Hey guyssss! So I'd like to introduce my work to all of you, it's a Y/n reader fanfic, an inserted character in the MCU, starting story at The Winter Soldier to show her hardships and her story. This is the epilogue of my fanfic story called "Nocturna Series book 1: The Winter and Cyrevra by S.D. Requiem, and I really wish for you guys to give it a shot and support me through this because I've put my heart and love into this fanfic so I really wish that you guys give this a shot🤧
The story is about a girl— (you the reader), was kidnapped by hydra and had Bucky as your friend during Hydra era.
The story is ongoing, I've only released 5 chapters, because the others are undergoing editing because there's tons of grammatical errors. Also it's in the title as well, Series. This won't be the only book, I plan to make the age of ultron, avengers, and civil war series where the romance will start. Yes there will be a romance. Because after that... Homecoming will soon happened✨ Where the reader's love interest is Peter Parker.
Other than that... I hope you guys enjoy the story, and support it. Read my ongoing story!
This is a short intro to a story series I want to write about Steve returning the infinity stones, lmk if you would want the other parts released :), I wanted to write this to explore some theories and questions I've seen online since the films release which as these...
Word count: 941 (I'm just testing the waters with this story so the intros short)
CW: slight body gore (?) to describe Tony
Summary: Steve taking the stones from Tony and preparing to go back in time and return the infinity stones
Extra: let me know if you want me to write/post the other parts of this story or if I missed any cw's
Whilst most of the others stood within their homes, reconnecting and rejoicing, deserved of course Steve knew that. Tony's funeral was as good as it could have been really, he noticed the guardians came, as well as some kid from Tony's old iron man days, Steve didn't really take too much notice of what happened afterwards he had one more job left to do.
The job fell on him due to Mjölnir, Thor had taken the first ship out of new asgard to explore space with the rabbit, he didn't stay too long. I assume he's had his fill of funerals within his time. It fell to Steve to return the stone as other than thor he was the only one capable of lifting Mjölnir and with the stones he also needed to return Mjölnir from when his thor had taken him form asgard 2012, otherwise that thor would have no hammer causing a whole heap of mess the TVA would need to fix.
Steve had grabbed Mjölnir and suited up, the ruble still felt still against the ground of the old avengers compound, some dust still floated within the cold bitter air, whilst Tony's original arc reactor drifted along the river bend for the avengers to see, his real body still needed to be, deconstructed. Happy wanted his suit taken apart to display in pepper and Morgan's home whilst Nick Fury got word that some government officials wanted it for their museum, Steve was disgusted by the thought of one of their possessions that bought them to victory being displayed in a museum, steve offered to take his suit apart whilst collecting the stones.
Steve's scuffed up boots hit the ground approaching where Tony laid still, against one of the walls from the compound that had collapsed. Steve's feet against the shattered rubble on the ground sent a shocking amount of noise through the air, it was about dawn however all the dust continued to fill the sky creating the grey effect that covered the aftermath of the battle. Steve managed to make it to Tony's body without cracking, it wasn't until Steve kneeled down, he fought in his head whether to distance himself from the billionaire, shut his eyes, rip the glove of and peel the stones, but when Steve looked into his friends eyes, cracked almost popping out of his skull with dried blood stuck to his beard Steve placed his hand against the arc reactor, looked upwards towards the rubble and choked out…
‘We won’
He tried not to look at Tony too much, every nickname he ever flung at Steve stuck in the back of his mind. Steve silently prayed for some quippy remark from the man such as “please tell me nobody kissed me” but Tony laid still. Steve managed to take the glove off of Tony's hands; it had connected itself with his nanotech within the suit before it shut down, so Steve had to basically tear it apart from Tony's corpse. Steve managed to open the briefcase beside him and tear out each of the stones placing them one by one carefully in the case, all whilst waiting for Tony's voice to awaken, but his arc rector much like him was powered off.
