To every single person in the LGBTQIA+ community, I am proud of you, you are amazing and you belong here. Pride is for every single letter, not just one or the other.
Even if you’re not out yet, even if you’re fully out, even if you don’t think you’ll ever be out. You deserve to be here, you are loved and you are welcome and deserve to be proud, right along side everyone else.
Let’s not forget that being out and proud is a privilege.
No matter what, I’m proud of you and who you are are, and you are safe here with me.
Happy pride my loves! 🏳️🌈🏳️⚧️
Don’t forget, pride is needed because there are still people in our community who think they’re better off dead just because of who they are and existing for loving differently 💛
Hii!! Good luck for final week I can't wait to read your work again :))) hope you're doing okay !
hii maxxxx!!! i missed you!! finals are done im finally free from acads for now 🥲 im in the process of writing an academic rivals enemies to lovers oneshot 🥰🥰🥰 its not halfway done though!! i hope you are doing well also!!
omg ur back, i missed you sm!! hope you’ve been okay <3
LUMIII HII OMG I’VE MISSED YOU!! im not fully back yet... it’s finals week (currently dying but also about to be liberated from nursing yey🤞) im doing okay!! i hope you’ve been good too!! how are you?
i hope (fingers crossed) that i'll be able to post one fic by the end of this week (which is tomorrow). i have been in the writer's block for sooo long this is making me feel insane. i have like a thousand drafts theres some docs that just has one word in it 😭 its all unfinished stories help
also I LOVED ETERNITY SO MUCH my non-marvel friends loved it too which means i can ran my mouth about how much i love elizabeth with no shame
you’re not desperate. unless you count ordering the same thing every day because of a pretty girl as desperate. because then you might be.
word count: 2.2k ish
warnings: fluff. gay panic
a/n: i think we all need more coffee shop au’s in our lives. also welcome to my first official marvel fic hehe.
You’re hit with the pungent smell of coffee as soon as the door opens, and your nose involuntarily wrinkles in disgust. Coming here wasn’t your idea. You had been on your way to the library with Carol when she spotted the coffee shop, quietly tucked away in a corner. And Carol, always needing a caffeine fix, had excitedly dragged you with her, raving the entire time about some new drink she had wanted to try.
“Come on Y/n! You’re blocking the doorway!”
Carol’s voice and shove pushes you into the coffee shop, and you crane your neck back to smile apologetically at the elderly couple who were standing behind you.
The shop itself has a cozy feel to it, string lights hanging from wall to wall and soft jazz playing in the background. If you googled “coffee shop”, something that looked similar would probably come up.
You make your way absentmindedly to the counter, tagging along behind Carol who was currently placing her order. You take the time to read all the signs on the walls, with no intention of getting anything yourself when Carol punches your arm.
“Hey! What was that for?!”
“You were spacing out.” Carol jerks her head towards the counter. “The barista’s asking if you want anything.”
You start to answer. “No I’m goo-“ The rest of your statement dies in your throat when you look up.
Your eyes meet her green ones and everything else fades away. You notice how her auburn hair falls messily out of her bun, how her lips are slightly parted, and you honestly think the barista just might be the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen.
The girl’s cheeks are slightly pink when she asks, “Sorry what was that?”.
You hear her accent, and it takes everything for you to not melt then and there. What was it? Russian? Eastern European for sure but my god it was pretty. Thirty seconds or so seem to have gone by when you realize you’re probably staring and that she’s expecting an answer. You clear your throat.
“I- um-“ You start to panic. “What do you have?”
The girl looks a little surprised at the question. “Um- well we make pretty much anything that’s on that menu back there” She gestures to the giant chalkboard behind her.
Your cheeks flush slightly in embarrassment. “Right um-“ You squint and read the board, panicking slightly at the unfamiliar words written there. You end up saying the first thing you see. “I’ll um- take a flat…white?” Your answer comes out as more of a question, and it makes the girl in front of you giggle slightly.
“Are you sure?”
You nod quickly. “Y-yup I uh- love flat whites.” You grimace internally at that.
The girl just smiles, writing down your order and you take this as a chance to compose yourself. Your deep breath is cut short when she speaks again.
“Can I get your name?”
You almost fall over. “S-sorry w-what?”
“I need your name” She pauses, specifying. “For the order.”
You want to slap yourself. “Oh- yeah right- of course- Y/n.” You cut yourself short to free yourself of your bumbling.
