#what i want is Italian cappuccino

[sultrypoultryaudio]

Back from Italy and missing their cappuccinos, but unwilling to go to Starbucks or buy a $5k machine to make velvet caffè

[sugarcube-stillabookworm]

pet peeve moment but i'm 100% convinced that the dumb ass "in Italy it's forbidden to drink cappuccino after 12 do NOT order it they will literally kill you" bullshit that has been everywhere for years originated from some tourist trying to get a cappuccino to drink at lunch or dinner together with pasta or a steak or something and getting told that's not usually done and interpreting it as "no cappuccino after 12 am" instead of "no cappuccino as a drink to accompany a main meal". you can drink cappuccino in the afternoon just not to wash down a carbonara or whatever

necessary internet disclaimer: you can drink whatever you want whenever you want actually, you do you, this is just ranting about all those video "guides" about what to do or not to do etc. So about what's customary/usual or bound to get you looked at weird

[darkmatilda]

╰┈➤ HALLOWEEN TRADITION

in which one you and reid match your outfits every year for halloween

tw: mention of shoo!ing, dea!h of an animal

contents: spencer reid x fem!reader, they're both obviously in love with each other, time skips

words: 7.5k

disclaimer: it's my first fanfiction written in english.

a year ago

“Oh, I already ordered. Caramel cappuccino, almond milk, double amount of vanilla syrup and cinnamon sprinkled on top, am I right?

“Your photographic memory is sometimes just terrifying”

“Thank you. By the way, are you still afraid to order this coffee in front of Rossi?”

“Yep. I always take regular macchiato. The last thing I need in work is his judgemental, Italian look…”

Meanwhile, as Reid let out a short laugh, you quickly took in your surroundings: the brick walls and oak tables, the decorative pumpkins by the entrance, and the menu hanging above the barista’s counter, adorned with (artificial) leaves. Just like every corner of this trashy coffee shop was trying to remind you about autumn.

 One thing about you — you were an extreme autumn lover, who unfortunately was allergic to pumpkins, so you couldn’t fit the autumn white girl stereotype completely, by ordering a pumpkin spice latte. And you would rather die than wear a sweater. All of them were scratchy. 

“So” started Reid, hitting a notebook cover with a pen. "I spent all of last evening and more than half of this morning writing down ideas for our Halloween costume this year. I made sure none of them were too similar to our last year's outfits or anything our friends have ever worn to make sure we’ll be the best-dressed people at the party”

“God, Reid, you really took it seriously this year” you raised your eyebrows, shocked and full of admiration at the same time. “And how many ideas did you find?”

“143”

“143?!” you repeated, assuming that he was just joking. Spencer was looking at you with a deadly serious face. “Are fucking crazy? How are we going to choose between 143 ideas? I can’t even choose what socks to wear in the morning…”

“144” he corrected. “When you were saying that I came with another one, Tyler and Marla from Fight Club…”

You had this tendency to forget the names of fictional characters (though, somehow, you could name every American serial killer who ever existed and everyone from your high school class. It was both funny and slightly terrifying that, in two cases, those names overlapped) so it took you a moment to realize who Reid was talking about.

“A guy with a red leather jacket? And this woman who was always smoking?”

“Their names are Tyler Durden and Marla Singer. I don't mean to sound rude, but you made me watch this movie and claimed it was one of your favorites, yet you don’t even remember the main characters' names?"

You shrugged your shoulders. You could say nothing in your defense, that was just the way you were. A subtle smile danced on your lips.

“When I started working with you” you meant the whole BAU “I couldn’t remember all of your names. About two months later I slowly started to recognize them because of how you were addressing each other but because everyone was calling Hotch by his surname I didn’t know his actual name for, like, years…”

Disbelief showed on Spencer’s face but then got replaced with amusement.

“Years?”

“Don’t you dare laugh at me because of my memory problem, mrs. I know the moon signs of everyone around me…”

He raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

“How could I dare, ms. I don’t remember my boss's name even though we’ve been working together for five years…”

“I couldn’t remember it back then! Shame on you, Reid. I shared my secret with you and you immediately started laughing…”

“And what did you want me to do? Make you an appointment with a neurologist?” 

That's what our usual conversation looked like. Like a professional ping pong game. Year after a year, month after a month, day after a day you were just becoming better and better players. 

Waitress came along your table, setting your orders on the table. You always had to smell your coffee first, cinnamon aroma ticked your nose. 

“"Not that it means anything, but my memory problems have worsened since I met you." you said, taking the first sip of a coffee. 

“What do you mean by that?“

“Well, I don’t have the need to remember anything when you remember literally everything that comes your way. You've spoiled me a bit in this regard."

Spencer smiled softly, with a little bit of pride, caused by your words. 

“ Always at your service”  he declared. Suddenly his back went straight, as he probably reminded himself about something. ”Did you call your brother today? It’s his birthday… 

“ No way” you jumped on your seat and immediately started looking for your phone to check what day it was. 14 October. “God, Reid you’re right. I completely forgot…Have I already told you how much I love you? 

You standed up, ready to leave the coffee, declaring that you’ll be back in a moment. People around were having their lunch. The whole place became too noisy for a birthday phone call with your older brother, who lived in a different state. 

“Not today” He replied shortly. 

“So, I’m telling you now, Spence. You’re the best friend I could ever imagine…”

As you were busy with dialing the right phone number and trying to wear your coat at the same time, you couldn’t see how his smile faded after the last sentence. 

a week later

“It cost me like half of my salary” You said, tossing your dark hair back so it wouldn't accidentally catch fire while lighting the candle. A damn expensive candle, as you mentioned. “Another half goes for that little shit”

With a nod, you indicated the ginger cat that had already settled comfortably next to Spencer. He didn’t take his eyes off the laptop screen, checking something with a furrowed brow. With one hand, almost automatically, he gently scratched Mr. Cinnamon Roll behind the ear.

“It’s made only with fully natural ingredients. Vegan friendly. People with migraines friendly. Almost everyone friendly, except of your wallet” You continued your speech, agitated, recalling the guy in the store who refused to sell you a simple, cheap autumn candle, explaining its poor quality, and convinced you to buy the most expensive one he had.

Finally, the wick caught fire.

“So, you’ve got something?“

It was a late evening after work when you both felt exhausted, yet you decided to meet at your apartment to search online for essentials for your Halloween costumes. The idea of going as a couple from Fight Club had won.

You were supposed to be Marla, and he was to be Tyler. You weren’t a couple or anything like that, but for the past five years, it had been your tradition to wear matching outfits for the halloween party organized by your team. Usually, various other friends would join, and having more people allowed for a best costume contest, which you nearly won every year.

“Yeah, but you probably won't like that, considering that you’ve just confessed to spending your entire paycheck”

You set the candle down on the small coffee table in your living room and joined him on the couch, almost crushing Mr. Cinnamon Ball. He didn’t look offended by that — this cat would rather be crushed than leave Spencer’s side. Somehow, he loved him more than the hand that fed him. 

Sitting so close to your friend, your head nearly touched his shoulder, but neither of you minded.You had known each other for four years. You met regularly to watch movies or just to chat, and more than once, you had fallen asleep with your head resting on his arm, that was way more comfortable than any pillow. The rest of your team sometimes joked about your close relationship, but in your opinion, it was only because you were almost the same age! And maybe a bit because you felt the most comfortable in his presence, you understood each other the best, and he made you laugh the most…

For God's sake, why did you start thinking about that at that moment? When you were so close to each other and his gentle scent was slowly enveloping you...

Okay, you’ve thought of him as more than just a friend once or twice. Like that time he stayed over at your place, and you didn’t want him to sleep on the uncomfortable couch, so you shared your bed. You felt so good waking up next to him and regretted that it was just a one-time experience…

You realized he must have said something to you, but you were too lost in thought to hear it.

Instead of repeating himself, Reid pushed the laptop closer to you. On the screen was a website featuring an auction for….the original red leather jacket from Fight Club! You almost screamed. If you had won her over, the victory would have to be yours...

Your enthusiasm faded like a blown-out candle when you saw the final bid amount. 

“What the fuck? That's more than the total of our annual salaries…” 

 "Actually, it’s twenty thousand less than..."

You both fell silent in disappointment. Then, a very silly idea came to your mind.

“Reid” you started slowly. 

“"Oh no, I know this tone. You're either about to say something extremely absurd or something inappropriate, and I don’t know which one scares me more."

 "But listen. We'll wait for the auction to end and for someone to buy that jacket. Then we’ll talk to Garcia and convince her to track down the buyer. We'll go, knock on the door, and when they open it..."

"We’ll politely ask to borrow it?"

"No, sweet boy, we’ll show our badges and say the auction was illegal, and we need to confiscate the jacket."

Spencer burst out laughing.

"Your ideas are brilliant. But how are you going to explain this to Hotch afterward?"

“He won’t find out”

“He find out”

“Okay, you’re right. He’ll probably find out”

A silence full of smiles fell between you.

Spencer closed the auction page and started browsing something else when you let out a laugh at your own thoughts. 

“Okay, I have another idea that won’t cost either of us our jobs,” you said, capturing his attention. He tore his gaze away from the laptop and focused completely on you and your trembling lips, which hinted that you weren’t going to say anything serious “The beginning of the plan sounds the same but instead of showing our badges, you’ll give him a blowjob… “

“Fuck you!” he shouted, unable to stop himself from laughing. At the sight of his expression, a wave of laughter hit you so hard that Mr. Cinnamon Roll jumped off the couch and ran away from his sick owner. “I’m not giving any random guy a blowjob in exchange for a jacket. In exchange for the original diaries of Einstein, well, I wouldn’t say no; I would think about it, but not for a jacket!”

“But it’s the jacket from Fight Club, Spence. Brad Pitt was wearing it” you encouraged him, amused. "Besides, how do you know some guy will buy it? It could be a woman.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes and was ready to continue arguing on the topic, but suddenly it seemed as if he changed his mind. His expression grew more serious.

"Actually, it doesn't change much, but that's not the point. What worries me more is that I've lost my touch. Maybe you'd want to replace me in this? The buyer might not be satisfied."

He said it in a tone as if he were talking about a truly serious, real transaction, which only amused you even more. Also pretending to be serious, you patted him on the shoulder.

“Don't worry, Spence. I'm sure you'll manage just fine.'"

"Really? What makes you think that?"

You considered making a joke, but then you realized what you were talking about while studying him. After a whole day at work, he looked... surprisingly... attractive? With slightly tousled hair and two buttons of his shirt undone…

"‘Nothing,” you replied. For the first time in his presence, you felt slightly embarrassed to continue the topic. Your closeness on the couch didn’t help at all, and you regretted scaring off Mr. Cinnamon.

“No, something makes you think that” 

The tension between you escalated to the point where you weren't sure if he was still joking. You realized that in this silence, every change in your breathing would be audible, so you tried to control it. 

What makes you think that? Spencer just seemed that way. I mean, you often talked about your relationships, and you assumed that his potential partner would lack nothing.

Embarrassed, you wanted to say something when he suddenly burst out laughing.

"Jesus, we were talking about blowing somebody for a jacket. Why did you get so scared? 

You hit him on the arm so hard that he let out a groan.

"I didn't get scared! You just suddenly became so weird that I didn't know if you were joking or what” 

"‘Of course I was joking. Why would I ask you that seriously?” he asked, and you noticed that he also carried a hint of embarrassment.

"I have no idea. Maybe you wanted to know my opinion or something” You desperately tried to return to the atmosphere that had existed between you just a moment ago, one that felt more friendly.

Spencer swallowed hard. It was clear he also preferred to drop the topic. 

“I don’t know why you would have any opinion on that, but let’s get back to what we were talking about before you switched into perverted weirdo mode...’"

After his words, you had to hide your face in the sleeve of his shirt, unable to contain your laughter. He seemed surprised by your reaction.

“ What? What did I say this time?” 

“Perverted weirdo” you blurted it out, almost choking on your words.” You called me a perverted weirdo…”

“Well, considering your recent ambiguous comments…”

“I'm going to tell Emily about this. Hey girl, you know how Spencer called me last time? A perverted weirdo…Oh no, I got your shirt dirty with my makeup… “

Spencer looked at the sleeve of his shirt and shrugged, saying, "It's nothing."

"No," you shook your head, trying to rub the stain off his shirt with your fingers, but of course it didn’t work. "I spilled coffee on your pants last time. Take it off; I'll wash it today."

"It's late; you’re not going to deal with washing my shirt right now. Let's get back to looking for our costumes."

You agreed and once again found comfort leaning on his shoulder. He still held the laptop on his lap, and whenever you wanted to type on the keyboard, you had to rest your elbows on his body, on the lower part of his stomach. Why were you even paying attention to that? You shaked your head and leaned over the laptop when you found the perfect shoes for Marla's costume.

In that position, you couldn't see Spencer, but you felt he was almost completely still. After a moment, however, he slowly reached for your hair, gently brushing it with his fingers as if checking its texture.

"We don't need to buy you a wig, right? Your hair will do just fine."

You murmured in agreement as he continued to play with your hair, probably unaware of how much he was distracting you. You had been staring at the picture of the shoes for five minutes and couldn’t remember what you wanted to check. Ah, the size!

"Reid, we have a problem," you said. "They don't have my size. I checked to see if a larger size would be available, since I could stuff them somehow, but the smallest is a 10!"

"Your shoe size is 7; in such large ones, you'll either look ridiculous or kill yourself before even arriving to the party…Do they have to be those specific ones? Maybe you can find some others..."

"They have to be those! They're identical to the ones Helena Bonham Carter wore."

Spencer sighed thoughtfully. His breath tickled the back of your head, which distracted you slightly once again. Anyway, this one time, you came up with a solution faster than his brilliant mind…

You turned your head toward him — after he stroked your hair you were very, very close to each other. The flame from the candle on the table reflected in his eyes, filling the area with the scent of cinnamon that had lingered for a while. When your face unexpectedly came just in front of him, he looked at you with a surprise and a gaze that he had never given you before. It was as if he were trying to stop himself from doing something, while at the same time, a voice in his ear incessantly urged him to go ahead.

You looked away to avoid doing something foolish. You could feel warmth on your neck and cheeks. Finally, you remembered what you wanted to ask.

