you outside the door. “You beat me.”

You arch a brow. “That’s usually how clocks work.”

He grins like he deserves points just for showing up. He’s in that navy quarter-zip he likes, the sleeves pushed up, hands tucked in the front pocket of his khakis like he’s trying to look more stable than he feels. His hair’s a little messy, like he didn’t have time to do more than run a hand through it before showing up. He smells like spearmint gum and whatever cologne you used to steal from his glovebox three years ago.

“Brought this for you,” he says, holding out a small to-go cup of black coffee. Not your usual, but still—he remembered how you like it. “Didn’t have time to wait for the frothy thing you like.”

You take it, eyes narrowing. “Thanks.”

He smiles, but it’s softer now. Gentler. “Of course.”

You both turn as the classroom door opens and a tall man in slim-fit slacks and a Henley shirt you know he picked to look casual-hot waves you in.

“Miss. L/N? Mr. Cameron? Thanks for coming.”

You step in first, Rafe behind you, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back before he thinks better of it and pulls it away. You pretend not to notice.

Mr. Keller, Vivi’s teacher, has one of those magazine-smile faces—bright white teeth and an intentional five o’clock shadow. He gestures to two chairs across from him, one of which is painfully tiny. Rafe hesitates, then folds himself into it with a quiet grunt. You sit beside him, posture straight, eyes already on the folder in front of the teacher.

“First off,” Mr. Keller begins, looking at you and only you, “your daughter is brilliant. Seriously. She’s curious, emotionally in tune, wildly articulate. She told me yesterday that the moon doesn’t sleep because it has to watch over the dark. I had to Google it to make sure she didn’t pull it from a poem.”

You smile despite yourself. “That sounds like her.”

“She’s got a little spark in her. Very confident. And she clearly loves talking,” he says, eyes lingering just a beat too long. “Especially about you.”

Rafe shifts beside you, but says nothing.

“She talks about how you do everything. How you’re the one with the answers. That you can ‘make sad things stop hurting.’ It’s honestly pretty incredible.”

You nod, but something about the way Keller says it makes you set your jaw. “We both raise her.”

“Of course,” he says quickly, glancing at Rafe like he just remembered he was in the room. “I didn’t mean otherwise. It’s just—she clearly adores her mom.”

Rafe lets out a quiet breath beside you. Not a loud one. But it’s there.

“She’s social, which is great,” Keller continues. “But she’s also kind of… rallying the troops, if you know what I mean. Leading a full-on storytelling circle during math hour. We’re just trying to help her learn when to share and when to listen.”

“She gets that from you,” Rafe says, nudging your elbow gently, a little grin on his face. “The storytelling part.”

You glance at him sideways. “You’re not exactly quiet yourself.”

His smile widens, like you remembering who he used to be means something to him.

Mr. Keller smiles too—though not at Rafe. His eyes are still on you. “Do you think you could come in next week for reading time? Vivianna keeps saying your voices are better than mine.” He laughs, like it’s a joke, but it’s not really. “Would be fun to see that in action.”

You blink. “Uh… maybe.”

“Just let me know. I can work around your schedule.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Rafe leans back in his chair slowly, one arm stretching across the back of yours like it just ended up there, except it’s a little too tense to be accidental. He’s not touching you. But it’s a claim.

“Think we’ve covered everything?” Rafe asks, tone too even. Not angry. But off.

Keller clears his throat. “Yes, for now. Thanks again for coming in.”

You stand, pushing your chair back with a soft scrape. Keller gives you a smile you don’t return.

Rafe doesn’t say a word until you’re back in the hallway. “Real friendly guy,” he mutters, jaw tight.

You glance at him. “He was doing his job.”

“Oh, sure. Talking about your voice, your schedule, looking at you like you’re a single mom on a dating app—yeah, super professional.”

You pause, one eyebrow lifting. “Are you seriously jealous of Vivi’s preschool teacher right now?”

Rafe stops walking. “I’m not jealous of him. I’m pissed because he looked at you like you weren’t already mine.”

The silence that follows is sharp. Your breath catches in your chest.

“You don’t get to say that,” you say quietly. “You had your chance to be something more. You didn’t take it.”

“I know,” he says, voice low, raw. “But I’m still here. I’m still trying. Doesn’t that count for something?”

You hold his gaze. There’s something in his eyes that makes your stomach twist—hope, desperation, guilt, love that’s still clumsy but real.

“I’m not going to be something you win back just because another man looked at me,” you tell him. “You want me? Prove you deserve this family.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just nods, quietly. Then falls into step behind you again.

Still following. Still learning how to show up.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @hearts4hughes

[pucksandpower]

Just a Taste

Max Verstappen x best friend!Reader

Summary: you quickly learn that there’s more to the chocolates you devoured than meets the eye

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent (thanks to aphrodisiac chocolates)

You knock on Max’s front door, balancing a tray with four large lattes in your arms. “Max!” You call out, “It’s me!”

No response. You frown, knowing he’s usually back from his morning run by now. Shifting the drinks to one arm, you pull out your key and let yourself in.

“Max?” You call out again as you kick the door closed behind you. Still no answer.

You make your way to the kitchen and put the coffees down on the counter. Every Sunday morning you and Max have brunch together, a tradition you’ve kept up for years, ever since you became friends as kids.

As you take a sip of frothy caffeine, your stomach rumbles loudly. You glance at the clock — you’re a bit early today, so Max probably hasn’t returned yet.

Looking around, you spot a pink box on the counter that you don’t recognize. Curious, you open it up to find a dozen chocolates inside. A small note card reads:

For when you finally meet someone special - Lando

You chuckle to yourself, trust Lando to tease Max about being perpetually single. Popping one of the chocolates in your mouth, you savor the rich sweetness that melts on your tongue. Before you know it, you’ve eaten three more. They’re just so good! Max won’t mind if you have a few, right?

You’re nibbling on a fifth chocolate when warmth blooms through your body. You feel … tingly all over. And is it just you or did the room get brighter? You blink a few times then shake your head, trying to clear the sudden haze that’s settled over your mind.

Just then, the front door opens and Max calls out, “Y/N? You here already?”

“In the kitchen!” You reply, your voice coming out breathier than normal. You feel hot and flushed now, your skin ultra sensitive. What was in those chocolates?

Max enters the kitchen and stops short when he sees you leaning against the counter, breathing heavily. “Whoa, are you okay?” His brow furrows in concern as he takes in your disheveled appearance.

You stare at him, suddenly unable to form a coherent thought beyond how good he looks right now, sweaty from his run in just a compression top and shorts. You’ve always thought Max was cute of course, but now an almost uncontrollable urge to touch him overtakes you.

“Y/N?” Max prompts again, stepping closer and seeing the open box of chocolates beside you. “Did you … oh no. You ate from the pink box, didn’t you?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Max runs a hand through his hair. “Those were from Lando, they’re infused with … let’s just say they have special effects. I told him it was a stupid gift idea.”

He moves towards you but you back away quickly. “D-don’t,” you stammer out, worried what might happen if he gets too close right now.

Understanding dawns on Max’s face. “It’s alright, just try to stay calm. Come on, let’s go sit down.”

He gently grasps your arm and leads you to the living room couch. You sink down onto the soft cushions, resting your head against the back and closing your eyes. Your skin is on fire, you shift restlessly as desire coils hotly inside you.

Max sits down on the other end of the sofa. “This will pass, just ride it out,” he says soothingly.

You crack open your eyes to look at him. His face is etched with concern and something else you can’t quite place. “Max,” you breathe out his name like a plea.

He swallows hard. You’ve never wanted someone as much as you want Max in this moment. Scooting closer to him, you reach out a hand to touch his cheek.

Max inhales sharply at your contact but doesn’t pull away. His eyes search yours questioningly.

“Please Max, I need you,” the words fall desperately from your lips before you can stop them.

Max’s eyes widen in surprise before darkening with unmistakable desire. He’s silent for a long moment, emotions playing across his face as he struggles with indecision. You hold your breath, heart hammering in your chest.

Finally Max moves, shifting forward to close the small gap between you. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek tenderly as his eyes lock with yours.

“Are you sure?” He asks softly.

You answer by surging forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss. Max responds immediately, mouth moving urgently against yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his strong chest.

You sigh into the kiss, hands tangling into his hair. His lips are even softer than you imagined. You swipe your tongue along his bottom lip and Max parts them with a low groan.

As the kiss deepens, your desperation mounts. You need more, need to be closer. Straddling his lap, you rock your hips against his, feeling his growing arousal.

Max breaks the kiss with a gasp. “We should stop, the effects will wear off soon,” he protests weakly.

“Don’t want to stop,” you murmur, trailing kisses down his neck. You nip at his pulse point and Max lets out a strangled moan, resolve clearly wavering.

His hands grip your hips tightly as you continue to move against him. “We shouldn’t, not like this,” he tries again, but you silence him with another heated kiss.

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “Max, I want this. I want you. Not just because of the chocolates. I’ve always wanted you.”

Max’s eyes widen at your confession, before a vulnerable smile spreads across his face. “I’ve wanted you too, for so long,” he admits softly.

Cupping your face in both hands, he kisses you tenderly. When you eventually break apart, foreheads resting together, Max asks “Are you sure this is what you want? I don’t want you to regret anything.”

You smile and take his hand, rising from the couch and pulling him up with you.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you tell him sincerely. “Now take me to bed.”

His eyes darken and he laces his fingers through yours. “Gladly,” he murmurs, before leading you towards his bedroom and kicking the door shut behind you.

As soon as the door clicks closed, Max presses you up against it, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His hands roam your body eagerly as your own fumble to push his shirt up and off him.

Breaking the kiss, Max trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You gasp and arch into him, nails raking down his bare back.

Needing more, you reach for the hem of your own shirt but Max stops you.

“Let me,” he says huskily, grasping the fabric and lifting it up tantalizingly slowly to reveal your skin inch by inch. He pulls the shirt over your head and tosses it aside before returning his heated gaze to you.

Reaching behind you, Max deftly unhooks your bra, letting it slip from your shoulders to the floor. He hovers over you, grey eyes burning with desire as they rake over your newly exposed skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers reverently before ducking his head to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and chest.

Leaning in, he kisses down between your breasts before capturing a nipple in his mouth. You cry out, hands coming up to grip his hair tightly. He lavishes attention on your breasts until you are squirming against him desperately.

Sensing your need, Max scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently against the rumpled sheets before settling over you, the hard planes of his body pressing deliciously against your own softer ones.

You kiss feverishly as you fumble with the drawstring of his shorts, shoving them down impatiently. Max kicks them off before reaching for the button of your jeans. Soon the last barriers between you are gone.

Max trails heated open-mouthed kisses down your stomach until he reaches the apex of your thighs. He looks up at you questioningly and you nod eagerly. You arch up into his touch, gasping and tangling your hands in his hair.

“Please Max,” you beg desperately, needing more.

At the first touch of his mouth on your most intimate area, you cry out his name, hands twisting into the sheets. He takes his time exploring you with his lips and tongue until you are writhing and gasping beneath him.

When you feel yourself teetering on the edge, you breathlessly beg Max to be inside you. Needing no further encouragement, he moves back up your body, positioning himself at your entrance.

He pauses, meeting your gaze. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says huskily before finally joining your bodies in one smooth motion. You both moan at the feeling of completion.

Max sets a steady rhythm, angling his hips until he finds the spot that makes you see stars. You feel the pressure building rapidly within you. Sensing you’re close, Max increases his pace. His thumb rubs tight circles over that sensitive bundle of nerves until you shatter around him with a cry. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck and groaning your name as he finds his own release.

You cling to each other as you come down, trading soft kisses and whispers of affection. Eventually Max rolls off of you, gathering you close against his chest.

“That was incredible,” Max murmurs, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. “You are incredible.”

You smile up at him adoringly. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He grins and squeezes you tight. You drift off curled safely in the arms of the man you’ve always loved, happier than you’ve ever been.

***

The next morning, you wake up to find your legs tangled with the man beside you. Last night had been incredible, even better than your wildest fantasies.

You feel Max begin to stir. Turning in his arms to face him, you meet his sleepy gaze.

“Morning,” Max smiles at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His expression turns serious. “How are you feeling?”

You know he’s asking about more than just the effects of the chocolates. You lift a hand to caress his cheek reassuringly.

“I’ve never been happier,” you tell him honestly.

Max’s face breaks into a radiant grin. He kisses you softly before pulling you tightly against his chest. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.

“I’m so glad you feel the same way,” Max whispers into your hair. “I’ve wanted to tell you how I felt for so long but I didn’t want to risk our friendship if you didn’t feel the same.”

You lift your head to meet his gaze. “Well you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” you say, leaning in to kiss him languidly.

When you eventually break apart, Max smirks at you. “Remind me to send Lando a thank you card.”

You laugh and snuggle back into his embrace, making a mental note to pick up another box of those chocolates. Just in case.

[cherryredstars]

Pairing : Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Cum Play, Reader is Slightly Intoxicated, Revenge Sex, Mean Miguel, No Aftercare

A/N: Written for a request. Thank you, love!

Unedited

The moment he sees you he knows it’s you.