“Well, Y/n, I’ll have that ready in just a few minutes.”
You smile and nod, your face burning like it’s never had before.
When you step away from the counter, you turn and you see Carol grinning like the biggest idiot ever.
Your face flushes more if possible. “Please don’t say anything-“
Carol cuts you off. “I promise I totally won’t share your gay disaster story with all of our friends later.”
You groan. “You’re terrible.”
Your conversation stops when you hear your name, the barista holding your cup of coffee in hand. You reach for it almost hesitantly, the cup almost slipping when your fingers accidentally brush hers. Your face burns as you mumble a thank you, and when you hear her accented “Have a nice day Y/n”, you try your best not to pass out.
You somehow manage to make it out of the shop in one piece, and the whole way to the library, you try to ignore Carol’s relentless teasing and barking laughter.
~~
You come back a week later.
It’s early in the morning so the line is quite long, and it gives you the perfect time to rehearse what you’re going to say. I think I need a map because I’m getting lost in your eyes. Dammit Y/n that’s not going to cut it.
Your brain is racking up ideas and you’re trying to figure out how to explain that you really hate coffee when it’s your turn to order.
Your heart is pounding and you open your mouth to speak but close it quickly when you see that she’s not the one taking your order. Behind the counter this time is a rather tall and attractive man with slicked back silver hair and you can’t believe you didn’t think about work schedules.
You debate whether or not to leave when you hear a familiar voice coming from behind the guy.
“Wait Pietro I’m gonna get this next order.”
The guy turns and looks back and forth between the two of you and smirks, turning around to say something in another language you didn’t understand. He laughs when he’s shoved softly and moves to the side to reveal the same girl from yesterday.
Seeing her makes everything that you’ve rehearsed disappear. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but she beats you to it.
“Let me guess, same thing as last time Miss Flat White Lover?”
She smiles playfully when she says it, and she looks so pretty even in the crappy coffee shop lighting that all you can do is smile back and nod.
You try to play it off though. “Y-yeah of course. Wouldn’t want anything else.” The barista smiles at you as she grabs a cup. “I’m Wanda by the way.” The name makes you smile. Wanda. Pretty name for a pretty girl you think.
“Oh- thanks.” Wanda’s cheeks are pink.
Your cheeks flush red in mortification as you realize what you did. “Did I say that out loud?”. Your face burns more when she nods. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-“
She saves you from your misery. “Don’t worry. It’s okay, I honestly could say the same about you.” Your knees go a little weak at that. It’s shouldn’t be possible for your face to get any more red, but it does.
“Um- Well, Y/n, I’ll have it ready at the end over there for you.” You nod and step back from the counter, risking another glance back at Wanda, who unhelpfully meets your gaze and smiles at you.
You tell yourself you’re being normal.
Normal people come back to coffee shops. Normal people smile at baristas. Normal people definitely do not replay a stranger’s voice in their head on loop for a week straight, or practice pickup lines in the mirror, or order a drink they hate just because a pretty girl remembered it.
So you’re being normal.
You wait near the end of the counter like Wanda told you to, hands shoved into the sleeves of your jacket to keep yourself from fidgeting. Pietro, because apparently his name is Pietro, shoots you a knowing look as he passes by with another drink, eyebrow quirking upward like he’s in on some joke you weren’t aware existed.
You pretend not to notice.
You watch Wanda instead.
She moves easily behind the counter, comfortable in the space, sleeves pushed up slightly as she works. There’s a rhythm to the way she makes drinks, confident, practiced, and you find yourself smiling without realizing it. Every so often, she glances over at you, and every time she does, your stomach flips unpleasantly and pleasantly all at once.
You look away first every time.
When your drink is finally ready, Wanda calls your name softly, like it’s something she’s testing out.
“Y/n.”
You swear it sounds different when she says it.
You walk over, heart pounding, and take the cup from her. This time, you’re careful not to brush her fingers, even though a small part of you is disappointed when you don’t.
“Thanks,” you say, and then immediately panic because that sounds too abrupt. “I mean, thank you.”
She laughs quietly. “You’re welcome.”
There’s a brief pause. One of those moments where it feels like something should be said, but neither of you knows what yet.
Wanda tilts her head slightly. “So… how is it?”
You glance down at the cup in your hands. The flat white. Your nemesis.
“It’s great,” you lie, forcing a smile.
She squints at you, unconvinced. “You don’t sound very sure.”