"Spence, what’s your shoe size?"

5 years ago

 It all started when the rest of your team found out about Penelope and Morgan's Halloween tradition. Every year, the two of them held a movie marathon of the scariest films they could find, watching them until sunrise.

 "Why didn’t you invite any of us? I love watching horror movies with friends!" Prentiss exclaimed indignantly.

You were on board a private jet. You had been working with this team for only a few days —  in fact, this was your first trip with them to work in the field.

The prospect of solving the case had you feeling stressed, and you were also wondering if you would find common ground with your team. You lagged slightly behind, pretending to read a book while actually listening to all the conversations around you. You wanted to get to know everyone better. Someone sat down beside you, leaning in to read the title of your book.

 "Rebecca. Have you gotten to the part where it turns out Maxim killed his wife?"

You looked shocked at the second youngest member of the team. You had a serious problem with remembering names, so you only knew his last name. Reid was a tall man with longer hair, dressed in a vest with a shirt peeking out from underneath. Until now, you hadn't formed much of an opinion about him, but that was about to change — he had just spoiled the ending of the book for you.

“No, I haven’t gotten to this part! “

An older man in a black suit chuckled quietly to himself.

"Guys, listen up," said the brunette with bangs, wearing a tight red shirt. "It just came out that Morgan and Penelope have their own secret Halloween tradition."

The woman mentioned was present only on the laptop screen. She was working with you remotely and seemed really nice to you. 

"Sweetheart, we weren't trying to hide anything from you; it just happened that we didn’t mention it..."

"That’s exactly what hiding is," Reid added, giving you an apologetic look for spoiling the book.

"What do you say to all of us getting together this Halloween? The whole team?" asked a muscular man dressed in gray, sitting across from Prentiss with his elbow casually resting on the table. "With a special invitation for you, newbie."

Saying this, he winked at you. You were surprised, but still smiled. Are there better circumstances for getting to know your team than a party? Everyone around you approached this idea. 

a week later

You stared at your phone in fear after just ending the call. JJ said something came up and she wouldn’t be able to make it to the party. You knew her best out of the whole team and had hoped that with her there, you would feel more at ease. Most importantly, you were supposed to wear matching outfits. You realized your breath had quickened slightly. You weren't sure if anyone else besides you planned to dress up. After all, they were mostly older than you —  maybe they weren't into that anymore?

 Back in high school, you were the only one who showed up in costume, and you felt embarrassed the whole evening walking around in a zombie farmer outfit while all the other girls wore mini skirts and beautiful, subtle makeup. You didn’t want to go through that again, but making this costume had taken you a lot of time. Recently, you and JJ had been enchanted by the animated movie Corpse Bride, and you planned to dress up as the title character and her rival, Victoria. Since you loved dressing up for Halloween, you chose the more challenging costume. You bought a cheap white dress that you styled to look more tattered. You applied pale blue makeup and heavily contoured your cheekbones. You even managed to get a veil.

In fifteen minutes, you were supposed to be at Morgan's house. If you removed the makeup, you wouldn’t have time to do anything else. You contemplated what to do. Ultimately, you decided it would be a shame to waste your hard work, and soon you found yourself in the car, heading to the address you were given. As you parked, you felt stress start to take control of you.

You needed to sit in silence for a moment, so you turned off the engine and stared at the empty sidewalk in front of you. Morgan lived in a large house in a quiet neighborhood, where all the homes were spaced far enough apart to host small gatherings without bothering anyone.

Suddenly, someone appeared by the driver's window. You screamed in surprise, your thoughts racing back to all the cases when women were killed in their own cars. 

You quickly realized that it wasn't another UNSUB. That one wouldn’t have screamed alongside you.

“Damn it, Reid, you scared me!”

“You scared me too” he managed to say, placing a hand on his chest. He glanced toward the house. "Weird that Morgan hasn't come out to help yet."

“Maybe the music is too loud and he didn’t hear. There are quite a few cars. Did they invite that many people?” you wondered as you got out of the car. 

Reid glanced at your costume. He wasn’t dressed up at all, just wearing a plain dark gray blazer and a shirt.

"Is that some fashion trend, or are you dressed as a zombie bride?"

“Neither, actually,” you replied, feeling stressed about being the only one in costume. “It’s from the cartoon Corpse Bride.”

“I haven’t seen it,” he admitted as you both headed toward the entrance of the house.

“It’s a great animation,” you recommended. “You should check it out. Although, from what I’ve noticed, you prefer reading more.”

“Not entirely. I like movies too, but I rarely choose cartoons,” he said, ringing the doorbell.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” you replied.

A very short girl you'd never seen before opened the door. She seemed slightly tipsy, confirming your suspicions that people from outside the team had also been invited.

"Oh, you dressed up! How cute!" she said, delighted to see you both, even though she didn’t know you. "Wait, I think I even know who you are. Emily and Victor from Corpse Bride?"

She pointed at the two of you, at your dress and his gray blazer. You exchanged glances, realizing she must have mistaken his usual clothes for a costume.

"No, we’re not…" Reid began to explain.

"Actually, I was supposed to match costumes with JJ…"

But she wasn’t listening. She let you in and shouted through the whole house,

"Look at their matching outfits!"

Everyone gathered around to see you, and you endured the whistles and applause with growing embarrassment.

Penelope appeared right beside you, placing her hands on your shoulders and inspecting your makeup closely. "Oh, sweetheart, you really went all out. This must have taken you ages."

"Which is more than I can say for you," joked Prentiss, holding a beer bottle and pointing it at Reid. "You decided to keep it a secret for a better effect, I assume?"

Reid tried once more to explain that it wasn’t intentional, but you stopped him with a nudge. He looked at you, puzzled.

"Let’s go get a drink," you suggested.

Not waiting for a response, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him along.

"I’m not going to be the only one in costume, so you’re going to stick with me and pretend we planned this all along."

He let out a surprised laugh, thinking you were joking at first.

"Wait, seriously? So… I’m Victor now?"

"Yes, you’re Victor, and you accidentally proposed to me. By the way, I’m dead."

"Okay," he blinked, processing the information. "I definitely need to watch that movie."

You spent almost the entire evening sticking close to each other. Without you by his side, Spencer looked like he wasn’t wearing a costume at all. And without Spencer next to you, you felt a bit awkward.

A few hours later, the two of you were sitting alone in the kitchen, drinking non-alcoholic cocktails and talking about… psychology. Not exactly a party topic, but somehow that’s where your conversation about favorite sodas had ended up.

“Next year, we have to do this again. I mean, plan a costume together. On purpose this time."

Spencer nodded.

"I think I even have an idea."

And that was how your tradition began.

now

He said Halloween is for kids. 

Starting from the beginning, everyone always asks how you met Travis. Well, your story has some potential for a romantic comedy — if only you were a bit more attractive and funnier to make it more watchable on screen. And maybe if there were some breathtaking plot twist. But real life has little in common with a romantic comedy, and you didn’t meet under any crazy circumstances. You only had potential. It happened during your rehabilitation.

Perhaps we need to go back a bit further. Six months ago, Emily passed away, and you weren’t even there for the funeral because, in the rescue attempt to free her from Doyle’s hands, you were shot. Seriously wounded. You spent two weeks in a coma. That might not seem like a long time, but when you woke up, it felt like years had passed. Everyone around you seemed so distant, changed, almost as if you’d suddenly appeared in an entirely different reality.

The following weeks were even more blurred, like rain hitting fiercely against the window with such frequency that the droplets slowly merged into a single cohesive stream. You weren't accepting visitors while in the hospital; something was wrong with you. Perhaps it was due to the grief and shock from Emily's passing, along with the trauma. You didn't want to return to that job; you were too afraid of the risks. Of dying yourself or losing someone from your team and having to relive it all over again. Fortunately, you quickly received an offer for a transfer. An office job, terribly boring, but there was something in that monotony that filled you with a sense of safety. You hated it, but you were afraid to engage in anything else.

Before you took the job, you had to go through rehabilitation. It was led by Travis, eleven years older than you, which stunned your older brother when you introduced them. “You’re dating a guy older than me?” he asked, shocked. They didn’t hit it off, but you didn’t worry too much about that. Everything in your life had changed, and being in a relationship with an older, more mature guy made you feel more stable. And since so many things had changed, why not go all in? You moved in with him. Just as you were starting to climb out of the pit, another tragedy struck. Mr. Cinnamon Roll was diagnosed with stomach cancer and passed away despite treatment.

Since that moment, you almost stopped talking to your old team. You still loved them — they were like family to you, but whenever faced with life's struggles, you felt that burning need for isolation. On the day Mr. Cinnamon Roll died, you received a message from Spencer, asking how you were doing and suggesting a meeting. You stared at your phone for hours, and ultimately replied to him only the next morning with a brief, "Sorry, I didn't notice you wrote." He responded just as briefly. He was also suffering due to the circumstances and probably didn't have the energy to chase after his friend who openly refused to give him any attention.

You pushed him away because you weren’t ready to confront what you were feeling. Something had happened between you during that Halloween party, shortly before Emily's death. After that, you acted as if nothing had occurred, but both of you knew that you needed to talk about what to do with your relationship. But before you had the chance, there was Doyle, your accident, then Travis, and it seemed that everything that had ever been between you was lost. A new agent, Ashley, joined the BAU. You knew her —  you were around the same age, and sometimes you caught yourself wondering if something might blossom between her and Reid.

You thought that if you accepted the loss of your previous life, it would be easier to move on. It was the opposite. Day by day, you felt more and more depressed, empty inside. This morning, you went into a café to buy coffee. While waiting for your order, you looked at the tiny pumpkins on the counter and realized it was Halloween—the holiday you used to love so much. This moved you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a spark of life within you. You felt like you wanted to do something. Dress up as a character from a cheap horror movie, have a few drinks. Maybe even go trick-or-treating, hiding behind a mask like kids do. You did that with Spencer two years ago, but no one wanted to give that tall guy any candy.

You shared this idea with Travis.

And he said that Halloween is for kids. 

a year ago

“How the fuck I’m suppose to walk in these….”

As soon as you saw him in a black dress that reached mid-thigh (it should have been longer, but you bought it when you still assumed you would be the one wearing it), a short fur coat of the same color, and sunglasses, you nearly choked on your laughter. And when he added black heeled ankle boots and started cursing their practicality, you fell onto the couch, unable to stand on your legs any longer.

Mr. Cinnamon Roll watched his antics with curiosity.

“Run away, little one,” Spencer advised him. “Those heels are so sharp I might accidentally kill you.”

“Don’t exaggerate. I wear shoes with higher heels every day.”

“Your spine will thank you for it in ten years.”

“Alright, mom.”

The deadly shoes landed on the floor. You were planning to leave in an hour and a half, once you finished perfecting your costumes. Until then, Spencer had no intention of risking his life by parading around in them. He lay down on the couch next to you, the dress ungracefully riding up.

“Now it’s your turn to change,” he said, pointing to the Tyler Durden costume lying on the table. “And mine to laugh.”

“First, I wanted to do makeup.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Are you kidding? What kind of Marla Singer would it be without a bold smokey eye?”

“Fine by you,” he muttered, looking at the watch on his wrist. “One hour and thirty-three minutes. Will we make it?”

“Relax. Remember, for a better impression, we need to be a little late.”

You disappeared for a moment into your bathroom, only to return with a makeup bag in hand. You had bought a new eyeshadow palette specifically for this occasion. Tilting your head to the side, you looked at your friend, wondering in which position you would be most comfortable working on him.

“Okay, lean against the couch,” you instructed, feeling like a professional makeup artist. “And don’t look at me like I’m a mad scientist trying to perform some dangerous operation on you.”

“From my perspective, that’s exactly what it looks like. A mad scientist and a dangerous operation. Just don’t accidentally poke me in the eye.”

“God, Reid, I’m not going to do this with a knife…”

You stood in front of the couch, facing him. Following your instruction, he rested his head, but as soon as you tried to apply the first product on his eyelid, you felt that you weren’t doing it precisely. You sighed.

“It’s uncomfortable for me to work this way. I have a better idea. Lie down.”

Reid looked at you with raised eyebrows but obediently lay down on the couch. You sat on a free spot next to him, leaning over his face. You were glad he closed his eyes. It would be awkward to be this close and still have to endure his sharp gaze. Your hair brushed against his neck. A gentle smile appeared on his face as soon as the brush touched his skin.

“This is quite nice,” he said.

You didn’t respond, focused on turning him into a doppelgänger for Marla Singer. You would sooner die of embarrassment than admit it out loud, but you deliberately prolonged the entire process. You felt as if you were working on a painting. Additionally, you enjoyed the awareness of having him beneath you, so defenseless and completely unaware, that you wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

You would simply press your lips together to see what would happen. There was a possibility he would push you away, but even considering that, you were ready to do it. You didn’t even try to push those thoughts away. They had completely dominated your mind, and you were just observing them from the sidelines, wondering where they came from. Throughout your years of friendship, you had never experienced them. Or rather, you had experienced them so rarely that you didn’t consider them significant. After all, everyone sometimes feels like kissing their friend. The problem was that for quite some time, the only thing you had been thinking about was his lips on yours.

Spencer opened one eye. You felt as if he had caught you doing something wrong.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his voice slightly husky.

You brushed aside the one strand of his hair that had strayed onto his forehead.

“About one of my friends.”

“You look worried. Can I ask why thinking about this person makes you feel that way?”

You let out a quiet laugh. You wondered if he knew you were talking about him. He should have.

“I doubt you want to hear about it,” you replied evasively. However, after a moment, you broke down and added something more. “Do you ever feel like you want to do something stupid so badly that you feel like you're physically shaking, even though you know it’s wrong?”

He frowned slightly. You accidentally applied too much eyeshadow, licking the tip of your finger to wipe away the excess product from his skin.

“Can you give a specific example of such behavior?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t know. Kissing a friend, for example.”

He smiled gently.

“Well, in that case, yes. All the time.”

You exhaled through your nose, feeling a painful tightness in your chest. You didn’t know what was happening to you.

“Done,” you said, abruptly rising from the couch. “I need to change. We don’t have much time.”

