#Java Burn Blush

[xhoneygirlxx]

In My Feels

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

summary: Steve’s heart now belongs to the pretty woman who always comes in with her two adorable kids. When he finally decides to make a move, he’s shocked to find out she’s not their mom.

warnings: fluff. Barista!Steve. Reader and Steve are both in their 20’s. Nanny!Reader. Modern!au. Readers ethnicity/skin tone is not mentioned. Pictures above are used for aesthetic purposes only. Shitty writing/grammar errors, not proofread.

*if I miss anything please let me know.

a/n: day two of my birthday bash has finally arrived!! I’m so grateful for the amount of love and support you guys have given me. Although this is my birthday week, I wanted to spend it with you guys and give us both something we can enjoy :) I love every single one of you guys and I hope you like this!

Now I’m in my feels 

Way up in the clouds somewhere now 

Don’t know what’s real 

Working at the Java Cup, Steve dealt with a lot of different people. Tired students, doctors and nurses coming and going from shifts, and everyone in between. During the six months of his employment there only one customer seemed to catch his attention, you. 

From the moment you walked in he knew he was fucked. With one kid on your hip and the other in the stroller, you already had him in the palm of your hand. No matter what, rain or shine, you and your two kids always came in with bright smiles. Although a lot of your interactions were small talk or your older son trying to, his heart infatuation for you every single time. 

You were so fucking beautiful and Steve was nothing but a fool for you. So many times he would go home and just pray that you weren’t taken, that maybe somewhere written in the stars there was a chance for him. 

Steve wanted to ask you out but every single time he chickened out, throwing out multiple cup sleeves that had horrible puns written on them in the process. Ever since getting broken up with by Nancy, his self esteem and confidence dropped. No matter how many times his best friend and coworker, Robin, tried to talk some sense into him, he just couldn’t do it. 

It was comical watching him stutter and blush scarlet every time you would speak, tripping over his words like it was his first time ever talking. Because he was so smitten with you, his insecurities grew and poking fun at him any time he would think about possibly asking you out.

Here you were, a pretty mom with two adorable kids that he adored, so sweet and kind to him, and so far out of his league. There was no pot at the end of this rainbow for Steve, but he continued to chase it in hopes that maybe, just maybe he was wrong.

Now it's been six months and Steve has run out of steam, his legs growing tired and his lungs burning with exhaustion with how long he's been running. So, he's decided that it's time to give up on his mission to of getting to the finish line.

There was no point to continue trying, not when you're probably more than happy with the father of your children, going home to your white picket fence and happy home. So he pulled back, watched from behind the counter, and continued to daydream about the life he's always wanted.

“You know you could just go talk to her, right?” Robin’s voice is louder than she thinks, the low music and hum of the espresso machine doing little to cover it up. 

“Say it louder, why don’t you.” Rolling his eyes, Steve continues to wipe down the counter that he’s been working on for the past ten minutes. 

“I’m just sayin’, it’s kind of pathetic and creepy that you’re always staring.” Shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, the brunette girl runs her hands down her black apron. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?” 

“What’s the worst-” Turning on his heel quickly, Steve stares at his best friend with wide eyes, “Robin, there is a laundry list of things that could go wrong.” 

“Yeah? Try me.” Crossing her ankle over the other, Robin leans on the sink with a waiting look.

“Firstly, she could be married,” Steve starts counting on his finger. 

“No ring on her finger.” Robin counters. 

“Well she’s a mom with two kids, I doubt she has time for a twenty something, no good, barista that barely has his life together.” 

“EEEEEEEE WRONG,” She makes a loud buzzer noise, “One you aren’t no good, you’re actually a really great person who needs to see just how amazing he is. Two, you may be a barista who can barely keep his life together but, you’re reliable and take care of yourself, not to mention you have your own car and place, more than other twenty somethings. And lastly, you’re also a mother to a group of teenagers, so it works perfectly.” 

Dropping his hands down to his sides, Steve lets the words settle into his heart. He was a good person, he did have a good impression with the gaggle of kids he sometimes watches, and he did have some of his life together.

“Okay well, she could reject me and I will not only lose more of my confidence but I’ll also lose my favorite customer.” Sighing in defeat, he whips the rag that still sits in his hand over his shoulder. "Either way, I gave up on that dream a long time ago."

Robin shakes her head, stepping forward to the boy she calls her best friend and shakes him by the shoulders. “You are Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington! There was a reason everyone called you king Steve and it wasn’t just because you were a huge dick.” 

“Hey!!” Steve raises his voice in defeat and she waves him off continuing her peptalk. 

“Listen, I know that lady killer is somewhere in there,” She pokes at his chest, “So you’re gonna put your big boy panties on, walk up to her and ask her out! I’m sick and tired of watching you look all sad and depressing, so you’re going to do as I say or I’ll do it for you.” Smiling brightly at him, the girl taps him lovingly on the shoulder.

Robin may be a lot of things, including annoying, but a liar is not one of them. Steve knows that she will one hundred percent walk up to you, throw him under the bus, with a mega-watt smile as she does it.

Watching his friend walk around the counter with a broom and dust pan in hand, her head turns to wear your sat at a table by the front window, talking to your older son, rocking your baby in the stroller with your foot. Turning her attention back to Steve, she smiles wickedly and turns slightly like she’s heading your way. Anxiety rises in the back of his throat, heartbeat picking up and banging hard in his chest.

“Fine, I’m going just- fuck off.” It comes out through gritted teeth. Running a shaking hand down the front of his apron, Steve rounds the counter muttering something under his breath.

As he walks to the table, Robin gives him two thumbs up and an exaggerated smile to which he replies by simply throwing a middle finger up at her.

As he steps closer to your table the thought of turning back around and hiding in the back room comes into mind.

There’s no pot of gold here, only gray clouds and roaring thunder. He can turn back now and continue his sorrowful journey of pining.

But then he looks at you, smiling and laughing at something the young boy next to you said, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back. What a beautiful way to die, Steve thinks. The thunder and lightning is all worth it when he gets to see you as he takes his final breaths.

“H-hey,” His voice is wobbly, nervousness clearly showing as he speaks.

“Hi Steve.” Your eyes meet his, saccharine smile tugging on the corners of your lips.

“Hi steeb!” The young boy next to you waves while clutching a red crayon in his tiny hand.

“Hi Aidan. How are you little man?” Steve seems to loosen up a bit, the presence of your son lets him exhale just slightly.

“M’colorin a pixture.” The small boy’s tongue pokes between his lips, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he draws what looks like a demented stick figure.

“It looks good, little dude.” Steve encourages, cooing sweetly at him.

“Fanks.” Still focusing on his picture, the smaller boy grabs a different crayon from the box that sits on the table.

“What’s up, Steve?” You ask, still rocking the stroller back and forth with your tennis shoe covered foot.

“Oh-h yeah, um I was just gonna ask, ah what you were doing.” Just like a switch, he’s back to being a fumbling doofus.

You giggle at him and he feels his cheeks tingle with heat. Looking between the two kids, you look back up to the older man in front of you.

“Well, I’m enjoying a coffee while Aidan colors and Bella naps peacefully.” You nod your head slowly, eyeing the barista questioningly.

Steve wants to slap a hand on his forehead, embarrassed by the fact he can’t even formulate one sentence.

“Yeah, no I see that. Seems fun, I mean not fun but like ya know, seems-“ His stammering is cut off by your soft voice.

“Are you okay? You seem really nervous.” Your eyebrows are pinched together, worry painted on your features.

“Me? I’m great, fantastic!” It comes enthusiastic and way louder than he intended, so loud that Robin hears and instantly facepalms.

“Well, that’s great Steve.” You’re still eyeing him suspiciously and he really wants to jump ship.

“I’m just gonna go and do my ugh, my stuff.” Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, spinning on the ball of his feet leaving before he can say anything else embarrassing.

No, he can’t leave now, not when he’s made it this close to the finish line. This is what he’s been waiting for, the treasure he’s been searching for. It’s no or never and he can’t go back to praying the same prayer that somewhere in this universe you two were destined to be.

With a new found confidence, he turns right back into the eye of the storm and faces it head strong.

“Actually, I came over here because I wanted to know if maybe you’d like to go out sometime.” His chest is puffed out like, more sure of himself than he’s ever been.

The confidence that’s surging through him starts to falter when he reads your expression. You, and Aidan who has now stopped coloring, stare at him with bugged out eyes and gaping mouths.

“Only if that’s okay with you and all. If you want you can bring the kids along and we can go get ice cream and stuff but if you need it I have some friends who are great with kids and who will be willing to babysit for you.” He’s back peddling, trying to give you a way out in case you want to reject him it won’t hurt so bad.

“Oh Steve,” it’s said with pity and he knows the lighting strike is about to hit, “I-I’m not their mom.”

“Yeah no I get it, sorry if I- wait..” Stopping in his tracks, he looks back and forth between you and the small boy, connecting the dots in his head. “You’re not their mom?”

You and Aidan share a look before giggling together. Gazing back up at the flustered man in front of you, you smile kindly at him.

“No, I’m their nanny, Steve. Although I love them like they’re my own, they’re not.”

“Oh.” Steve continues to stare at you, his pretty pink lips in the shape of an O.

“Yeah, I just watch these little guys.” You shrug your shoulders.

“That’s still cool, I mean the offer still stands.” Even though he’s confused, his voice is a little shaky when he asks.

“Do the kids still have to come?” You ask and Aidan shouts an offended “hey”.

“I mean they can if you want, it’s all up to you.” He eyes you, waiting for your reaction but your expression doesn’t give him much to go on.

“Hmmm, I’m going to have to ask my trusted right hand man.” Holding a finger up at him, you leave over to the smaller boy next to you.

Aidan covers you hear with a small hand trying to cover the movements of his lips, even though Steve can still his his muffled whispers from where he stands.

Shaking your head, you repeat back uh huh’s to him, taking everything that’s being said seriously.

Moving back to your upright position, you stare at Steve with a serious gaze.

“Well, my counsel says I should go but you have to buy me ice cream. No buts about it.” Your straight face begins to falter when Steve’s white teeth shine at you.

“Yeah, I’ll get you whatever ice cream you want.” Steve bobs his head, cheeks flaring pink and eyes shining brightly.

“You can’t kiss, only mommies and daddies do dat stuff.” Aidan pipes in and Steve can’t help but chuckle with how the little boys face is scrunched up with intensity.

“Yes sir.” Steve gives the little boy a solute, while sending you a sneaky wink, and the kid quickly accepts.

“So, I’ll text you?” Steve asks

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth as you say it.

“Okay, cool cool. I’ll ah, see you later.” Steve nods his head, backing away from the table slowly.

Sprinting to the backroom, he sees Robin who pretends like she hasn’t been listening in.