You freeze. She knows. Somehow, impossibly, she knows.
“I—” You sigh, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Confession. I actually don’t like coffee.”
Her eyes widen. “You don’t?”
You shake your head. “I think it tastes… burnt. And bitter. And kind of like regret.”
She stares at you for half a second before laughing, full and unrestrained, and the sound does something warm and dangerous to your chest.
“Then why do you keep ordering it?”
You hesitate, then shrug helplessly. “Because… it was the first thing I saw. And you looked really nice. And my brain stopped working.”
Her smile softens at that. “You know, we make other things too.”
“I figured,” you say weakly.
“What do you actually like?”
You think for a moment. “Tea. Sweet stuff. Hot chocolate. Things that don’t hate me.”
Wanda nods thoughtfully. “Next time, I’ll make you something better.”
Next time.
The words echo in your head, bright and hopeful.
“I’d like that,” you say quietly.
Another pause. This one lingers a little longer.
“Well,” Wanda says, glancing over her shoulder as someone calls for her attention, “I should probably get back to work.”
“Yeah. Of course. Sorry.” You step back quickly, almost tripping over your own feet.
She smiles again. “It was nice seeing you, Y/n.”
“You too,” you blurt out, then wince. “I mean — seeing you too.”
She laughs softly as you retreat, dignity hanging by a thread.
You don’t go to the library that day.
Instead, you sit on a bench outside the coffee shop, nursing your drink and pretending it doesn’t taste awful while replaying every second of the interaction in your head.
~~
You come back the next day.
And the day after that.
Sometimes Wanda is there. Sometimes she isn’t. On the days she is, she always smiles when she sees you. On the days she isn’t, Pietro takes your order with a smug grin and asks if you’re “waiting for someone.”
You deny it every time.
Eventually, Wanda stops asking if you’re sure about the flat white.
Eventually, she starts making you something else without even asking.
The first time she hands you a cup of hot chocolate instead, she watches your face carefully as you take a sip.
Your eyes widen. “Oh. Oh wow.”
She beams. “Better?”
“So much better.”
“Good,” she says, like that was important to her.
One morning, when the shop is quieter than usual, she leans across the counter a little closer to you.
“You come here a lot,” she says lightly.
You swallow. “Yeah.”
“Is it for the drinks?” she teases.
You meet her eyes, heart pounding. “I think we both know it’s not.”
Her smile falters — just slightly — before returning, warmer than before.
“Good,” she says.
Your routine becomes a thing.
You show up around the same time. Wanda makes your drink. Sometimes you talk about nothing-- books, the weather, the terrible jazz playlist that seems to be on permanent rotation. Sometimes you just stand there in comfortable silence, exchanging small smiles.
One morning, you notice a book tucked under the counter.
“Is that… The Bell Jar?” you ask.
Wanda’s eyes light up. “You’ve read it?”
“Yeah,” you say. “It ruined me emotionally.”
She laughs. “Same.”
From then on, books become a topic. She recommends you novels. You bring up ones you’ve loved. Once, you come in holding a copy of her favorite book, and she looks at you like you’ve given her something precious.
Carol notices, of course.
“You’re in love,” she declares one afternoon, sipping her iced coffee.
“I am not.”
“You literally rearranged your class schedule so you could come here in the mornings.”
“That was a coincidence.”
“You don’t even like coffee.”
You glare at her. She grins.
It happens on a rainy afternoon.
The shop is nearly empty, the windows fogged up, rain tapping softly against the glass. You’re lingering longer than usual, half-finished drink in your hands.
Wanda dries her hands on a towel and looks over at you.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
She hesitates, then takes a breath. “Do you… want to go out sometime?”
Your brain short-circuits.
“Like.. out out,” she clarifies quickly. “Not here. Somewhere else. With me.”
You stare at her for a second, then smile so hard your cheeks hurt.
“I’d really like that.”
Her shoulders relax, relief washing over her face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She grins. “Good. Because Pietro was getting tired of watching me pine.”
“Pine?” you repeat.
She laughs. “You should hear the things he says about you.”
You blush. “I’m scared to ask.”
She scribbles something down on a napkin and slides it across the counter.
“My number,” she says softly. “In case you want to… you know.”
You tuck it into your pocket like it’s something sacred.
“I’ll text you,” you promise.
“I hope so.”
As you leave the shop, rain-soaked and smiling, you realize something important.
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