_____________
‘And remember, you have to return the stones to the exact moment in time they were taken or else you're gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities' Bruce said handing Steve the case.
‘Don't worry Bruce, clip all the branches’ Bruce went on to describe his attempt at bringing Natasha back. Clint had tried describing to the others that anything done for the soul stone was irreversible, Steve doesn't blame Bruce for trying, he wouldn't kid himself by pretending he wasn't thinking about grabbing natasha from before Vormir and dragging her back through the portal with him, or for that matter grabbing Tony.
‘Don't do anything stupid until I get back’ Steve said whilst looking at the man he once thought he had lost to the snow.
‘How can I ? you're taking all the stupid with you’ Bucky returned the phrase before pulling Steve into a hug.
‘How long is this gonna take?’ Sam asked, ‘for him as long as he needs, for us five seconds’
As long as he needs felt like a peaceful response for steve, he didn't know how these stones worked, if it wasn't for the hammer this job could have gone to so many other people, steve had encountered the tesseract early on in his super serum era however the task of returning them without opening up other realities was somewhat out of this perceived realm of possibilities, he owed fury a lot more than 10$ at this point for what he's seen as his time as an avenger.
Steve stepped on the teleporter or time heist bubble, Steve was intelligent for his time but he doesn't fully grasp the names of all these things. He picked up Mjölnir and the briefcase as the portal began buzzing, a similar experience to the first time he did this with Tony and Scott, the buzzing in his ear, the slight feeling of his body's cells being compressed, however this time as he looked around he could only see slight reflections in the particles of his own body.
Steve clutched the briefcase tighter as well as Mjölnir as he landed into his first mission. The teleport was set up by Bruce so he would be able to return the stones one by one in the correct timelines, being able to jump to the next one he needed, shouldn't take him too long six stones six missions.
_________________
A/N: I know this is short but I just wanted to see if people were interested in this idea and I wrote this just to get the idea out of my head :)
Looking for a Tony x Pepper fanfic with adoption, pregnancy, and attack sceneHi! I’m trying to find a fanfic I read a while ago but I can’t seem to find it anywhere now. If anyone recognizes it, I’d really appreciate the help!Here’s what I remember:Tony Stark and Pepper Potts adopt a baby boy during or after a mission.The child is not Peter Parker or Harley, just an original character (OC).As the story goes on, Pepper becomes pregnant with her and Tony’s biological child.There’s a scene (or maybe more than one) where Pepper and their adopted son are attacked or in danger — I think this was a turning point in the story.The focus is on family, emotional development, and some action/drama.I’ve searched AO3 and FanFiction.net but haven’t found anything that matches all of these elements. Maybe it was deleted, but I’m hoping someone recognizes it.Tags:#tonystark #pepperpotts #ironman #fanficsearch #foundfamily #pregnancy #adoption #hurtcomfort #protectivefamily #marvelfanfictionThanks in advance!
I think I forgot to share this on here because I've been sick... it's a commission I had done by @artwinx for Moon & Stars, my fic on Wattpad/Ao3. It's my OFC Syd and Bucky enjoying a private moment at a cat cafe. Go support @artwinx and maybe give my fic a read (links in bio, updates every Sunday)
Prompt: A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in short change and a letter handwritten by a 9-year old girl.
Type: Series
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader's daughter (platonic obviously), Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Genre: fluff, action, slight angst, might get smutty but idk yet
Warnings: Be prepared for some adult language! Nothing too crazy in this first part though, we're just getting started so that's my only warning for now.
Word count: 1.6k
Send me an ask to let me know if you wanna be added to/removed from the taglist!!
This post was Beta'd by @mariekoukie6661. Thanks a million!