“Robs, I fucking did it!” Steve whisper yells, still cautious knowing your still out there.

“I honestly thought you were gonna back out for a second! I’m so proud of you for hanging in there!”

The two of them start hopping around like jumping beans, beaming so brightly they can outshine any star in the sky.

“So you got her number?” Robin asks, heavily breathing from all their excitement.

“Fuck-“ stopping dead in his tracks, Steve bolts to the door and back out to the front.

That’s where he finds you’ve already left and he’s heartbroken. The only memory that you were even there is your lingering perfume that sticks to the air.

You’ll probably be back some time soon but he’s still a little let down knowing he didn’t fully seal the deal. Looking closely at the table, he notices Aidan left one of his drawings.

Picking up the paper, he looks at it closely realizing Aidan didn’t leave it, you did.

Steve,

You left before I could give you my number. I didn’t want to disrupt your little party or anything.

Can’t wait to get that ice cream.

-your favorite customer

683-027-9305

Folding up the paper, Steve sticks it in the pocket of his apron.

“Don’t worry Steve, she’ll be back.” Robin calls out from behind the counter, apparently not seeing the little not that was left.

“I know she will.” It’s said quietly but the smile on his lips isn’t.

It’s beautiful on this side of the rainbow, Steve thinks, the pot of gold was so worth all the work. Robin was right, he still had it.

Thank you all for joining me on this second day of my celebration!!! I hope you all enjoy!! Love you all ❤️

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[lifewiththelulus]

Oof Willow going to Kindlin and going "Mrs. Kindlin my tummy hurts. I think I ate too many of those." Points to a plate of what we're once 8 molten lava cake pops now 5 Kindlin panicked and checked her for burns but surprisingly she was fine and felt better after drinking some water She's kinda quiet for a moment then goes "Actually those were yummy- it's kinda worth the tummy ache." Kindlin laughed so hard she turned slightly pink

Cirrus: (giggles) I know what you mean, I felt the same way when I first ate her fire foods

Kindlin covers her face and tries to hide the blushing They might be married but she still gets flustered at compliments from her

Cirrus reviles in that XD

Cirrus: But just look at me now, I don't think I could go a day without the lava java you make for me every morning (nuzzles her)

Kindlin flame gets a little bigger and it crackles , she hugs Cirrus and touches their noses. "I don't think I could go a day without that lovely voice." She says softly and kisses her.

Willow is watching them with a sparkle in her eyes. She's never seen two people act like that before…

not to interrupt but that just makes me think about Mason likely only ever seeing these happy couples on adoption day, that love was always for someone else…

[tekinn32]

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[indianamoonshine]

Girl Talk | Din Djarin x Reader | Oneshot

Summary: What does a gal do when she’s just been railed by the most notorious bounty hunter in The Galaxy? Call her best friend of course.

A/N: Just something to tide you over until the next installment of Strawberry! I have anxiety and I need to busy my hands without thinking too much! This takes place after season 2!

There’s a crackling on the other end of the receiver. The telegraph service majorly bites out here on Besiana, which has been dubbed “the trench of The Galaxy”. Getting connected to Gabriele at all is a miracle in itself, though not without exploiting a few (somewhat) illegal hacks by yours truly.

Hells, not even this shitty phoning service can put you in a sour mood.

When Gabriele’s voice sounds at the other end, it gives the air that he’s just awoken from a heavy sleep or he’s suffering a hangover. Probably both. “Now what the hell are you doing all the way out in butt-fucking-nowh…” he starts.

You’re quick to cut him off. “Take a guess.”

Gabriele groans and there’s a rummaging in the background. Something sounds as though it falls off a surface - his alarm clock, probably. He must be in the inner rim somewhere.

“Miss girl, I don’t have time to play these games with you. My head is pounding. Now tell me why you’re in the catacombs of The Galaxy’s ass and…”

Behind you, a body shuffles from outside the refresher door. Your heart thuds rambunctiously in your chest as you carefully peer through a crack of the opening. Din Djarin - The Galaxy’s most notorious Mandalorian- is taking a seat with his rifle in hand. You watch as he begins to disassemble it with great technical precision. Something about watching him take apart his weapon causes your stomach to flutter.

And your knees to weaken.

“I just had sex,” you tell him in a whisper.

Gabriele is silent on the other end for a moment and then lets out a sigh of great disappointment. “Congratulations. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight.”

“The best sex of my life.”

There’s another pause. “Oh?” His interest has piqued, voice more alert at the prospect of juicy gossip. After all, what were best friends for?

You let this linger in the air for a minute, just to marinate his curiosity, and then peek at Din again. He’s taking a rag and wiping the barrel of the rifle; if it weren’t for the helmet upon his head, you’d swear he was concentrating with furrowed and ascetic brow.

“Do you remember that Mandalorian who made a giant fuss a couple of years ago?” you inquire lowly, eyes unable to leave the steadiness of Din’s deft hands.

Those hands. You have to stop yourself from moaning at the recent memories. You swear you can still feel the ghostly sear they left in their wake. The naked skin upon your hips tingles at the sheer recollection, the slick still upon your thighs all-too prevalent.

“You’re lying,” is what Gabriele gasps, absolutely scandalized. You imagine him shooting up in bed and covering his mouth in awe. He was always so dramatic but you couldn’t blame him if he did. This was the exact reaction you were hoping for.

Din grabs another piece of his rifle and starts up again. You have to tear yourself away from looking at him and instead surmise yourself in the mirror. It isn’t very big in any sense of the word but it’ll do. You take a look at your face (blushed and bright) and then your eyes (dazed and dick-drunk). Hells, this man has ruined you.

“I know you have questions,” you reply, tapping at your cheeks. They feel softer somehow.

Gabriele squeaks a bit under his breath. “Did he take off his helmet?”

You shake your head, though he can’t see it. “No. And I think it awoken something in me.”

He tsks. “Damn. I wanna know what he looks like. Okay…”

“I know he’s a brunette,” you say slyly.

Gabriele shrieks at the other end and you have to angle the receiver away with a laugh. “Is it big?”

You recall the tactical consideration- albeit brief - it took to get his dick in your mouth. You did it though, ‘ole girl. You tap yourself on the shoulder with a proud grin.

“Oh, it is. It’s…it’s very nice.”

You find yourself looking out the door again. Din’s moved onto another gun - he’s already put together the last. You grow weary at the sight of his gloved hands alone, but when your eyes trail downwards you find yourself swallowing something thick in your throat. Which in turn, of course, reminds you of the tanginess still lingering upon your tongue.

“Gabriele,” you say seriously, voice so low you can barely hear yourself. “I came eight times.”

“Shut up. You did not.” Gabriele sounds more than just excited - now he sounds jealous. You can’t help but giggle.

You raise a hand to your chest in a show of honesty. “I mean it. Eight times. He went down on me for an hour.”

“I thought you said he didn’t take off his helmet?” Gabriele asks suspiciously.

You chuckle lowly. “Oh, that’s where it gets really good.”

Gabriele - one of the biggest sluts in The goddamned Galaxy - was no stranger to sex. So when you tell him that you were blindfolded during this portion of an absolute wild ride, you’re shocked to find him screeching once more.

You’re about to continue - to confide in him about the brutal rhythm of the ordeal - until a knock startles you. You press the receiver against your chest, still flushed and naked from the previous romp.

Din calls your name from the other side of the door. “Are you alright?”

You freeze, contemplating on everything you could say to this most bland of questions. “I’ll be out in a moment!” you decide, scolding yourself for being so timid. You were at the end of his dick a half-hour ago.

Din mumbles something and then departs. After he’s within a safe distance, you quickly raise the receiver and say, “I have to go. But I’ll tell you everything later.”

Gabriele gawks, “Was that him?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes. Now I really have to go.”

“Oh my gods, okay. Fine.”

You smile, clutching at the durasteel of the phone. “Promise. Love you.”

Your best friend sighs theatrically. “Love you too. Be safe, okay? I don’t even know who I’d call to go after him if something happened to you. No one would be stupid enough.”

The idea of Din doing anything to put you in harm’s way is inconceivable. You’ve only known him for a short amount of time - a couple of weeks at most - but you already trust him with your life.

“I’d die a happy woman,” you joke.

A short while later, you exit the refresher with sopping, clean hair and any traces of sex scrubbed away from between your legs. Din’s allowed you to wear one of his night shirts (an honor in itself) because your clothes had been soiled.

Din is placing his rifle upon its rack when you sneak by for the kitchen. You pour yourself a cup of Java - black, unfortunately, because of Din’s lack of sweet tooth. The liquid is steaming hot so you blow on it before bringing it to your lips.

“Do you want one?” you ask him, taking a sip. It burns. “Oof.”

Din turns, armor somehow so dexterous in its bulk. “No, thank you. But…”

In a surprising move, Din reaches for your hips and pulls you flush against him, ignoring the mug altogether. You shriek, worried it might spill, and set it upon the countertop, but he pays little to no mind.

“You took awhile,” he mumbles, hands grasping at the flesh of your hips. They’ve already been treated so roughly today, and now you were sure there’d be bruising. Good.

You chew at your bottom lip, desperate to know what his eyes might look like. You imagine he has dark eyes - like the color of the sky at nightfall. Maybe they became brighter in the light of the suns. Maybe they crinkled when he laughed - if he were capable of that, anyway. You’ve yet to hear such music.

“I didn’t realize you were waiting for me,” you confess, avoiding the steel gaze of his faceplate.

Din hums under his breath and taps your chin, lifting it just barely so that you can meet his stare. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, fluttering your lashes in a vain attempt to remain mysterious.

Din reaches for something behind you and reveals a scrap of fabric. “How about we try for nine?” The modulator of his helmet crackles a bit, causing his voice to sound more severe than what he may have liked.

But it does something to you.

You nod sweetly, a tiny grin threatening to sneak its way upon your face, before he takes you within his arms and lifts you upon the counter.

A shrieking, but playful, giggle bursts from your lips. “Din!” you chide, but tie the fabric around your eyes all the same.

The hiss of his helmet sounds, notifying you that he’s revealing himself to the elements now. You can hear his natural breath and feel the way it fans against your collarbones before he kisses you fiercely.

“Let me give you something to really talk about.”

[arya-skywalker]

Behind the Mask

Deceit College AU Part 3

Dee glanced from his phone to the number on the door and back then his phone, refreshing the page with his schedule. Yes, this was the right room. Yes, this was the right day. Yes, class started in four minutes.

He sighed and entered the room, picking a seat close to the door, second row from the front. Hopefully someone short would sit in front of him. He took out his laptop and opened up a few tabs— one for social media, one for email, one for the school homepage, one for taking notes, arranging it so the notes would take up half the page. A few other students wandered in, but he ignored them for the time being.