Sure, you’re not as slim as you were before and not as loud and obnoxious, but you still as fucking stunning as you were back in high school. Something about that gets him pissed, scowling every time he spots you at Alchemax’s front desk or in the halls with papers or coffee. It doesn’t help that you’re actively avoiding him, sharply turning when you spot him and scurrying away.

Like you’re still too good for him.

He’s always imagined that he would get his revenge on you by embarrassing you in front of a large crowd of people or getting you fired from your pathetic job when he was younger. But he never would have imagined he could get it another way. Not until he’s going to the break room and he hears your little chatter with your work friends, a little bashful confession on how attractive you think Miguel is tumbling from your soft lips.

So after a work party, when you’re a little too tipsy and in need of a ride home, Miguel can’t refuse taking you back to your place and getting his revenge.

Miguel groans as he watches you, large hands gripping your waist as he bullies his cock into you. You let out the prettiest mewls and whimpers, sounds his high school self could never imagine you making because of him. Your hands claw at his chest, burning marks dragging across his skin and making his dick twitch. His eyes don’t know where to look, stuck between the stupid look on your fucked out face, your bouncing tits that are begging to be sucked on, or your gaping cunt that takes him in so greedily. He settles for studying your face, a mean smile on his face as his large palm slaps against your tits and making you whine.

He coos softly at you, disguising the cruel words he says. Calling you a stupid slut and a pathetic whore in the tones of a lullaby that has your head reeling and your cunt fluttering. Miguel grunts as your walls clamp around him, the tacky sound of your wetness increasing in volume as you gush around his cock. If he was a meaner person, he would record you riding his dick so prettily and post it to all of your socials, but Miguel finds a bit more satisfaction knowing you’ll have to live with the silent knowledge you let that nerdy loser from high school fuck you so good that you’re left daydreaming about him and his cock.

You moan out his name, and Miguel grits his teeth together as his cock jumps at how pretty it sounds falling from your pretty lips. Miguel growls as his thumb falls to your tiny clit, pinching meanly at it as you gasp and squirm in his lap. He chuckles as your body locks, a pretty cry floating out of you as he fucks you through a body shaking orgasm. You twitch in his hands, eyes rolled back as he chases his own high with punishing thrusts that are sure to bruise your cervix. He makes sure to press right against its opening as hot spurts of his seed shoot into you, a frothy ring of white forming around his cock as a combination of your cum drip from your stuffed cunt.

You’re on the verge of passing out when he leaves, pulling out of you and dumping you on your bed. A sticky mess of his cum is still splatter against your thighs, sheets crumbled and your thighs already starting to ache. You don’t even have energy to fight him when he dips his fingers into you, using the thick load to spell his name on your pulsing clit before he gets dressed and leaves you alone in your apartment.

Was this a punishment or a prize?

[muffinpink02]

Coffee Shop

Summary - You get a job with Mapi, she's a big flirt, your current partner is a dick, does Mapi sway your mind? Some appearances from the Barca girls. Got a lot done but a lot more to go. This will hava a part 2 at some point.

Warning Smut 18 & rough, consensual sex/shitty partner

“That’s it, just like that. Good” She husked

“Like that?” You whispered, listening intently to the girl's instructions.

“Sí, go a bit higher.” You could see from the corner of your eye she was biting her lip. 

The Spaniard placed her tattooed hands around yours, directing your movements, you felt your breath catch slightly in your throat from her touch. 

“Just like that. You’re doing good, hold it there.” She was so close, you could smell her woody perfume. She let go of your hands, giving you range to move. 

“I can see someone’s getting more comfortable.” Mapi hummed. 

You chuckled softly, her breath tickled your neck. “I have a good teacher.”

The brunette lightly chuckled. “Okay. Now hit it hard so the air bubbles go.”

You pulled the jug of milk from the machine and did as the brunette said.

“Perfecto. Now this part is more tricky, but try and do the heart, like I showed you.”

You tilted the mug with the shot of coffee and poured the frothy milk inside. Trying your best attempt at making the artwork from the steamy milk. You both watched as the hot milk mixed with the coffee. It had started out well but began to look similar to a poo emoji. 

“Ergh. I can’t do it, Mapi.” You looked at the coffee mug, a frown now on your face. 

The Spaniard put her hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s not easy, princesa. I didn’t get it straight away. You’re getting there.” She smiled warmly at you.

“Yeah, I just want to get it right.” You looked down at the coffee mug, letting out a loud sigh. 

——————-

It had been a month since you started working at the coffee shop. On your first day you arrived ten minutes early, you entered the small cosy cafe that you had always passed on your walks, but for some reason had never entered. 

The bell rang above your head, catching your new colleagues' attention. You were greeted by the tattooed Spaniard, the very confident, very beautiful, very cocky Spaniard.

“Hola, you must be the new starter. I’m Mapi.”

Mapi was hot, with a capital H. You drank in her olive skin and tattooed covered arms as she walked toward you. You tried your best to not stare for too long. Though the Spaniard didn't try very hard, her brown eyes scanned your body as soon as you walked through the door. A cheeky smile plastered her face as she stuck her lean arm out for you to hold.

She showed you around, demonstrating the basics of the machines, where the storage cupboard was and where you could find most of the supplies you would need during your shift. She got you to clean for the day, not wanting to overwhelm you on your first day, allowing you to get used to your surroundings. 

You cleaned like she had asked, even cleaning bits that looked like they hadn’t been touched in a while. You weren't able to talk much longer as the shop got busy in its morning rush.

But now and again you got distracted, you had found yourself staring at Mapi throughout the day. Your eyes drifted to her decorated arms as you cleared tables. You watched the way her muscles flexed when making the drink orders for the customers. Or how she stuck her tongue out in concentration as she counted the customers' change. 

The Spaniard had caught you staring plenty of times, but never said anything. She would smirk at you as if she had an idea of what you were looking at, and she would take the opportunity to ask if you were doing okay, or ask if you needed help, smirking to herself as you flustered. 

Of course you tried to make it look like you weren't staring, trying your best to look away before she caught you.  But your eyes would still end up wandering back to her not long after. 

In the quieter hours of the day you found out you had a lot of things in common. Mapi played for a local football team, she played in defence. You explained how you had played before but not since you injured your knee, but you told her you’d love to try again in the future. 

“You are more than welcome to come and try out. Or even come and watch us play.” The Spaniard smiled at you, pure joy on her face. 

“Yeah, definitely. I’d love that.” You smiled at the brunette.

By the end of the shift music started to play through the shop's speakers, Mapi asked what you wanted to listen to. Finding out you had very similar music tastes. 

She closed the shop door behind her, locking it with the keys. She turned to you. 

“Hey, you did well today. I’ll show you more of the coffee making tomorrow, in the quiet times.”

“Thank you. Yeah, that sounds good, I don’t want you to think I’m useless.” You laughed.

“I don’t think you are anything of the kind.” She looked at you with a straight face.

You felt your cheeks warm up, you chuckled gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” She smiled at you.

————

It was now a month in, and you were a lot more comfortable, thanks to a certain Spaniard. It was closing time, and as usual Mapi had her music blaring over the speakers. You swept the floors while she emptied the dishwasher.

“Hey, what are you doing tonight? Me and my friends are going to Club 10 if you want to join?” 

The thought of going out clubbing with Mapi was exciting, and you were a little sad that you couldn’t join, only as you had plans.

“I can’t. My girlfriend’s coming to mine for dinner. But thank you for asking. Next time though.” You smiled apologetically at her. 

“Ahh no worries, I’ll ask again.” She winked at you as she started to stack the mugs. 

Since you started working at the coffee shop, Mapi shamelessly flirted with you. She flirted with such ease it never felt serious. She would laugh after a one liner that made your cheeks go bright red, then get on with whatever task she was in the middle of doing. She never made you feel uncomfortable, it never felt gross or too much, she just liked teasing you. 

You knew the Spanish were flirty, touchy people, you had even seen her do it with customers now and again. She was clearly just a naturally flirty person.

However, it didn’t stop your heart from racing every so often, especially if she was giving you a certain look when she did decide to flirt. Or a certain cheeky smile when she was being extra touchy, you would have to take yourself to the bathroom to have a quick breather. You weren't blind, Mapi was beyond sexy, but not only was she your type on paper, she was kind, funny and genuinely seemed to care about what was going on with you. 

But, you never took your feelings further than that, you had a girlfriend, a girlfriend of nine months. Things were going good, you really liked Frankie, she was smart, successful, funny and great in bed. You had even recently said those big three words just over a month ago, she hadn’t said it back but you weren't going to push her. She would say that in her own time. 

————

You plaited up the food you had spent ages cooking, pleasantly surprised at how it came out. 

“Smells good babe, you didn’t put any spicy stuff in it did you?” Frankie asked while scrolling on her phone. 

“No, nothing too spicy. I added some seasoning, but only for flavour.”

You placed Frankie’s food in front of her. 

“Okay, cos I really can’t do spice.”

You sat down across from her and smiled. 

“I know. No spice. I promise.”

Thankfully Frankie deemed it edible enough to eat. Well, it was more the vegetables that she ate. She attempted the chicken that you had added a small amount of flavour to, she had to stop a few times for extra water.

“So when do you think you’ll get a proper job?” Frankie asked as she pushed around the food on her plate. 

You stopped your own fork before it got to your lips. 

“What do you mean?” You frowned.

“Well a waitress isn’t a real job. When do you think you’ll be going back to an office job?”

“Well, I’m not a waitress, it’s a barista role and I’ve only started there and I actually really enjoy it. You know I wasn’t happy at my last job. I needed a break from all that corporate shit.” 

She gave you that look that you hated, it was a look that made you feel stupid, like you had just said the dumbest thing she had ever heard. 

“Well, you can’t do that forever. You’ll have to get back to it at some point.” She drank her water. 

You suddenly lost your appetite, you placed your fork on your plate. You felt that anxious feeling creeping on your skin. 

You had left your project manager role just over six weeks ago, you hated your last job, it had gotten way too stressful. Your manager would make you feel bad for not putting in extra work, and extra work was putting it lightly. He wanted you to do two people’s jobs, and then some. They hadn’t hired enough staff due to people leaving monthly. You wouldn’t have minded too much but they didn’t even pay you for the extra hours you did do.

The job had even started to creep into your personal life. You were too tired to meet your friends as you were working over time and too stressed to not take your mind off work during the weekends as you would get constant emails and calls from clients. 

Your manager had even called you while you were on a pre booked holiday asking you to end it early. And you did leave the holiday early, as you were half threatened that you would lose your job if you didn’t. When you needed a half day for a funeral you were denied straight away, that’s when you knew you were done with the company. 

You gave in your notice the next day and decided to have a small break, you had saved up a bit of money over the years, so financially you were fine. You just wanted to have a two or three month break, to maybe go away or just figure out a new role. Nothing like what you were doing before. 

You had only taken the coffee shop job because Frankie wouldn’t stop talking about you not having a job. It made you feel lazy and insecure, you felt like you kind of had to. So your break was cut short to two weeks. 

“Well, I’m happy there. I don’t think I’ll be looking for anything else any time soon.”

Frankie rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her water.

“Whatever, it’s your life, waste it on what you want.” 

Before you could respond Frankie’s phone began to ring. “I got to take this, you can throw the rest away. It’s too spicy.”

Frankie left the room, her phone pressed to her ear. 

You cleared the table, a lump bubbled in your throat, you felt like shit. You knew Frankie meant well, but she was from a different background. She was from money. Her dad got her role in PR because he knew the owner of the company. She hadn’t worked for the role in any way. And if that didn’t work out he would more than likely get her a role in another firm, like he always did.

————

It was half three, and dead in the coffee shop. You and Mapi were having a debate on what women’s team were likely to win the euros in 2025. 

“Come on, Spain will win, we won the worlds! Why would we not win euros?” 

You loved winding her up about football, she was the only other person that loved it as much as you. 

“Hmm I don’t know. You guys got lucky in my opinion.” 

“Pshhh. You are just hurt because we are the better team.”

“It was luck, just one goal. Nothing to shout about.” You smirked.

Mapi was done with your teasing, she grabbed the jug of milk off the side and flicked the froth right at your face. By the look on her own face she had done more than she meant to, she looked slightly worried until she saw you smile.

You dramatically gasped, wiping some of the mess from your cheeks. You broke out into a playful smile and began to laugh. She smiled instantly at your reaction, laughing at her mistake.

You looked around the counter, trying to find your own weapon, you grabbed the hot chocolate ganache pot, laughing internally as Mapi’s face dropped.

“No, come on. I was kidding. I’m sorry. Please, chica.” Mapi put her arms up in defence. You stepped closer to her, clearly not caring about her protest. She then took a different approach.

“Come on, princesa.” She pleaded.

You couldn't help but feel butterflies at her nickname for you.

“You can’t waste it, you can’t put good chocolate to waste. If you do it, you’ll have to eat it off me” She stepped closer to you, a devilish smirk on her face. The smirk that made your knees buckle, and you had a feeling she knew that. 

You were never one to flirt back, you would normally roll your eyes or batter off whatever hot and heavy sentence the Spaniard would lay on you, but you decided to play her at her own game. The words came out before you could really register what you were saying. 

“Hmm. but I don’t think you could handle my tongue.” 