“There’s still an hour and eighteen…”

You grabbed your costume from the table and hid in the bathroom, not hearing the end of his sentence.

one hour and eighteen minutes later

Usually, nighttime drives had a calming effect on you, but this time it was completely the opposite. You were in a small space with Spencer, with whom you had just had… let’s call it a complicated conversation. You felt every part of your body tense.

You hated yourself. You hated that you didn’t understand what you were feeling. You hated that you didn’t know what you wanted. You felt like banging your head against the steering wheel. Maybe the sound of the horn would bring you back to your senses.

Reid just stayed silent, inscrutable.

“I’m afraid we’ll be right on time,” he said after clearing his throat. “And you wanted to be a little late.”

“So what should I do now, drive around the city for the next ten minutes?” you asked, slightly irritably.

He shrugged stiffly.

“Or stop and wait. It’s a much more environmentally friendly option.”

In the end, you pulled up outside Morgan’s house, where the annual Halloween party was set to take place for the fifth year in a row. You sighed with nostalgia and turned off the engine. You might have been in the middle of an emotional crisis, but you still intended to win that contest. And that meant waiting out those ten minutes.

You adjusted the sleeves of your red leather jacket.

“Remember when we dressed up as Harry and Voldemort?” you asked suddenly. That had been your first intentional costume pairing.

Spencer let out a short laugh.

“For the next two days, I couldn’t wash off all that white paint,” he muttered, reaching into the black purse you had lent him. Spencer had been outraged that mini dresses had no pockets, leaving him with nowhere to keep his things. You frowned when you noticed he had taken out his wallet. From it, he pulled out a photo taken on that memorable day, showing the two of you standing in front of the fireplace at Morgan’s cabin. You had your arms around each other, Voldemort and Harry Potter.

“You carry our photo in your wallet?” you asked, touched, admiring the picture with delight.

Slightly embarrassed, he nodded.

“And not just ours,” he reached into his wallet again, this time pulling out a photo of Mr. Cinnamon Roll curled up on your lap. You leaned closer to Spencer to get a better look, almost forgetting about your earlier conversation.

You extended your hand, but instead of taking the photo, you just grabbed his hand. He squeezed it tightly and briefly kissed the back of it.

“It’s been ten minutes,” he announced, letting go of your hand. “We can go inside now…”

He trailed off as you suddenly grabbed a piece of his fur and pulled him as close as possible. You felt as if someone stronger had taken control of your body and finally did what you had wanted to do for a long time. You were kissing him.

At first, he froze as if spellbound, completely surrendering to the pressure of your lips. You pulled back a little, unsure if you should continue.

“Why did you stop?” he asked softly.

“I wasn’t sure if you liked it.”

He laughed right into your mouth and resumed the kiss in a hungry way.

“I wanted to do it earlier,” you admitted after a moment. His eyes were shining, and yours probably were too. “When I was putting on your makeup. You had your eyes closed, and it was all I could think about.”

His hand rested on your neck, his thumb gently drawing circles on your sensitive skin. You had your arms around his neck, entwined like strands of hair in a braid.

“Good thing you didn’t,” he said. You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “I’d venture to guess we wouldn’t have even made it to this party.”

“Don’t get too bold with your assumptions. I wouldn’t let such good costumes go to waste…”

He kissed you one more time, pulling you close by the chin. Okay, he was right. If you’d done this earlier, you’d probably still be at your apartment, entirely wrapped up in each other. In fact, you’d lost all interest in going to that part

You spent a good few minutes smiling at each other, foreheads touching. You felt the need to talk to him — to make sure this wasn’t just a release of the tension that had been building between you recently, but something more. Before you knew it, though, you were walking arm-in-arm toward Morgan’s house.

“This year, you’ve outdone yourselves,” he commented as he finally came out of his shock at seeing Spencer in heels. He, too, was in costume. For the past four years, it was almost impossible to find anyone there without one. You could say you were the ones who started the trend.

Without letting go of his hand, you encouraged him to spin around in a circle. All evening, you wondered if people noticed that something had changed between you or if they just assumed it was all part of the act. His hand almost never leaving your waist, your conversations with faces close together, the prolonged disappearance in the bathroom under the pretense of fixing his makeup.

“Have you thought about what we’ll dress up as next year?” he asked, pinning you against the upstairs wall, his hand slipped under the fabric of your loose shirt.

You looked into his eyes thoughtfully.

“I liked the idea of Mia and Vincent from Pulp Fiction.”

“Mia and Vincent. White shirts and fake blood. Don’t you think it’s a bit too simple? We should raise the bar each year.”

You rolled your eyes.

“So, what is your suggestion?”

now

 You lay in bed next to the sleeping Travis, staring at his bare back.

Every day, he started with a run around six in the morning, so he didn’t let you drag him anywhere in the evening, despite it being Friday. You tried to fall asleep, but you knew it was useless. You’d always been a night owl. Besides, it was Halloween—your favorite holiday, and for the first time in years, you were spending it with your head on the pillow at 10 p.m.

You sighed and quietly, so as not to wake him, went to the living room to watch some show on TV and maybe have some ice cream. Sitting on the couch, you constantly felt the urge to reach out and pet Mr. Cinnamon Roll, who used to keep watch by your side. Each time, it ended with you touching the cold leather of the couch instead. You buried your face in your hands, stretching the skin on your cheeks.

You couldn’t live in this emptiness any longer.

It happened so suddenly. One moment, you were curled up on the couch, and the next, you were slipping back into the bedroom to grab one of Travis’s plain white shirts from the closet. Just regular black jeans. The only thing missing was fake blood, but you decided you’d just be a more polite version of Mia.

Your heart felt like it was about to burst from your chest as you drove. Doubts crept in, and the absurdity of your behavior caught up with you. It was highly likely that your previous team had stopped organizing those events due to circumstances. And even if they were still happening, why would you feel invited? You had limited your contact with them, almost cutting it off in recent months.

Your breath was painful as you pressed your hand against your side, where a scar from a gunshot wound marked your skin. The red light of the traffic signal turned into the flashing lights of an ambulance. You were inside, bleeding, the whole world blurring around you.

You tried to calm yourself so as not to accidentally cause an accident. However, that tragic feeling didn’t leave you even when you found yourself there again. For the fifth year in a row, on Halloween night, at Morgan’s doorstep.

Derek opened the door for you, wearing a plain t-shirt. No music was coming from inside, and no cars were gathering around. He blinked in surprise at the sight of you.

You greeted him sadly, ready to throw out some excuse, though none came to mind. You had shown up unannounced, unwelcome, when he was probably spending the evening at home working or resting. A flush of embarrassment covered your cheeks.

Before either of you could say anything more, Penelope appeared behind him. She wore a headband adorned with little pumpkin decorations.

“Morgan, we have a serious problem with picking a movie because Hotch…”

She stopped, stunned by your presence. But a moment later, she shouted your name and swept you into her embrace.

“Oh, why didn’t anyone tell me you were coming!”

Over her shoulder, you could see Derek’s gentle smile.

“We went back to basics, and instead of throwing a party, we’re just watching movies,” he explained, eyeing you closely. “But costumes are always welcome. You’re not even the only one who thought to dress up.”

Both of them pulled you into the living room, where the rest of the team was arguing about which movie to watch. As all eyes turned to you, you felt like someone had forcefully shoved you onto a stage and blinded you with a spotlight aimed directly at you. Lost, you didn’t know what to say.

Then your gaze landed on that one person sitting alone in an armchair. Dressed in an identical white shirt and a black blazer draped over the arm of the chair.

You managed to smile at your Vincent.

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ :SUMMER FLING (PT1) : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Hugh Jackman x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff :))

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Literally none!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: In the peaceful town of Portofino, you run a café that offers a calm escape from New York. When Hugh Jackman, being on a long due holiday, started frequenting your café, you try to keep things friendly and low-key. As summer progresses, your conversations grow more engaging, and you begin to look forward to his visits, hoping that maybe, it can bloom into something more.

THE SOUND OF THE BELL ABOVE THE DOOR CHIMED SOFTLY AS YOU FLIPPED THE SIGN ON YOUR BOOKSTORE CAFE TO, Aperto. The sun was just beginning to rise over the glittering sea of Portofino, casting a golden glow across the picturesque Italian town. The cobbled streets were still quiet, with only the occasional scooter whirring by. It was early yet, but you had always enjoyed the calm before the bustle, when it felt like the whole world was still asleep, and this tiny corner of paradise belonged only to you.

After moving here from New York two years ago, you had found a rhythm. Your café-bookstore, Il Sogno, had quickly become a favorite of both locals and tourists. With its shelves lined with well-worn books and the scent of fresh espresso hanging in the air, it was your sanctuary—a world away from the chaos of Manhattan.

You pulled a fresh batch of pastries from the oven just as the door opened, and in walked your most faithful customer and friend, Signora Rossi. Every morning without fail, she’d be there, perched at the window with her espresso and biscotti, watching the town slowly wake up.

“Buongiorno, cara!” she greeted you with a smile, her voice warm with familiarity. She was in her late sixties, her grey hair pulled into a neat bun, her eyes sharp and full of mischief. She was like a second mother, always full of gossip and advice, especially when it came to your love life—or lack thereof.

“Morning, Signora,” you said, pouring her usual espresso.

“Did you hear about the new mystery man who arrived yesterday?” she asked, leaning over the counter as though she had the juiciest secret in town.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I swear, nothing escapes you, does it?”

“Of course not,” she replied, her eyes twinkling. “He’s rented the villa by the sea. You know, the one with the view of the harbor. No one knows who he is, but I’ve heard he’s famous.”

“Famous?” You raised an eyebrow, handing her the cup. “What, like a movie star?”

“Perhaps,” she mused, stirring her espresso. “But he’s been very quiet, very private. It’s only a matter of time before someone figures it out. Maybe he’ll come into your café, and you’ll charm him.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes playfully. “Maybe he’ll just want his coffee in peace.”

~🌻~

But as the morning went on, you couldn’t help but wonder. A famous stranger in Portofino? It wasn’t unusual for celebrities to vacation in the area, but something about the mystery piqued your curiosity.

Hours passed, and the café began to fill with its usual mix of locals and tourists. You were busy behind the counter, making lattes and chatting with customers when the door chimed again. You glanced up from the espresso machine, ready with your typical warm greeting, and froze.

He stood in the doorway, sunglasses perched on his nose, casually dressed in a simple white T-shirt and jeans. There was something about him—his presence, the way he carried himself—that made you do a double-take. You knew that face.

Hugh Jackman.

The mystery man. You immediately recognized him, but years in New York had taught you how to keep your cool around famous people. You bit back your surprise and forced yourself to act normal.

“Good afternoon,” you said with a smile. “What can I get you?”

He smiled—warm, friendly, and entirely unassuming, which caught you off guard. “G’day! A cappuccino, please,” he replied, his Australian accent unmistakable.

As you prepared his cappuccino, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him. He was taller than you expected, and even more handsome in person, if that was possible. But what stood out was how calm and down-to-earth he seemed, nothing like the larger-than-life characters he played on screen.

When you handed him the cup, he took a seat near the window, pulling a book from his bag—a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, one of your favorites. He seemed so at ease, as if he belonged in this small-town café, far removed from the spotlight.

You busied yourself with other customers, but every now and then, your eyes would wander to him. Part of you wanted to say something—anything—to break the ice, but what would you say? “Hey, you’re Wolverine” seemed a bit much.

Instead, you let him enjoy his coffee in peace. You couldn’t help but smile when Signora Rossi came in again not long after and spotted him immediately. She practically squealed with excitement.

“Oh mio Dio!” she whispered, gripping your arm as she looked over at Hugh. “That’s him, the mystery man! Hugh Jackman!”

You suppressed a laugh, nodding. “Yes, I know.”

“And you’re not going to say anything?” she asked, incredulous.

“I think he’d rather enjoy his coffee without being mobbed.”

Signora Rossi huffed but sat down, unable to keep her eyes off Hugh. Meanwhile, you kept sneaking glances as well, but you didn’t say a word.

Just as you were wiping down the counter, Hugh stood up and approached. Your heart gave a little jump as he walked toward you, holding his empty cup.

“That was the best cappuccino I’ve had in a long time,” he said, his smile genuine.

You shrugged, playing it cool. “I try.”

He laughed softly, glancing around the café. “This is a nice place. How long have you had it?”

“About two years,” you replied, feeling more at ease now that he was talking to you like any other customer. “Moved here from New York. Decided I needed a change of pace.”

“New York, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “I know that feeling.”

There was something in the way he said it—like he, too, was running from something. The two of you locked eyes for a moment, and you felt a flicker of connection. But then, just as quickly, he smiled again, and the moment passed.

“Well, thanks again for the coffee,” he said, pulling out his wallet to pay.

You waved him off. “On the house. Consider it a welcome to Portofino.”

He looked at you, surprised but grateful. “Thanks. I’ll definitely be back.”

He held out his hand, his touch warm and firm as you shook it. “I’m Hugh, by the way.”

You smiled, feeling a slight blush on your cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Hugh.” You said before telling him your name.

With that, he left, the bell chiming softly behind him. You watched as he walked down the street, his figure disappearing into the sunlight. There was a new excitement in the air, a spark of something more than just a casual encounter.

Signora Rossi was practically vibrating with excitement. “You didn’t even ask for a picture!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “He’ll be back.”

As you turned back to the counter, a small smile tugged at your lips. Maybe this summer wouldn’t be so uneventful after all.

~🌻~

A few days passed, and just as Hugh had promised, he returned. He’d become something of a regular at Il Sogno, always slipping in quietly in the morning, ordering a cappuccino, and settling into his usual spot near the window with a book. You’d exchange polite smiles and brief pleasantries, but nothing more than that. He seemed to enjoy the peaceful anonymity, and you didn’t want to disrupt his quiet.

The locals, however, were not so subtle. Every time he came in, you caught people stealing glances or whispering to each other, no doubt recognizing him. But Hugh seemed unfazed, content to sit by himself, unnoticed for the most part.

~🌻~

It was a Thursday afternoon when things finally changed. The café was quieter than usual, only a couple of tables occupied by some tourists flipping through the books they’d found on your shelves. The air was warm, with a soft breeze drifting in from the open door, carrying the scent of the sea.