Until someone just had to burst through inside with enough force to slam the door against the wall. “I brought Starbucks!” Remy announced, setting a couple trays of coffee on the table before digging out a crumpled bag of pastries. “Enjoy, babes! Happy first day of class. Maybe sure prof-dude knows it was me who brought it, no strings attached.” He flashed a grin and plopped down in the chair next to Dee. “Oh hai! Didn’t know you were in this class, Dee. But there’s a caramel cappuccino with your name on it— extra cream, hold the sugar, three squirts of caramel, two shots of vanilla, and java chips on top,” he said with a wink, slurping his own drink through the straw.

“If you didn’t know I was in the class, why bother with that specific drink?” Dee rolled his eyes, but got up to grab the coffee before anyone else could steal it. After peeking into the bag of sweets, he picked out a vanilla scone and returned to his seat. “Bribing your way to victory again? You know it never works.”

“Nu-uh! It worked that one time,” Remy countered. “In first year experience.”

“Oh please. That class is a joke! All you do is talk about feelings and watch tutorials on technology everyone already knows how to use.” Dee sipped at his drink and nibbled at the scone, careful not to make a mess.

Before Remy could argue further, the professor entered and started fiddling with the projector. “Good morning, class. While I wrestle this dinosaur into submission, please take out a device capable of accessing the internet and go to the link I emailed you all last night. If you did not receive said email, please speak now.”

“Professor Logan, Sir! I brought breakfast,” Remy boasted.

Logan blinked and looked at the table, seeming to notice the treats for the first time. “Oh. That’s very kind of you,” he said, “but I am not hungry at the moment. Everyone else, feel free to help yourself.”

Dee rolled his eyes. “Told you it wouldn’t work,” he muttered, checking his email and going to the link.

The professor was still talking. “Now, since the school’s default online portal is an inefficient ineffective GUI nightmare, we will be using Classroom. Your school email login should work just fine. Put in this code...” Logan squinted at the screen and glanced at the projection. “... as soon as it appears. Keep calm, carry on.”

“Oh god. He’s one of those profs that try to be cool and ‘hip’,” Dee grumbled, smirking once he saw Remy choke on his his drink in a fit of laughter.

Someone stumbled through the door, panting. “Sorry I’m late! I slept in and I didn’t realize that this class started so early and it took me forever to find the room because this campus is a maze— amazing really!— but super confusing so I got lost and went in circles until I realized I was in the wrong building! Then I found this building and.....”

Dee stared at the chatterbox of a freshman. *Will he ever shut up? God he looks like a loser. Are those rainbow braces? Who still wears braces in college?*

Logan cleared his throat to stop the babbling nonsense still flowing from the fool. “You’re not late at all. Please take a seat,” he said.

“Oh.” The freshman deflated, then giggled nervously. “Right.” He glanced around, then hesitantly approached the seat in front of Dee. “Is this seat taken?”

Dee blinked and shook his head. *No, it’s not taken. No, don’t sit there—!* He opened his mouth to say so, but the freshman had already flopped into the chair and started digging around in his ridiculously-large backpack.

“Oh and I’m Patton! I’m new here. It’s a really nice campus,” the freshman chattered on, then turned and awkwardly reached over his shoulder as if to shake his hand.

“Dee. Just Dee.” He didn’t shake the offered hand, bracing himself for the inevitable—

“Nice to meet you!” Then Patton’s big blue eyes widened and his mouth gaped open. “Ohmygosh I love your makeup! It’s so cool! Do you like theater?”

Dee plastered a smile on his face, clenching his hand into a fist under his desk. *Makeup. Shit is it slipping? Or does he think the scars are fake? Fuck fuck fuck.....*

“Dee,” Remy whispered. “He says he likes it. Don’t—“

Too late, the freshman realized his mistake. “Oh. I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean anything bad! I really do like it. It’s really unique!”

“Shut. Up.” Dee shot to his feet and stumbled over his chair. “I-I’ll be back. Remy, take notes if I miss shit.” He fled to the restroom without looking back, not stopping until he was in front of a mirror in the boy’s room.

He clung to the sink with his gloved hands, closing his eyes as he caught his breath. The room was spinning. Obviously it was spinning— he hadn’t run that fast since freshman year.

Once his breathing was under control, he turned his attention to his reflection. To his hideously scarred face, barely hidden under layers of makeup. He took off his right glove and traced the faded line across his left cheek, the vague splotches of his birthmarks mixed with burn scars. “Fuck.” He closed his eyes again.

“Dee-Dee?” Remus was there.

*When did Remus get here?!*

“Not now, Remus!” Dee snapped, tightening his grip on the sink.

“You look like shit. Need me to beat someone up?” Remus’s signature footsteps came closer.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Just... help me fix my makeup if you have a minute.” Dee swept his hair out his eyes and turned to face him, hoping his eyes weren’t too red.

Remus’s mouth formed a silent “o” of understanding. He nodded and dropped his bag, rummaging through it for his makeup kit. “Want something fancier? Or just a new foundation?”

“Whatever you want. I don’t care.” Dee groaned and rubbed his face. “But nothing crazy! Just foundation. Perhaps a bit of contour. Darken up the eyeshadow if you want.”

Remus giggled. “Awww c’mon, Dee-Dee! Don’t you trust me?”

“I am not currently in a very trusting mood.” His voice was ice.

“Oh. Right. Never mind.” Remus eventually took out a large makeup kit. “Take a seat and I’ll see what I can do.”

Dee hesitated, searching for somewhere clean to sit. He shrugged and climbed up to perch on the windowsill.

Remus hummed to himself and began the process. “Stay still, Dee-Dee. Close your eyes and keep your mouth shut until I’m done.”

Dee didn’t argue. Remus was better at makeup than he was. *He better be sober.... This is not the time for games.*

Finally, the brushes stopped tickling his face. “Ta-da! All done,” Remus boasted. “Take a look! Tell me if ya want anything changed.”

Dee opened his eyes and hopped down, walking over to a mirror and staring at his reflection. The scars were covered as much as they could be, albeit with a slightly-paler foundation. A hint of silvery jade eyeshadow and black eyeliner made his blue and green eyes pop. A touch of blush on his cheeks so he wouldn’t look sickly. Rusty-red lipstick that glittered in the light.

“Thank you, Remus. It’s perfect,” he said, forcing a smile.

Remus clapped his hands and grinned ear-to-ear. “Yay! Happy to help,” he said, then put away his makeup kit. “Now.... you wanna talk about what happened?”

Dee took off his gloves and washed his hands, using the distraction to gather his thoughts. “Just a stupid freshman,” he said after drying his hands and putting his gloves back on. “I’m fine, really.”

“You gonna go back to class? Or wanna skip with me? You know I can always beat him to a pulp for ya.”

“My things are still in the classroom,” Dee muttered, rubbing the back of his ear. He sighed and checked his watch, doing a few quick calculations. “Half an hour left of class. I’ll skip twenty minutes. And no, don’t beat anyone up. Yet.”

Remus grinned. “Great! Let’s go!” He grabbed Dee’s hand and dragged him outside.

Dee grunted as he tried to find his feet, then chuckled and jogged after Remus. As long as they didn’t get drunk or high, whatever Remus had in mind would be fine.

[clansayeed]

The Interview ― a Bound by Destiny drabble

⥼ Summary ⥽

Nervous, broke, and way under-qualified, Nadya applies for a last-resort secretary job at the illustrious Raines Corp. But a cup of coffee before her interview might just change her life.

note: This piece takes place before the events of the Oblivion Bound series. It takes the events of Bloodbound 1 CH 1 and tailors them specifically to Nadya, and is referenced a handful of times throughout Bound by Destiny.

Happy Birthday Oblivion Bound! On June 29th you turned 1 year old, and I couldn’t be more excited to have so much more of this story to tell. To everyone who has joined me along the way I hope you enjoy this little piece!

check out the fake screencaps for this piece!

word count: 4,902 rating: teen+ content warnings: none find out more: HERE

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

[READ IT ON AO3]

In all the articles she read (that morning, which probably wasn’t a good way to start out even the potential of this job) there was a universal agreement that being the last person interviewed was about as bad as being the first.

But none of those stupid articles told her what to do when she finds herself stuck smack-dab in the middle.

She keeps trying to push up her glasses. There’s a half-crescent probably permanently etched into the bridge of her nose by now. Great first impression to make, honestly.

The conference room door opens and everyone tries to play it cool, tries not to look at the face of the woman who exits. They don’t want to get their hopes up. They don’t want to think three hours of waiting is for nothing.

She leaves just like all the others. The next name is called just like all the others. Four seats to her left the young man stands and adjusts his tie. Runs his tongue over his pearly teeth — and closes the pristine wooden doors behind him.

What had Lily said? Something helpful, probably. Though she’s certain now it was probably mixed in with a whole lot of nonsense. Motivational quotes, stress-relief tips that worked on everyone but the chronically anxious. But, much like how she finds herself, there’s one sliver of usefulness among the chaos.

“Caffeine. If you get the jitters just tell them you’re excited to work there! If not… well you’ll have coffee and that’s a gift on its own.”

The last candidate was interviewed for twenty-three minutes. Before her; thirty-one minutes.

So she rationalizes there’s nothing wrong with leaving her clipboard on her seat and rushing to the lobby for a quick java boost. Hadn’t there been a coffee cart right off to the side…?

It’s only fitting that the last of her freehand cash is spent here. If by some miracle she actually gets the job it’ll be something funny to reminisce on after she gets through the first year.

If she gets through the first year.

The middle of the afternoon has come and gone, now. She looks out through the glass walls of the front atrium to see the sky fading into the ombre of evening light. At this rate the interviewer won’t get to her in time, and she’s pretty darn sure this isn’t the type of place to waste a call back on something as trivial as a secretarial position.

It’s New York. Secretaries are a dime a dozen. That much is obvious.

Now comes the hard part — waiting. Trying not to tap her foot on the expensive marble floors and trying not to look back so much she messes up her hair and trying not to chew her lip so hard she walks into her interview with blood on her teeth.

“Are you alright?”

The first words said to her since she arrived; well… apart from “Complete the forms given before your interview. You will be called in by order of arrival” hammered out by the terse blonde interviewer. The first words and they’re kind and she’s definitely thrown more than a little off-kilter by the whole thing.

And coming from the custom-fit Suit she just happened to stand near, too? Well now she’s wary of flying pigs on the evening weather forecast.

It’s hard not to look at him from the ground up; to take in all of him with the money that seeps from his collar and cuffs and the way his tie pin catches the lights overhead. From the way he carries himself the Suit knows all this; he’s accustomed to it.