Mapis' face was a perfect picture of shock. You gave yourself a mental pat on the back for being able to make the girl falter like you did. Before the brunette had a chance to reply the bell on the door chimed, you turned around to greet the customer 

“Frankie? Wha- what are you doing here?” 

Frankie walked towards the counter, a big smile on her face. Until she eyed up Mapi, who was probably standing too close for Frankie’s liking. 

“Well, don’t look too happy to see your girlfriend.” She emphasised the last word. 

“No I am. I just. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Frankie loved when she made you a bit helpless, you could see it on her face, you must have looked like a deer in headlights. 

“Well I was passing by, I wanted to see why you loved it here so much.” She then eyed up Mapi once more. 

“Frankie, this is Mapi. She’s trained me on everything I need to know about coffee and how to make the perfect hot chocolate.” You smiled at Mapi. “Mapi, this is Frankie, my girlfriend.”

Mapi reached her hand out for Frankie. 

“Hola, it’s nice to meet you.” The Spaniard smiled at Frankie. 

Frankie looked Mapi up and down like she didn’t want to touch her hand, but she did, and she did it quickly. You didn’t miss it, and neither did Mapi. 

Frankie laughed. “Is there really much to know? It’s coffee, not rocket science. It’s not that hard.” 

You felt your skin prickle. You hated when Frankie was like this.  

“Actually there is a bit to know about coffee and how it’s made. It can almost be a science lesson.” Mapi laughed at her own joke. 

“Mapis right. There’s a lot to it.” You looked at Frankie, almost pleading with your eyes to stop her rudeness. 

“Hmm, I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. Are you allowed to have that many tattoos showing while you’re working? Does it not put the customers off?”

You heard Mapi laugh under her breath. 

“I actually get a lot of compliments, especially from the ladies.” Mapi winked at Frankie, she wasn’t going to bite back. 

“Each to their own. I just wouldn’t be allowed to have any tattoos showing like that at my work.” 

You then chimed in. “You don’t even have tattoos and I don’t actually think they would care much at your work, Frankie. It’s not like you're a rocket scientist.” You joked but could tell that pissed Frankie off. 

Mapi laughed, she put her hand on your shoulder. 

“I’m going to count the items in the storage cupboard chica. Was nice to meet you Frankie.” Mapi walked away, leaving you and Frankie alone. 

“That was rude. Why are you being like that?” 

“I was just joking. Listen, I came here to apologise. I was a dick the other night, I don’t want to argue.” Frankie took your hand in hers, giving you the puppy dog eyes that she always used when you argued. 

You smiled, you weren't one to stay mad. You squeezed her hand back, leaning in to give her a quick kiss. 

“Do you want to go for dinner next week? We can go to that place that you like?” Frankie asked. 

“Yes! The Spanish restaurant?” You chimed.

“Yeah, that one.” 

“I’d love that.” You clapped. 

Frankie smiled, you could tell she had more to say. 

“I also have to travel for work tomorrow. We’ve got a new client that the company wants to impress. So I’ll be gone for three nights. I won’t be able to talk to you much.” 

You felt your shoulders drop. “Really? Okay well. I guess you can’t say no. We can FaceTime at night.” You tried to be positive.

“Well, maybe, you would have to text me first. Don’t just spring a FaceTime on me, I might be out with the new clients.” She laughed. 

“Yeah that makes sense.”

“I’ll be back Thursday evening, we can go for dinner on Friday evening.” 

“Okay, I can’t wait.” You said. 

“Anyways I got to go, I’ll see you later tonight?” Frankie smiled.

“Yeah. See you tonight.” 

You leaned back in to give Frankie a quick kiss, but you suddenly felt her grab you by the T shirt, pulling you hard. You yelped as she pushed her tongue deep into your mouth. You pulled back, looking at Frankie in confusion, she never kissed you like that in public, she was always one to hate PDA. You caught her eyes, she was looking at Mapi, who wasn’t paying any attention to the pair of you. 

“What are you doing?” You wiped your mouth, slightly annoyed.

“Nothing. Just wanted to kiss you. I’ll see you later.” Frankie walked out the coffee shop, smirking to herself. 

Mapi came back up to restock the fridge. “Your girlfriend is nice.” She said it with enough sarcasm. 

“Sorry. I don’t know why she acted like that.”

“It's obvious, no?” She smirked as she stalked up to you. “You have to work with a very sexy.” She stepped closer. “Very charming.” Her arms trapped your body against the coffee bar. “Very tattooed, Spanish girl, all day.” 

The brunette had your body caged between hers and the bar. Her face was so close to yours, you could feel her breath on your lips. You couldn't stop your eyes from roaming over her delicate pink lips. Your mind wondered what it would be like to have those same lips on yours, or other places. You felt your pussy spasm at the dirty thoughts flooding your brain.

She whispered.“See bonita, you can’t keep your eyes off of me.” 

Her smirk was devilish. It was like she could read your mind. You felt your cheeks blush from her comment. Her dark eyes roamed your face, it looked like she wanted to kiss you. Suddenly her body was gone. Her laugh brought you back from the daze that was Mapi. She started stocking the fridge, chuckling to herself as if she hadn't just had you hanging on to every word of hers. 

“You are like a baby rabbit, no. Squirrel? Some kind of fuzzy creature.” 

You blew out a chuckle, trying to compose yourself. But you could feel the heat between your legs. You looked over at the clock. How many hours did you have left?

—--------------

“Fuck, just like that.” You were between Frankies legs, eating her out while she pulled hard on your hair. It was the third time in a row that you had gotten her off, not that you minded but you had been horny since work. 

Not for any particular reason. 

But you had been desperate to have some release and the minute you stepped through the door you could tell Frankie needed it to. She had just about said hello when she pulled you into the bedroom, kissing you hard. Her teeth sunk in your bottom lip making you whimper against her mouth. But she only swallowed your cries. She pushed your back against the wall, you winced as you hit the foundation. 

“I need your tongue.” Was all she said before you were being pushed to your knees. She unbuckled her jeans and grabbed your head, forcing your face between her legs. She let out a gasp, her head tilted back as your tongue made connection with her clit. You didn’t mind this kind of sex, you were the more submissive one between the pair of you, and it could get rough and desperate and you knew Frankie liked being in charge. 

She grabbed the back of your head as she fucked your face against the wall. Her hips rolled into your mouth, taking complete charge of your movements. 

“Stick your tongue out.” She demanded. 

You stuck your tongue out for her. She grinded her pussy along your tongue, it was like you was her fuck toy. 

She came quickly, pushing your head against the wall as she used you to get off. After she came, she moved you onto the bed. You thought she wanted to do the same to you, but she made herself comfy on the pillows. You watched as she laid back, opening her legs and pointed between them. 

So you did as she asked, you didn't mind going again, you were a giver, you loved pleasing your partners but the wetness between your legs was ever growing. It took her a lot longer to come this time, as she had literally just came a minute before she had you on your knees again. But eventually after some time she came in your mouth, her hand holding your head down roughly. 

Once she released your hair you sat up. You were desperate for her now. It had been a while since you had sex with Frankie. You knew she was stressed from work, having new important clients on. So sex was off the cards. Well, she would be too tired to do bits to you. So you ended up like this a lot of the time, your face or hands between her legs. You moved up to kiss her, she sucked your tongue into her mouth.

“Again.” She husked out. 

“Again?” You chuckled breathlessly.

“Yeah, I need you babe. You make me feel so good.” She stroked your face lovingly.

“Okay. Are you not too sensitive?”

“No.” She kissed you again and started to push your head down.

“Okay.” You gave her a final kiss before you moved down her body, kissing her stomach on the way down. You licked slowly.

“Fuck.” She pushed your head further in between her legs, rocking herself on your tongue. Once again it took her a while to come, clearly too sensitive. You could feel your cunt throbbing, needing to be touched. 

Your jaw began to ache from how long you had been eating her out. She pulled your hair hard, your eyes closed from the pain, she sometimes didn't realise how rough she was being. You wondered if Mapi was ever this rough. You could feel your underwear becoming uncomfortably wet. Finally, you could tell she was close, she started to grip your head tight, it was painful, but before you could stop her, her hips bucked into your face. You groaned as she pushed you further into her core. It was almost hard to breathe.

“Fuck, suck it. Suck it. Yes, just like that. Such a slut” She gripped at your head, not letting you move an inch as you sucked on her clit. 

Her legs started to shake. You felt her wetness start to enter your mouth. Her thighs clamped your head. She kept you how she wanted you, her hips grinding into your face. You swallowed her juices. As she let out a groan. You tried to move your head away to breathe but she pulled you back.

“I didn't say stop, keep going” 

Your lips wrapped back around her clit. 

“Do it gently. Swallow.” She gripped your neck.

You stayed there like she demanded. Finally she let go.

“So good.” She husked out. 

You lied next to her, catching your breath. “Yeah?” 

She sat up, groaning from the pleasure. “Yeah. I needed that. I'm going to get in the shower.”

“Oh?”

“What?” 

“Nothing, I just.. I thought we could carry on? I wa- I really want you Frankie.” You smiled, hoping she would get the hint.

“I’m tired.”

“Okay. It’s just that, it's been a while since you kind of touched me like that. I just miss you.”

She rolled her eyes already annoyed. “I’m tired.”

“No, I get that. I just wanted t-,” 

“God, can’t you just give me a break. I don’t want to. Don’t try to make me feel bad because I’m tired.” 

This was the third time you had mentioned it. Frankie hadn’t touched you in 6 weeks. You tried to ask her what was wrong. If there was a reason she didn't want to touch you, if it was something she needed to talk about, but everytime she just brushed it off and blamed work. 

You already couldn't be asked to argue. You would just take care of yourself. Again.

“Okay.” You looked away, not able to look at your girlfriend, worried she would see your pain.

“Ergh. I’m going to mine. Thanks for ruining a good moment.” 

“No, Frankie don’t.” You begged. 

“No. You’ve pissed me off.” She quickly put her clothes on and left. Slamming the door behind her.

You flinched from the slam. You felt the tears prick at your eyes. Then the hot tears ran down your cheeks. You felt numb. Frankie had been arguing with you more and more lately. Snapping at you for small things, arguing over nothing. And now she wasn't touching you. You felt ugly, unwanted. 

You definitely didn’t feel horny anymore. You took yourself to the bathroom and had a long hot shower, you had your dinner and scrolled through Netflix to watch a movie. It had become a routine at this point, doing this alone after an argument with Frankie. Half way through you got a text, you ignored the giddy feeling you felt when you saw it was from her. You looked at your phone to see Mapi’s name on your screen, you couldn't stop the stupid smile that appeared on your face. 

It was a picture of her cat dressed up in a cowboy hat. She told you about the purchase she had got for her pet. You didn't believe her, but here it was picture proof. You replied.

Mapi - Picture sent

You - she doesn't look too impressed. 

Mapi - ignore her, she always looks that way. She loves it 

You laughed, shaking your head at the Spaniards' antics. Another text came through.

Mapi - I'm going to the ‘Blue Cherry' tomorrow, wanna come?

You bit your lip in thought. You had no plans tomorrow. Frankie was away, and if it was anything like her trip before you didnt get to speak to her once. So, yeah why not. It had been ages since you had a night out.

You - Yes! I’ll be there 🎉

That stupid goofy smile grew on your face once more. Mapi always had a way of making you smile, or feel special, even something as simple as wanting you to go out with her and her friends. You found yourself looking over her instagram page, again. You smiled as you looked over the now familiar pictures. You scrolled down to the very familiar picture of Mapi sitting on a rock in her bikini. The girl's body was unreal. You felt a little bad that you lingard on the photo, learing at your friend. But you had been so worked up from earlier, your body was basically on the edge of exploding.

Your mind drifted to your memories of today. You could still feel the weight of Mapi’s body pressing against your own. You could see the curve of her pink lips smirking at you, the way she always did when she was messing with you. Her lips had become a common thought in your mind, you had wondered how her lips would feel on your own, or how her tongue would feel if it were to trace down your stomach. Followed by gentle kisses.

And suddenly that hornyness returned. 

Your hand slowly descended down your stomach, your fingertips traced small lines on your exposed skin, just teasing yourself with the thought. Recently you had been doing this more and more.

You slipped your hand down your pj shorts. You weren't shocked at just how wet you already were. You tried to put it down to you pleasuring Frankie, but you knew deep down it wasn't because of that, not right now.

You dipped your finger past your lips and just below your clit, finding your essence already dripping. You gathered the juices on your finger tips and brought it straight to your clit. You let out a small hiss. You were past sensitive. It almost hurt to touch yourself, you weren't sure if it was mental strain or physical. 

You bit your lip at feeling the pleasure of finally having some friction on your bundle of nerves, circling your clit just the way you liked. You couldn't stop the images of today flashing through your mind, you could see Mapi in front of you, you could feel the shape of her body pressing against yours, your fingers picked up the pace. 

You could see her brown eyes looking at you, her lips smirking at you. Your imagination got the better of you when you pictured Mapis' hand in place of your own, touching you, pressing your clit lightly. Her smirk became wider as she felt you becoming wetter. 

“You want me, don’t you?” You imagined her voice.