A/N: Thought I'd throw my hand at a prompted fic! Hope you guys like it, I'll add a chapter directory and update as needed as the next parts are posted. So stay tuned 👀 Text dividers made by @firefly-graphics <3
Every morning is always the same when you're paid to kill. He'd been trying to be better about the whole actual killing part lately, but that didn't change his morning routine very much. He woke up to the sound of his alarm clock going off—yes, he still used one. If you asked for his reasoning, he'd tell you it's because it's less complicated and you can always count on it to work because it simply stayed plugged into the wall; in the event that the power went out? It had batteries for backup power, and you can't find that kind of peace of mind with just the alarms on your phone. He's still an old soul, sue him. He woke up at 6:45 am, on the dot, every morning without fail that way so it was rather effective.
After the blaring sound of his trusty alarm clock came the process of forcing himself out of bed and cleaning up for the day; shaving if necessary, freshening up, getting dressed, the works. This was generally when he'd change his appearance should the need arise, as well. But he didn't need to do that this morning and so he flicked the light to the bathroom off as he left the room when he was finished, heading out to his kitchen thereafter. The next step? Food. It was always 7 am sharp by the time he got done with his wakeup process, the only time that changed being when he added any extra steps in the bathroom. And breakfast was always simple: a cup of hot black coffee, sliced avocado, and bread toasted to perfection with an egg over medium to be dipped in. And it never failed to be a pleasant way to start his morning, usually followed closely after by a session of watching the morning news. He found it a good way to see what was going on in the area and across the country so he could plan accordingly.
If he didn't have a job, which by chance was the case today, he'd generally find any sort of quiet way to spend the rest of his morning; reading a book, cleaning up all his weapons, or a walk in the park if he felt like it. Today, he felt like it. And it was mostly peaceful, if you excluded the grating sound of car horns, tires squealing, and buses chuffing past. And of course, if you chose to ignore the rumbling from the subway, the people shouting either in their urgency to get to work or just simply because they were an ass, then it was really utterly plain and quiet to walk through Central Park. By this point Bucky had truly gotten used to it. He supposed in some ways it wasn't too much different from his home in the past. But that didn't mean he liked to spend too much time there anyway. So long as he got out and went back home just in time, he could skip the gradeschoolers and dog walkers that came around for the afternoon.
There had been nothing unusual about his day so far, and he liked that. He liked the rhythm of it all, and how it always went according to his carefully curated schedule. He began the process of unlocking his apartment door after making his way up to his floor, and pushed it open to take a step inside. Crunch.
What the helll...?
Bucky frowned as, seemingly, something sat under his boot and crinkled where he'd stepped, making the same sound again as he carefully pried his foot off. The poor, crisply folded, paper envelope that had earlier been slotted through his dead-drop, suffered a dirt-covered footprint but aside from that, it seemed harmless and intact as he picked it up to inspect it. A curious thing to find when you hardly get mail aside from the bills. What was even more curious was the contents within it, feeling a bit lumpy and—quite frankly—heavy for a letter-sized envelope. He closed the door behind himself with one hand, locking it once again out of habit while the other kept hold of the envelope. Moments later he flicked out a switchblade to slice it open revealing not only a handwritten letter but also $23.42.....Exactly. All in small change.
It was quite honestly the oddest thing he'd seen or received to date, and that was including the number of quite-literal backstabs he'd received, numerous other maiming injuries, and the odd encounters he’d had with a talking raccoon, tree, and robot...man…thing. To name a few. That was also including the number of odd jobs he'd been offered and peculiar payment methods he'd been given. Never had he come across such a specific payment with a letter that….upon further inspection….looked as though its penman couldn't be much older than 9 years old, at most.
'Dear mister,
My name is Rosie Jones. I am 9 yeers old. My mommy says you're vary good at helping people. Well, I need your help. Mommy also said you like to be paid for helping, so I broke my piggy bank open so you wood help us. Mommy doesn't know yet thoe, so please don't tell her.
My mommy dissuhpeered disappeered last night. She told me to hide and I did but now I can't find her and so I need your help mister becuz you're really good at finding people too, mommy said so. Please please help me find my mommy, I don't know what to do mister.