You were wiping down the counter when you noticed Hugh had taken a different seat than usual—this time, at the counter. He slid onto the barstool across from you, cappuccino in hand, giving you that same easy smile.

“Slow day, huh?” he asked, his voice casual as he took a sip from his cup.

“Yeah, it gets quieter after lunch. The tourists are usually at the beach by now,” you replied, setting the rag aside. It was strange to see him up close, talking to you like this, but strangely, it felt... nice. Familiar, even.

“Perfect time for a coffee, then,” he said, his gaze wandering around the café before settling back on you. “You’re lucky. This place is something special. Must’ve taken guts to move all the way from New York and start this up.”

You smiled, leaning slightly against the counter. “It wasn’t easy, but I needed the change. New York is... a lot. Portofino is the opposite—quiet, calm. Exactly what I needed.”

Hugh nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes. “I know the feeling. I came here for the same reason—needed to get away for a while, clear my head.”

There was something in his tone, a hint of exhaustion hidden beneath his easygoing demeanor. You could relate—life in the city had a way of wearing people down, even someone like Hugh.

“So,” he continued, taking another sip, “have you always wanted to run a bookstore café?”

You chuckled softly, wiping your hands on a towel. “Honestly? No. I studied literature in university and always dreamed of being a writer, but... running this place has become something I love more than I expected.”

Hugh’s eyes lit up with interest. “Literature major? That explains the excellent book selection here. I’ve picked up a few from your shelves already.”

You smiled, feeling a flush of pride. “I try to keep it interesting. What are you reading right now?”

He tapped the cover of The Count of Monte Cristo he had with him. “A classic. One of my favorites. What about your favorites?”

“Oh love that book! I already saw you with it one time. I have a soft spot for anything by Fitzgerald,” you admitted. The Great Gatsby... it’s been my favorite since I was a teenager.”

Hugh smiled warmly. “Ah, Fitzgerald. A romantic at heart.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you said with a small laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m a sucker for those tragic love stories.”

“Well,” Hugh said, his tone teasing, “I’m not sure that’s the healthiest thing to admit.”

You laughed, the sound filling the quiet café with a warm, inviting tone. There was a spark in his eyes that made you feel more connected than ever, and you couldn’t help but notice the subtle way he leaned closer, as if the conversation was something he genuinely cherished.

“I guess I like my love stories with a bit of drama,” you replied, your eyes meeting his with a playful glint.

Hugh leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the counter. “So, does that mean you believe in happy endings, or...?”

You paused, feeling the intensity of his gaze. There was something deeply intimate in the way he looked at you, making you feel as if the café had faded away and it was just the two of you. “I think... I like the idea of them,” you said softly.

Hugh’s expression softened, and he smiled warmly. “Yeah, me too.”

The moment hung between you, filled with unspoken possibilities. The air seemed to shimmer with the promise of something more, something beyond the casual encounters of the past few days.

Just then, the door chimed again, and a group of tourists entered, their laughter and chatter breaking the spell. Hugh glanced at them, then back at you. “Looks like your peaceful café just got a bit livelier.”

You chuckled. “Looks like it. I’ll get back to work, but feel free to stay as long as you like.”

Hugh nodded, standing up. “I think I might just take you up on that at another time. I have a ticket for a tour this afternoon. But thank you for your company.”

As he left, the door chimed softly behind him. You watched him walk down the street, a part of you wishing he’d stay a bit longer. The gentle buzz of the café returned, but the earlier conversation lingered, making you smile with a mix of excitement and contentment.

~🌻~

Later that afternoon, while you were tidying up the shelves, Signora Rossi approached with a knowing smile.

“You seem quite taken with our new guest,” she remarked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

You looked up, surprised by her observation. “Oh, it’s not like that. We’ve just been talking.”

“Talking and talking,” she said, her grin widening. “He’s a charming man. And it’s clear he enjoys your company.”

You blushed slightly, trying to hide your smile. “I suppose he does.”

Signora Rossi’s eyes twinkled. “Well, don’t be surprised if something more comes of it. Sometimes, summer in Portofino has a way of making dreams come true.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m not sure about that, but I do enjoy his company.”

~🌻~

As the days went on, Hugh became more than just a regular customer; he became a fixture in your daily routine. Each visit was marked by easy conversation and shared laughter. You started to look forward to his visits more and more, the highlight of your day.

One warm evening, as you were closing up the café, Hugh arrived. He looked slightly more relaxed than usual, as if the vacation had already begun to work its magic on him.

“Evening,” he greeted with a broad smile.

“Evening!” you responded, locking the door behind him. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just felt like enjoying the evening here,” he said, taking a seat at the counter. “Do you have any recommendations for a good spot to watch the sunset?”

You thought for a moment, then suggested a secluded spot by the harbor. “It’s a bit of a walk, but it’s worth it. Perfect for watching the sunset.”

Hugh’s eyes lit up with interest. “That sounds perfect. Maybe we could go together sometime?”

You felt a flutter of excitement at the invitation. “I’d like that.”

As you finished up for the evening, you and Hugh talked about your favorite spots in Portofino, and he shared more about his travels and experiences. The connection between the two of you seemed to deepen, and as the sun set over the small town, you couldn’t help but feel that this summer was turning into something unexpectedly special.

You said your goodbyes with a promise to meet up the next day to watch the sunset. As you watched Hugh walk away into the twilight, you felt a mix of anticipation and contentment. This summer was shaping up to be far more than you’d ever imagined.

🏷️: @marvelgirlie-4 @melaninjoys @selencgraphy @iluvfanficsstuff @princessanglophile @persiar9 @cici-sunshine @kissmxcheek @mihaser @pedroscurls @shybluebirdninja @starryeddie @kellyxo1 @ivhoery @whimsiwitchy @corvusmorte @mega-kittyglitter-1 @insomniachox @plagued-kitty @girlydollydarling @gingerplague @cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782 @mother-petunia @arthurcerverogf @white-wolf-buckaroo @boomveronika @chronicallybubbly @subbbyharry @reidsworld @acescutejeans-1247 @shukirschtein14 @wolviesgirl @rediscoveringgemma @snowyminty @softheobsessedone @erik4mc0 @tinawantstobeadoll @seasonofthenerd @pookeymoo @tnu-ree @weskerussy @queenblair92 @coco177 @giuliahowlett @samsbirks @pear-1206 @needz1nk @lunarynn @bobthe-turmpetman29 @lindonelvenqueen @mica-2203 @alexandralibbre @dragovegogrimborn @kanedaluvr

I AM SO EXCITED TO SHARE THIS STORY WITH YOU ALL!!

(I’m sorry if some of the tags aren’t working, i tried to change them but Tumblr doesn’t let me, i’ll try again in the next chapter! )

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know ❤️

[osamucide]

BSD COFFEE ORDERS! ⊹

inspired by this post by @alyszuha! I thought it was so silly and as a former barista it sparked my imagination lol. very little context for these

DAZAI is a sweet coffee drinker. I think he secretly wishes he could be a black coffee fan but he can hardly get it down without four plus pumps of butter pecan syrup and an absurd amount of sugar. probably an iced latte regular. oat milk.

ATSUSHI doesn’t mind black coffee but everything tastes good when you grew up in poverty. he prefers it iced with yummy sweet cream cold foam on top, though.

KUNIKIDA is a plain black light roast truther. doesn’t care if it tastes like shit. he’d spike it with coke and gasoline if it meant it’d help him get through dealing with Dazai everyday.

RANPO would do ungodly things for a caramel frappe. extra whipped cream and caramel drizzle, please.

YOSANO is another black coffee drinker, but I think she’s a little picky about it. loves a good medium roast.

KYOUKA, I think, has residual paranoia from Kouyou telling her coffee would stunt her growth like Chuuya so she’s a tea drinker. sweet green tea, hot or iced, is her go to.

KENJI loves matcha! it’s so earthy and reminds him of home. hot or iced, maybe with some strawberry flavoring.

FUKUZAWA is the reason Ranpo fiends for caramel fraps. he probably gets it with an absurd amount of caffeine, though. I’m talking like, six shots of espresso.

TANIZAKI regularly rotates between vanilla lattes, chai teas, and green teas.

NAOMI gets whatever Tanizaki’s getting.

CHUUYA drinks hot salted caramel lattes pretty much exclusively.

AKUTAGAWA drinks a plain, scalding hot Americano because he thinks it makes him look hard. in reality, he thinks they’re kinda gross so he dumps assloads of sugar in them.

TACHIHARA loves a good chai latte, especially if it’s extra spicy, ya know? something about spicy chai. prefers it hot.

GIN strawberry Italian soda drinker is real to me.

HIGUCHI got put onto to strawberry Italian sodas by Gin. I think, after a while though, she starts to try out different flavors and comes to prefer peach.

MORI doesn’t go to cafes. he has a Keurig in his office and has Hirotsu buy him those huge boxes of donut shoppe/breakfast roast by the tens. stacks them up stupidly. straight black. no less than five cups a day.

ODA seems like he’d be a redeye drinker. silky espresso + a nice medium roast? he loves it.

ANGO drinks a cappuccino, probably with only the finest espresso, too.

POE is a cold brew drinker. I think he probably plays around with flavors and splashes of different types of cream; he really likes a vanilla and caramel cold brew with a splash of whole milk.

FYODOR drinks Raf coffee! it’s a Russian classic from the 90s (the origins are neat and I actually think they’re pretty yummy)

NIKOLAI absolutely drinks tuxedo mochas. wants them disgustingly sweet. all that sugar and caffeine is probably why he’s bouncing off the damn walls all the time.

SIGMA probably drank Raf coffee and mochas for a while because of his colleagues. when he starts branching out on his own, though, he discovers he really likes fruity lattes. blueberry, strawberry, or blackberry flavoring is at the top of his list.

TETCHOU would drink what I would call a mocha for lack of a better term, I guess? but he more or less just gets chocolate syrup dumped directly into black coffee.

JOUNO pumpkin spice latte enjoyer is canon Asagiri told me so. I don’t think he’s too picky about coffee, though (unless it’s Tetchou’s ghastly combination).

[wethotcrazy]

KIMI E LE PICCOLE COSE

pairing: Kimi Antonelli x Reader

word count: 674

just something super short and sweet for kimi just something cute and nice

The hum of the Facetime call connecting was the highlight of Kimi Antonelli's day. No matter how hectic the race week, no matter how many kilometers separated him from his amore mio, this evening ritual grounded him. His phone vibrated slightly before the screen lit up, and there she was—her smile soft, her hair a little disheveled from hours spent studying.

"Hi, tesoro," she greeted him, her voice warm despite the long day.

"Buonasera, bella mia," he replied, his lips curling into a smile that matched hers. Kimi leaned back in his hotel bed, the faint roar of mechanics and engineers still echoing outside the window. His world was loud, fast, and chaotic, but this moment? This was peaceful.

"How was the car today?" she asked, propping her chin in her hand. The soft glow of her desk lamp illuminated her face, making her look like the muse of every classic Italian painting Kimi had ever admired.

"Quick. But the brakes were—" Kimi paused, shaking his head. "Eh… You hear about cars all day from me. I want to show you something."

Her eyes lit up with curiosity. "What is it?"

Kimi opened his camera roll, scrolling to the first picture he had taken that day. It was a close-up of a cappuccino, the foam shaped into a perfect heart.

"I had this during my break," he began, tilting his phone to show her. "It reminded me of you. The heart, you know?"

She chuckled softly. "Because I give you caffeine energy?"

He shook his head, his expression serious but teasing. "No, amore. Because seeing you is the best part of my day. Just like the first sip of coffee."

Her cheeks flushed, and she rolled her eyes, though the smile on her lips betrayed her. "You're insufferable, Kimi."

"Wait, there's more!" he said, eager as ever. He swiped to the next photo, one of a tiny pink flower blooming in a crack of concrete outside the paddock.

"This?" He pointed to the image. "It’s small, maybe no one else noticed it, but it stood out. Like you do, wherever you go."

"Stop," she said, laughing, though her heart swelled at his words.

Another swipe. A snapshot of the sky—brilliant orange and purple streaks as the sun set over the circuit. "This reminded me of your favorite colors," Kimi explained. "And... how you look when you're trying to solve something hard. Intense and beautiful."

She sighed, leaning closer to her screen as if it would close the distance between them. "You’re too good to me, Kimi."

"Only because you deserve it, mia anima gemella," he replied softly.

They spent the next twenty minutes going through the rest of Kimi’s photos—a picture of a book he saw in a shop window that he thought she might like, a black cat lounging near the track because it had the same sharp, inquisitive gaze she sometimes wore, and even a picture of a messy plate of pasta al pomodoro that the team chef had served for lunch.

"It wasn’t as good as the one you make," he admitted, scratching the back of his head.

She laughed again, the sound ringing through the call and making his chest ache with the distance. "Of course it wasn’t. I’d have to fly there to teach them properly."

"Maybe you should," he said, his tone lighter now but with an edge of sincerity. "It’s been too long, amore. I miss you."

Her smile softened, and she leaned her cheek on her palm. "I miss you too, Kimi. But this helps. Knowing you think of me even when we’re apart."

Kimi’s hand hovered near the screen, wishing he could reach out and trace her features, feel her warmth. Instead, he looked at her with all the affection in his heart. "Always, amore mio. Every day, every moment. You make everything better."

And as they continued talking about the little things that reminded them of each other, the world felt a little less vast, and the miles between them didn’t seem so impossible.

[kinley-cafe]

Kinley Café Current Menu

The menu may change based on the season or special holiday. Text version with full menu and item descriptions can be found below the cut

ORDER NOW

CONTACT DISPATCH

Drinks

🔥 "You Still Owe Me that Beer" Float  A deliciously tart and creamy root beer float made with quality craft beer and decadent French vanilla ice cream. This delightful treat comes with one turnout straw and one flight suit straw. 🔥 Fake Mouth Static Sparkling Tea  Extra fizzy kshhh butterfly tea ksshhh with honey, berries ksshhh and a helicopter ice cube 🔥 Cat 5 hurricane Cappuccino A rich and creamy cappuccino in a (possibly stolen) LAFD Helicopter themed mug.  🔥 “I took a guess” Mystery Coffee  Not like that. It’s definitely not what you want, but Buck tried his best and that’s all that matters. It's a random coffee with undisclosed, completely random ingredients, served in a green to-go coffee cup wrapped in a cardboard coffee cup sleeve, decorated all over with brown hearts and flames. 🔥“That Fire Was A Beast” thirst quencher  Hydrating strawberry dragon fruit, topped with whipped cream and soot colored chocolate drizzle. Served in a fire hydrant cup.