You nodded. Even an imaginary Mapi knew you wanted her. Your hips started to grind into your own hand. You imagined her fingers touching you, her eyes watching you. You then imagined the girl in front of you, in your home, pulling your pjs shorts down, her brown eyes staring between your legs, licking her lips.

You started to get rougher with your touches, needing Mapi more and more. You imagined her tattooed hand reaching between your thighs, stroking your skin, teasing you as she got closer to your core. You imagined her gentle touch as she finally got to your clit, rubbing tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“You like it, princesa?” Her imaginary voice asked.

You nodded. You could feel your orgasm rising. Mapi invaded your mind, her freckles, her smile, her laugh, the way she smelt, the way she talked, the way her eyes watched you when she thought you weren't looking. She filled your mind with everything that was her, your legs began to shake as her imaginary fingers brought you closer to your orgasm. 

You imagined her lips tracing your neck, sucking gently on your skin. You gasped as you felt your climax start to take over. Your legs began to shake, your back arched off the sofa as you imagined Mapi kissing you while you came. Your hips bucked into your hand at the aftershocks of your orgasm, your breathing slowly returning to a normal pace. 

You laid there, staring at the ceiling, guilt took over for Frankie and Mapi. But before you could think anymore about it a text came through, you looked at your phone to see Mapi replying to your text.

Mapi - Finally!

You let out a loud sigh as your head dropped back on the sofa.

[baronessvonglitter]

Ready When You Are

husband!Marcus Pike x wife!Reader | wc: 2K

Summary: you and your husband Marcus Pike can't stop thinking about trying for a baby...

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, fluff, established relationship, talk of having a baby, reader wears lingerie, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, playful rough/dirty talk, fingering, unprotected piv (actively trying to get preggo), if I missed anything please let me know!

Author's note: this is for @fluffygoffpanda I hope this scratches that itch! Jesus do you have good taste in men for this particular kink. PS I don't know what pink cloud punch is, but I can tell you that if you pour Sprite over rainbow sherbet it's sooo gooood!

MARCUS PIKE MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

It's one of those "modern" baby showers where men are guests, but inevitably drift to the den where a football game is on. The women mill about the kitchen and dining room, sampling dishes, gossiping, exchanging stories about their own pregnancies.

Marcus seemed more excited about the get-together than you were, and despite having migrated to the other room for the game, he keeps sneaking back to the kitchen, swiping a pinwheel sandwich, or a petits fours. You can tell he's half-listening to the little nuggets of advice being passed around, and watching the presents being opened, yellow and pink and blue tissue paper blanketing the floor. 

Your youngest sister looks resplendent in her flowy pink floral maternity dress, her hands continually resting on her bump, protective, almost queenly. "I'm so happy for you," you tell her for the hundredth time, kissing her cheek.

She smiles, sipping a frothy cup of pink cloud punch. "Sister, when's it going to be your turn?"

"For what?" Marcus asks, appearing behind you, enveloping you in his arms.

"For a baby," you answer him, giving him a little smile, a rosiness painting your cheeks. You've been married almost a year, and though you've both talked about eventually starting a family, you haven't chosen a time on when exactly to begin.

"No pressure," you sister says quickly. "It's a serious decision."

You are the last of your siblings to have a child. Even your older brother has twins in elementary school.

"We'll talk about it when you're ready," Marcus says, giving your hand a soft kiss.

You expect him to be the one to bring it up, to possibly goad you into talking about it, or at least planning what names you'd use. But he's seemingly forgotten about it on the drive home after the party, making dinner plans with friends for next weekend, and going to see your favorite band in town when they finally come there on tour.

It's not until the next morning that you bring it up over coffee at your favorite diner. 

"Would you want to start trying for a baby?"

Marcus stops, coffee cup halfway to his lips. Then he breaks into a grin, only resuming his poker face for only a moment to say: "I'm ready when you are."

You nod, letting the pieces fall together in your brain. There are unknowable factors, of course, but you wouldn't be alone, and you'd be having a child with the absolute love of your life.

"I'm ready. I want to have a baby with you."

The smile on Marcus's face could light up the entire Eastern Seaboard. He takes your hands across the table, leaning in for a kiss. "I'm so glad, because honestly I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since the baby shower yesterday," he admits a little sheepishly.

His enthusiasm is contagious, lifting your heart and erasing any doubts you had. "Do you think we're ready?" you have to ask.

"Babe," he says. "You're too perfect of a person to not be making the world better by adding a few more of you to it."

You sigh in mock exasperation. "How do you know exactly what to say?"

He chuckles, but his expression softens when he looks at you. "I'm in if you're in. I mean that."

Thinking about it takes up your entire day. You look up baby names, maternity wear, childbirth options, the best OBGYNs in the area. Then you go further, checking out the schools, wondering if you should trust public or go private. Then colleges. Which one is best for which degree?

Marcus thinks it's cute when you call him to tell him what you've been working on all day. "Sounds like you're really, really serious about this," he says.

"You'll be home soon?" you ask, checking your hair in the mirror one last time.

"I'm about five minutes away. Why?"

"I have a surprise for you. Drive safe."

Naturally Marcus has to restrain himself from speeding the next couple blocks to your home. Just as he's about to unlock the front door you open it, wearing a teddy in his favorite shade on you.

"Just in time," you purr, grabbing him inside by the collar.

"What's going on?" he smirks, happily led by you to the bedroom. 

"What do you think?" you smirk back. The bed is strewn with rose petals, and you perch yourself in the middle of it, an utter vision to Marcus's eyes. He follows you, led by a primal instinct to take you, to hold you and make you his.

"I didn't take my birth control pill today," you tell him. "In fact, I threw them all out."

His brows rise, heart skips a beat, mouth fills with saliva. "Why'd you do that?" he asks slowly, even though he already knows.

"Because tonight I want you to get me pregnant."

It's as if the air has been squeezed from his lungs. He tries to maintain composure, knowing you wouldn't tease him, nor would you take such a decision lightly. "You're sure, babe?"

You nod as his hand cups your chin, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "I want you to fill me up, over and over again tonight. I want to be dripping with your cum for days."

An image of him fucking you, his seed taking root, your belly swelling with his child, breasts getting fuller and sweet with milk, runs through his brain, tapping into the primal side of him. He whispers your name, grabs hold of you in a kiss, hands wandering under your teddy to caress your body, smoothing over your curves, cup your breasts.

You bring his hand to your cunt, already so moist and ready for him, giving a shuddering sigh as he works two fingers inside, jaw tensing when he feels how wet you are.

"Breed me, Marcus," you whisper, your breath tickling his ear. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stands up. What am I still doing with my clothes on? he wonders, then is thankful that you've taken the initiative, relieving him of his jacket, his tie, belt, shirt, pants, and everything else. 

His cock pulses in your hand, his precum already dribbling over the top. Laying on your back, he scoots between your legs. "What about your work?"

"I'll work from home. Hell, I could even do advisor work until the kids are old enough for school," you say, wrapping your arms around him.

"Kids.. plural?" he grins. "How many?" His lips ghost across your ear, nibbling your lobe.

"Two," you sigh, running your hands down his back. "I don't want an odd number. I didn't like being the middle child."

He kisses your forehead, as if to take those memories away. "One boy and one girl?"

"Perfect," you sigh again, trailing your foot along his calf.

Desire and love fill his senses, make him your servant, all he can see and breathe is you. Imagining you getting big with his child, making a soul with him, creating a little legacy, even for the short amount of time you're both promised on this earth.. Marcus's heart feels like it shouldn't fit in his chest anymore.

You whimper his name. nudging your hips against his. He slips your teddy over your head, revealing your soft skin, the body he's come to worship night after night during the happiest time of his life. 

He captures your lips in another passionate kiss, tongue brushing against yours with fervor. Then he pins your arms over your head, spreads your thighs further apart. "You're so eager for it, so eager for me to cum inside you."

You shiver, not bothering to suppress a whimper. "I am, baby. I want it all.."

Fuck, you're not even teasing, not even pretending, not role playing.. Marcus's head is nearly spinning with his new reality. His head drops into your neck as he breathes in your scent, your shampoo and your own natural aroma, and of course the sweet and spicy essence of your pussy. He lifts his head to catch your gaze. "I love you," he utters as he slides into you.

"I love you," you gasp in return, letting yourself be helpless beneath his soft grip. He buries himself in you until his hips meet yours, and you can't tell where he ends and you begin. Your tightness has him reeling, his mind spinning with want.

"You feel so good, babe," he groans in your ear. He withdraws almost completely before pushing forward again, a shiver rolling through him at the sensation. He starts a slow, languid pace.

"Marcus," you moan, your hips undulating against his in the rhythmic dance. He squeezes your hip, loosening slightly on your wrists pinned over your head, but you keep them there, enjoying the illusion of being at his mercy, of being bred. 

His mouth trails kisses down your neck as pleasure thrums throughout your body. "You feel like heaven," he mutters, moving leisurely as he takes note of the sounds that leave your mouth with each forward thrust of his. 

"More.." you gasp, tilting your hips up to get him deeper, not wanting to miss out on a single inch. 

"You want more? You want me to spill all my cum into you, give you a baby?"

Biting your lip you moan his name as he increases the pace, thrusts steady and fast.  "Keep moaning my name," he whispers. "Scream for me.. let the neighbors know who's inside you, making you feel this good."

"Christ," you gasp, pressing your hands to the headboard, the sound of it banging against the wall exciting you. "Want everyone to know I'm yours.."

"That's it," he says, hearing your moans and sighs coming faster. "Almost there? I'm gonna cum but I want to get you there first, you gotta cum first, that's what I want." At the sound of your whimper he kisses you deeply, pulling your lower lip between his teeth before pushing his tongue in your mouth, seeking your own. He moans low as heat builds in his lower belly.

He's hitting a place inside you that sends flutters through your cunt, the pleasure rising and rising until it becomes a fever, a fucking force of nature that threatens to claim you. 

"Come, darling," he grunts, knowing your body, knowing you're on the edge with him. His hips quicken their work, the sound of your bodies colliding is almost obscene.

You come undone beneath him, squeezing around him rhythmically and his hand moves between you to tease your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm, his own hips slowing as he watches the pleasure wash over you.

"God, you're so beautiful," he says, his forehead against yours, your hot panting breaths fanning across his face. 

"Marcus," you beg. "Put a baby in me.."

Aftershocks still wrack your body as he thrusts again, and your still-sensitive body wants to come with him. He rubs your clit again, working you back up, waking your senses again. 

He's getting closer and closer to tipping over the edge with you. Mumbling words of love, of adoration, he feels his climax rising in his balls, the pressure building up further and further. Only when he feels you come again, convulsing hard around him, does he give a final, hard thrust before he follows you, coming deep inside you, shaking and shuddering. At last he groans your name, muffled in the crook of your neck as his mind goes blank for a heavenly minute.

It's several minutes before either of you speaks, the moment too precious, too beautiful to break with mere words. He slides off you, keeping you close, not wanting to lose your warmth right away.

"I love you," you murmur at last. "Maybe we made some magic tonight."

"Maybe," he chuckles, his heart overflowing with love for you. "If not, we can always keep trying." He cups your beautiful face in his hands. "I want a family with you if that's what's meant for us."

"I want that. A little family.."

He smirks, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Give me a few minutes, we can give it another try. Just to make sure."

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

[jarofstyles]

Buttercream

Hello my loves! This is the first part to our Patreon exclusive series, Buttercream. The ready is available on Patreon (over 18 parts) and is still being updated. You all asked to see what’s available to read and I’m giving you sneaks of it!

A series featuring an Alpha Architect Harry, a bossy bakery owning omega Y/N, the sweetest treats taste tested and some steamy smut.

Check out our Patreon for all parts of the series and 150+ exclusive writings.

——-

The smell kept him coming back.

In his life, Harry had been to a quite a few bakeries. He could be considered an expert on fudge brownies, a specialist on cupcakes and the swirls of icing, a connoisseur of croissants. He treated himself a bit too often, if his mother had anything to say with it. His sweet tooth had always been prevalent in his life.

The new bakery down the road from his job, though? That had made him a true problem.

Every day before work, he stopped. Suit and all, pulling into the parking lot and nearly drooling the moment he got out. His feet carried him towards the door and the smell hit him immediately. Sweet buttercream, frothy vanilla, spiced cinnamon, and… something else. That something else that had him nearly vibrating, and now on a mission to have the whole menu to figure out just what the hell that scent was.

It was intoxicating. Mesmerizing. If Harry didn’t have work, he would spend hours just sitting here to smell it. It had a weird hold on him, and he didn’t quite know how to ask if it was an air freshener. That was unlikely for anywhere but restrooms anyways considering how offensive it could be for the noses of alpha’s and omegas alike. A bad scented one could send them into moods. Or even sickness. The sense of smell was very important.

“Mr.Styles.” The teen manning the cash register saluted him. He came in every day and was known to the cashiers, so he had ruled out it being one of them. Thank god. They were either young enough to not have a scent or too old for it to be possible. “What will it be today? Y/N’s been whipping up a storm for the holidays. New recipes. We’ve got a peppermint bark brownie that would go well with the peppermint mocha you like.” She chirped, watching as he scanned the cases.