– Rosie'
"You've gotta be shitting me." He muttered to himself. The first question Bucky had, quite honestly, was how did this little girl even know who he was? Or where he lived? Not many people did, if any, truth be told. If they did? They were usually dead within minutes. It was one of many reasons that kept his renowned status intact. But here he was, sitting at his own table, with proof that some little girl knew both of those things. Frowning down at the paper and envelope of change, the assassin ran his hand back through his dark brown hair momentarily, processing what he'd just read. On one hand, it could be an elaborate trap. By all rights he had to assume it, considering the nature of the letter and the fact that a little girl of all people had written it. But on the other hand, there was a certain dedication there that he simply couldn't ignore. And some part of him couldn't help but at least look into it. So moments later, the man was pulling out his laptop and began searching for answers, anything that could give this little girl's story any sort of credit.
Much to his surprise? It checked out. Every last bit of it. There was a mother, connected to the Rosie Jones in question, who had gone missing under rather mysterious circumstances. "I'll be damned, mystery kiddo."
'Y/N Jones, aged 37, a single mother, was nowhere to be found the next morning after reports came in that a struggle and silenced gunshots were heard from the house that night.'
He probably could have gotten away with just keeping the money and letting it go. It was some little kid somewhere hoping for someone to hear her plea, he could get away with it. But it was that name…. he'd seen it before, he knew he had. In all fairness though, he really only remembered faces exceptionally well. Names didn't matter in the long run, names didn't tell him who he was shooting within a crowd of people. So why did it keep nagging at the back of his mind?...
Spoiler alert: he shouldn't have went digging. He should have just left it alone. But he had always been a curious mind and he was nothing if not thorough on top of that. Popping open the top to his bottle of whiskey, Bucky carefully poured out a favorable portion into a glass tumbler, before letting it down onto the counter as he heard an agreeable noise coming from his laptop to signal it had finished its task. Glancing over his shoulder, he sipped on his drink as he made his way back over to the table, having waited for what seemed like an hour to get the information he wanted. And the minute he looked at the screen was the very same minute he regretted it.
He knew that face.
He knew it like the back of his hand almost, he knew it the same way he knew the taste of bourbon or the sound of a .22 magnum. That was the face of Y/N Y/L/N and it was a face he had been trying to forget for years now. But most of all he knew it was a mistake to have even touched this with a ten-foot pole. Because now he had a target, he knew what the target looked like, and he had been paid in- well, maybe not-so-full, but in 9-year-old currency $23.42 was basically a million dollars considering it was all her savings.
In short?
He had to do it now.
He knew that. And it damn near made him groan at the prospect. Because this was going to be a long-ass job, and if he was going to ensure the rescue of that little girl's mother, then he needed to ensure that child's safety. The less leverage the 'enemy' had, the easier his job was. So as he sighed out, "Damnitall, this better be fuckin worth it kid," the hundred year old assassin finished off his drink and went about packing his things to take on a job that he never asked for, but knew damn well he was stuck with until it was over.
But at least if he had to go through with this, he was going to be damn sure he did it right, that was for sure.
Taglist: If you weren't tagged it's because I couldn't get it to tag you or I didn't know which account was yours – @aingealcethlenn @deaan @idabbleincrazy @impala-1979 @kadet-jb @myinconnelly2 @princessmisery666 @rosedemica @tvdspngirl314 @darsynia @buckys-zomdoll @cookingglitterfairy @emilyshurley @fictionalabyss @jotink78 @mariekoukie6661 @manawhaat @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @scarletwinchester84 @sorenmarie87 @until-theend-oftheline @starryeyes2000 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @betweengalaxies2 @focusonspn
"Jarvis, are all books present?"
She questioned the A.I. System that she had come to adore as much as her father did.
"Your favorites, Twilight, New Moon, and Breaking Dawn have been taken out Miss. Stark." He responded sarcastically, but monotonously, like always.