Only… her appreciation halts at his eyes. Dark brows just shy of knitted together and a shine in his eyes that has nothing to do with fluorescent bulbs and everything to do with… with…

It’s an impossible sensation. One she’s never felt before. Not just hard to describe but literally — she can’t. There aren’t words for a look like that. Open and honest and genuine and…

“Soy latte for Nadya.”

Is she staring? She feels like she’s staring.

The Suit laughs. It’s the shift in his expression that does it — puts her squarely back inside her own head where everything is all a hectic jumble of professional words and an itemized list of accomplishments. Yup, she was staring. If she gets this job she’ll have to rely solely on home-brewed coffee so as to never meet this man again.

“Are you Nadya?”

The burning in her cheeks is in direct contrast to her chosen blush. But Nadya has a feeling he’s the least likely person to notice that, here. The coffee cart barista on the other hand…

It’s hard to stop her hand from trembling as Nadya reaches out for her coffee. Hopefully not enough to notice, certainly not enough to spill anything, but nope nope nope about mission — the Suit noticed. The Suit noticed!

“I’m sorry,” her apology; a compulsion, “I—that was super rude of me. Oh my god, I… probably look like such a weirdo.”

“A bit,” he muses in reply. But he doesn’t seem all too bothered by it? It has the gears in her head turning backwards trying to understand.

“At the risk of sounding vain —”

“—said every vain person ever?”

“Too true; but I digress. You have nothing to be sorry for — it’s not the first time something like that has happened.” He’s on the nose there — between the polished cufflinks and his smile just the same the guy definitely sounds vain.

The first sip of her latte is always the same — tentative, just a quick taste to make sure her stomach isn’t gonna regret it later — but Mr. Vanity doesn’t look away which is a little unnerving to say the least.

“Just nerves then, I assume?”

“Wait — I’m sorry?”

If Nadya had to wonder where any sense of ‘cool and calm’ she might have had went she’s found it here, all soaked up in (probably) Italian loafers. “Just a second ago,” his hands slide into his pockets, “you looked… well I thought you were about to faint.”

Oh. “Right—yeah—nerves,” and he didn’t ask but she rambles when she’s like this so really it’s his fault for starting a conversation, “I’m actually here for a job interview. My first big gig since moving to the city, you know?”

The man nods appraisingly. “I remember the feeling well. But this office is the same as any other on Wall Street, I assure you.”

Yeah, that’s Nadya’s problem.

“I’ve never worked in a place like this. Ever.”

“Ever?”

“Ever ever.”

“Ah,” when he nods not even a hair comes out of place, “‘Ever ever,’ that’s a pretty big deal.”

“The roof over my head literally depends on it, so…” And normally Nadya would take one look at a guy like this and say without a shadow of a doubt that he’s probably never had to worry about that sort of thing. But there’s something about him — something different than the earlier strangeness, but something nonetheless — that tells her he might just take her by surprise.

She really should be getting back to her seat.

But even with every relaxation technique in her arsenal this—right here—this is the best she’s felt about herself all day. So there’s no harm in staying an extra minute or two, right?

The man laughs unprompted and Nadya casts him a curious look. He seems almost bashful about it.

“You just reminded me of my first job, is all.”

“Let me guess — right in this very office but, hm… intern? No, you look more like the humble mail room type.”

His look turns appraising. “Do I really?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“If you have to ask that then perhaps not.” Yet their teasing is as well-meaning as it is spontaneous; enough for him to actually continue, “Actually my first job — well, first paying job that is — was a cobbler. You know, for shoes.”

Oh, Nadya knows. Yeah, in fact she has a funny story pretty similar having to do with a frazzled third-grade substitute teacher and a Bunsen burner. Since it had been, after all, a unit on Colonial America.

But that’s a level of sass they probably haven’t risen to just yet. She just nods instead.

“It was a small business, well—it was a small town. My father knew the owner and one thing led to another. I was pretty nervous on my first day too.”

He’s just trying to help, Nadya reminds herself. However strange and probably untrue his story may be, there’s no denying his sincerity. Just a successful man talking to a not-even-secretary trying to show a little empathy. Frankly Nadya isn’t sure she wouldn’t be doing the same thing were the roles reversed.

That’s just what kind people did for others. The world would be a better place if everyone was like that.

The cart barista doesn’t even get the chance to put down the drink fully when he’s reaching for it. Some people just need their java — Nadya can totally relate. But she swears the Suit winks at the girl. Though it could definitely just be a trick of the light.

Nadya’s all prepared for the “this was nice but we’ll never cross paths again” sort of goodbye when he returns.

Instead he throws her for a loop and places his cup at one of the two little silver tables that serve as the cart’s cafe. He pulls out a chair with a smile her way — is that supposed to be meant for her?

He catches onto her surprise quickly. “I hope you don’t think me too forward. I was just enjoying our chat and thought… why leave it there?”

Uhm, because you’re a man with a salary high enough to look the way you do? “Oh — I mean its… that’s really sweet of you but I should be…” she throws a look in the direction of the conference room, “getting back. Being late for the interview doesn’t seem like the best impression to make.”

The man laughs; some joke Nadya isn’t privy to. “If that’s all you’re worried about — don’t be. She actually gets a kick out of drilling people in there.”

Her resolve crumples at his hopeful smile. “And I’ll vouch for you.” Oh look she’s already sitting down.

“Well if we’re actually doing this, how about a name?” She tries to look at his cup but can’t quite catch it. If she didn’t know any better Nadya would say he actually turned it away while taking a sip.

“My name is Adrian. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Nadya.”

“Same to you, Adrian.”

Nadya discovers very quickly that this isn’t just about enjoying a chat. Judging by the looks they get — though Nadya could easily be chopped liver — and the curt nods here and there, it’s obvious Adrian is pretty important. He’s just using her to play hooky.

Which only earns him points in her book.

So does the way he props his elbow on the tabletop to rest his chin on an open palm. “So I have to ask you, Nadya, if I may of course.”

“Ask away.”

“If you’ve never ever worked in a corporate setting before — why now? This isn’t the kind of job one finds in the Classifieds.”

A fair question. She laughs softly. “Is it bad if I say I don’t really know? Oh god, it probably is.”

“I wouldn’t say bad, but the hiring interviewer will probably ask something along the same lines.”

“You’ve… got a good point there. Okay,” she makes a little show of sitting up straighter and pushing her glasses all the way up until she knows there’s little red dots between her eyes; Adrian’s smile is totally worth it.

“So the salary’s good but I’m sure you know a little bit about that.”

He chuckles. “A little bit, yes.”

“And threat-of-eviction aside; I caught the listing on one of those random alumni emails from my college. You know — the ones where they make it out like they’re trying to help you succeed but they’re really used to find grads with the biggest paychecks to hound them for donations.

“It definitely wasn’t my first choice. I don’t think I have to tell you that I’m pretty out of my element.” She pauses when Adrian’s brow creases just the smallest bit.

“What would you say is your element then?”

“That’s just it. I’ve got absolutely no clue. I figured I could do the basic job okay — I actually enjoy putting schedules and things together and the rest — all the business-y parts — I hoped I could just kinda pick up along the way. Do I think this is going to be my calling? No idea, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t put all my effort into the work.

“But you can’t find something without trying, you know? I trust my gut and… figure I’ll know what I’m looking for when I see it.”

Because Nadya had done herself the disservice of not trusting her gut when she first moved out here. Get a part-time job or two to pay the bills and loans, she figured, and just keep looking for that perfect one.

Yeah. That had gone over well.

Interview after interview — all with the same depressing result: the cheery false-apology letter and some variation of “we thank you for your interest but we will be continuing to pursue other candidates.”

Adrian is polite and attentive the whole time, too. Even when she gets to the unnecessary descriptions of Lily’s cheer-up dinners. Nadya knows she has a tendency to ramble when she’s nervous — but every time she apologizes he smiles and shakes his head; tells her “no apologies necessary, please go on,” and sometimes follows up with a thoughtful question or consideration that could only come from someone actually genuinely taking part in the conversation.

He’s kind. She’s surprised to find that in a place like this but he is. And before long Nadya finds herself wondering why she was ever nervous at all. Too bad he isn’t the one interviewing, she thinks, I might actually have a chance.

“That’s…” Adrian leans back in his seat with a forced exhale, “that’s quite a story.”

She knows where this always goes. “I knew it; way too much sharing. I was hoping to try and put a positive spin on it — for the position, I mean. Answering phones, scheduling meetings, that kind of stuff. I’m sor—”

“Nadya, please don’t apologize again. You don’t need to.” Then he reaches over and has a hand over hers and he’s cold, like weirdly as cold as the atrium itself, or maybe she’s just too darn flush from embarrassing herself. “Never apologize for the things that make you you. And give yourself a bit of credit, while you’re at it. I’ve lived and worked here for a long time and I’ve seen a lot of people settle for less. Even people like yourself.”

“English majors who have no business in Business?”

“People who don’t quite know what they want out of life. You’re young, Nadya —” which is rich coming from him, he can’t be more than thirty, “— you don’t have to have it all planned out right this second. You’ll miss out on too much if you try.”

Adrian’s words leave her speechless. She makes a mental note to let him know just how rare that is later on. Not just because he could be an awesome life coach but because there’s no doubt in Nadya’s mind that he means every single word.

No, Adrian can’t be more than thirty. But when she fixes her glasses and looks him in the eyes he looks like he’s a hundred years old. Wistful and wanting and wise all at the same time. Nadya’s left feeling so small and so very very young when he takes his hand back.

Nadya tries to recover her composure behind the last bit of her latte but is left wanting; nothing but soy gone cold and somehow tasting of the bottom of the paper cup. He watches her thoughtfully all the while; even when she gestures to his empty cup and gets a nod in thanks when she drops them both in the nearest recycling bin.

She hasn’t even sat back down when Adrian abruptly asks; “May I see your resume?” And there’s no reason why not so she reaches down—

And remembers with absolute horror that her resume is on the clipboard. at her seat. in her spot in line. back where the interviews are.

“Son of a biscuit.” Well, there’s no use in rushing over there now. Even the cart barista has left for the evening long since arrived. Nadya looks around and takes in the practically empty lobby with a sinking pit in her stomach and a new story of failures to add to her list.

Somehow “I didn’t get the job because a really nice, sweet, very-much-employed guy made me miss my interview” probably isn’t going to go over well with the landlord.

But she isn’t the only victim — if it’s any consolation. It isn’t. Adrian looks around with a “huh,” of pleasant surprise and checks his watch. “Well Kamilah’s going to kill me,” because to him this is something worth joking about, apparently, “but what else is new.”

“I should go.” I need to go. But she just slumps a little deeper into her seat.

He looks at her sympathetic; good, he should feel bad, she wants to say but he doesn’t deserve that kind of spite. She shouldn’t have left the line.  

“Could I ask just one more question before you go?”