Harry was a little intimidating but he was exceptionally charming. He smiled, he conversed, he tipped well, but he always seemed to be looking around. Trying to find something that no one could really place. The bakery was empty besides a mum and her friend with their kids, munching on treats and coffee as they watched the traffic go by. It wasn’t them. Harry’s ears did perk up when he heard an unfamiliar name.

“Y/N?” He asked, tilting his head as his attention went back to the cashier. “Who’s that? The owner?” Harry had never met the owner. For some reason, every time he came in the morning she had stepped out for her own break. It didn’t bother him so long as his compliments to the baker got passed along, but hearing her name stirred something in his chest.

“Yep.” She popped the p in her word. “She’s awesome. She started this all on her own after she went viral on the internet. She got the funds from online orders. You see the custom cakes and stuff but she does awesome experimental flavors. She doesn’t care if they’re hits or misses and let’s us go home with leftovers.” There was obvious pride to be working for someone like Y/N. It peaked his interest.

“Oh?” He asked, leaning his body against the counter. “That’s incredible. I’d be very happy to taste some of the new things.” He flashed a smile, tapping his card against the wood of the counter. “What would you think Y/N would suggest?” And why did saying her name make him feel silky and hot? Like it was meant to live on his lips? They tingled as the word left his mouth, making him shift his stance slightly. His skin was buzzing slightly as he heard someone else come from the back.

“She would suggest the peppermint bark brownies, the s’mores donut, the lemon cream cookie and the chili chocolate cupcake. Spice and sweet work surprisingly well together.” The airy voice went to his bones.

Harry could smell it fully now. The scent that laced the bakery was now engulfing him. Filling the space, making him inhale it with each breath. His hand tightened on the card, curling into a fist at his side as he caught a glimpse of her. She had been the source. It wasn’t a baked good or a cashier, but it was the baker herself that was making him addicted to the sweets laced with her scent.

He was silent as he observed her, a smile quirked on her lips. Slightly glossy and deliciously plump as she greeted the cashier with a simple hey and asking her to go to the back to grab the other new tray of cinnamon buns. Sliding them on to the rack, she used her hip to gently nudge the counter open and grabbed one for Harry.

“Here. On the house.” She slid the bag over to him with her soft simper, hands tapping on the wood.

She was marvelous.

Harry was speechless. Something he never usually was- the alpha could talk to a brick wall if he needed to- but this sweet little omega has been slowly hypnotizing him with her scent over the course of a month and now he was finally seeing her. He loved delayed gratification, a fan of edging, but this? He wished he had seen her far earlier.

“Hi.” He peeped. His face looked like he saw a ghost. The woman in front of him was like a mirage- and he wasn’t trying to be dramatic. He swore she was familiar to him in some way. Some how. She was all omega in the ways that called to him. The curve of her face and her soft voice… he could have started purring if he didn’t have some semblance of self control in his body.

“Hi.” She returned the greeting with a soft chuckle that heated his chest. “I hope you like the suggestions. I recognized your voice. You’ve been in here every morning we’re open and I figured it was about time to meet the loyal customer.” She chirped, brushing the stray hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ears. The adorably disheveled look added to her appeal.

A candy apple red apron was dusted with various baking material, tied around her waist snug. It showed the curve of her waist went deeper than what he could tell under her sweatshirt that appeared to have the bakery name printed on it. A swipe of flour was decorating her forehead, like she had wiped hair from her face and simply forgot about flour coated hands. Little details he was memorizing to think about later.

“I love the smell.” He blurted out. Immediately, he winced. That hadn’t been what he had meant to say, at least how he had meant to say it. Heat crept up further under his cheeks as he opened and closed his mouth, watching her giggle a bit as he tried to find his bearings.

“Fucking hell- I meant to say, I love your bakery. It smelled amazing when I went past it so I decided to stop in a few weeks ago and now it’s become a part of my daily routine. I bring in pastries for the office.”

“Aren’t you a star coworker.” She cooed, turning from him with a wink as she grabbed one of the red boxes and began to construct it. “They must love you at the office. I have on good authority that the one that brings the snacks, gets the pats on the back. Especially hand made, beautifully crafted baked goods.” She teased, opening up the case and beginning to place some sweets into it.

“I’d hope they like me. I’m their boss.” He laughed quietly, scratching the back of his neck. Never has he felt more like a schoolboy talking to a playground crush. He was head to toe in a suit good enough to meet his best clients, and a girl with flour on her face was sending him to his knees. Each time she moved, a gentle waft of her scent was given his direction and made that ever loved self control hang by a thread.

“Ooooo. Bossman.” She grinned, wiggling her brow as she placed another iced brownie with crushed peppermint bark sprinkled on top into the box. “Should have guessed. Love the suit, by the way. You look very handsome.”

That little compliment made his day. The pretty omega with the prettier smile and mouthwatering scent thought he looked handsome. That would be lingering in his brain all day. How she thought he was handsome. The casual compliments.

“Thank you.” He preened. “We do interior and exterior design for businesses. Up and coming places and remodels. So if you ever need a guy- I’m here.” He placed his hands in his pockets and lifted up on his toes rocking back and forth.

“Oooo. Is it that bad in here? Do I need a renovation?” She sucked her teeth, tilting her head. It had him freezing, mouth falling open to grovel. He hadn’t meant to offend her at all, hadn’t tried to insinuate it needed a remodel.

“Shit- no, I’m sorry. It’s very cute in here, I didn’t mean to insinuate it needed any help. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how it would sound-“

“Cool it, bossman.” She cooed, laughing at how he had nearly fallen over himself. “I’m just messing with you. The place does need some exterior work, actually. I hadn’t had the budget when we first started, nor the time. But I didn’t take any offense to it. You’ve got to market yourself. Don’t worry.” Her reassurance made him melt into relief, leaning into the counter. This whole encounter had him feeling a bit on edge in the weirdest way. He wanted to snuggle this woman, yet he was almost afraid of her. An omega. He was afraid of an omega.

Anyone else would laugh at him, perhaps, but he felt the nervousness creeping in his bones. He wanted her to like him. He wanted her to think he was cool and want to know him better. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. She had unarmed his normal charm and made him feel like a nervous bundle of sweat and it was exhilarating.

“I’ll take a card, though.” She placed her hand out flat. “If you’ve got one. I’m gonna check out your website.”

Harry fished one out of his wallet, thankful he kept them on hand. It had his office number, and part of him wanted to offer his personal cell but he knew that would be a bit weird. Especially if she wanted to use his services. He almost hoped she didn’t- asking a client on a date wasn’t good for the image, was it? He wasn’t sure.

“If you’ve got any questions you can reach out on the email there, it’s a direct line to me- or uh, I come in every day so.” He shrugged. “Around this time. You’ve got very good coffee too. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good hazelnut. People put a lot of syrups and things… but your shop does it the best.”

“Thank you.” She seemed chuffed with his praise. “I taste test everything with the crew here. You’ll be in for a treat. If you’re coming in every morning, do you think you’d want to be a bit of a guinea pig for me?” She slid the box across the counter. “I’ve been experimenting like my lovely employee was saying. But I’d love a real customers opinion. Even if it’s bad. I want to know what the consumer likes.”

Harry was shocked. Y/N was kind of treating him like a friend, like she valued his exact opinion. He couldn’t deny he felt exceptionally special. Having not only the owner of the bakery but an omega he had some sort of crush on suddenly want to sample the new things she sells and get his opinion on it.

“Oh- uh. Alright. Of course! I can do that.” He grinned shyly, handing his card over for her to pay for the things she had put into the box. “I come in every morning during the week so… you can just let me know what’s new to taste.” There was a giddiness in his stomach. An excuse to talk to her every day. Or at least a few times a week. He’s never really reacted this way to an omega before, the scent craving, the shyness he suddenly felt, all of it was so new to him and he was unsure how to navigate it but he didn’t want to stop. He only wanted more.

“Perfect. What is your name, by the way?” The card was handed back to him and there was slight disappointment their fingers didn’t brush, but Harry took today was a victory.

“Harry. Harry Styles. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Y/N. I’m glad to meet you too. I hope to see more of you soon.”

[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 ∽

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

masterlist | join my taglist

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 

[gilbertscurls]

glimpse of us ➵ matt sturniolo

summary: caught between hesitation and hope, you listen as matt paints a vivid picture of the love you could share—if only you were ready to take the leap.

He could see the war going on inside you, your conflicted emotions written all over your face. He knew you liked him, maybe even loved him, but that you were too scared to take that final step, to make your relationship official.

He hated seeing you so unsure, and he wished he could just reach inside you and pull out all your doubts and insecurities, to make you see how perfect you could be together.

“Y'know,” he said, his voice easy and relaxed, “if we were dating, I'd probably cook you breakfast every morning. Pancakes, eggs, whatever you wanted. And I'd make sure your coffee was always how you liked it, all frothy and warm.”

He chuckled and shrugged, like he was just casually bringing up a random topic. “And I'd probably leave dumb little notes all over the place for you to find, just… reminding you how much I care about you.”

“I'd also get you flowers. Not just on special occasions, but just… out of the blue, to tell you I was thinking about you. I'd probably buy you teddy bears too, or cute little stuffed animals that I'd leave on the bed so you can hug them when I'm not around.”

He spoke softly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your hip bone. “And I'd definitely text you dumb memes and funny videos that I know would make you laugh. But only after I'd call you in the morning to wish you a good day.”

“And I'd take you on dates, like real dates. Not just to your favorite coffee shop, but to nice restaurants and… oh, I'd take you to the theater. I know how much you love musicals, and I'd even sit through the entire thing without complaining, even if I'm bored out of my mind.”

He chuckled and shook his head, like he was imagining the scenario. “And I'd hold your hand the whole time, and buy you expensive popcorn, and probably make out with you during the boring parts.”

“And I'd make sure you were taken care of,” he said, his voice growing serious. “I'd make sure you had everything you needed, and everything you wanted. And if you ever had a bad day, or something was bothering you, I'd listen. I'd hold you, and I'd tell you it was alright, because that's what boyfriends are supposed to do.”

He looked away for a moment, as if lost in thought, before turning back to you. “But I suppose that's all irrelevant because, well... we're not dating.”

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike

[dioslesbianwife]

can i request bucciarati gang with a reader thats like mizuki Akiyama? The reader is a moody and expressive person, often described as energetic and cheerful, but also prone to frustration and being easily upset when ridiculed. She's also known for her love of cute things and hand-altering fashion. Despite her carefree demeanor, Mizuki is often seen as the most mature member of the group in the game and acts as a mediator, sensing changes in the group's atmosphere. She also keeps her true feelings and secrets hidden, fearing rejection if she's too open.

and because I love angst can u make bucci gang (together) finding out about the readers secret? In the game, mizuki is scared of telling her friends thats shes trans. And before they get to say anything to her she just runs away? (；´д｀)ゞ

If you don’t know who she is shes from project sekai !! And sorry if this is too much 💔 Im a huge fan of ur work !!

sure! it's not too much and i'm happy you enjoy my work!! thank you for requesting and i hope you enjoy <3333

You're the mood-maker of the group -  always quick with a joke, always trying to keep spirits up. You love cute accessories, DIY fashion, hand-altered jackets and skirts, and you brighten up any room just by walking into it. But beneath your smiles and group selfies is a quiet fear: if they knew who you really were, would they still see you the same way?

You're trans, and it’s something you’ve kept private -  not because you’re ashamed, but because you’re scared of how even people you love might react. One day, they find out. And you panic.

Bruno Bucciarati

He finds out first -  not through gossip or a slip-up, but because he knows something's been weighing on you. He notices when your smile feels forced.

When he hears it accidentally, he doesn’t flinch.

But when you find out he knows? You run.

Bruno chases after you -  not to confront, but to reassure.

When he finally catches up, he puts both hands on your shoulders, eyes calm.

“You’re still you. I knew you before, and I know you now. You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

Protective older brother energy x 1000. He will fight God if anyone ever disrespects you.

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno isn’t one for loud emotion, but he has a gentle way of showing care.

He finds out because he’s the one patching you up after a mission, and you’re too panicked to stop him before he notices something.

You bolt, overwhelmed by fear, not realizing he’s following quietly.

He doesn't chase -  instead, he leaves a tiny, living ladybug brooch outside your room with a note:

“You’ve always been brave. Don’t let fear trick you into thinking otherwise.”

When you do come out, he makes it very clear he’s not treating you any differently. You’re still his teammate. His friend. His trust in you hasn’t changed.

Abbacchio

Abbacchio is hard to read. You always assumed he would be the one who wouldn’t get it.

He finds out with the rest of the group -  maybe from a message you left behind in a panic, after running away.

Everyone is stunned. He’s quiet. Too quiet.

But then:

“...She’s still her. The kid’s annoying, loud, and way too into glitter, but she’s one of us.”

He doesn’t say much more, but the next day he makes you a fresh cup of coffee with a frothy heart on top. You almost cry.

If anyone tries to bring up your gender in a disrespectful way? They get a fist to the teeth.

Fugo

He overthinks everything and this is no different.

At first, he’s flustered. Confused. Not in a malicious way -  more like, “Did I say something wrong before? Did I make her feel unsafe?”

You don’t give him a chance to talk before you vanish. The guilt eats at him.

He spends hours scouring the city until he finds you curled up in a park somewhere.