"May I ask by whom?" An amused smirk framing her face as she scanned the walls for her desired section.
"By Mr. Odinson, Miss. Stark." Jarvis replied.
Her smile reappeared as she thought about what Thor might think of them. The only reason she had those at all was because she refused to believe a book was bad until she'd read it herself. And unfortunately, the negative hype surrounding the series was anything but false.
"Aha, here we are." She climbed the ladder up to the section full of outdated vocabulary and skimmed through titles she thought to be appropriate.
"No, not Edmund... Norton... Wyatt... maybe Drayton," the mutters continued until the target was found. "Ah, Shakespeare! There he is!" She started snatching plays off the shelf and placing them into a makeshift basket she made with the front of her sweater.
"Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, The Taming of The Shrew, Julius Caesar, and Comedy-of-Errors. That should keep him busy for a month or so."
She clasped the hem of her shirt in her teeth to keep the contents from spilling out and slid down the edges of the ladder before hurrying out the door and to the elevator.
The trip to his cell was unnecessarily long, especially when she stopped to make tea, which proved to be difficult when refusing to put down all the books. But nevertheless, she prevailed and took the reading material and thermos' to the fiftieth floor and into a section of the laboratory.
Eventually, she stumbled into the room where his cell was and began the hike over to the door.
He watched her closely, highly amused by her state. Her stomach was visible from pulling up her sweater for the books, and under both arms were cups that he found unfamiliar and suspicious.
"What are you doing, mortal? You look ridiculous." His face exerted smugness, but that was never unusual for him.
"I'm being nice to you, so you damn well better appreciate it, Asgardian." She commanded sarcastically, struggling to type in the password and give a thumbprint as she did so. Thankfully, the door opened without any further obstacles and she crashed in, the entrance closing behind her.
"Here." She placed the tea gently into a corner and dumped the literature into his lap.
"What is this?" He questioned, examining each cover of the five.
"Those are called books, love." She cracked a small smile and plopped down in front of him, sipping her tea.
"I'm well aware. What I was insinuating was why have you assumed I could possibly appreciate Midgardian literature?" He much enjoyed teasing her and waiting impatiently for her to throw it back in his face with her witty comments and comebacks.
"Because I've listened to the way you and Thor seem to formulate sentences, and the vocabulary you use. It is remarkably similar to the regular speaking patterns of Midgardians in what historians call the Elizabethan Era. These are all written by a man called Shakespeare, who lived in England over 400 years ago, he wrote plays, 43 to be exact. Nowadays we've dubbed your speech 'Ye Old English', an unofficial term used to describe the language difference from then and now, also more formally known as Shakespearean... is that enough information, or shall I continue?" She rambled satirically.
"I think that is enough for now." He stated, flipping through The Taming of the Shrew carelessly.
"I didn't know what genre you preferred, so I grabbed a variety. I've read all of these ones and I think they're nice. I thought you would like them more than modern books."
Her nerves set in, regretting her act of kindness, but she wouldn't dare show them.
He glanced over at her, studying her awkward actions. Her sleeves pulled over her fists, which were resting uncomfortably in the small space on the floor between her crossed legs. He was about to express his thanks when she flung herself to her feet dramatically. With haste, she bent down and snatched the second thermos, then slid on her belly over to him. He hummed a tiny laugh as she reached out her arm with the cup to him.
"I made you tea, drink it and shower me with compliments about how good it is." She said.
"Yes of course... but are you sure it isn't poisonous?" Loki gave her a knowing glare and a smile.
"I am sixty-five percent sure that it isn't, but you should be fine. That is unless Asgardians are prone to floral allergies." The woman raised her eyebrows sassily at him.
"I am a god. Gods do not have such pathetic internal weaknesses." He scoffed and sipped his tea (after fumbling quietly with the lid in confusion during the majority of the conversation.)