🔥 “You’re a vision” Birthday Cake Hot Chocolate A flirty and festive Belgian hot chocolate served in a red and blue cup, topped with a cloud of confetti whipped cream.

🔥 Buck’s Cozy Cup of Tea A nice, hot cup of black tea with lemon and honey. Each cup is wrapped securely with an (un)official LAFD crocheted cozy.

🔥 Harbor Station Pumpkin Spice Latte A mix of delicious traditional fall spices, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon. It’s served in a special Air Ops Winged Cup with a golden pumpkin stirrer.

🔥 Saturday Sparkling Cider A warm malted cider, with all the Saturday Night craft flavor, and none of the alcohol. Served at room temperature so it’s not too hot, and not too cold. It’s just what you’re ready for.

Desserts

🔥 118 Cream Donut Bavarian Cream Donuts with fire engine red strawberry frosting and ember sprinkles.

🔥 Flying Lessons Fudge Bon Bons Delicious fudge-filled bon bons molded with a headset and wrapped in a pilot jumpsuit colored wrapper.

🔥 Are We Still Talking About Cake? Layered Vanilla cake with Strawberries, buttercream icing and a candy LAFD logo. Go ahead and take it to your table. So you can eat it.

🔥 Open Channel Chocolate Muffin Chocolate muffins topped with cream cheese frosting and chocie talkies (chocolate walkie talkie shaped chips) 🔥“I’m An Ally” Cookie Bar Delicious copycat Italian cookie bars with bisexual flag layers. Made for any ally, or…more than an ally.

🔥 Date Night Cookie Pizza A delicious skillet cookie pizza topped with ice cream strawberries and. A perfect treat for your (hopefully) uninterrupted first date.

🔥 “Be With Your Man” Brown Sugar Mug Cake This warm and delicious brown sugar mug cake captures the ambiance of Buck and Tommy’s cozy dinner at home. The patterns on the cup are inspired by items from Buck’s dinner table.

🔥 Adorable Apple Pie Super sweet mini apple pies baked by Tommy as an ode to Buck and just how adorable he is. Each one is baked in a turnout tin and brushed with strawberry jam to resemble Buck’s birthmark.

🔥 Firefighter’s Flaming Candy Apple A sweet, sugar candy coated California grown Gala apple, decorated with a blazing flame.

Buck’s Happy Hour

🔥“I am free” This eye opener cocktail is a refreshing and invigorating beverage that features rich coffee with deep, malty notes of stout that lingers in your mouth, much like the sweet taste of a first kiss. It combines vodka, cold-brew coffee, coffee liqueur, stout beer, and a sweet brown-sugar syrup. Garnished with heart shaped mint.

🔥The 24 Hour Shift A highly caffeinated, creamy cocktail with sweet and smooth flavors, made to keep you going for hours. This cocktail is blended with nitro brew, bourbon, brown sugar, and half and half, topped with whipped cream and a cinnamon stick. 🔥Intermittent Showers This cocktail is excitement in a glass. A rush of sweet, smooth and fizz, made with cold-brew coffee, club soda, berry infused rum, simple syrup, topped with silver storm cloud whipped topping and a mini chocolate helicopter.

🔥The “Tommy, Actually” Made with craft beer and espresso to combine strong, bold coffee with the rich flavors of beer, featuring the unexpected sweetness of the heavy cream, coffee liqueur, and whipped topping. Topped with whipped cream and Edible gold Air Ops Pilot Wings.

Anytime Menu

🔥 The Q Word Have you been jinxed? Order one of these special to-go combos to help you get through the chaos ahead.

🔥 “Badass Coffee Mug” Ready to go up? Order this combo whenever you’re in the mood  for a Harbor Station tour from a hot pilot to put a smile on your face.

🔥 “I Need Mo Joe” Looking for a little comfort? Maybe a certain adorable  firefighter can whip up a firehouse family combo for you

Call Dispatch (send an ask) anytime you’re looking for a little pick-me-up and put in an order for one of these combos. 

[dystopianam]

A little summary of how the fandoms of the various neighborhoods of The Sims 2 are like

(I would like to say that all the points listed were written for joking, it is not my intention to offend anyone, every neighborhood/fandom deserves love equally and I use stereotypes just for laughs.)

Pleasantview

You are probably a new player, you have only now discovered that you can also play outside the tutorial.

Your favorite family are the Burbs (for some reason) (Currently I discovered that only the Italian fandom is obsessed with the Burbs for some reason??)

You've been obsessed with Bella Goth and have been following her mystery for years. We are in 2024 and you are still looking for or making videos or posts with the title "I FINALLY DISCOVERED THE TRUTH ABOUT THE MYSTERY OF BELLA GOTH" (Spoiler: you didn't discover anything, your theory is full of nonsensical headcanons but you are convinced that it is canon)

Oooh, silly Don ��️☺️

Dina and Nina are bad grill but they're so hot 😰😰💦💦 🥵🥵🥵

Talk about Bella 24 hours a day

Broke?? Dreamer?? Pleasant?? Who the f they are? D: (You only know the Goths, Calientes and Lotharios because you've only played The Sims 4 so far)

BRANDINAAAAAA (POWER TO WIDOWS!!!)

The only lore you know is that of Bella Goth.

Strangetown

You're a little more "cultured" as a player. You're here because you're passionate about Bella's story, but now you also love the lore of Strangetown and have enough knowledge about the lore of both neighborhoods.

Cactus and Aliens aesthetic.

Obsessed with PascNerv.

Joking about Loki face and piss jokes about Vidcund H24 (The only thing you talk about is that)

RIPP IS THE ONLY VICTIM, TANK IS A STUPID ASSHOLE!!! RIP RIPP 😭😭😭😭

Vidcund sexy man, his favorite color is yellow because he have a bladder problem.

Fans obsessed with Vidcund to the point that it turns a joke into something worrying with people actually fighting over a bunch of pixels with buck hair.

Loki and Circe do BDSM.

VERONAVILLE

The fandom has a large number of 11 members. Half of them are here just for the Tycutio.

They look indignantly at the PV & ST fandom, with a glass of wine in hand, they feel superior but they never knew anything about Shakespeare's works until now.

Ahaha Mercutio raccoon boy 🦝

Ahah Tybalt angry pussy 🐱

KENT IS OUR LORD

Everyone in Veronaville are LGBT+ except Romeo.

Ahahah Gnomeo!

Wait...what are you telling me it's Romeo & Juliet and not Mercutio & Tybalt??? Didn't Shakespeare write a gay tragedy???

Old men yaoi

Old women yuri

VIOLA EXISTS, FUCK YOU ALL, I HAVE A HUGE LIST OF COMPLETELY INVENTED DETAILS ABOUT HER THAT CERTIFY HER EXISTENCE. SHUT UP. NO ONE CAN ASSUME A GENDER FOR HAMLET. IF HAMLET WANTS TO FEEL LIKE AN AUNT AND NOT AN UNCLE YOU JUST HAVE TO STAY MUTE.

Antonio swears on his restaurant, his family and his cappuccino.

Riverblossom Hills, Desiderata Valley & Belladonna Cove

-

[coochellati]

Hi! How is it going, I hope you are doing well ❤️This is not a deep question but what kind of drink/s do you think Bruno would most enjoy and ones he would avoid (alcoholic or not)? He looks like someone that would enjoy limoncello a lot for example but I can't see him being a beer guy.

Hi!!! Good to hear from you!! Thank you for checking in; all things considered, I’m doing well right now!

Ooh, this is a fun question… Funnily enough, I’ve given quite a bit of thought to this in the past. Buckle up, because I’ve got a bunch of beverage headcanons for you!

Without further ado, here’s my take… (under the break)

I imagine Bruno isn’t a huge drinker when it comes to alcohol. (As you said, he’s definitely not a beer guy.) Most of the time, he prefers to keep a sharp, clear mind, ready for whatever may come his way. That said, it doesn’t stop him from appreciating a good glass of wine. Wine is such a key part of Italian culture that it’s hard to picture Bruno not enjoying it. (In fact, I headcanon that Bruno is actually pretty passionate about the subject of wine—we’ll get to that in a bit.) He drinks it for the taste rather than the effect it gives.

(Figure 1: Bruno having wine.)

Because he doesn’t usually like being inebriated, he limits himself to small amounts—typically just a glass with a meal. On days off, however, he may enjoy a bit more wine than he usually does. Even though Bruno enjoys red wine, I feel like he leans more toward white wine, with a special fondness for sparkling varieties. He’s not a huge fan of a ton of fizz, though, so he goes for older sparkling wines where the bubbles have softened a bit.

I like to think Bruno has a good understanding of wine, largely thanks to Polpo’s influence. Whether he wanted to or not, Bruno surely picked up knowledge from Polpo, who, being the foodie he is, likely gave plenty of unsolicited lectures about wine. Bruno absorbed more than enough to discuss things like aging processes or which years produced the best vintages.

I also imagine Bruno’s interest in wine began because of Polpo’s constant ramblings. It’s not that Bruno had negative feelings toward wine before meeting him; he probably just didn’t think much of it, especially as a twelve-year-old. I can picture Polpo launching into a long-winded explanation about wine or food before delivering some important assignment with Bruno thinking, “If it were really important, you wouldn’t spend this much time talking about wine.”

But that forced exposure grew into genuine interest, and now Bruno has become passionate about it. Picture him excitedly sharing wine facts with a partner or someone he cares about, then catching himself mid-sentence and apologizing for rambling. (He’ll think back to his conversations with Polpo and wonder if he’s overstepping his boundaries.) But, of course, his partner reassures him that it’s okay. I like to think Bruno tends to ramble about things he’s passionate about since he didn’t have much chance to express his interests growing up. So, when he gets the chance, he dives in a bit too deep, almost by accident.

He probably has a decent collection of wines with a few rare or expensive bottles. However, Bruno isn’t the type to splurge, so most of the high-end bottles were likely gifts. He saves them for special occasions.

Now that you bring it up, I can also see Bruno being a limoncello drinker. I’ve never had it before, but it looks pretty good. Based on its description, I too think Bruno would like it.

As for coffee, I imagine Bruno enjoys espresso—or “caffé,” as Italians call it. It’s not an everyday thing, but when he does indulge, it’s usually a plain shot of espresso. (Occasionally, he treats himself to a caffé latte or cappuccino.) He avoids drinking too much, as he doesn’t like the jittery feeling caffeine can bring. If he’s close with someone, he’d probably prefer sipping from their coffee rather than ordering his own.

Bruno doesn’t strike me as someone who’d enjoy soda (or pop, depending on where you’re from). As mentioned, he’s not fond of fizzy drinks, and soda is not only fizzy but also loaded with calories, which wouldn’t appeal to him.

When asking @cornerfortherats this question to see her take on this ask, she wrote that she could also see him enjoying “Iced tea and those sugar-free mix drinks. (Think like kool-aid. Particularly the blue raspberry one.) In my mind, he buys the really weird flavored ones to try for fun because they’re relatively cheap and on occasion his reaction is just this:”

(I really like this headcanon too.)

Of course, Bruno drinks plain water too. He knows how important it is to stay hydrated and tries to keep up with it. But, with how busy he is, it’s not unusual for him to forget sometimes.

Thank you for the ask! This question was super fun to answer! <3

[steventhusiast]

OH MY GOD!!! I NEED MORE ITALIAN STEVE! HIS ACCENT?? I CAN JUST IMAGINE IT AND IM LITERALLY MELTING AHH

okay so my thinking is steve is staying with robin and eddie for a few months because he wants to live in the US to be closer to robin and needs to scout out jobs and possible apartments. so he and eddie start dating because they have a few months together and steve is planning to move to the US anyway. so the preface for this is they are already dating, have been for a few weeks probably. steve decides to take eddie to the only authentic italian restaurant he could find because he wants to show eddie real italian food

and i recently found out about the 'rules' around having a cappuccino in italy from a tiktok and it made me laugh so take whatever this is:

-

"why are you looking nervous?" steve asks as they sit across from each other. he reaches one hand out to squeeze eddie's, and offers him a reassuring smile.

"oh, just- this is a fancy restaurant." eddie explains, and looks around at the well-decorated room they're in. when steve had said he would take care of the next date, eddie doesn't know what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't a restaurant that he has to wear a semi-formal shirt to.

he's a broke college student, so his idea of fancy is going to the diner that hasn't got a broken window instead of the one that's kind of falling apart. he feels out of his depth.

"yes. it is... um, real? real italian food." steve smiles at him, and eddie nods slowly.

"you said you're paying, right?" he checks, because he's looking at the menu and if he's paying for his meal he needs to order.. probably just bread if he's honest.

"of course i am paying," steve says and rolls his eyes. he makes a tsk sound after a second of eddie still looking hesitant, "money is no problem, eddie."

eddie looks at him for a couple seconds, and then nods slowly. fine. if steve's paying, it's fine. it's quiet for a second as eddie finally lets himself look at the pasta section of the menu, opting for something safe. if steve's paying, he's going to order something he knows he'll eat.

"what's gnocchi?" he questions, and looks up to see steve just watching him with that tiny little smile he gets sometimes. it always makes eddie feel like he's the centre of steve's world, and it's a little overwhelming in a good way.

steve snorts at eddie's pronunciation, and corrects him gently.

"gnocchi is... dumpling made from potato." steve explains simply, and eddie squints down at the menu for another second before steve adds on, "i think you will enjoy."

eddie nods decisively, and it's that moment that a waitress loops around to their table. she puts down the drinks they'd ordered when they arrived (a water for eddie, a campari, whatever that is, for steve) and asks if they're ready to order.