He doesn’t say a word. Just takes off his blazer, drapes it over your shoulders, and sits beside you.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just... don’t leave next time, okay?”

Quietly reads up about gender and trans rights afterward. He's determined to be better.

Mista

“Wait... you’re trans? …Okay! Cool. So are we still getting gelato or what?”

Literally the most chill and unbothered. He doesn’t care about labels unless you want him to.

He does get confused about some terminology and slips up sometimes, but he’s always quick to ask, “Hey, what should I say instead?”

The second he notices you feeling down, he comes in like:

“I know what you need- Pizza. And a stupid movie. Come on, my treat.”

He absolutely starts calling you “Princess Y/N” more often, half to flatter you and half to piss off anyone who gives you a side-eye.

Narancia

You’re like his big sister, even if you’re the same age. He looks up to you.

When he finds out, he’s stunned. Not because he’s upset, but because he didn’t know.

“Wait... but you’re still you! Right? Like, nothing else changes?”

You nod. Trying not to cry.

Narancia just grins and flings his arms around you.

“Then who cares! You’re awesome! And if anyone says different, Aerosmith’s got bullets with their name on it!”

He starts calling you “Boss Lady” and won’t stop.

Trish Una

You two share clothes. Share skincare. You’re besties.

When she hears you ran off after the reveal, she’s pissed -  not at you, but at everyone else.

She storms into the meeting room like:

“Did one of you make her feel unsafe? Because I swear to God- ”

When she finds you, she wraps you in a hug and says,

“I always knew you were strong. Now I know you’re even stronger than I thought.”

She’ll absolutely help you pick out gender-affirming clothes and makeup. Trans girl support squad queen.

Aftermath

When you return, still wary, still waiting for judgment… none comes. Instead:

Bruno tells you, “You’re family.”

Giorno puts a hand over yours.

Narancia hugs you again.

Abbacchio gives a rare smile.

Fugo apologizes if anyone ever made you feel bad.

Mista calls you their “resident badass.”

Trish pulls you in to sit beside her like nothing ever changed.

[lightdancingwords]

Crossroads of the Heart - Part Thirty-Three of ?

Pairings: CJ Braxton x Y/N Female reader

Series Summary: Y/N is a psychology major assigned to shadow CJ at The Stand, unaware he's the one who basically saved her life four years before. CJ is unaware that she's the one who left a notable impact on him over the phone four years ago. As they navigate the work at The Stand, they develop a spark that demands revelation and connection.

Word Count: 5,340

Tags/Warnings: 18+ implied smut, SO MUCH FLUFF! (and angst, and sarcasm)

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Dividers: credit to @saradika-graphics

Chapter Thirty-Three: Miles' Day

Monday was not Miles’ favorite day.

In fact, Monday was public enemy number one in the very specific hierarchy of things that irritated him—just ahead of overly cheerful weather apps and tangled charging cords.

He rose at his usual time, dragging himself out of bed with the enthusiasm of a man heading toward mild disaster rather than a workplace.

Coffee was first—always first.

Not the frothy, sugary nonsense Gabby loved to gush over. No. Miles drank his coffee black, bitter, and strong enough to jolt a corpse awake.

As the old machine sputtered and wheezed to life, he stood there, arms crossed over his bare chest, scowling into the middle distance like it had personally wronged him.

By the time he was dressed—black jeans, a gray T-shirt, his well-worn boots—he looked exactly how he felt: Slightly annoyed to exist, slightly amused at the absurdity of it all.

And yet... There was a hum in him today.

A barely-there undercurrent that hadn't been there before. Not loud. Not obvious.

But different.

He blamed her, of course.

Gabby.

The human embodiment of chaos wrapped in glitter and stubborn affection, who had somehow—without permission, without even trying—burrowed straight under his skin.

He was in trouble. And he knew it. And—worst of all—he liked it.

He grabbed his keys, locked his apartment behind him, and slid into the driver's seat of his car. As he pulled onto the street, his usual Monday playlist started: All brooding indie bands, grungy guitars, and a suspicious lack of anything remotely cheerful.

Typical.

The drive to The Stand was uneventful—aside from his internal debate over whether or not he should admit to Gabby that he had picked up her favorite granola bars at the store the night before.

(He wouldn’t. Obviously.)

(Probably.)

Parking in his usual spot, he stepped out, coffee thermos in hand, mentally preparing for the onslaught of noise, chatter, and Gabby.

And yet, as he walked up the familiar steps and into the building, a grudging smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Because even though Monday was a bitter pill—

Today, he knew he'd find her there. Smiling too brightly. Talking too fast. Tugging him, without even touching him, into the orbit he couldn’t seem to escape.

And maybe, just maybe... he didn’t really want to.

Miles trudged through the front doors of The Stand, nodding briefly at the receptionist, coffee thermos still glued to his hand like it was his personal shield against human interaction.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, the familiar hum of ringing phones and soft conversation filling the air.

He moved on autopilot, making his way toward the tech office he practically lived in, barely registering anything except the steady, simmering turmoil in his chest.

Because he couldn't stop thinking about her. Gabby.

Gabriella Summers, official pain in his ass, unofficial owner of his damn heart.

He dropped into his chair with a heavy sigh, setting his coffee down with a soft thud. His hands hovered uselessly over the keyboard for a moment before he leaned back and scrubbed a hand over his face.

God help me, he thought. He loved her. There. There it was. Clear as the morning sun slicing through the blinds.

He loved her.

Not in the casual, flippant way he might’ve brushed off affection in the past. Not the mild, manageable kind of liking that could be tucked into a corner of his mind and forgotten about when it became inconvenient.

No.

This was full-body, chest-aching, soul-tugging love.

He loved her.

Dammit.

He had kissed her the way a man kissed someone he couldn’t imagine letting go of—not a quick peck, not the casual teasing kisses they'd traded before. But a kiss that said you’re it. You’re mine.

He had lost his goddamn mind and dragged her into a closet at Y/N’s graduation party, barely able to breathe from how much he needed to feel her, to have her close, to drown in the chaos that only she could bring.

And after—after—he hadn’t just walked away like he would have once. He’d taken her home. Held her. Talked to her. Watched her sleep with her hair tangled on his pillow, her fingers curled lightly against his chest.

He'd been romantic. Sweet, for God's sake.

He groaned softly, dropping his head back against the chair.

Who the hell am I?!

Gabby had ruined him. Absolutely, completely ruined him.

Yet...

Yet when he pictured his life without her, a hollow ache replaced every stubborn, bitter wall he used to hide behind. Yet when he thought about her laughter, her wild schemes, the way she lit up a room like a hundred suns— he couldn't imagine not being around to see it.

He was ruined. He was hers. And he wouldn't change a damn thing.

Miles sat there, staring at the ceiling, resigned and a little wrecked—and wearing a small, grudging smile he didn’t even bother to fight.

Yeah, he thought, finally accepting it fully.

She’s it. She’s always been it.

And somehow, some way... that made even a Monday morning worth it.

Miles had barely finished brooding properly—coffee cooling beside him, his keyboard still untouched—when he heard it.

The telltale sound of chaotic energy barreling down the hallway. A laugh too bright for a Monday. The clatter of a bag dropping unceremoniously on the front desk.

And then, inevitably, her voice.

“Good morning, all my beautifully exhausted crisis counselors and emotionally unavailable tech gremlins!”

Miles didn’t need to look up. He knew.

Gabby.

He immediately schooled his face into neutrality, rolling his shoulders back like he was preparing for battle—or more accurately, bracing himself for whatever hurricane she was about to unleash.

She swept into the tech office without knocking, as always, carrying a large iced coffee that sloshed precariously with every dramatic gesture she made.

“Morning, sunshine,” she chirped, grinning at him from the doorway.

Miles grunted without looking up. “You’re loud.”

“You’re welcome,” she said cheerfully, striding right in like she belonged there (which, if Miles was honest with himself, she kind of did).

She perched herself half-on, half-off the spare chair across from him, her legs swinging casually, her drink straw between her teeth. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, a few wild strands escaping, and she wore one of her usual “power outfits” — today’s version being bright sneakers, ripped jeans, and a T-shirt that said I’M THE CHAOS YOU WISH YOU COULD CONTROL.

Miles side-eyed her, deadpan. “Subtle.”

She grinned wider, completely unbothered. “It’s Monday. I figured the office needed a little Gabby-fication.”

He snorted, finally clicking into his computer. “We need caffeine, not a tornado.”

“You say that,” she teased, spinning slightly in her chair, “but you missed me.”

Miles gave her a flat look.

She wiggled her brows. “Admit it.”

He turned back to his screen without a word. And Gabby, of course, took that as a win. Because she knew. He wasn’t rolling his eyes. He wasn’t telling her to leave. He hadn’t even tried to hide the small, almost invisible smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth when she first walked in.

He loved it. Loved her.

Even if he would sooner gnaw off his own arm than say it out loud in the middle of the office. Gabby spun once more in the chair, content to simply be near him, sipping her coffee, tapping her sneakers against the chair leg in a random, happy rhythm.

And Miles, grumpy and unwilling as ever, just kept working pretending she was a disruption, pretending he was exasperated, pretending he wasn’t secretly so damn glad she was here.

His favorite annoyance. His secret peace.

Gabby Summers: chaos personified. And somehow, somehow… the absolute center of his universe.

By 9:17 a.m., Miles had officially decided that Monday was actively trying to kill him.

The tech requests had stacked up like a slow-motion avalanche, each more irritating than the last. First, the password reset requests—which were, in his professional opinion, mostly caused by people forgetting how numbers worked. Then a volunteer somehow deleted half the resource directory trying to "clean up the desktop."

At 8:52, the helpline reporting software froze across three terminals. At 9:03, the server pinged an error code Miles hadn’t seen since 2019. By 9:11, the internet hiccupped just long enough for a trainee to ask, “Did we get hacked?” with the kind of breathless panic that made Miles momentarily consider abandoning society and living in a cabin in the woods.

He didn’t even like the woods.

By 9:14, he’d had enough.

He sat at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, a half-empty coffee cup at his elbow and a look of deep, seething focus carved into his face. His jaw was tight. His brow furrowed.

He didn’t speak. He glared in binary.

“Hey, uh, Miles?” one of the newer volunteers peeked into the tech room, holding a monitor cable like it had personally betrayed her.

“What,” he said flatly, not even turning.

The volunteer hesitated. “The screen in Room B is… um. Flickering? And there’s like, a buzzing noise? Could it be haunted?”

He slowly turned in his chair, fixing her with the kind of dead-eyed stare that could silence a room. “It’s not haunted. It’s cheap wiring and poor choices.”

The volunteer blinked. “So… should I tell it it’s doing great and leave it alone?”

Miles stared for one long, painful second. Then turned back to his screen. “I’ll fix it.”

The volunteer fled.

Behind him, a giggle.

He didn’t turn.

Gabby.

Of course she was still here.

She had repositioned herself so she was now sideways in the spare chair, legs slung over the armrest, sipping her iced coffee like she was watching a documentary titled The Last Sanity of Miles Jensen: A Tragedy in Three Acts.

She spoke through a smirk. “You know, for someone who pretends to hate people, you’re very good at saving their digital lives.”

Miles kept typing, eyes locked on code. “I hate incompetence, not people.”

“Liar,” she said brightly.

He sighed. “You’re still here?”

“I’m emotionally invested now,” Gabby declared. “I can’t look away. You versus a haunted monitor? That’s high drama.”

Miles paused only briefly to mutter, “It’s not haunted.”

Gabby leaned forward dramatically, whispering like a movie trailer voice-over: “But what if it is…”

He turned to look at her, finally—expression flat, exhausted, unamused.

She beamed. “There’s that smile I love.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“You’re smiling on the inside,” she said, tapping her temple. “I can feel it.”

Miles turned back to his work.

The network finally responded with a sluggish ping of compliance, and he exhaled—deep and long, like he’d been holding his breath for an hour.

He leaned back, pinched the bridge of his nose, and reached for his coffee.

Gabby handed him a fresh cup before he even asked. “Room B is haunted,” she said again, dead serious.

He took the cup from her without looking, muttering, “If I disappear mysteriously today, I want it on record that you are absolutely not inheriting my desk.”

She gasped. “Rude. I was gonna put a plant on it and everything.”

Miles closed his eyes.

It was only Monday morning. He already knew this was going to be a long, long week. But with Gabby there… Ruining him. Distracting him. Smiling like she was chaos incarnate. He didn’t mind quite so much.

By the time noon rolled around, Miles had put out three metaphorical fires, recovered a corrupted database file, and explained—twice—to the same intern that “restart it” was not a tech joke but a legitimate troubleshooting step.

He hadn’t realized how tightly wound his shoulders were until Gabby slid into his office again, a takeout bag in one hand and that knowing, too-bright smile on her face.

“Come on,” she said without preamble, dangling the bag in front of him like bait. “Lunch. I brought you actual food. No more surviving on black coffee and passive aggression.”

“I was fine,” Miles muttered.

Gabby gave him a look. “You’re not supposed to just survive. You’re supposed to thrive. Like a cactus. Or a weird indoor lizard.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he said, but he was already standing, because of course he was.

