Coffee Mugs On Blue Bloods Novels & Stories

“It’s not like I am not happy to see you but who the hell comes visiting at six in the morning Hunter?” I lowered my body onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Would you believe it if I told you I was just out for a stroll and happened to stop by?” He gave me a tight-lipped bullshit look as he moved to the cabinet and brought out three mismatched mugs. The one he set before me had a chipped handle and a picture of a roaring lion on it but on a closer inspection, I saw it wasn't roaring but yawning. Gary ignored the carafe and went to the old-fashioned coffee machine on the counter and started filling the filter with coffee grounds.

ZO’s POV ₊˚⊹ The next morning ₊˚⊹ The aroma of the Blue Label coffee was almost offensive in our tiny kitchen. It smelled like wealth, like privilege, and like a world that usually didn't set foot in Building 4B unless it was to serve an eviction notice. Sasha was currently standing over the cracked French press like it was a sacred altar. She took a deep inhale, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Katleya stopped mid-sentence when she saw Blue. “Go ahead and wear that,” Blue said before returning to his table. “Ka, what’s wrong?” Amber asked, wondering why Katleya had followed him to the cafeteria. “Your phone. It’s in my bag,” Katleya said, handing it to him. “Okay, thanks.” “W-Wait. What happened to your shirt?” Katleya asked, puzzled. “Blue spilled coffee on me.” Katleya turned toward Blue’s direction. He was sitting there, staring angrily at the cup of coffee in front of him.

I put some clothes on. A fitted ivory blouse with a high collar. Dark trousers. My hair pulled back in a low knot that doesn’t move when I do. Armor, just stitched prettier. Coffee tastes like ash. Not because it’s bad. The kitchen has perfected the blend. It’s strong, slightly bitter, grounding. But every swallow drags against the memory of pale bones under moonlight. I drink it anyway. Across the table, Cameron watches me over the rim of his mug.

If the cup should be anywhere it should definitely be there. Hesitant yet resolute, she pushed it open, revealing a dark chamber. The Cup of Bloods sat ominously in the center of the room Glancing around, Myra ensured that no one was watching before she slowly emptied the contents of the small bottle into the cup. The blood in the cup shimmered with a peculiar blue hue before gradually returning to its vivid red color. She took a deep breath, her heart pounding with both anticipation and fear, before making her way out of the room, leaving the cup behind.

I make to walk over and grab his cup when Jagger puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Trust me man, don't touch the cup." Everyone in the vicinity laughs, but I'm unsure as to why. "It's cursed," Jagger whispers to me. "Take it from someone who found out the hard way. You do not touch Tyler Blackfoot's skull mug." "He serious?" I jerk my thumb in his direction as I pose the question to everyone at the table. "What do you think?" Tyler eyes me. Without a word, I grab the coffee pot, top off the cup, and walk back over to set it down again.

"I need him replaced. I can't have a dullard as a part of my security team and expect to be safe. If he cannot keep a 20-year-old girl safe, how would he handle a crossfire?" "Sorry, boss!" "I do not need your apologies, Skye—I need you to step the fuck up. Anything like this won't be tolerated." The drive to the house was a total chaos. I had the police scout out for her. I do not want Vincent anywhere near her. When I got feedback that she was at a coffee shop with him, I went ballistic. So she wants to have coffee. "Is there not a coffee maker in this house, Vivian?" I asked my housekeeper.

Just the low flicker of a single screen in the corner showing grainy security footage and a faint red line blinking across the bottom. Dante moved like he belonged here. Like he owned this place. He tossed his bloodstained blazer aside, and I saw the full extent of the gash along his upper arm. Deep. Ragged. Already staining his undershirt in thick streaks of red. My stomach twisted. I scanned the room, my eyes catching on a metal locker that had been left slightly ajar. Inside—neatly arranged—was a small black box with a red cross on the top.

RIVER BROWN “Ladies” Red So-ho cups lie in front of us. Tall, lithe, with gray eyes flirting with the color blue, Doug stares at us and the cups and pushes them towards us. “Nice try, dude. We know they are spiked”, Brit hisses, holding my hand firm. I look at the drink inside the cup and wonder what exactly it is. “Spiked? Come on, O’Shea you know me better than that. I wouldn’t have to spike your drink to get you in my bed”

, Dawn said to Lena before sliding out of the booth to head to the bathroom. Lena picked up her mug of coffee and took a sip, cringing at the taste. It had gone cold. She set the mug back down and glanced around to check if anyone was watching. There wasn't. Lena stared at the coffee in the mug, one hand still clamped around it. Her eyes flashed blue and her fingers heated up. She smiled seeing the steam rise from the mug. Lena picked up the mug and took a sip. Mm... perfect she thought.