"yes! i will have ragu alla bolognese, please." steve requests, and the waitress's eyes light up a bit.

"parla italiano?" she asks steve, and he nods and exchanges a few lines of italian with her. eddie feels very lost, and when the waitress redirects her gaze to him, he feels an embarrassed heat in his cheeks. he knows he's about to butcher the pronunciation of this dish. couldn't even say gnocchi right the first time.

"i'll have the, uh, gnocchi alla.. sorrentina?" he says slowly, and the waitress just nods with a smile. he feels more relaxed, less embarrassed.

"and would you like a drink other than water with your meal, sir?"

eddie quickly looks over the drinks selection on the menu and nods. he hadn't ordered a proper drink earlier, because he had been worried about money, but now he's feeling a coffee.

"a cappuccino please." he smiles at the waitress, and she and steve both blink at him a couple times. the embarrassment is back, "what? what'd i do?" he asks steve.

"you are sure you want.. cappuccino? with pasta? at eight o clock?" he checks. eddie nods slowly.

"okay! you're sure you don't want a different coffee, sir?" the waitress checks, and eddie shakes his head even slower. he knows he's missing something here, but he's not sure what. "okay! okay. sure."

and with that confusing interaction, the waitress walks off to the kitchen and looks as if she steels herself before walking in.

"what did i do?" eddie asks, redirecting his wide eyes to steve, who looks like he's holding back giggles.

"it is hard to explain," steve offers, and the giggles start to seep through as he tries to explain anyway, "cappuccino is morning coffee, not evening coffee."

eddie's still lost, and steve reaches for his hand again and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"in my culture, there is rules about food and drink. not- not real rules.. um...." steve pauses as he searches for the right word and comes up empty.

"standards?" eddie tries, and steve shrugs and nods.

"standards. cappuccino is for breakfast. it has... lot of milk. it is bad for, uhh, digestione."

eddie flushes bright red and covers his face with his hands.

"i embarrassed myself." he whines, "at a fancy restaurant you took me to because you're lovely, i messed it up!"

he keeps his hands there for a second, but steve giggles some more and gently moves eddie's hands away.

"no, eddie. well- maybe if we are in italy you messed up, but we are in america. it is fine."

eddie still feels a little embarrassed, but steve is smiling at him with something sparkling in his eyes. he looks... unbelievably fond.

"if you say so." eddie sighs, and steve's eyes crinkle up at the corners as his smile widens.

"i do say so. and i am always right, so. no embarrassment!"

"okay, okay.." eddie starts giggling with steve at the whole situation.

if he ever visits italy, he's gonna have to brush up on these strange food rules.

[octuscle]

Hi Chronivac support: I hope you can help me. I am an affluent, well-educated, overgroomed, overdressed white corporate executive, but I know that is not my REAL calling and identity. I have very expensive clothes and a BMW, and even my name Timothy is formal and classy.

However, I know that I should be an uneducated manual laborer, working as a garbageman. My REAL calling. I must be forced to surrender my corporate career, my office, my BMW, my expensive formal Italian suit and tie, my briefcase, my manicured fingernails, my styled hair, my wristwatch and polished black dress shoes and socks and yes, even my own name along the way down the class ladder to my new real life. But I don’t have the courage to make the changes alone. Can you show me the way to transformation? Thank you.

Seriously? Well, it actually doesn't look like there's any reason for you to be dissatisfied with your life. But if you want to…

While you are taking your croissant and your cappuccino, your cell phone vibrates. You take it out of the inside pocket of your tailored Scabal jacket. But it's not your new iPhone 15 Pro. It's an old rather bruised device. But you know the code to activate it. The message you got is in Turkish. It's called "If you don't get your ass to the site in half an hour, you're out of a job." Unfortunately, you don't understand Turkish yet. The transformation has only arrived at your calloused hands and dirty fingernails. Your skin is getting darker. The back of your hands hairier. In incipient panic, you reach for your Montblanc wallet. But there is only a cheap nylon wallet in your worn jacket. With a few dirty bills inside. Fuck, if you pay for your breakfast, you're broke. You look around. And relax. Here in your favorite café, tea and sesame curls only cost a few cents. And you can pay later if necessary.

You get a new message. That you can pick up your wages for the last ten days later at the construction site. After that, you don't have to show your face again. Fuck, that means you'll have to bum cigarettes again the next few days. But working sucks too. And in case of need you can always carry boxes in the morning at the wholesale market. And actually, what the social security office pays you is by and large sufficient. Shit, the pissers said that you have to visit the employment office today. Otherwise they will stop paying you.

In the bus you drive without a ticket. What for? You have better things to spend your money on. The lady you sat next to gets up after a few minutes and changes her seat. Just because you are looking at pictures of fat cocks on your cell phone and massage your bulge. Infidel buffer!

You know what your name means, Ünal? It means "fame." What a contradiction to your new life. Let's see if the employment office has a job for you today.

Pics from your old and your new life found @mensuited and @hairyturkandarabstuds

[uniquexusposts]

Her || Charles

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff  Story type: novel  Part: 12/? Word count: 3726 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 10. Unaware

"Hey," Matilde said when she entered the room next to her office. Galileo was already working behind his desk. "Do you have a minute so that we can talk?"

The young Italian nodded, knowing what this was about. "Of course."

"Do you want something to drink? I'm getting a cappuccino."

Galileo raised his eyebrows and really wanted to say something, but he thought it was best to keep his mouth shut. "No, thank you."

Matilde had to do her best to hide her grin. It was 14:00, and technically, according to the Italians, it was too late to drink a cappuccino. But she didn't care. People in this office didn't care about her, so why should she care? "Okay. I'll be back in... five?"

"Yes, absolutely."

The Dane walked to the coffee corner on the same floor and asked the barista for a cappuccino. Again, she received the side eye, but Matilde only smiled, causing the barista to make the cappuccino anyway.

A few minutes later, Matilde entered her office and called Galileo in. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," he nodded as he sat across from her. "How about you?"

Matilde pressed the corners of her mouth down, acting casual. "Fine, fine," she mumbled. "I will go straight to the point because, apparently, I have a board meeting now." She noticed the stress on Galileo's face when she said it. "How come I was unaware of the inauguration ceremony this morning?" Matilde asked and looked at Galileo. 'And the board meeting?'

The young assistant parted his lips and looked at his boss. His heartbeat became fast; he forgot to inform her about the inauguration ceremony and the board meeting. "I... I forgot, I think."

She nodded. "Thank you for being honest with me, Galileo," she said. "Look, I would be lying if I said it is okay and can happen. I need to know when these things happen, these events are very important for me, the team and for the representation of this team. You are here to support me, manage my appointments and to make sure I am aware of it." Matilde shared a warm smile, she could see how sorry he was. "For now, it happened, and there's nothing we can do about it anymore. But for the next time, double-check everything, okay?"

"I will. I am sorry," the young Italian said.

"Thank you."

Galileo got up and was about to leave the office.

"These things happen, but make sure you learn from them. Without making mistakes, you won't learn properly," she reminded him before he left.

Once he left the room, her smile dropped, and she turned around in her chair, facing the wall behind her desk. She blinked a couple of times and yawned. Being a team principal was literally being a teacher to toddlers. Matilde took a deep breath and got up, taking her laptop, notebook and coffee with her. She made her way to the meeting room, ready to be attacked and to defend herself in front of the most influential people of Ferrari.

"Hello," she said when entering the room, leaving the door open.

The big people looked already annoyed, a great start. She showed no fear and made her way to the only available seat.

"We've been waiting for you for over fifteen minutes," a woman said.

Matilde didn't remember her name, only that she looked like Donatella Versace. Matilde glanced at her, ready to say something, but she got interrupted by a knock on the door. She looked at the person, it was Mario. "Mario," Matilde smiled.

"Sorry to interrupt. Can I ask you a question?" Mario said.

"Of course. What is it?" She nodded and opened her laptop.

Sighs filled the room, causing Mario to look uncomfortable. Glances were shared; why did Mario interrupt? But a more important question was: why did someone from the night shift ask for her?

"The order that is missing, do we have an update on it yet?" Mario asked, hoping the order had arrived.

Matilde blew up her cheeks. "I have not seen a note yet, so I don't think so. I will follow it up after this meeting, you will hear from me."

The night shift manager and the team principal looked at each other; both wondering why they were present at the office. Mario squeezed his eyebrows together. "I thought you were supposed to be here at..." Mario pulled up the sleeve of his watch. "Six o'clock?"

"Well," she countered. "And what are you doing here then?" A cheeky smile came on her face.

"Mhm-mhm," Mario chuckled. "I will hear from you," he winked and walked away.

It was silent in the room again. Matilde looked around, raising her eyebrows, waiting for the meeting to start.

"What was that all about?" the same woman as earlier asked.

"If you work a shift, you are not allowed to start your next shift eleven hours after your previous shift ended. And since the night shift ended eight hours ago, we are legally forbidden to be here and work until six this afternoon," Matilde explained, reminding the board about the rules.

No one reacted to the comment. Instead, Simone started the meeting with a small introduction of why the board came together. "Firstly, do you have a reason why you were late to this board meeting, Matilde?"

Matilde looked up from her laptop and blinked a couple of times, taking a sip of her coffee. "Legally, I am not supposed to be here. My shift ended eight hours ago, which I explained a few seconds ago. I am making an exception to be here," she mentioned. "So the reason why I am late: I am still off duty."

No one seemed to find a suitable answer to her reply. Again, they were sharing looks with each other, trying to understand why she took a night shift.

"For clarification: I am taking night shifts every other week?" Matilde looked around, she thought people were aware about that. She always wrote it down in her work agenda and everyone has access to her agenda.

"Noted," Simone said and he looked at his notes. "So the reason why you were late at the inauguration ceremony is also because of the break-rule. But may I ask why you're here? You are legally not allowed to be here for four more hours, as you said so yourself."

"Exactly." Even though that wasn't the exact reason why she was late at the ceremony, she thought that was an excellent reason for this board. Galileo made a mistake, but that was something between them, and Matilde wanted to protect him from the board. "And the reason why I'm here is because I was bored at home. And I'm the team principal, I always have work to do."

The woman who spoke to her at the beginning, took over. Wasn't her name Antonia? A sly smirk appeared on her face, she was ready to attack the young team principal. "We received a message from PR about the celebrations in Miami."

Oh, here we go, Matilde thought. How did PR know about this? Who talked? Matilde nodded, accepting that she had to explain her side of the incident.

"We understand that you are delighted to celebrate your first win - as you should, but we received videos of you partying with Max Verstappen and some employees of Red Bull Racing. You have to understand that that is not great for your image."

Matilde straightened her face. This was about Max and Red Bull? She looked around, everyone looked sternly at her, like she had damaged their reputation. "Well, yes-"

"We understand you have your friends at your former team, but you cannot be seen like this." The tone of Antonia was unrelenting.

Matilde was prepared to defend herself and maintain her professionalism, but the weight of their expectations was palpable. She took a moment to generate her response. Of course, she knew the delicate balance she had to follow between maintaining relationships in the paddock and upholding Ferrari's image.

"Matilde, do you think that action was appropriate?" Simone could see Matilde was thinking about a response, but he wanted her to be faster. He was taking notes, looked up and waited for a further response. "It could be perceived as celebrating with a competitor, a rival."

"I appreciate your concern," Matilde began, her voice steady. "And I acknowledge that appearances matter. However-" Before she could elaborate further on her intentions, someone else cut in.

"Our image is important. We cannot afford to have our team principal's actions misinterpreted, especially with a rival team." The voice of the man was sharp, but impatient.

The frustration in Matilde's veins simmered just below the surface. But she maintained her composure. "As I was trying to say, we must also consider the context. I was not celebrating with Max and Red Bull Ra-"

"You have to understand that it's not just about the context."

This meeting was about interrogating Matilde, to share their criticisms without allowing her to respond fully and to defend herself. Matilde had expected a severe meeting about the team's performances, not this relentless lecture that made her feel increasingly unheard and undermined.

Matilde clenched her jaw and she took a deep breath, now her irritation began to bubble up. She didn't get the chance to explain herself, as they only seemed to be interested in one side of the story. She refused to back down on her story. "I understand the importance of our image-" she repeated, her voice tight.

But yet again, she was cut off by Simone, who seemed to have a lot of fun by irritating her. "Our team's reputation is at stake here. You may see it as a small gesture, but the public won't always perceive it that way," Simone looked at Antonia. "Antonia, you have set up a statement. Matilde, we want you to publish a statement for this incident."

Matilde squeezed her eyebrows together, and she looked around as if she was the main character of The Office. "Excuse me? Why?" Her tone was openly irritated now. "I acknowledge the importance of the team's image, but let's not lose sight of the bigger picture here. This obsession with a harmless moment is counterproductive."

"Matilde, the perception of our team matters. We need to control the narrative. A statement will help manage this situation," Antonia said.

Matilde almost groaned in frustration. They weren't listening to her, it was like they were fixated on the statement and not the reason behind it. "I understand your point, but let's not forget the context. I believe we are blowing this out of proportion. If I just may-" Her patience was wearing thin.

"You have to-"

"If you could, please let me finish," she repeated, raising her voice a little bit, demanding to have the word. "The reason why I was standing next to Max and Red Bull was because I was not invited to our own team's celebration dinner," she explained.

The board members exchanged glances, and Simone leaned back in his chair, a look of incredulity on his face. "So you decide to celebrate your win with our rival?" He repeated, as though the idea was utterly preposterous.

Matilde blinked a couple of times, looking unheard. Did they just not hear what she said? "In other words, yes," she responded. "Because I was not invited to the team's celebration dinner. And I want to clarify this: Max Verstappen is my friend, Red Bull is filled with my friends-"

"We need to address this issue promptly and professionally," Antonia chimed in, her tone critical. "Drafting a statement is the right course of action."

Matilde's frustration had reached its peak. She couldn't believe how obstinate the board was being, seemingly ignoring her explanations. Their need to release a statement was maddening. "Are you even listening to me? Why do I need to justify myself for the fact that I, the team principal, was not invited to the team's celebration dinner? It makes more sense for you to justify this situation." She felt so extremely selfish to say that she wasn't invited and that she had to be invited. Perhaps everyone disliked her and it was their plan not to invite her, and perhaps it was her expectation she had to be invited. Perhaps she was the issue.