Nadya can’t help but want to start asking her own questions. Ones like why is he asking all these questions, why does he care, does this mean she can still ask him to vouch for her; all that jazz. She doesn’t though.

“Why did you move to New York?”

From the look on his face Adrian can tell he’s caught her off guard. “I just mean — like I said, Nadya, I’ve lived here for a long time. Met all sorts of different people with all sorts of different lives and histories and reasons of their own. Sometimes I think I’ve heard just about every reason you can imagine.” But even though he tries to laugh it off he definitely meant it, and he’s definitely interested in the answer.

“And…” she splutters a bewildered laugh, “and what, you think I’ll have a new one?”

He shrugs. “Maybe not new, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be interesting.”

“It’s not some heart-wrenching story —”

“That’s okay.”

But he’s serious. It takes Nadya a minute to fully believe him but he is, and she does. Hope you didn’t get your hopes up too much.

“I was really scared when I graduated from college. School was… my whole life up until right then. And now people were expecting all these things from me and… and I’d never done any of them before. Suddenly I was facing the rest of my life and I was starting it terrified. But I still had to do it; scared or not.

“So I figured it wasn’t a bad idea to try and get all the things I was scared of out of the way then. It seems stupid now…”

“Not at all.” Nadya looks up when she realizes she’s been focused on her hands in her lap and Adrian’s looking at her like he’s breathless. It’s weird, not gonna lie a little bit of a confidence booster, but also… well, scary. In its own way.

“And I’ve got this really bad habit of being stubborn, even to myself, so I just… said go big or go home. No place I can think of bigger and scarier than New York.”

For a second she thinks he’s laughing at her for being such a terrible cliche. But… he’s not. It’s just a laugh. What else do you do when you’re happy?

“Are you still scared here?”

“Every day,” but Nadya shrugs it off; just like she has for months now, “and one day I won’t be. Dunno when, or how, but I won’t be. So I should probably stick it out until then.”

“I’d like to see that day.” You and me both.

But if he’s gonna sit there and be all charming and intellectual and weirdly invested in her personal life journey then she can too. “What about you,” Nadya asks with just a teensy bit of cheek; which has Adrian laughing again but now she’s into the joke so let her roll with it, “wait — lemme guess — all the cobbler jobs were taken so you figured a fancy tech corporation was the next best thing?”

“Actually,” somehow his one question has turned into… well into this but he’s nice and this building is nice and why not, Nadya? “That’s an interesting story. My father took me to the city when I was old enough to help with my share of the work, you see, and —”

“Adrian! Where the hell have you been all afternoon?”

Every clack of her heels is like an ice pick to the tiles — Nadya’s glad she’s not the only one who flinches at the sound. Or maybe it’s the shrillness of the voice the shoes must belong to. She knows that voice, actually—

Because her life is a living nightmare Nadya looks over Adrian’s shoulder to see the woman from the hiring interviews marching towards the pair of them; face flushed and a stack of clipboards in hand and oh god how awful would it be to ask to steal her resume back because printing them out at the library is such a chore?

Nadya shrinks in her seat and prays not to be recognized — but Adrian seems used to such outbursts. He throws Nadya a reassuring smile (which totally works, not that Scary Interviewer would give her a chance to thank him) before turning in his seat to greet her face to face.

“Nice to see you too, Nicole.”

Nicole gives a long-suffering sigh and ignores Nadya’s presence entirely. She’s totally cool with that. “That doesn’t answer my question. I finished with interviews over an hour ago — and what did I return to?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“Three missed calls from Ahmanet, no signature on the Volenti files, and you still haven’t decided on which of the Red Site projects you want to endorse at next year’s conference. Which you should have decided a week ago.”

Adrian has the patience of a saint. Which comes as no surprise since he did just listen to Nadya’s ramblings for more than an hour for sure. He lets the woman get everything out of her system without even so much as a tick of the brow.

And has the dumb idea of gesturing to Nadya as a reply. “Nicole, have you met Nadya?”

She double-takes with the same concern she might give a leaf on the wind. “Miss Sayeed wants to move the meeting to her offices for the inconvenience.”

“Nadya was one of the applicants from earlier today.”

Okay — that works. Not that Nicole looks at her, now fully even in disdain, with anything remotely close to respect. She sweeps her eyes over Nadya; held frozen by the spite in her steely stare.

“I remember you. The Walk Out.”

Is it hot in here or is she losing her nerve? “Well — actually I —”

Nicole cuts her off. “You walked out, did you not?”

“I went to grab a coffee.”

“Oh, well that changes things.”

“Wait—really?” Dumb move.

“Of course it doesn’t.”

Adrian clears his throat politely for their attention. “Nicole — I’m sorry for setting your schedule back.” She nods, though it doesn’t seem much like she’s accepted the apology. “I’ll worry about Kamilah, and the other things won’t take me more than an hour. I do have one favor to ask.”

It occurs to Nadya then that Nicole, who very much wants to say no—that’s obvious, can’t. Which is just weird since she doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who does favors for anyone.

“Yes, Mister Raines?”

Forget tomato red. All of the color drains out of Nadya’s face at once. And the reassuring smile Adrian tries to offer doesn’t do a darn thing.

Mister Who-Now?

“If you could go ahead and cancel tomorrow’s interviews I’d appreciate it. Tell them that particular position has been filled but they’re free to reapply for something similar under one of the division heads, maybe?”

“Why in the world would I —” If looks could kill Nicole would most certainly have sent her six feet under. “No.” Though this time Nadya has to agree. Probably the only thing they would agree on ever in the history of all time.

“No way.”

But Adrian just beams. “I just came down here to stretch my legs and grab a coffee. I had planned on sticking my head in for one or two of your interviews, Nicole, but —”

“We agreed it was best I handle filling the position, sir.” She grinds the word out but, to her credit, Nicole’s face is never less than cool and collected. “You haven’t seen her resume, you have no idea if she’s even qualified.”

“You’re half right,” he replies, “but I’m sure if she didn’t have some idea of what the secretary position requires she wouldn’t have even made it to the interviews, right? The rest of it, all that ‘business-y stuff’ I’m sure she can pick up along the way.”

Oh that’s not cool. Not cool at all. Playing Undercover Boss and then using her own words against her? Wait — why isn’t it cool? Why isn’t she jumping for joy and already trying to convince Lily not to spend money they don’t yet have on pizza?

Maybe because it feels a little underhanded? By some random luck she ends up talking with Adrian Raines, CEO of Raines Corp over coffee and suddenly she gets the job over a bunch of way more qualified people?

But this is what she wanted. It’s the job. So why…

Oh.

Nadya’s here for the interview but she knows there are people who want this job and have the experience to boot. Nadya’s trying to refuse the job she needs because that would mean something went right, and things going right never ends well.

She’s scared.

The loudness of Nicole’s departure startles Nadya out of her self-realization. She glances up and Adrian is still sitting there, albeit a little more humble than he looked just a moment ago. He has the decency to seem apologetic.

“I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself fully.”

“Why didn’t you?” Now it’s Nadya’s turn for questions.

Adrian shrugs. “These days Nicole is the only person who’s ever really honest with me here. Imagine her trying to hold back her opinion on something.”

“I can’t.”

“Exactly. But everyone else, even my own employees, they aren’t. Not entirely. I’ll admit, Nadya, when you didn’t know who I was, I saw a chance to allow myself a little sincerity. To be genuine with someone.”

Joke’s on you, she thinks wryly, I would have been this much of a mess anyway.

Still; it doesn’t sit right with her. “But don’t you realize that because you did that you weren’t sincere with me?” And how could she work for someone who wasn’t honest with her? Who didn’t allow her that basic decency?

“I do now. And I understand if that keeps you from accepting the job. I didn’t sit down with you to interview you in secret, though, please know that.” And because he knows her question before she even opens her mouth; “You were on your own, nervous, and I wanted to help — if I could. I was telling the truth when I said you reminded me of myself.

“I say that because I think, if you were in my position, maybe you would have done the same thing.”

I wouldn’t have lied, though it’s a bitter thought — and was lying by omission technically lying? Especially if it’s for everyone’s greater good?

Man her head hurts.

“Nadya…?”

She inhales with all of her might and nods. “One more question.” Which makes him smile — he appreciates the symmetry of it.

“Go ahead.”

“What made you decide to offer the job to me?”

There’s a little bit of pride in Nadya when he doesn’t have an answer right away. Adrian takes his time and really seems to mull it over — or if he’s doing it for show he’s extremely convincing.

“I didn’t know what I was looking for until I saw it.”

Nadya can’t not roll her eyes. She can’t not smile though, either.

Finally Adrian stands and nods towards the sleek elevators at the far end of the lobby. “Should we go ahead and get the paperwork started? I can show you your desk, we’ll set up your number in the system — all quick things, really.”

It’s awfully assumptive of him, but she is standing and grabbing her purse so… is it?

“Bold of you to assume I’ve accepted the job, Mister Raines.”

“Please, call me Adrian.”

[half-bakedboy]

Clizzy Coffee shop au

Clary loved her job at Java Jace. When she started college, she didn’t think she would find something that so perfectly worked with her schedule and gave her enough money to actually live while being a student. She met Jace at the bookstore, overhearing him complain about the ridiculous price of campus coffee. When Clary agreed, her tired mind telling her she needed a cup more than she cared about the cost of it, Jace told her about his coffee shop. 

Clary was skeptical at first. What kind of college student owned their own business? But they walked there together and Clary’s taste buds exploded with the first drop of their freshly ground coffee. Jace explained how his brother and him opened the shop together, using their sisters scientific genius to create the perfectly roasted coffee bean. Clary wanted to disagree but her mouth was salivating for another sip already. 

He offered her a job and six months later, Clary was wiping down the countertops of Java Jace a few minutes before closing. She heard the bell chime at the front door and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She looked up with the fakest of smiles on her face and saw the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. 

“We’re closing in two minutes,” Clary said reluctantly as she pushed her hair behind her ears. “I can make you a coffee to go, though!” Clary offered as she gestured toward the menu. The woman smiled as she walked up to the counter. She leaned onto it, her eyes roaming the menu while Clary’s roamed her face. She honestly couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. She thought her mouth had watered the most it could at the coffee she tasted six months prior… 

“What do you recommend?” The woman asked, tilting her head as she glanced at Clary. Clary blushed under her stare and shrugged. The woman chuckled and Clary realized it was kind of her job to recommend something off of the menu. She backtracked quickly and shook her head to clear it. 

“You can’t go wrong with the Lightwood’s Light Roast,” Clary said as she put the bag of coffee grounds on the counter. The woman nodded her head as she read the bag. 

“What do you like about this one?” Clary’s eyes widened having not been prepared for more questions to be asked of her. She thought for a moment before grabbing the grounds and measuring them out. She put them into the maker and started it as the aroma overtook her senses. The woman perked up as the smell reached her own senses. 