"Yeah yeah, whatever you say Magic-Man... You know, you don't HAVE to act as if you're SO above me all the time. You and I both know that we're equal in intelligence and technically the same age." She had changed her position while talking to have her legs straightened and propped up against the wall with her back and head on the floor next to Loki.
It was obvious that the god was unaware of one of those two presented points because he nearly spit out the tea everywhere. "You and I being the same age is literally impossible. I am thousands of years old and you are eighteen." He looks down at her skeptically; wiping the dribbled tea with the back of his hand.
"Wouldn't it only make sense to assume these two different realms of existence that are billions of lightyears away from each other probably have differing concepts of time? If not because of vastly contrasting histories, then possibly for different distances from their respective suns and moons? How long is a day in Asgard vs. Earth?" She talks with her hands and makes eye contact while still on the floor, happiness emanating from her because of the obvious irritation building in his face. Loki does not like to be shown up or proven wrong, albeit he's never lashed out at her for doing so for some reason.
"Even so, how do you know that we're the same age on earth terms? there are no specifics about that in your kind's Norse literature." He was quite curious now; this could really end up working in his favor.
"Well, it was excruciatingly easy when I had Thor on hand to tell me the average life expectancy of an Asgardian/Norse god and how old you were and the general synopsis of your guy's calendar. You compare those to a human's, specifically American's, then you come up with a medium level equation that can be checked by the two live-in geniuses and the supercomputer that encompasses this building. You, Loki Laufyson, are roughly seventeen and three-fourths old, which makes me approximately 3 months older than you in Midgardian years."
Loki had never seen her look so smug in his life and he despised it. "I despise you." He growled, almost a little too realistically.
"Doubtful, you looove me." An attractive and confident air surrounded her.
"I know." He murmured quietly, not quite ready to have this conversation with her.
"What was that hun?" Back to her considerate, usual tone.
"The tea is lovely, Eliza." Loki toned himself down to a sweeter, softer tone that only she and his mother were ever allowed to hear.
Michelle Jones works the same shift at Caff's Coffee every week. A repetitive routine that pays well enough for her to put college tuition at the back of her head. When a mousy brunette walks in, she can't help but observe him. When she finds out they have the same classes, it gets even harder.
Peter Parker is a mess. A poster child of the college experience. Red Bull and ramen, on death's doorstep (figuratively). When he walks into Caff's for a coffee, he can't help but notice the barista. When he notices her staring at him in a lecture, he calls it fate.
OR
An eventual romance that stems from coffee, academia, and the journey of falling in love.
It’s strange how the simplest people can catch one’s eye.
You spend so much time in life going through the motions that you don’t realize what you were doing before you met your best friend. Your rival. Even your partner.
A moment in time that shifts the course of your entire life.
*****
Michelle worked her part-time shift at Caff’s Coffee , a small cafe on Westly and Third. It was near Brown’s University, where she spent copious hours hunched over her notes and procrastinating. She was not sure what she wanted to do with her life yet but at the ripe age of 18, she was reading about political thinkers and writing essays. Lot’s.
“Michelle, can you take over cash?”
She saw his shadow before she saw him. Cade. Her 6’ tall and hip manager is in his 20’s. Not in college or university or further education like most of her work associates. Not sure how he ended up running this cafe but he was understanding and paid well.
No arguments from her.
She rolled her eyes at him.
“Dude. You know I hate people.”
Cade shrugged his shoulders, the AC causing his usual grey flannel to ruffle like a wave, the buttons shifting back and forth.
“Not my problem,” he responded, voice assertive yet kind. “You chose to work here with the knowledge that working cash was a requirement. Congrats, we’re understaffed.”
He waved his hand towards her in a shooing motion.
She grumbled under her breath but walked towards the counter nonetheless.
“How can I help you?” She mumbled, trying to keep the edge of her voice dull as she looked at the register, ready to type in the order.
“Can I get a drink with the most caffeine?”