"You are the team principal, you are a model to not only your team, but to the entire field and fanbase," Simone emotionlessly replied.

"Fine, but then make sure Leclerc is not allowed to talk to Gasly outside of work anymore, or meet with him outside of the track. And ban Sainz from golfing with Norris," Matilde shot back.

While the board was discussing the situation, the entire floor could hear their debate. Even though there was a lot of work to do, the entire floor of employees were more interested in the conversation. People gathered around, close enough to the meeting room to hear everything, but not to be seen by the board members. It had been the first time they heard Matilde speaking up like this. People doubted if she ever could get angry, but after this weekend and this discussion, they figured out Matilde could get angry very badly.

Charles and Carlos were sitting at a desk, in the engineers room, discussing some points for the sim later this afternoon. They could hear the discussion very well. Even they stopped working to follow the discussion.

"She's feisty," Charles said perplexedly. "Oh, my gosh." He covered his mouth with his hand.

"After Sunday, I didn't think she could surprise me anymore, but I didn't expect this," an engineer mentioned.

Carlos' mouth hung open, focussing on the conversation. "We have to say something, this is something between her and the board, not us."

"No, no, don't," Charles replied, raising his arm.

"But this is unacceptable. You're nosy."

"It is their problem, not ours. They shouldn't have left the door wide open," Charles shrugged. Carlos got up. "Don't," Charles said disappointingly.

Carlos shook his head, left the engineer's room and walked through the hallway. He noticed how the entire floor was standing close to the meeting room. It was serious, very serious. Charles joined him on the walk, he couldn't resist the urge to get closer to the commotion. They squeezed between the people, careful not to obstruct anyone's view.

"I can't believe they're making such a fuss about this," Charles muttered under his breath.

Carlos looked behind him, not realising Charles had followed him. He nodded in agreement. "It's absurd. They're treating her like she committed a crime." He stepped to the room, everybody collectively holding their breath. When he stood in front of the room, Matilde was in the middle of her sentence.

"I still cannot figure out how me, having a night out with my friends, bothers you the most out of that evening?" Matilde asked.

To Carlos' surprise, Matilde was still looking and speaking professionally. He knocked on the door, alerting them to his presence. "Hey, I am..." He pointed at the door.

She looked at him and held up her hand. "You can leave the door open, Carlos," she said before continuing on the same tone with the rest of her words. "Do you know what bothers me the most? Besides the board not understanding this situation, the fact that the entire team, not just a few people, but everyone, went out for dinner to celebrate the win and they did not even bother to ask me to join them on purpose."

Carlos stood speechlessly in front of the meeting room. He looked to his right, to his team, with rounded eyes. He walked back to his team. "This is serious shit," he said.

"I will not publish a statement," Matilde finished her story. "I think it will be time for us to hire an external coach or a psychologist. The way of communication has to change internally and as quickly as possible. Especially the communication between employees. That is the main issue in this team. This meeting is over. If there are any questions, don't hesitate to contact my assistant. Good afternoon, everyone."

The people in the hallway didn't know how fast they had to return to their desks. They had to pretend they hadn't been listening. Carlos ran after Charles back to the engineer's room. They jumped down on their seats. A second later, Matilde passed them. Silence fell on the entire floor and they all looked at Matilde; she showed no emotion.

"Holy shit..." Charles whispered. "That was something else," he remarked.

Carlos nodded, still impressed by Matilde's determination. His respect for her grew. "She's not one to back down, that's for sure."

The entire floor has just witnessed their 'puppy' team principal push back against the board with an intensity that was rarely seen. The engineers were buzzing with discussions about what had just transpired. It was clear that Matilde's impassioned defence had made an impact on everyone who had heard it. The board, too, was left with much to consider after her strong words. Her speech had ignited a new level of respect among the team, who now saw her in a different light. Her actions had solidified her position not just as a team principal, but as a leader who wasn't afraid to fight for the people, even against the most powerful figures within Ferrari.

Charles got up from his chair and made his way to Matilde's office. He ignored Galileo, who told him not to enter the office. After knocking, Charles swung open the door; Matilde was standing in front of the window, arms crossed, looking outside, her posture reflecting frustration and exhaustion.

"Hey..." he gently spoke.

Matilde looked over her shoulder. Once their gaze met, she showed just a smile - a smile without emotion or meaning. "Hello," she replied.

"Would you like to grab a coffee?" He pointed behind him. "There's a new coffee stand on the campus."

She considered Charles' offer for a moment. The tension from the board meeting still lingered, just like the unaware ceremony and incident from Sunday. However, she knew a short break and some fresh air would do her good. She stared at her watch and she nodded, she had some time left before her next meeting. "Yeah, sure," she replied, her smile now carrying a bit more warmth.

Charles hoped that this coffee break would provide her some rest and reset. Matilde grabbed her pass and sunglasses before they left her office. In silence they walked over the campus. Charles didn't feel the need to say anything, he wanted to make sure that Matilde could empty her mind.

As they approached the stand, Matilde scanned the new stand. She hadn't seen it before, but it looked cute. It was quite a minimalist stand, it was a stand that could go viral on Instagram for the aesthetic. Matilde was surprised to see that they served iced coffee, so she ordered that. Charles ordered a simple espresso.

"Thanks," Matilde broke the silence. They had their coffee and sat down on a small wall next to the stand. Charles looked at her, sharing a questionable look. "For... You know, this."

"Of course." He offered a supportive smile. "A small break can do miracles."

"I..." She took a deep breath. "I really appreciate it."

"Anytime." Charles looked in front of him. "And about Sunday... I didn't know what was happening. I assumed you were at the dinner, but somewhere...I don't know, somewhere where we couldn't see you."

"It's okay. It happened."

"It's not okay and it wasn't classy from our side."

"It is what it is, Charles. I hope it was miscommunication and I hope we all learn from it," she responded. Momentarily, Matilde didn't like the team, but she couldn't show it. She had to deal and work with it. "And I didn't celebrate the win with Max. People told me there wouldn't be a party because of the early flight the next day, so I wanted to get a drink at the hotel. I bumped into Gemma, my best friend. She works as a PR manager for Red Bull, and she dragged me to the restaurant. If I knew about your dinner, I obviously wouldn't have done it."

He pressed his lips into a thin line and he looked at her, it looked like she regretted everything.

"I have my friends at Red Bull. Max and I joined Red Bull at the same time, we 'grew up' together, I met my friend group there. And everyone assumes I moved to Ferrari to spy for Christian. When we see each other, we briefly talk about F1, we mostly talk about bullshit and ourselves, not about our work. I signed a million documents, they signed a million documents, why do people assume we share the team's deepest secrets?"

"You don't have to explain yourself, Matilde. I understand you." Charles knew it was better if she could just rant, let it all out, he wanted to let her know that it was safe to rant with him.

"And this morning, I got here and it was basically the same thing all over again. The ceremony thing and the board meeting I wasn't told about." Her voice cracked and she let out a loud sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," Charles replied and put his espresso next to him on the wall. He wrapped his arm around her and rubbed her arm.

Matilde leaned into the comforting gesture. Fortunately, she was wearing sunglasses. "I just want to do what's best for the team. I do what I think is the best," she admitted, her voice filled with raw emotion. "And I know this role isn't for softies, but there's just so much friction."

"Ferrari is a tough team to work with. I can't approve of what happened this week, but it's been a stressful time," he shared.

She straightened her back and dried her eyes. "Thanks." Matilde looked at him. They held each other's gaze for a few seconds. Charles shared a warm smile, Matilde couldn't help, but smile because of his smile. "God, this isn't professional. I am sorry."

Charles chuckled. "Team principal or not, you have feelings and sometimes you have to let them out. This stays between us, alright?"

"Thank you." She got up and looked around. "Let's get back to work. I have a feeling there are more wins in store for us."

Next chapter

[bluelolblue]

❦ Touch Starved Together ❦

This is inspired by this post by the amazing @thewhumpcaretaker <3

Okay, this one got out of hand... HAND >:] because this is for the "Giving them a handjob while their head is in your lap, staring lovingly up at you" prompt, and I got carried away. I also wrote it while being sick, lmao, so yeah, my mind was just all over the place, but I managed eheh. The prompt was just too juicy, I couldn't resist :P

Enjoy freshly baked husbands Santino and John being horny and very loving and soft with each other :]

Smut, handjob with fluff and soft moments

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈•

One day off his duties was all Santino got and from John’s perspective, it looked like the Camorra prince wasn't going to take it easy on himself.

It's been a few months since they got married, and John knew that his husband was going to be like this, he knew that even when they were dating. Santino was just that type of a person and John accepted him.

Sure, Santino wanted everything to be done on time and if that meant to use his day off to do things, he was going to do exactly that. However, there was no need for that today. He was just what John thought and called him jokingly a few times, workaholic. That got Santino calling him names in both English and Italian. So, better not to actually say it to him, John learned that the hard way. At least he got some kisses before bed from Santino to reconcile.

Today, John figured out a new tactic.

“Come drink coffee with me on the couch,” John called from the other side of the door.

“Can't. Busy,” Santino replied, just what John thought would happen.

“Your favorite cappuccino,” the assassin tried again. He heard a long annoyed sigh before his husband muttered.

“Leave it in my office.”

“No, you can't enjoy it then.” John crossed his arms and leaned against the door. “Fine, be like this.”

“John, is it so hard to just leave it in my office?” He could hear frustration in Santino's voice.

“You're having a day off, and you're locked inside your office. Not very relaxing.”

Santino sighed deeply, muttering something in Italian as he pinched his eyes closed. “You know what? I don't want it anyway.”

Great, he was being even more stubborn now.

“Okay. We don't need coffee, I guess I'll be drinking wine alone then,” John paused, “And I was going to give you something else since it's been a while… you know.”

Wine and something more? That was everything Santino loved. He knew what John was trying to hint at, his partner really knew him too well.

There was silence for a minute, John could tell Santino was thinking about it. He walked away, smirking to himself because he knew that he had made his stubborn husband really think about it.

Unnecessary work or drinking wine with his husband?

John poured himself a glass of red wine, prepared a glass for his partner and headed to the big sofa in the living room. It was then when Santino emerged from his office.

“Changed your mind?” John asked.

“My head hurts,” Santino murmured, but looked like he was in some kind of discomfort. Of course that sitting on a chair for a few hours had its impact on his whole body.

John stood up, giving up on his idea to just have Santino come to him. He held his shoulders and placed a kiss on his forehead, “Do you want a painkiller first?”

The other man hummed, considering the option, but wine sounded better. “No. Maybe later, now I want the wine.” He looked up at his husband who smiled softly and nodded. When Santino was like this, he was just too adorable and he wasn't even trying to be. Just something John noticed and loved so much about him.

He handed him the glass of wine and had to stop him from just chugging it down. “Hey, take it easy.” John patted his shoulder, “We're supposed to enjoy it and it won't help with the headache that way.”

Santino listened this time and sat down with his companion. John immediately leaned for a kiss on his neck, making the other man sigh in pleasure as he took a sip of the wine. “So, you said you want to give me something else… what is that?” Santino tilted his head for another kiss on the lips this time.

His husband hummed as he pressed a tender kiss on his lips, pulling back for a second only to go for another, deeper one. John sucked on his bottom lip and lightly licked into his mouth once Santino allowed it.

The assassin gently brushed his thumb against his partner's cheek, that would always make him melt into the kiss. Santino loved when his face would be held in moments like these, or well, any loving touch from John. Only from his husband.

“Rest your head on my lap. I promise it'll help with your headache,” John suggested.

“John, that's not what I thought…” Santino looked away, a blush appeared on his face.

“C'mon, you won't regret it.” His companion smirked, and Santino couldn't help not to resist him. He took one last sip of his drink before he decided to do it.

John gave him enough space to lie down and rest his head in his lap. Santino couldn't lie, it felt good. The couch was soft and his husband's lap felt even better under his head. He looked up at him, a smile immediately formed on both of their faces, even if Santino was a little embarrassed. He was still getting used to being treated gently, with care and love and only John was able to show him that.

He was feeling vulnerable, like a cat that had its belly exposed in a way of showing trust.

“There you go, just relax,” John murmured, caressing his face. Santino looked even more beautiful like this, he leaned into his partner's palm, sighing softly as he relaxed. “The last time I've seen you like this was on our honeymoon. I really miss it… miss you.”

Of course, Santino's work was the biggest cockblocker between them. Even if John managed to turn his husband's frustration from work into something more enjoyable, when he would fuck him in the office, suck him off there or take him slowly after everything to relax him, it only worked sometimes. Most of the time, Santino would just snap at him.

“Don't say that,” Santino said, placing his own hand on top of John's that was resting against his face. “You have me. I’m just busy.”

“You ignored your own health in that process as well.” John's free hand traveled over Santino's stomach, over his ribs, to his pelvis. “I can feel your ribs again.”

Santino made a quiet, frustrated noise and shifted a little under his touch, “Stop that,” he muttered, shutting his eyes closed. He was aware that he lost some weight again due to overworking himself and not eating much.

“Okay,” John whispered but still slipped that hand under his husband's shirt, feeling his soft skin, how he shivered as a response to his touch. “You're touch starved, hm?”

Santino's eyes snapped open. Was John really teasing him?

“Don't flatter yourself.” Then again, the Camorra prince bit back a moan when John's fingers brushed against his dick through the boxers. “I-I'm not.” He hated how he almost whimpered that sentence, making himself look and sound more vulnerable.

His partner chuckled softly, running his other hand through Santino's curls, “Doesn't seem that way.”

Santino groaned, closing his eyes when he saw how John looked at him. He got the reaction he wanted.

“Let me take care of you. I vowed to do it, didn't I?” It was beautiful, Santino was just remembering it. Something he will never forget.

He murmured a quiet “yeah” and felt his husband's hand gently pat his head while with his other hand he cupped his crotch, massaging his cock and balls.

There was another whimper from the man resting on him, but he didn't protest, he let John touch him, take care of him. It felt good, he loved his husband's big hands and they felt amazing on his body. On his neck, chest, ass, dick, anywhere. By the time John slipped his hand under Santino's boxers, he was already half hard.