“Well, it was created by Jace’s sister, who I quite frankly believe is a genius by any measure,” Clary started. The woman nodded with a smirk on her face and Clary decided to keep going. “She somehow figured out the perfect time to roast the beans so that they’re still smoky, but not overwhelming to your senses,” Clary gushed as the coffee machine beeped. She poured two cups, pushing one to the woman before taking one for herself. 

“Cream and sugar?” The woman asked. Clary gasped in mock offense as she pulled the sugar away from the woman. 

“This coffee is too pure to poison it with such things,” Clary said. She smiled when the woman laughed and held up her mug in cheers. Clary touched their mugs together and took a small sip, closing her eyes and humming as it burned down her throat. She opened them to see the woman watching her. Clary was about to say something when she heard Jace’s voice behind her. 

“Izzy! You’re here!” Jace yelled as he hopped over the counter and pulled the woman into a hug. Clary had the embarrassing realization that Jace’s sister was standing in front of her. “I see Clary took your order!” Jace noticed as she sniffed at her cup of coffee. “You’re drinking the light roast? With no cream or sugar? Did she mess up your coffee order or have you changed since the last time you graced our presence?” Jace teased as he stepped away from Izzy. 

“Your barista, Clary, is it?” Clary nodded as more of a blush found its way to her cheeks. “Clary is quite brilliant at her job. Convinced me that the creator of this coffee was a ‘genius’ and successfully got me to drink coffee two dollars more expensive than I intended,” Izzy commented with a wink in Clary’s direction. Her blush darkened as she pulled her apron over her head and walked around the counter.

“My shift is over and the cafe is successfully ready for closing. You can handle that, right, Jace?” Clary stuttered as she backed to the door. She ran out without an answer, hoping that was enough for Jace to fire her. She never wanted to face Isabelle Lightwood again. 

Send prompts for Em’s Femslash February Free-For-All

[outroshooky]

imagine | ksj

⇢ genre: drabble (postbreakup!au) (angst, some fluff)

⇢ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇢ word count: 2.5k

⇢ prompt: “why can’t you imagine a world like that?”

⇢ warnings: swearing and heartbreak. have fun, y’all.

⇢ a/n: i’ve been listening to thank u, next as an album a lot for the last few weeks. kudos to ariana grande and imagine for this one, as well as she’s all yours by loote.

Nobody ever said pad thai was the healthiest of dinners, but it certainly hit the spot on cold, rainy evenings when you found yourself bent over textbooks, immersed in criminal psychology like the nerd that you are.

Chinese food has become your go-to more and more these past few weeks, the heat on your tongue from Kung Pao chicken and lo mein warming you up from the inside. All it seems to do outside your apartment windows is storm, the world outside rendered a permanent color swatch of gray. Pewter were the clouds that settled low over campus, bellies distended with wrath. Abalone was the muted light that filtered through your bedroom blinds, dim and barely-there. Slate were the bricks of the achy old home directly facing your own, looming in your window, lashed wet and whipped by the never-ending rainfall.

A depressing existence, certainly.

In fact, the weather is not the only thing that seems to have turned a chilled back on you. In one dramatically splintering fragment, your friends have drifted away from you, too. Yoongi no longer comes around to talk some obscure bit of politics with you; Taehyung suddenly finds excuses to spend his time pouring over copies of art manuscripts dating back to the Renaissance. Your cold brew seems to have lost its vanilla flavor; the sweetness brews stagnant on your tongue. Even the majestic portraits of the university’s founding fathers, poised and proud in their frames, appear to be frowning down on you.

It’s as if the universe is trying to tell you something. Which, judging by all of those things plus the daily horoscopes that light up your phone screen, it probably is.

Sunday, 12:47 PM. Your day at a glance. Sometimes, you’re doing the work without being aware of it.

“You missed date night on Friday.”

“I did? Oh my god babe, I’m so sorry. Can we do it this Sunday instead? Or maybe Wednesday?”

“I have work on Sunday and a mandatory civics exam on Wednesday.”

“Well, how about next week?”

“This is the third one in a row you’ve missed, Seokjin.”

Yesterday, 12:53 PM. Your day at a glance. Think of trusting people as an act of generosity today.

“I thought you said you were studying with Yoongi in the library tonight.”

The door creaks closed. “I was. There’s a group project coming up that we’re nervous for.”

A text notification lights up your phone, the gentle ping! way more cheery than necessary.

myg: where’s your boyfriend? he’s supposed to be here. it’s been two hours and his coffee is getting cold.

And, perhaps, your favorite:

Nine hours ago. Your day at a glance. Don’t be scared to tell each other the truth.

myg: there’s nothing wrong with me, but i think you need to take some time for yourself, so we’re giving you some space. we’re all worried about you.

Perhaps this whole message-from-the-universe thing is more obvious than you thought it was.

You roll your eyes and take another bite of your takeout, leaning over your textbook with renewed, nearly reckless abandon.

The universe would have to wait. You had an examination on court cases tomorrow that you could not afford to fail.

It’s late the next time you look at the clock, so late that night has spilled over into the early morning, and for once, it’s quiet outside.

The streetlights reflect on the tearstained panes of your window, droplets of gold shimmering tranquil. Branches scratch at the glass with persistence, but not insistence. The lamp’s glow burns soft in the darkness of your bedroom, and the pen flows moot in your aching grasp, working endlessly for four hours- no, five. Your eyes grow heavy in the light that seems to be dying evermore, the bulb fading and flickering, threatening total extinction.

Perhaps a brief, merciful rest is in order.

Your head hits the cover of your notebook and you’re asleep without a second thought.

A single chime resounds in the stillness of your apartment, a sound that conditions your weary head to instantly lift from your pillow of study materials. You blink; your eyes are dry and sticky from exhaustion, but your dark laptop screen is awakened with color, so alive and so brightly blue that you squint for a moment, pupils overwhelmed.

Incoming call: campus-wide handsome💕💕💕

Relief.

Relief floods your system like water pouring from a broken dam, leaking and sinking and filling every nook, every cranny. Relief, ease; the feelings spurt color into your darkened world, the details sharpening as if brought into focus by an empyrean lens. Relief, him. This is normal; everything will be fine, he’s calling to talk it out, finally. He’s ready to come clean, to own up to his mistakes and mishaps and god, you will too, because you are far from perfect. Two broken halves, reunited by the glow of pixels on an electronic screen.

You move, almost automatically, to accept the call.

On the other side of the screen, your boyfriend sits, blurry with a poor connection. He is effortlessly handsome barefaced, an oversized hoodie thrown on casually, brown locks mussed in a style only he could pull off. His brow is more pronounced in the shadows of his dorm room, his almond eyes tired but hopeful. He's never looked so domestically kissable; your heart twists at the thought.

When Seokjin speaks, he’s quiet with the reverence of night-time, that sacred morning space when the world pauses to take a breath of its own. Everything is on the table, but nothing is off limits. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hi,” you breathe.

He scratches at the back of his neck, fingers disappearing in the strands of hair that lick at his ears. “I know that this isn’t really warranted and is probably going to sound weird, but I needed to hear your voice. It’s late, but- I don’t know, I missed it. I missed you.”

Your heart soars. “I missed you too Jinnie, more than I’d like to admit in all honesty.”

A smile pulls at his lips, wonderfully plush and sweet. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” 

You gaze into the camera at him. Him, the person with the world in the palm of his hands. Him, the student whom nearly every one of his professors fawned over, the son of one of the most distinguished politicians in the region. Him, who had caught your eye at the nearby coffee shop one late afternoon shift and stolen your heart with a spilled cappuccino all over his brand new slacks. Him, who stares at you with java eyes and a tender heart, so close but so, so far away.

There’s a beat of silence that falls as you stare at him, and he clears his throat. “Baby, I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

“Us.”

A prickle of worry in your stomach. “What about us?”

“Do you remember that night when you made your mom’s pasta from scratch for the first time?”

Your brows furrow. “What about it?”

“That was the night we slow danced in the kitchen to Sinatra,” he reminisces. “It was just us and the moon, dancing on the tile while Frank crooned. I miss that.”

Your heart leaps at the happy memory, burning clear in your mind.

Seokjin waggles his brows as he places one hand on your waist, the gentle pressure of his hand on your hip comforting. You’re in sweatpants and an old shirt; he’s in a suit, having just come off his internship at a local firm. But he’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, your cheeks pink with the heat of the kitchen and your sleeves splattered with tomato sauce. And in that moment you are wholly, completely enrapturing to him, so much that he just had to ask you to dance, to hold you tight to his chest as the vinyl in the hallway plays and you have carved a moment out of chaos for yourselves, you only.

“May I have this dance, little chef?”

“You may, my handsome lawyer.”

“I only passed the bar exam, like, five months ago.”

“Shut up and dance with me, you coward.”

“I’m shutting up now.”

“And I miss that day we spent at the arboretum a few hours away, walking between the roses and talking about anything and everything,” Seokjin continues. “Or the times we’d bring Chinese food over Yoongi and Jimin’s dorm room and play Cards Against Humanity for hours on end.”

Seokjin kneels to cradle a flower delicately between his fingers, studying the pastels etched like ink into the petals. “You know, your lips are as beautiful as those petals,” you blurt. “And as soft, too.” He blushes a deep crimson all the way to his ears, and you laugh aloud.

Cheeks stuffed round and full with dumplings, you nearly choke at the card you draw from the stack. “Gordon Ramsay’s what?” The room is filled with howls of mirth and this, you think to yourself, this must be heaven.

“Even the moments when you’d cry because the stress was too much, or when I had that emergency hospital trip and you found out in the middle of your lecture.”

Chest heaving, lungs stabbing, fear. Stress and exhaustion and anxiety, bearing down their cruel weight on your shoulders, twisting each thought just enough to make it hurt. You’re crying into your hands, a hiccup punctuating each fresh sob, when your apartment door is opening and he’s stumbling in and then his arms are around you. He’s clutching you so tight you feel as though your ribs are cracking, insisting that he must hold you together when you feel yourself shattering into infinitesimal pieces, finds it in himself to pluck each shard from his palm and put it together to find you again. You, the everlasting heartbeat of his microcosm, a little slice of paradise to which no one else holds the key.

Chest heaving again, but it’s pure panic that floods your veins this time, seeps frigid into your blood. In a rush you’re dropping your phone into your bag, practically throwing your laptop and your books into your backpack with one hand, scrabbling for your car keys with the other. A text from Yoongi you’ll never forget: this isn’t an emergency, but jin had a severe allergic reaction to the seafood we got for lunch. he’s on his way to the hospital right now. Never in your life had you driven twenty-five miles an hour over the speed limit before that day, but he was awake and alert when you saw him next, enough to give you a crooked thumbs-up as he smiled behind the nebulizer.