She led the way to the break room, chatting the whole time—mostly about how she’d bullied a café into giving her an extra cookie and how she was considering adopting a cat that “definitely hates me but I respect her boundaries.”

They claimed the small table near the window, where the light filtered in and made Gabby’s hair glow a little. Miles pretended not to notice that part. Pretended hard.

She opened the bag and slid a sandwich over to him without comment—his usual, of course, because somehow she always knew.

He unwrapped it slowly, still watching her like she might spring glitter at him any second.

Gabby chomped happily into her wrap, kicking her legs beneath the table. “So,” she said between bites, “you’ve been grumpy and hot all morning. What’s going on in that deeply mysterious brain of yours?”

Miles gave her a look. “You want me to explain what’s going on?”

She nodded brightly. “Always.”

He took a long sip of water, stalling. Then: “Wiring issues. Connectivity. Chaos.”

“Wow,” Gabby deadpanned. “Sexy.”

Miles smirked. “Only the best for you.”

She blinked. Paused. Then grinned wide, like he’d handed her a treasure.

“You’re flirting,” she said, eyes gleaming. “That almost sounded like flirting.”

“I’m eating,” he replied, voice dry. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late,” she said, biting into her wrap again. “You adore me.”

He didn’t answer.

Not verbally.

But he didn’t deny it either.

He just took another bite of his sandwich, eyes still on her, and she caught it—that flicker. The softness behind the usual sarcasm.

Her smile softened, just a little.

“Thanks for the closet, by the way,” she said, voice low and teasing.

He nearly choked on his bite.

Gabby burst into laughter, tossing a napkin at him. “You’re cute when you panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” Miles said, wiping his mouth. “I just didn’t expect that in a lunch conversation.”

“I’m full of surprises,” she said, leaning on one elbow. “But seriously… I liked that night. And the morning. And you, for the record. In case I haven’t said it enough.”

Miles went quiet.

Then—soft, honest: “I know. And I like you too.”

She blinked. A little stunned. A little breathless.

Because even with all the teasing and banter, hearing it mattered.

She reached for his hand across the table and squeezed it.

They finished lunch there, hands brushing, hearts steady.

And maybe, just maybe, Miles started to think Mondays weren’t so bad after all.

Lunch ended the way it always seemed to when they were together—half-eaten sandwiches, a mess of napkins, and an energy between them that crackled like static just under the surface.

Gabby was still talking—about a TikTok she wanted to recreate with CJ, about how she was this close to getting Priya to do karaoke next team night—but Miles wasn’t really listening.

Not fully.

He was watching her mouth move, watching her eyes glow as she talked with her hands, full of life and momentum and laughter, and all he could think was:

She’s going to kill me. And I’m going to die smiling.

So when they left the break room and she tugged on his sleeve, grinning like trouble in lipstick, he rolled his eyes—fully aware she was baiting him.

But this time, he didn’t bother resisting.

He caught her hand instead.

“Come here.”

She blinked, startled as he tugged her gently but firmly down the side hall toward a quiet corridor—one not used often during daytime shifts, mostly storage and file cabinets and a flickering light at the end that had been scheduled for maintenance for weeks.

“Miles?” she asked, voice tilting upward with amused curiosity.

He didn’t answer right away.

Not until they rounded the corner and stopped in the secluded space where no one would wander accidentally.

Then he turned.

Grabbed her hips.

And kissed her.

Hard.

Gabby let out a muffled squeak of surprise—delighted, breathless—and immediately melted into him. Her hands fisted in the front of his shirt as he pressed her gently but insistently against the wall, mouths colliding with the kind of hungry affection that came from too much restraint.

He kissed her like he was tired of pretending it didn’t matter. Like he was tired of acting like she was just a tease, a distraction, a whirlwind.

She wasn’t.

She was his.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing a little heavier, Gabby stared up at him with wide, sparkling eyes.

“Well, damn,” she whispered. “That was… unexpected.”

Miles rested his forehead against hers, still catching his breath. “I had a moment.”

Gabby smirked. “You had a weakness, and it was me.”

He gave her a flat look. “Don’t make it weird.”

She grinned, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Too late.”

He kissed her again—softer this time, slow and sure—and it was enough to make her toes curl in her sneakers.

When he finally stepped back, his voice was quiet, steady. “I like you loud. I like you wild. And I really, really like you pressed against a wall.”

Gabby blinked, stunned. Then she whispered, awed, “Okay, who are you, and can I keep you?”

He walked away without answering, only calling over his shoulder—

“Five minutes before I’m due back. You coming, or staying here to blush alone?”

She jogged after him, laughing, heart racing, hair mussed, soul lit up like a firework. God, she loved that man. Even if he’d never admit just how much he loved her. Not yet, anyway. But oh—he would.

After the hallway make-out session—which left Gabby breathless, delightfully rumpled, and sporting a smirk that would’ve made the devil blush—she and Miles returned to the workday.

Technically, at least.

Miles retreated to the tech office, his expression neutral as ever, but there was a certain softness to his edges now. His sarcasm was less biting, his muttering less grim. And when the ancient scanner hiccupped again for the third time in an hour, he fixed it without threatening to throw it out the window.

Progress.

Gabby, meanwhile, was on a different kind of high.

She flitted around the building like she owned it, humming to herself, answering phone calls with her usual Gabby-style warmth, and popping into conversations she wasn’t technically part of.

At one point, she cornered CJ in the hallway with a wide grin and zero shame.

“Hey, Bossman,” she said brightly. “If you’re planning another staff retreat soon, I want to formally request one with hot tubs and no cell service.”

CJ blinked. “Why would I—”

“For romantic seclusion,” she added, deadpan. “I need to make out with my boyfriend in peace.”

CJ gave her a long, slow blink. “You’ve corrupted Miles.”

“Correction,” Gabby said, beaming. “I revealed his true self. The Miles who tells me he loves me and kisses like he means it.”

CJ blinked again.

“Bye!” she chirped, pivoting with her iced coffee and a whistle.

Back in the tech office, Miles sat typing away when Gabby slid into his peripheral vision. She perched on the edge of his desk like she always did—too close, too comfortable—and tossed a small bag of pretzels at him.

“Snacks,” she said. “So you don’t wither and die.”

He caught it midair, opened it, and took a handful without looking at her. “You’re still here.”

“You love that I’m here.”

She wasn’t teasing this time.

She meant it.

And he didn’t dodge it.

He turned to her, his voice low but honest. “Yeah. I do.”

She smiled—soft, radiant—and leaned in to press a feather-light kiss to his cheek before leaning back on her palms, swinging her legs like a content cat.

“Remember when you said you loved me and then tried to act like nothing happened?”

“I’m trying right now to act like nothing’s happening,” Miles muttered, cheeks pink.

Gabby laughed, clearly delighted, and reached for her phone.

GABBY:

Y/N. Reminder: Miles said he loves me. Hasn’t taken it back. Is letting me sit on his desk while he pretends I’m annoying. This is top-tier boyfriend behavior.

Y/N:

Honestly? Iconic. I give it two weeks before you’re planning his birthday six months early.

GABBY:

Too late. 😌🎉

Back in real time, Gabby reached for one of the tools on his desk and began fiddling with it—half curious, half mischievous.

“Don’t touch that,” Miles said without looking.

“You love me,” she said smugly.

“That doesn’t mean I trust you with a cable tester.”

“Fair.”

They worked side by side the rest of the afternoon—her light, him grounded. Gabby taking phone breaks to twirl in a spare chair or gossip with Priya, while Miles fixed wiring issues and mumbled to himself about syntax errors.

But whenever she drifted too far, he’d glance toward the door.

And whenever she came back, she’d grin and bump her shoulder into his like she belonged there.

Because she did.

They weren’t in the middle of some delicate dance anymore.

He had said it.

I love you.

And she had known it even before he said the words.

Now, it was real. Quiet. Certain.

Gabby Summers, hurricane wrapped in glitter. Miles Jensen, the anchor who never expected to fall for the storm.

And together, they made the wildest kind of sense.

The day wound down with the soft hum of the evening crew filtering in and the first flickers of golden dusk creeping through the high windows of The Stand. The chaos of earlier had quieted—phones still ringing, voices still murmuring—but the energy had shifted, softened.

Gabby was gathering her things, tossing her phone into her tote and still mid-rant about someone leaving passive-aggressive Post-its in the staff fridge, when she felt it—that look.

She glanced up to find Miles standing near the tech office door, hands in his pockets, his face unreadable… but not cold.

She tilted her head. “You okay?”

Miles hesitated for half a breath.

Then he said, voice low and steady, “Come over.”

Gabby blinked. “What?”

He shrugged slightly, looking at her now, fully. “After work. My place.”

She grinned. “Are you inviting me over for dinner? Or something less dinner-y and more ‘continue what we started in the closet’?”

His expression didn’t change, but his ears—traitorous as ever—turned faintly pink. “Both.”

Gabby’s smile stretched wide, touched with something gentler beneath the teasing. She crossed the room slowly, her usual bounce softened by the flicker of emotion behind her eyes.

“You sure?” she asked, quiet now.

He nodded. “Yeah. I want you there.”

And somehow, that—those five words—hit deeper than anything he’d said all day.

She stood on her toes and kissed him, just once, right in the quiet of the near-empty hallway.

Then she whispered, “I’ll bring dessert.”

He raised a brow. “You don’t cook.”

“Who said anything about me making it?”

And with a wink, she turned back toward her bag, already humming, already planning.

Miles stood there, watching her, heart thudding in that steady, unfamiliar rhythm that had only one name at the center of it.

Gabby.

God help him, he was in it deep.

And for once, he didn’t want to come back up for air.

Gabby didn’t knock. She never knocked.

Instead, she barged in with a theatrical flair, nudging the apartment door open with her hip after barely tapping once for courtesy’s sake. Her arms were full—one hand gripping a paper bag that gave off the faintest scent of frosting and sugar, the other clutching her tote bag slung haphazardly over her shoulder.

Miles stood in the kitchen, barefoot, watching her like she’d just blown in with the wind and glittered up the air.

“Hi,” she said simply, grinning like she lived here.

Miles blinked once. “You brought dessert?”

Gabby held the bag up proudly. “Not just any dessert. I brought galaxy-swirled cookies with edible glitter and something called a 'cosmic brownie cupcake' that may or may not be radioactive. The packaging had stars on it. I was emotionally manipulated.”

Miles arched a brow, leaning against the counter. “That’s not real food.”

“No,” she agreed, kicking her shoes off with a dramatic sigh. “It’s emotional food. Meant to be eaten while cuddling. Preferably shirtless. You know—doctor recommended.”

His mouth twitched, dangerously close to a smile.

She strutted into the kitchen and dropped the bag on the counter with a flourish. “So? Are you letting me stay or are you going to pretend you're still immune to my charms?”

Miles stepped closer, hands sliding into his pockets. He took his time, studying her face—the smug little smile, the light in her eyes, the way she never once doubted her place in his home, in his life.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” he murmured.

Gabby blinked, surprised by the softness in his voice. Her smirk faded into something smaller. Realer.

“You’re getting good at this,” she said, voice dipping with affection.

Miles leaned in just enough for his hand to brush her hip as he passed her, heading for the cupboard. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Gabby stood there for a beat longer, eyes following him as she pulled her hair up into a messy bun and smiled to herself.

Yeah. She was exactly where she wanted to be.

The kitchen lights were warm, casting a soft glow over the counter as Gabby began unpacking the dessert bag like she was unveiling a prize haul.

“Okay,” she said, sliding out a glossy plastic container, “we’ve got glitter cookies that might give us superpowers, and this thing…”—she held up a cupcake so overloaded with frosting it looked like it had been dunked in a galaxy—“is legally a weapon.”

Miles glanced at it, unimpressed. “That’s not food. That’s a dare.”

Gabby grinned. “You love a challenge.”

He reached over and plucked one of the glitter cookies from the tray, inspecting it. “You’re lucky I’m hungry.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” she quipped, already halfway through unwrapping the cupcake.

She leaned against the counter, licking frosting off her finger with zero shame. “You know, if you told me a year ago I’d be spending my Monday night watching you eat sparkly baked goods and looking—” her eyes slid over him pointedly “—way too good doing it, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

Miles took a bite of the cookie, shrugged. “You’ve always liked the quiet ones.”

Gabby laughed. “Please. I thought you were an emotionless cryptid for the first six weeks I worked here.”

“And now?”

She looked at him over the rim of her plastic fork, her smile quieter. “Now I know better.”

He set the rest of his cookie down, brushing crumbs off his hands, and leaned against the counter across from her. Their eyes met and held, that hum between them rising like it always did when the noise dropped away.

Gabby pushed the glittery mess of a cupcake toward him.

He raised a brow. “That for me?”

“I’m sharing,” she said with a wink. “Growth.”

Miles took the fork from her hand, scooped up a bite, and paused.

“What?”

“You’re not going to make airplane noises or something?” he deadpanned.

Gabby rolled her eyes. “Miles, please. I’m not that ridiculous.”

He smirked, lifted the bite to her lips instead. “Open.”

She blinked in surprise but didn’t hesitate—leaning forward to take the bite, her eyes on his the whole time.

When she finished chewing, she licked her lips slowly and whispered, “That was weirdly hot.”

Miles was already leaning closer. “You’re the one who brought dessert.”