“John,” Santino moaned, looking up at him. It was that needy look, begging for more, for John to just take him.

“I know,” John replied, helping him pull his pants down enough to pull his cock out. “Let yourself enjoy. You deserve it, okay?” He slowly stroked his dick, feeling how he was getting fully hard.

His husband let out a soft whimper as he gripped onto John's shirt, hiding his face into him. Again, he felt how his partner caressed his head, going through his hair and making soothing noises.

“Keep doing that,” Santino breathed out as he looked up at him again.

“Like this?” John asked and rubbed him a little faster.

“Mhm…” His partner whimpered and took a deep breath, exhaling as he looked into his eyes, reaching to touch his husband's face. John leaned into it, feeling how Santino caressed his cheek. “Don't stop. Please…” There was something more he meant by that. The loving look, that soft tone in his voice. It was Santino's way of asking him to not give up on him.

“Never.” If John had told him this every day, he would. Every day, he was going to show him that he was not going to give up on him. He placed his hand on top of his, kissing into his palm while he worked on his dick with the other hand.

Santino gasped, slightly bucking his hips, urging his partner to stroke him faster. He was already leaking precum, which John spread over the tip, making him shiver. He was sensitive, needing any touch from his husband. He realized how much he missed this, how his body was reacting to it.

“Fuck, fuck-” He was cut off by his own moan, clinging onto John's shirt, again, pushing his face against him.

“Shh, don't rush yourself, it's okay,” the assassin whispered, gently caressing his face.

True. Santino would often chase his pleasure a bit too fast. Not letting himself enjoy, and his husband often had to remind him to take it easy, that he deserved it to last longer.

“I just need it,” the Camorra prince whimpered into his shirt.

His companion sighed, but nodded, understanding his wishes. However, he slowed down, giving him slower strokes from the base to the tip. He heard how Santino let out a long needy moan into him, shaking as he gripped onto his shirt harder.

“You're lucky we're married.” Ah, Santino's little angsty comments when he was overwhelmed. John loved that, because his husband always looked cute, not intimidating like that.

“And what would you do if we weren't?” The assassin teased, smirking and stroking him slightly faster.

“F-fuck you…” Santino bit back a whimper, or tried to since a little noise managed to escape him, making his husband chuckle.

“I'd like to see you try.” John decided to give it to him, he rubbed him faster, feeling how his partner’s dick twitched out more precum.

“Yes, yes yes,” the other man chanted, gasping, moaning and whimpering, getting more overwhelmed from the climax building up.

John felt him tense up against him, how he squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered, “J-John…”

“Let go,” the assassin encouraged, caressing his face, which made Santino look up at him, his eyes watery from the pleasure. “C'mon, baby. I got you.”

With a final stroke over the tip, Santino let out a long desperate moan that turned into a sob as he spilled over John's hand, shaking as his cock pulsed in his husband's hand.

“Good, very good,” John praised, helping him work out the aftershocks of orgasm, soothing him as he felt him twitch. “Breathe, don't hold your breath in, love.” He stroked his head, moving the messy curls off his forehead.

Santino sighed deeply as he came back to his senses. He was really this much touch starved if a handjob made him breathless. He looked up, catching his breath slowly. “I needed it,” he breathed out.

“I know,” John agreed and smiled softly. “Told you won't regret it.”

The Camorra prince hummed in agreement, closing his eyes for a brief moment only to open them and see how John sucked the cum off his fingers.

“Fuck,” Santino whispered, feeling himself blushing. He wanted to sit up, but John's lap felt so comfortable and he felt like he had no strength to sit. So instead he watched how John licked his cum, swallowing it. “You're so hot like that.”

“Mmm, you taste good,” John smirked, and both of them chuckled softly at each other. He helped his husband sit up and Santino immediately went for a kiss, tasting himself in his partner's mouth. He deepened the kiss, licking and nipping on his lips. Eventually, John pressed their foreheads together, sharing breaths, enjoying the moment.

“Thank you,” Santino murmured, “I didn't know your lap felt that comfortable…” he paused and smirked, “Against my head.”

“Right. First time for everything,” his husband said.

“I love you,” the Camorra prince said as they pulled back to look into each other's eyes. “I know I can be too much to handle-”

John cut him off, placing a peck on his forehead before speaking, “I love you, too. More than anything and you're perfect to me.” Another kiss on his forehead, “I want only the best for you, please remember that forever.”

The confession made the other man blush. John was maybe a man who didn't talk much, but for the person he loved so much, he always found words.

They shared a long kiss, it was Santino's way of thanking him for the beautiful words.

“So… should we finish wine? Or…” Santino trailed off, placing his hand over John's crotch, “Ah, thought something was poking me,” he winked playfully.

John pulled his husband's legs over his own, “Why not both?” He smirked and before the other man could reply, he was already being lifted into John's arms.

Santino whimpered but instinctively wrapped his arms over his companion's shoulders. “I like that idea,” he nuzzled his head against his neck, “Remind me just how fucking good you are,” he whispered against his ear, making John blush and slightly shiver.

There was the teasing Camorra prince John had married. He was back to him, ready for whatever was about to happen.

“Of course. I'll make you remember it.” John played along and it was Santino's turn to blush again.

Santino was too desperate for his husband and so touch starved that the handjob awakened the needy feline in him again. A spicy kitten that only John knew how to tame. Today, he got the chance to make his partner remember the pleasure and love that he deserved.

He also had to note down that wine and a handjob are two things Santino was willing to get out of his office for if he was being stubborn.

[adorastarot]

The FS' as coffee - Mini Reading

As a coffee lover myself - I couldn't help but make this my first-ever post! Enjoy!

What would you like to see next?

Jin' FS - Affogato

Jin’s FS has the most elegant energy I have ever seen and/or had the pleasure of working with. This is someone who reminds me of a poppy because they are fragile and strong at once. Naturally when it comes to coffee - it has to be affogato! A classic Italian coffee/dessert that is both rich and creamy all at once leaving you wanting more as soon as you finish. Elegant but somehow approachable and at times a little bit goofy as the affogato when you add a splash of alcohol or pair it with a biscotto for that extra crunch.

Suga's FS - Espresso

Hot-headed and at times stubborn but extremely compassionate and nurturing. As the espresso, this person is classical in their own way but can at times get lost in their own mind as it spirals. The espresso can be sweeter or bitter depending on the coffee beans used and so that this person. They use words in a way that can calm you down and feel better but if pressured and upset they know what to say to hurt you.

Namjoon's FS - Cappuccino

Who doesn’t like a cappuccino? A world favourite when it comes to coffee. This is someone who is very loved by those around her and who brings a sense of comfort to everyone. Bold and robust but at the same time earthy. Has a lot of knowledge about the world around them. Definitely beautiful and appreciated like a cup of cappuccino being served on the island of Capri with a beautiful view of the sea. This is someone who warms up everyone’s soul. I heard worldly but feels like home.

Jhope's fs - Americano

A ray of sunshine in person that brings a sense of comfort and warmth. This is the type of coffee that you would order when you’re about to go on shopping with your friends, or when you’re about to go on a trip to somewhere exciting. Jhope’s fs is just like an Americano. The distinction between the Americano and other black coffee is the espresso- whilst it wakes you up gently when excited this person can be very energetic and they are always doing something or making plans to do something. Very relatable.

Jimin's FS - Mocha

A bit silly and loveable like the mocha. Understands the fact that at times everyone needs a little bit of sweetness in their life and is willing to take the time to nurture those around them. May stick with Jimin the way that the chocolate sticks with the coffee inside a mocha, this couple is never apart. I wanted this post to be more about the FS’ themselves but these two just love spending time together. They understand that although they are different, together they are the perfect team.

Taehyung's FS - Flat White

Smooth and velvety just like the micro-foam milk in the flat white. This is someone who is different but traditional all at once. They are confident in their own strength against the world and are well-loved by some people. V’s fs might at first encounter a little bit of backlash from the public or even V’s close friends, but they will win them over with the same intensity of the flat white as it wakes people up in the morning. 

Jungkook's FS - Irish Coffee

Irish coffee…isn’t what it seems at first glance. If you simply look you may not realise the intensity and creaminess that awaits those who drink it. This person has a femme fatale feel to them at times, and at the same time, they can make themselves look cosy. The Irish coffee can sit with you at a bar as well as the Christmas table when it’s snowing outside. One thing is for sure - it’s vigour will leave you wanting more. 

[things-about-cars-in-posts]

hmm. conversely, most ADHD car?

(A dab o' context for y'all, this ask came hot off the heels of my most autistic car post, hence the "conversely".)

Well, when I read this, I had nothing. But then I thought about it a little, and suddenly, I continued to have nothing.

But you already know that, dear asker, because you're in the blog's Discord server which I turned to for suggestions. And in fact, you chipped in yourself with not one but two picks, first of which the fifth generation Ford Mustang!

So, pray tell, what brings my elementary school self's favorite car ever ever into this list?

uhh from like a cultural view its an unfocused and hyperactive car with a reputation of not going the way people want (see: crowd meme)

Oh, come on, are we really still not over that stereotype whereby late model Mustangs are owned by people both too eager to show off not to leave a car meet flooring it and too inept to actually keep it under control when they do?

Well, I guess to get over it it'll need to stop being true.

But also, being so much of an exhibitionist as to cause physical pain is not about ADHD at all!

Anyone I invite at my house gets bored to tears with a tour of my every possession...

...but not because I have ADHD!

Actually, you know what? That may really be it now that I think about it. Well, anyway, your submission is funny enough to earn a pass even if we don't see eye to eye on this anyway.

How about your second, though?

alternatively: late '90s to early 2000s tuner Civic, for the same reasons

While he included this picture, he advised to use a worse example, so I took the liberty to present you a historical picture.

I say historical because this picture was the definition of rice, the textbook example. If Wikipedia had a page for "rice (automotive)" it would feature this picture, probably second behind that blue early 90s Civic which in hindsight we were all wrong about and was actually sick.

Did you know this was made by a teenager out of metal? I'm digressing.

Friend of the blog (well, pillar of the blog at this point) @demoness-one agrees and suggests:

Honestly riced out clapped out honda civics did come to mind also But i feel like the car that most represents adhd is probably one that isn't finished lol Abstract concept of a car

But she wasn't the only one to vote for her own cars, as friend of the blog and Saturn SL1 owner @chevyventure posted a simple but effective contribution:

zero executive function between those eyes

Not as simple as friend of the blog @brick-enthusiast's, however, who just posted a Suzuki Cappuccino without comment.

In respect of that approach I will not comment either.

However, it's time to make my pick too, as in the process of writing this post I finally understood the assignment, and thus came up with something.

What's ADHD? As this blog demonstrates, sometimes it's being hyperfocused on something exciting, much to the detriment of things that actually matter in daily life. Sometimes it's said focus earning amazing results that seem disproportionate to one's means. Sometimes it's taking comfort in the routine, in deeply ingrained habits and tradition that still have to constantly be actively enforced as conscious choice. Sometimes it's being darty, shooting from point to point with speed other minds can't even keep up with. Sometimes it's having too much energy to contain. Sometimes it's... being loud? Oh really! I thought I was just being Italian!

And if you've read my 100th post, you'll know a car that fits that description to a T. (And if you haven't, click on here before reading on because you really want to.)

Indeed, what could be a better pick than a car that's stayed the same for nigh on seven decades in its devoted preservation of its ability to dart around like nothing else on the road, a car so perfromance-focused the comfort spec is the one that gets windows, a car not one bit less deafening than legally required? What could be a better pick than the Caterham Seven 620R, the literal world record holder for spinning around in circles?

And also just look at it.

If you're wondering about the number plate, it was made to celebrate its Lego version - yes indeed!

And if you can believe it, people still gifted me clothes for Christmas.

Links in blue are posts of mine about the topic in question: if you liked this post, you might like those - or the blog’s Discord server, linked in the pinned post!

[undressedhouseguest]

A diagnosed Sociopath’s morning coffee

A disgnosed Sociopath’s morning coffee starts and ends just like yours. Awakening, I hit snooze a few times while I take in the sound of those last few heavy sleeping breaths my partner lets out in a deep sigh. She’s not a particularly heavy sleeper, but thankfully, my alarm has never seemed to wake her.

Scene: An Italian-style upstairs downstairs house. As disorganised as a house would be with an ADHD girlfriend, with beautiful sunlight beaming through three front windows on both floors.

The carpet upstairs makes for a splendid low-maintenance footstep muffler, although I have never had much trouble with sneaking around. I was always told that I have incredible light feet, which I taught myself to do when sneaking into conversations where I elicit information to later use to my advantage. At times, my light feet scares my girlfriend.

I can usually leave to the train station to my day job within 45 minutes, on my way to that coffee I so long for. I transition between long blacks and cappuccinos dependent on the season. My usual baristas are terrible conversationalists, which I think is to their advantage when they’re unlikely to hear a single truth from me anyway.

From the beginning to the end of that coffee, I think of my condition. Throughout the day into my evening, I think of my condition. Every day since I was young, I think of writing, but I become too bored by the second paragraph and never look back on any old writing again – I purge it from my memory and do not understand what I was experiencing at the time of writing it.

I wonder what has given me the motivation to write now, and I believe it only to be awareness, and to see myself like a subject in the same manner I see other people. The lists I have made of the lying, deceit, stealing, manipulative, callous nature of me is educational at best, and not something that makes me wish to change my behaviour in the slightest.

I have a moral and ethical code I follow to show others that I care, and a lot of my behaviour is subconscious until I overhear a reference to someone’s ex that lied and stole their money, bringing me back to a time where I did just that and forgot about it. The first thought that often comes to my mind is “they must have done a poor job if they were caught”.

I’m unsure of how consistent my posts on this blog will be, due to that prone to boredom detail I spoke about earlier. I am a wilting rose, both a sociopath but wanting to provide insights into me, into us, as a sub-unit of people that could be otherwise considered sub-human. I am a human, I do exist, and often a houseguest you invite into your home.

I am in spaces you would wish I never were, and this blog is a place for me to unmask, and undress.

My best,

D. L. Houseguest