Michelle bit back a grumble, begging the world to swallow her whole. Kids always came here asking for caffeine, yet get mad when the drink makes them feel on edge.
She crossed her arms and looked up.
The kid seemed friendly; he had mousy brown hair and almost too-pale skin. She made the executive decision to loosen up. She noted his bloodshot eyes and deep eye bags.
Let’s cut this kid some slack.
“We can do that for you. However, I think what you really need is sleep. A lot of it. In fact, you should be cast in a time-accurate version of sleeping beauty.”
She tacked on her customer-service smile–she could feel her cheeks.
The kid grinned at her, eyes crinkled and a soft smile.
He shook his head vigorously. He was a common brunette, but something about him stood out. Maybe it was his calm stature or his unkempt hair.
“Can’t. I have an exam today. Not ready.” He stumbled over his words. It was like each word was fighting to escape his throat before the other.
She sighed.
“All right man, I hope it goes well. Most people do not like our most caffeinated drink, Nitro cold brew with a double shot of espresso.”
“I’ll take it.”
She believed him.
“All right,” she muttered, typing his order in while going through the motions. “Credit or debit?”
“Actually-
Michelle looked up at him.
“Do you take cash?” He pulled at his necklace, a silver chain with what appeared to have a charm. The letter B. Probably the first letter of his name. Ben? Basil? Brett?
She shuddered. Brett did not suit him as a name at all.
“Hey?”
Shoot.
“Sorry, yea we take cash. Your total is $3.52.”
He fiddled with his pockets and dropped the coins into her palm.
She scanned them quickly and placed them into the registrar.
“Your order will be on the other side of the counter shortly.”
He smiled in response and headed to wait for his order.
Don’t say anything. Don’t-
“Hey, man!”
The kid turned to look at her.
“Good luck with your exam. I hope the coffee doesn’t kill you.”
“You better make sure that it doesn’t,” he grinned in response. “Thanks. I’m Peter by the way.”
She chewed at her lip and gave what she hoped was a smile in response.
“Michelle.”
“Nice to meet you, Michelle.”
She coughed into her sleeve.
“You too.”
He walked away.
She observed Peter as she made his drink. His skinny fingers picked at his maroon hoodie, eyes lost in thought.
She scooped and dumped the ice into the plastic (hopefully biodegradable?) cup. Pulled the coffee from the machine next, content to hear the steady spill of espresso. She was aware of her left foot tapping in beat with whatever playlist was playing on the cafe speakers.
Michelle finished making the drink, capping the lid on with a satisfying click.
She picked out an oatmeal raisin cookie and packaged it, then headed over to the counter where Peter stood, shifting his feet from side to side.
“Here’s your order.” She said as she slipped the drink towards him and the cookie, crinkling in its bag.
Peter grabbed the drink and furrowed his brows.
“I think there was a mistake, I didn’t order that.”
“It’s no mistake,” She replied confidently. “It’s yours. For after the exam. To celebrate .”
Peter froze.
She nudged it towards him.
“Come on, Peter. I have other customers to serve.”
As if shaken out of a trance, he grabbed it slowly.
“Thank you, Michelle.”
“What are you thanking me for, you paid for it.”
He looked inside the bag and squinted at the board.
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Peter responded with a grin.
Before she could respond, coins tumbled out of his hands and onto the counter in front of her. Exactly the price of the cookie.
All she could do was glare as he bolted out of the shop with a loud, “THANK YOU!”
She could see Cade's shadow before she could see him.
“Don’t start,” she warned, raising a finger.
Cade shrugged and walked away.
Michelle went back to work, taking customers' orders. Boring orders, she might add.
A small part of her hoped Peter would show up again if only to give her a chance to lecture him on not accepting gifts.
Another part of her cringed at her actions.
You were going to give a customer you just met… a free cookie?
Pull it together Michelle.
She hopes his exam went well.
Gosh darn-it.
If she didn’t pull it together soon, she might actually want to take people’s orders.