“You’re the one who keeps surprising me,” she said, voice just a touch breathless.

And just like that, the space between them evaporated. Not in a rush—just a quiet magnetism pulling them in. The kitchen around them didn’t disappear, but it faded in importance, eclipsed by the way Gabby’s hand slipped to his shirt and Miles let his forehead rest against hers.

No glitter. No teasing. Just the silence between two people who knew exactly what they were doing—and exactly why they wanted to keep doing it.

The kitchen was still.

The soft hum of the refrigerator, the faint tick of the clock above the pantry—those were the only sounds, wrapped around them like a quiet reminder that the world was still out there.

But for Gabby and Miles, it had slipped into the background.

His forehead rested against hers, their breathing syncing in a slow, steady rhythm. Gabby’s hand remained curled lightly at the front of his shirt, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to pull him in or just hold on to the nearness of him a little longer.

“Miles?” she whispered, barely above a breath.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice rough with softness.

“I like this,” she said. “You. Me. This version of us.”

He smiled, so faint she almost missed it. “Me too.”

And then he kissed her.

There was no rush—just a slow press of lips, gentle and sure. The kind of kiss that knew where it was going and didn’t need to race there. His hands settled on her waist, grounding her, while she slid hers up to cup the sides of his face, her thumbs brushing the edges of his jaw.

She kissed him again, deeper now, with a breathy sigh against his mouth like she’d been waiting for this quiet all day.

He responded in kind, pulling her flush against him, their bodies fitting together as naturally as their banter. His mouth moved slowly over hers, savoring every second. She tasted like vanilla frosting and everything he couldn’t say aloud without stumbling—but it didn’t matter. Because his hands, his kiss, the way he held her like she was something rare—that said enough.

When they finally parted for air, she rested her forehead against his again.

“Should we…?” she whispered, eyes flicking toward the hallway.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded, brushing his thumb across her cheek before leaning in and kissing her once more—so soft it made her knees go weak.

They didn’t speak as he led her out of the kitchen, fingers laced with hers.

In the quiet of his bedroom, the intimacy only deepened.

Clothes fell away slowly, not with urgency, but reverence. Every touch was a reaffirmation. Every kiss, a soft vow.

Miles took his time with her—his hands learning every curve, his mouth pressing warmth into every inch of her skin. He didn’t need to rush. He had her, and that was enough.

Gabby, usually wild and effervescent, went quiet in his arms. Not muted. Not dimmed.

Just present.

Completely, achingly present.

When they came together, it wasn’t frantic or desperate. It was slow, steady, full of emotion they didn’t always know how to name. Their hands never stopped moving—stroking, holding, anchoring each other.

Their breathing synced again.

And somewhere in the silence between their bodies, in the warmth of skin against skin, love unfolded in the softest of ways.

When it was over, when she lay curled into his side, her fingers tracing lazy circles over his chest, she whispered it without hesitation.

“I love you.”

Miles kissed the top of her head, pulled her closer, and replied like he always meant to. “I love you, too.”

No sarcasm. No teasing.

Just the truth.

Wrapped up in each other, in the stillness and the softness, they let the night settle over them like a blanket.

And it was enough. More than enough.

It was everything.

Tag List: @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick, @star-yawnznn, @hobby27, @hellsbratonthet

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Message me here! And check out the other story I’m writing!

[thelemoncoffee]

you've heard of cafe au barista x customer and costumer x costumer- but what about barista x barista. rival baristas if you will

they will fight each other so much over the DUMBEST shit i tells ya! "didn't pour it right" "froth isn't frothy enough" "bet i can make it faster" all that junk. they also critique one another's works once their done. docking points for sloppy work that was done in exchange for sparing time

it's funny cause they make these rivalry drinks for the other to drink and rate, and as results it actually helps them become better baristas. they hate one another's asses but they're retroactively helping each other train.... well- hate is a misunderstanding of the feelings they have anyways

i think they also do drink fights where they try and make something brand new that will be something the other really enjoys, as results both have very good ideas of what one another's preferences are and- god okay so i have some hcs

i hc Shuichi is the one who drinks his coffee with a lot of creamers, and Kokichi likes black coffees. so just imagine Shuichi noticing how Kokichi struggles to down his milk/creamer drinks, and while he still makes them for latte art fights, for the custom drink fights he tried not using any cream/milk and Kokichi for the first time he's ever seen was able to drink it without hesitating. he still adds other things like tea and chocolates and so on in it, but without the milk/creamer Kokichi is way more happy and Shuichi is proud he managed to figure that out

on the other end Kokichi figured out Shuichi likes two things in a coffee outside of just creamers: smooth but calm general taste, and a spice kick. Kokichi cannot relate, but he can make a mean chai latte for him

[gowns]

every morning i open palm slam coffee beans into the coffee grinder and i grind the beans and heat the water in my electric gooseneck kettle and i'm doing all the things i've seen other people do to their coffee, like putting the ground beans in an aeropress or moka coffee pot and brewing the coffee, i'm doing all the moves, i've got the oat milk, i'm steaming and frothing the oat milk, then i put a bit of brown sugar, cinnamon, creatine or protein powder, top it with the frothy oat milk, and there it is, that's my whole morning set for me. i've learned all the moves and i've learned how to make myself and my apartment less lonely by making the coffee. 10 minutes including grinding the beans every morning. sometimes i take CBD or ibuprofen and chase it with vitamin B complex. then i sit

[bts-0t-7]

So What? | MYG | Love-In-Making

WC: 1612, ≈1.6K

A/N: For Boongie’s bday… Here is something for us as well 😀

There was no way you would have ever believed him when he said that he never celebrates his birthday. But at the same time, you could imagine seeing him curled up in the corner of the street - a birthday was no different than any other day for him. He still needed to find shelter, still needed to rummage through to find food. It would have been just another day of survival. 

You wanted to change that - to help him see how important this day was to you and others. You understood his perspective on days like these but he gladly spent effort arranging your birthdays but never his. It just didn’t seem fair. 

Slowly unwinding yourself from his hold, Yoongi grumbled as his fists opened and sought your body, tail curling tighter around your thigh. Sitting back on the bed, you rubbed his ears as you silently cooed over how cuddly he looks. But you didn’t have the luxury of time today. You had planned to prepare Yoongi’s birthday surprise scheme part one. And the first thing on the list was 'breakfast-in-bed’. 

As Yoongi’s seeking calmed down, you slowly extracted yourself out from his hold and headed to the bathroom. Getting yourself ready, you prepped the ingredients on the counter. Yoongi had loved the soufflé pancakes you made, so that would be the first of the dishes. You had prepped the meal list last night - First, pancakes; Second, coffee. Ice black with just a little bit of sugar in the espresso; Third, fruits. Peeled tangerines, neatly sliced mangoes, and a handful of strawberries. 

Since the pancakes were his favourite, you had mastered the art of accurate eyeballing of the ingredients by now. Separating the yolk from the whites, you left the four whites and the cream of tartar to whisk at the mixer, slowly adding in three tablespoons of sugar. As it mixes, you poured in two yolks into a mixing bowl with a table spoon of sugar and whipped till frothy. Slowly sifting the all purpose flour and baking powder, you ensured that the were thoroughly incorporated. 

Once the whites turn glossy and are able to hold a stiff peak on the whisk when removed, you turned the mixer off. Scooping down meirgune at the whisk, you added another one-third of meringue from the mixer into the mixing bowl and folding them together. Once they are fully incorporated, you added another half of the meringue into the mixing bowl before transferring them into the mixer and carefully fold. 

Heating up one of your larger frying pans, you lightly brushed the surface with oil and spread it around using a paper towel. Rummaging through your drawers for your ice cream scooper, you slowly ensured that each portion is thoroughly cooked and wouldn’t give him a stomach ache later. 

Turning to the clock, you decided to cut the fruits first. You had only half an hour to finish breakfast before Yoongi woke up. Leaving the lid on, you set your timer to five minutes and you took out a box of strawberries from the fridge. 

Seokjin had brought over freshly picked strawberries just yesterday when he went to helpout at grandfather’s farm. You initially booked a train ticket with him but ended up being unable to go due to a last minute phone call. You did, however, spent a few hours last night talking to your grandfather. Yoongi knew how important he was to you but still spent that time pouting as he was deprived of his cuddle buddy. 

Washing the strawberries, you sliced them in half before moving onto peeling the mangoes and cutting them into cubes. As you carefully plated the pancakes that are now topped with a sinful amount of whipped cream, you faintly heard the shuffle of sheets from the bedroom. Moving on to making his coffee, you extracted out the espresso into a shot glass. Filling his cup with ice and water, you then mixed the little bit of sugar and espresso before pouring it in. Placing the plate and cup onto a tray, you hurriedly peeled a few tangerines and placed them with the bowl of fruits. Preparing paper towels and utensils, you spend the last ten minutes cleaning up the kitchen, leaving only the pan and spatula in the sink.

Deciding that you’ll wash it later, you brought the tray into the room just to see a sleepy Yoongi sitting up on the bed, his hair sticking in all direction as his ears twitched at the scuffle of your footsteps. Yogni whined, reaching out for you. You placed the food on the bedside table, having it dangle precautiosly at the edge due to the weight difference on the tray. 

“Morning, Boongie.” You pecked the top of his head. “Made you pancakes.” 

“Hmmm…” He yawned, purring deeply as you scratched his ears. 

You watched him eat, slowly getting more awake by each chew. It was caused by the sugar that you know will be running through his system soon, making him sugar-high and therefore causing the zoomies to appear. 

Deciding that you had better get him out of the house before he starts whining about how small the house is that I can’t run much. 

“Come on, Yoongi. Let’s go to the park.” You held out a hand, beckoning him to change. 

He huffed but followed anyways. Smiling to yourself, you started to pack the bed - making sure that the cat stuffy was in the middle of the bed, laying neatly between the pillows. You went back to the kitchen, washing the remaining dishes and leaving them on the drying rack. Just as you wiped down the countertop, Yoongi came out of the room in a loose t-shirt and shorts. 

Looking at him combing the fur on his tail, you couldn’t help but smile. He had came so far from the little kitty that was always hiding under your sofa. Seeing you, Yoongi bounded over, placing the brush in your hand. And of course, as always, you obliged him. How could you not when he always looks at you with such hope in his eyes?

Soon after Yoongi fussed about getting sunburnt and you about his ears in his hat, the both of you left and walked to the park. While much laws have changed over the few years to ensure that hybrids have more freedom, you knew that somewhere in this world, there was still much work to be done for hybrids to be seen as equals. 

While you didn’t understand how people could ever treat them so cruelly, you knew that there were many standpoints you have yet to consider.

But for now, you tilted your head backwards, looking at pale blue sky above you. Closing yoru eyes, you let a small chuckle slip your lips. Let’s just enjoy this time together. 

“Y/N?” Yoongi leaned over you. “You okay? Need to go home?”

You shook your head. “Just… thinking of how far we’ve came. How far you’ve came too.”

The both of you sat at an empty bench that was covered by a large tree. You leaned your head on his shoulder as the both of you watched your surroundings. Children playing, families together, elderlies exercising and enjoying the breeze - so many occasions happening in one frame at one time. But all so harmonious. 

There was no slander thrown, no rocks kicked, no dull clouds. 

Just pure innocence and happiness. 

“Hey, Yoongi.” You decided to bring up a question. “What do you think about having kids?”

Yoongi went stiff below you before you heard his sigh. Lifting your head, you looked at him from the side. “I mean, we don’t have to have them now per say. It was just a thought. We never really talked much about our future.”

“Future…” Yoongi trails. Rubbing his ears as his tail smacked against the bucket hat on his lap, you wondered if you asked him the question at the wrong time. He was still healing and prehaps he wasn’t ready. 

“What do you think, Y/N?” 

You were taken aback by his question. “What do you mean?”

Yoongi turned to face you fully. “What do you think about kids?”

You blinked. You never expected him to redirect the question to you. Scratching your neck, your brows furrowed as you answered him. “Well, it’s gonna be tough. I - I don’t have the best cycles.”

Yoongi shook his head. “I mean, what do you think about kids?” 

You knew what he was asking. What did you think about having a hybrid kid - a kid that could possibly be less than a cat. You knew procreating with hybrids was already as difficult as it - and it will be made tougher with your possible inability to have children. After all, hybrids are not natural to say. They were created by technologically combining genes and mutating them into what they were today. 

Looking at the kids playing around in the park, you couldn’t help but smile. Who cares if they were hybrids or not?

“They’ll still be our kids. Whether they have your ears or your tail or both or none, it doesn’t matter. They are still half of me and half of you. And even if they aren’t,” You turned to look at him, staring at Yoongi. “They’ll still be our children - our child. And I would love them no less than I love you.”

At that moment, you swear that the world stopped ticking for just that millisecond.

This time, you asked him. “What do you think?”

“I don’t care.” Yoongi pulled you in for a hug, nuzzling his head between your shoulder blades. “All I need is you.”

Happy Yoongi Day!

While we wait for Jinnie to come back soon and the rest of the boys after, let's also focus on our daily lives. We are as important to the boys as the boys are to us. The future's gonna be okay - we're gonna be okay too 💜

Borahae, Army! 💜💜