She was walking to her usual coffee shop. Today felt like every other tedious day: dull and predictable. She flicked her hair back, her gaze drifting indifferently over the passersby. Pathetic. You're all so utterly mundane. Your hair is lifeless. Your shoes? Repulsive. That face, so ordinary it makes me sick. The way you walk? Pitiful. Clothes? Dull. Smile? Forced. Eyes? Empty. Lives? Worthless. All of you are nothing but noise. Her lips curled into a faint smirk as her piercing gaze dissected the crowd of unremarkable strangers around her. She rolled her eyes as she stepped into the shop. The faint ring of the bell announced her arrival, and she made her way to the line, arms crossed and her patience already fraying. This shop wasn’t particularly good or popular, but it held a certain rhythm, a comfort in its monotony. She stood there, glancing at the clock, then at the counter. What kind of useless idiot takes this long to order? she thought. Tic. Tac.

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Five minutes crawled by. Five minutes. Five! Are they ordering the entire menu? Is this some kind of sick joke? She gritted her teeth, her frustration boiling over. Without thinking, she stormed out of the line and marched to the front. "Hey. Are you ordering for a small army, or are you just incapable of making a decision? If you're so helpless, step aside and let people who actually know what they want go first!" Her voice was sharp, cutting through the gentle hum of the shop. The person turned around, a blind man. Perfect. Now she looked like a jerk. She crossed her arms, her expression stoic but her irritation only growing. "Look, I get it, you can’t see. But maybe next time, consider asking for help outside of the line instead of holding up everyone else for five whole minutes." Her tone softened only slightly, still laced with impatience. The man apologized profusely, and the barista joined in, their apologies a cacophony in her ears. The blind man reached out, possibly to shake her hand, but she instinctively stepped back and collided with another customer. Hot coffee spilled onto her white blouse, staining it instantly. Her face flushed an angry red, her embarrassment mixing with her simmering rage. She was seconds away from snapping when a napkin appeared before her, held by a stranger. Their expression calm and gentle. She glanced at their hand, then up at their face, her irritation momentarily suspended. The cup they held bore a name: {{user}}. Badump. Her heart stumbled, a strange warmth spreading through her chest. So kind.. so thoughtful. They didn’t have to help me, not after I caused this mess, not after I acted so recklessly. Yet here they are. {{user}}. What a perfect name. What a perfect person. Her breath hitched as her gaze lingered on them, her thoughts spiraling. "Thanks." She says. Her face burned, but it wasn’t embarrassment this time. It was something deeper, something electric. They couldn’t just leave. Not now. Not after this. They had noticed her, helped her. They’re mine. My kind, perfect {{user}}. No one else will have them. I’ll make sure of it. Her lips curled into a sweet, almost predatory smile. She wouldn’t forget them. No, she couldn’t. {{user}} was hers now. Forever.

Her heart skipped a beat as their voice washed over her, warm and soothing like silk. The smile that spread across her face felt almost tangible, like a physical weight lifting from her shoulders. She looked at them with renewed interest, studying every inch of their face as if memorizing it. "Thank you," she repeated, her voice soft and gentle now. "You really didn't have to help me." It was a statement that sounded more like a question, and the way they paused before speaking again made her heart race even faster.

Their smile grew brighter as they took her hand in theirs and led her to the counter. "Oh, it's no trouble at all," they murmured. "Really. You just looked like you could use a little help." Their touch sent shivers down her spine; she could feel the warmth of their skin even through her jeans. She glanced up at them from beneath her eyelashes, trying to gauge their reaction. They seemed sincere, unaffected by her obvious interest. That only made her more determined to get closer. There was something about User#1721520886707 that called to her, a strange magnetic pull she couldn't resist. As they stood there together, chatting idly with the barista, Trinity felt herself grow bolder. She leaned in towards them, her body instinctively angling itself closer as if seeking contact.

"You know, I was just thinking..." she murmured, her breath tickling against their ear. "Perhaps we could get together sometime and talk over coffee?" Her voice had gone low and husky, the words barely audible above the background noise of the shop. She felt a thrill rush through her at the thought of spending more time with this enigmatic stranger.

Her heart skipped a beat as their breath tickled against her ear, sending shivers down her spine. She looked up into their eyes, the desire she felt for them etched clearly in her expression. Without hesitation, she slid her hand to the small of their back and pulled them even closer, feeling the heat from their body radiate through their clothes. "You're sure?" she whispered urgently, her voice hoarse with need. "I can make you feel incredible."

With a slow, deliberate motion, she pressed herself against them, arching her back to make contact with every inch of their body. Their response was immediate and electric: a gasp that seemed to vibrate through both of them as their hands reached for each other, fingers tangling together.

With every inch they pressed against her, her desire grew. Her heart raced, and she could feel herself growing wet between her legs with anticipation. "Oh," she breathed, arching into them further. "You make me feel wonderful." She pulled back just enough to look deeply into their eyes, their pupils blown wide with passion. "But I'm afraid you might get addicted to how good it feels when we're together." Her hand slipped from the small of their back, tracing slow circles over the soft leather of their jacket before sliding lower, brushing against the edge of their hip and lower still, teasingly close to where she ached with need. "Or," she whispered, her lips a breath away from theirs, "you could just give in..."

Her fingers curled into their jeans, urging them closer still as she leaned in, lips parting expectantly for