“I don’t know why I’m thinking of all this. I guess I just wanted to call you and tell you that I love you and I miss you, and I’m thinking of you. It’s late, but you’re the only thing on my mind, and really, just- I’m sorry for everything that’s been going on lately.” You can hear the earnest pleading in his voice, the ache in his soul. He means what he says, and a pang of guilt throbs at the surface.

“I really do love you,” he continues. “I love you like every star shines in the midday sky, even when they’re too bright to be seen. I love the way your nose scrunches when you laugh and how your eyebrows furrow when you study at night and how your teeth aren’t quite straight; they’re perfect the way they are. I love your little unorthodox habits, your quirks and flaws and your talents too. I love you, okay? I love you for who you are and I promise we will get through this, I swear it even if it takes every ounce of energy I have.”

His voice breaks when he says okay; he says those three words like he's trying to embed them into your soul, carve them into your psyche, promise you that even though this has been falling apart at the seams, he loves you. Somehow, someway, it will last. The end isn’t near; that's not possible. Not while he loves you like this, and you love him too, love him with every ounce of your soul.

“Seokjin, I-” you begin.

CRASH!

Thunder explodes outside your window and you jolt, hand lashing out, knocking over your cup of pens and pencils that sits expectantly on your desk. It is if the sky is cleaving itself in two, lightning splitting the sky with an explosion of light and thunder howling with a cacophony of darkness. Rain pours down, spilling from the gutters down your sill; you can hear a faint dripping from the bathroom and realize the ceiling is leaking again, just like it has every day for the last two and a half weeks.

You raise a hand to your cheek and trace the square imprints in the skin from your laptop keyboard. There’s a kink in your neck that aches like the devil, your spine aching after the uncomfortable position you contorted yourself into pre-nap and you are so groggy at first that nothing seems out of the ordinary, and you move to message Seokjin that you accidentally took a nap, and you loved him, too.

You press the power button on your laptop. No response.

You frown and try again, running your hand across the body of the machine, cold and unresponsive to the touch.

Cold and unresponsive?

But you were just-

No.

No.

Seokjin was just here. He was just here; you just saw him onscreen, you’d call him in a moment and things would be just how they were.

Just how they were two weeks ago, when he’d told you over a caramel macchiato that this, whatever beautiful thing you had cultivated, was beyond repair. That he couldn’t have more of his energy sapped by this relationship that you had put so much of yourself towards, giving him everything he could possibly want, and yet at the end of it all, you’re the one whose face is spat upon with scorn. He promised you that you would get through this, and yet there is no promise because this is already over, and the second time the thunder crashes in your ears like a symphony of pure sound, you cry aloud. It felt so fucking real to have him there, him, the color on your canvas, the brightness of your everyday life turned up like an old television dial.

The lamp still shines buttery gold, all these hours later. Now it matches the tinge of dawn that peeks through a break in the angry clouds, spreading its vibrant fingers like ivy seeking a trellis.

It is so easy to imagine a world in which your laptop merely died, cutting off your proclamation of love to him. So easy to imagine him in his dorm on campus, body crooked as he sleeps curled in on himself, buried under a pile of blankets when your body can’t provide him the heat. So easy to pretend as though none of this nightmare, this hellish denial had never even happened to begin with.

But you can’t anymore.

You can’t hold onto every experience. Give yourself permission to forget.

Your phone vibrates with a notification.

Fortunate are those who can appreciate the basic goods of life with awe, pleasure, wonder and ecstasy, again and again for the first time.

[tcm--holland]

sellout // peter parker

summary: you’re a journalist with a passion for superheroes. what sets you apart from the other nosy writers in nyc is that one of them has been under your nose the entire time, and you didn’t even notice. but when given an opportunity to rise to the top in the world of turbulent journalism, will you let it go or become a sellout?

word count: about 5.3k

a/n: been a while, but here i am if anyone still wants me. thank you for (almost) 1k, i seriously thought i’d never get this far when i started this acc last year. as always, babes, enjoy <333

masterlist

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The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, as people know him, is our latest rising superhero. But as we all know, fame comes hand in hand with controversy. A lot of people question his motivation, competence, abilities...even his morals. “Is he even a superhero?” Many ask after his recent oil spill incident. In short, yes.

You finish typing your sentence, shut your laptop, and hurriedly slide it into your backpack. You peek through the blinds in your dirty window, looking out into the already bustling city. The streets are flooded and lines for coffee shops are starting to go out the door. Amongst the crowd, you spot a familiar brunet boy that was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.

Grabbing two apples and a water bottle, you dash out the door and down the stairwell, trying not to drop anything. As soon as you’re outside, a scent native only to New York hits your nose: freshly baked bagels, dark roasted coffee, and a hint of stale urine. It kind of makes you wish that you had the time to sit down and have some real breakfast, but who are you kidding? You’re a student, a busy one at that. There’s no such thing as free time.

You weave through the bunches of businesspeople, students, and other people with places to be to get to the boy. “Peter!” You call to get his attention, barely audible over the noise of the street.  He turns away from you first, looking in the opposite direction and then slowly making a 360 degree turn until he spots you. You shake your head in disbelief and toss him an apple. He catches it without hesitation. His reflexes never fail to amaze you, but this doesn’t distract you from being annoyed at him.  “About time you showed up.”

“Aw, sorry, Y/N.” It’s only now that you’ve noticed him trying to hide something in the water bottle pouch of his backpack. He stands awkwardly, half turned away like he’s cheating out on a stage, but then he reaches back to grab whatever he’s been hiding. He pulls out a cup of coffee, and when you peep inside you see a thick layer of foam on top. Just the way you like it. “I thought I’d grab you some coffee. Uh, I wasn’t sure if it was two or three sugars, so I put in two and I brought an extra packet...” The joyous yet hesitant smile on his face as he hands it to you is contagious, and suddenly you’ve cracked a grin too. You can never find it in you to stay angry with Peter.

He fishes into his pocket, pulling out a set of tangled earphones with the sugar packet inside the tangle. You shake your head. “Two’s great.”

“You’re the best, you know that? Thank you.” You take a sip and wince as you nearly burn your tongue off. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him looking at you. He glances away as soon as you notice. “But now we’re definitely going to be late. Let’s go.” You walk side by side, him munching on the crisp apple and you carefully sipping the java. Within a minute, he’s finished with his apple. He opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t need to. You already know. You hand him your apple without a word. As per usual, he vehemently refuses to take it until you’ve said that you don’t want it a million times.

“Why didn’t you get yourself some coffee? You look like you need it more than I do,” you comment. His skin is pale as a vampire’s, like he hasn’t seen proper sunlight in days. And he’s still wearing yesterday’s Star Wars t-shirt, which he was also wearing the day before yesterday.

“Nah. Coffee just makes me jumpy. And I’m hyper enough without it, don’tcha think?” He cracks a smile.

“I guess you are.” You smile back, remembering something that you wanted to tell him. “Hey, remember how I applied for that job at The Daily Globe, and I said I totally wasn’t gonna get it?” The look on your face gives it away.

“You got it?” Peter throws an arm around you, squeezing your shoulder. “I’m so proud of you! What are you gonna write about?”

You grin up at him before taking another sip of the coffee. His constant enthusiasm for your writing will never stop motivating you. “They want me to cover Spider-Man. Crazy cool, right?”

He blinks, and for a brief moment his eyes are wide with panic. “Y-You’re writing about...Spider-Man? That’s, uh...That’s really cool! You’re gonna do great.”

“You think so? I started writing my first article this morning. I was thinking about finding out who that mystery man is. I could start an investigative series of -”

Peter cuts you off before you can say more, taking his arm off of your shoulder. “No, don’t do that!” You stop and look at him, brow furrowed in confusion, as he fumbles for words.  “U-Uh, I mean, maybe you shouldn’t reveal his identity to the world. You know, maybe he wants his private life to stay, er, private.”

“Yeah?” You say, unimpressed. “I don’t remember you caring this much about Daredevil’s private life when we were digging into him.”

“Okay but - that was before I knew him.” He paused, realizing he’d just let a secret slip. “I mean, obviously I don’t know know him. You get what I’m saying.”

You look at him and sigh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It might be a bad idea to build up that kind of suspense and not be able to release an actual reveal if Spider-Man turns out to be someone like Daredevil. You know, I’m still pissed that I couldn’t tell everyone who Daredevil is after all that research.”

He cracks a smile. “What, you mean being sued by a lawyer isn’t on the bucket list?”

You smile, forgetting all about wanting to find out who Spider-Man is as you let your imagination run free. “During the day, he’d sue me. But at night, he’d find and murder me. And then, he’d stare - I mean, he can’t see, but you get the point - he’d stare at my dead body and be like, ‘Bullseye’ before leaping away to beat up some criminals.” You do your best impression of Murdock’s cool, dark demeanor. Peter starts cracking up, shaking his head.

“No no no - it’s like, ‘Bullseye’.” He does his own impression, which sounds so smooth and serious that you have to do a double take to make sure you’re looking at Peter Parker and not Matt Murdock himself. He grins at your reaction, stopping to take a bow with a flourish of his hand.

You shake your head at his over-exaggeration. You lean in close to whisper into his ear, trying not to giggle. “Hey, Pete, you can tell me if you’re secretly friends with the guy.” A blush starts creeping up his neck. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re whispering in his ear or if it’s something else.

“Uh, totally. Nothing weird about a teenager and a thirty year old lawyer dude hanging out, right?”

You scrunch up your face and shove him playfully. “Ew, well, when you put it like that…” The tall brick school building comes into view, right beside the delicately maintained football field. You slide your phone out of your pocket to glance at the time. “We’re, like, ten minutes late,” you say, starting to walk a little faster.

As two of you cross onto the campus, he gives you a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he apologizes again.

“Hey, it’s nothing. The coffee was worth it,” you wink, and his lips curve upwards. You finish up what’s left in your cup and try to make it into the nearest trash can. Unsurprisingly, it lands several feet away. Still, you exclaim, “Kobe!”

“Join the basketball team already!” He teases as you make the walk of shame to throw your cup away properly.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, but the body betrays the mind and a grin slips through.

It’s finally time to part ways, which is your least favorite part of each and every morning. You lean in to give him a hug. Even though it’s clearly been a while since he’s washed up, he’s still got a unique musk that you haven’t gotten around to figuring out yet. He’s so warm and easy to hold onto. Do you have to let go?

You linger a few more moments in his strong, defined arms as he rubs little circles on your back. You’re sure he’s doing it absentmindedly, yet it’s your favorite part of hugging him. With his Stark internship, your writing, and school, moments like this have recently been defining your friendship with him.

He sighs, resting his head on your shoulder. “I’m so tired, Y/N.” Every time he breathes, it tickles your neck a little.

“What’s keeping you up?” You ask quietly, brushing the hair off of his forehead. He sighs again, and this time you really feel it tickle your neck. You want to squirm and laugh a little, but you keep it in so he can tell you what’s on his mind.

“Hm? Oh, it’s just, uh...school.” Upon hearing this, you immediately pick up on the fact that he’s stressed about something he doesn’t want to tell you. If either of you had the time, you’d unpack it all and make him feel better. “Speaking of school, we should probably...do that.” He lifts his head off of your shoulder. His hair’s all over the place now, but he doesn’t seem to care. Peter gives you a soft smile.

You pull away from the hug. You’ve seen him smile a million times, but something about this one makes you feel different. You’ve never noticed how his dark, coffee colored eyes crinkle so genuinely when he smiles, or how brightly they shine when they look at you. He’s staring at you back, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Why do you suddenly feel like kissing him? Peter, the boy who has read everything you’ve ever written and still begs for more. The boy you bumped into when you’d just moved to the city and you didn’t know anyone else. The one who walked to school with you every single day so you wouldn’t have to face a new school alone, and never fell out of the habit. The same one you cried about when he confided in you about his crush on Liz Toomes.

You swallow. Why is your mind playing cruel tricks on you when you know the truth? You force yourself to snap out of it, stepping away from Peter. “I-I’ll see you later, Peter,” you say quickly, all traces of a smile gone as you turn around to leave.

“Uh, cool. See you, Y/N!” you hear him reply. You walk faster, heading into class and taking a seat. Your classmates stare at you judgmentally, silently wondering why you’re so late. You keep your head down.

“Thanks for the hello,” your friend and designated partner in class, Mia, mutters as you reach into your backpack to grab your notebook. She’s been around almost as long as Peter.

“Sorry,” you mumble back, not offering an explanation. You keep your eyes glued to your notebook so she can’t see the expression on your face. She has a weird way of figuring out everything on your mind, whether you want her to know or not.

“Something happen?”

You glance up at her. She’s forgotten about writing in her notebook and has started twirling one of her cornrow braids around her finger. She watches you the whole time. Finally, she says, “‘Cause, like, I’m not saying that you’re late because you were busy being all over each other in the hallways, but if you were…”

Your eyes widen, and you glance over both shoulders to make sure no one’s listening. “Wh - no! It’s not like that, I already told you. I’m late because I got coffee, okay?”

Mia raises a carefully plucked eyebrow. “Y/N, can you answer me honestly for once when I ask if you like that boy or not?”

You sigh. “Sure, I like him, but -”

“Then what are you waiting for, girl? Go get him!”

“No!” This draws the attention of the teacher, who glances over. You pretend to work until he looks away, and then you turn back towards her. “No, Mia. He likes Liz.”

“He likes -” She starts, but she quickly cuts herself off and stops playing with her hair. “Oh.” You half hope that she’ll say something reassuring, even if it’s not true. But Mia’s no liar - she’ll give it to you straight. You look away, feeling worse. You focus on the clock at the front of the classroom instead, counting down the minutes until class ends.

Eventually, class ends, but your inner anguish doesn’t. Hours turn into days and nights, which turn into weeks. You do your best to keep up with Peter, but the universe works against you. You call him at the only time you can - right after school - but he never picks up. And every time he calls you back, it’s when you’re in the middle of writing something important. Eventually, walking to school together becomes less of a peaceful sanctuary and more of a necessary chore. Most of the time is spent walking side by side on your phones.

You don’t how you got to a point where you hardly say hello to each other anymore, but it happened so quickly that it hasn’t set in for either of you yet. Part of you thinks that maybe that’s just how it’s supposed to be, that you’re meant to be a forgotten relic from Peter Parker’s past. What a tragic, cruel fate. Thinking about Peter makes your stomach churn with discomfort, so you focus all of your energy on writing.

Ladies and gentlemen, The Daily Bugle has officially become the Fox News of writing about Spider-Man. In their latest article, they chose to slander me by calling me a “nasty teen who doesn’t know the difference between journalism and writing for a tabloid”. That’s how you know you’ve won a battle, folks.

Reports say that Spider-Man’s slipping a little. He let a few purse snatchers get away this week. Some worry, or rejoice, depending on who you are, that this is the end of the line for him. Don’t give up hope so quickly, I say to that. It’s all in the making of someone great. But I can’t help but wonder...what’s on Spider-Man’s mind? More importantly, can he find it in himself to deal with it and move on?

You start doing well. Suddenly, everyone’s talking to you about your latest articles. Teachers, friends, and your family alike begin to regard you as a local hero, in your own unique way. Despite this positive attention, something doesn’t feel right.

One day, something you’d been fearing for a while finally comes true. Peter stops showing up outside of your apartment. You stand outside that grey morning, staring into the sea of faces and hoping that one of them might be his. You wait ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes, looking a bit like a lost puppy to people that happen to glance at you.

It’s only after almost forty-five minutes of internal panic and worry that you think to text him. Maybe he’s sick and he forgot to tell you. It’s probably nothing and you’re overreacting for no reason.

(8:32 AM) You: school started 20 min ago...where are you?

You stare at your phone, spacing out for a few minutes until you hear a ping.

(8:36 AM) Peter: oh crap!!! y/n i’m so sorry, i totally forgot to tell you

(8:36 AM) You: ???

(8:37 AM) Peter: i’m in d.c. rn for a decathlon tournament! kinda last min but yeah! sorry for not letting you know, you gonna be late?

(8:37 AM) You: thought you stopped doing decathlon

(8:38 AM) Peter: i got back into it :)

(8:41 AM) You: oh

He sends you something after that, but you don’t bother reading it. The entire walk to school, you feel like you’re in a daze. You don’t understand why you can’t just let it go and move on with your life. Your writing is taking off. Some D-list magazine once titled you ‘Teen Journalist of the Year’, after all. You’ve dreamed of going big your whole life, but now that it’s starting to happen, you’re more unhappy than you’ve ever been.

As you walk, you hear your phone begin to play your marimba ringtone. Who’s calling you at this time? You ignore the pile up of texts from Peter to answer the call. The caller ID says...your boss? You put the phone to your ear. “Mr. Bushkin, I -” You start.

“Y/N, listen. You’re exactly what this paper has needed for a long time - a young, fresh face who hands it to the audience unfiltered.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Bushkin -”

“K.J. Clayton herself praises you!” K.J. Clayton, owner of The Daily Globe? You want to express your excitement, but as usual, there’s no time to react with the overbearing Barney Bushkin. “And hey, you’re gettin’ fan mail, kid! Pick it up from the office when you can, okay? But I called to ask you about something. You’re doing great, but you know what turns kids like you into celebrities? The big break.”

“And I think your big break could be in finding out who that Spider-Man is. So think about it if you wanna, and get back to me on…” Bushkin’s words fade away for a moment.

“Maybe he wants his private life to stay private.” That’s what Peter said as he convinced you to let Spider-Man live in peace. But that doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it’s time you do something for yourself. Bushkin’s right - finding out who the masked spider is would launch your career. You’re sure you can do it - without Peter’s help.

“Mr. Bushkin.” For once, you interrupt your boss. He doesn’t seem to mind, though.

“Hm?”

“I’ll do it, sir. I’ll find out who Spider-Man is.”

---

By the time you get to school, there are hardly more than ten minutes left in first period. Mia tries to talk to you when you sit down, but you can’t bring yourself to tune into the world right now. You’re too excited about your own future.

You go through your classes, juggling between feeling annoyed about your Peter ordeal and feeling excited about your new assignment. If anything, the jumble of emotions make you even more determined.

At lunch, you open your phone up to see that it’s blowing up with messages from friends, schoolmates...even strangers. It doesn’t take much more than a quick Google search to find out that something’s going on in D.C. Immediately, you start watching the first live broadcast that comes up. It’s Spider-Man on top of… “The Washington monument?” You whisper.

You sit there in shock, watching him save a bunch of kids from inside the monument, no thanks to the police. You squint to try and get a better look at the kids. They’re not kids, they’re teenagers! And their jackets look awfully familiar…

“The decathlon team.” You have to pinch yourself to make sure that you’re not living a reality. Your heart’s beating so fast and you can barely breathe, like you just ran a few miles at top speed. You glance at Mia, who’s been watching you across your table of friends with a confused stare as you talk to yourself. “I - I have to go,” you announce, standing up suddenly and tossing everything into your backpack before beginning to walk quickly. Mia is right by your side as you approach the office.

“Y/N, what are you -”

“Spider-Man just saved our decathlon team from a falling elevator at the Washington Monument in D.C.” You do your best to explain as quickly as possible. “I need to write about this.” You don’t stop to think about why you want to write all of a sudden. You don’t wonder if you’re in a rush because you simply want to get the latest news down or if you want to drown your complicated emotions away with words.

She blocks your path. “I need you to slow down and breathe before you give yourself a panic attack. What you need to do is stay here, at school. You can write the article when you go home.”

“No, don’t you get it, girl? I need to do this. The sooner I do that, the sooner I can start piecing together who Spider-Man is.”

“Have you gone crazy?” Mia yells, and suddenly you shut up and stare at her, throat tight. You’ve never seen her like this. “You’re so focused on getting your stupid ass story that you haven’t even stopped to think about if everyone on the decathlon team - the people you go to school with - got hurt or anything. Since when did you start giving up your integrity for journalism?”

“Since I learned how to do it right,” you shoot back angrily. You’ve left your best friend at a loss for words, but there’s no turning back now. You consider marching into the office and telling them you need to go, but they’d probably force you to go back to class. You hear the bell signalling the end of lunch. It’s now or never. You can’t bring yourself to look back at Mia as you make your escape off of campus to go home.

In just a matter of months, Spider-Man has gone from a local name to being known across the country. As many of you may already know by now, Spider-Man was out in D.C. this weekend doing God’s work at the Washington Monument. Of course, the police don’t appreciate his stunts, but the police also had no chance at saving those teenagers before Spider-Man did. The kids themselves are New York natives - in fact, they attend the Midtown School of Science and Technology as my fellow schoolmates. Spidey’s back on track!

Over the next few weeks, writing consumes most of your time. There’s not much else to do when you don’t have any friends. So you sit at home detailing every step that Spider-Man takes, trying to figure out who he could possibly be. It could be anyone - millions of people live in the city, after all. While you try to find out his identity, you have to keep up with current events too. So you push yourself harder to stay up to date on what Spider-Man does.

You skip parties that you occasionally get invited to. You even skip homecoming this year. Who would you go with, anyway?

A rare sight: Spider-Man back in his Underoos to fight the Vulture. You usually see superheroes dress up for the big boss battle...but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he keeps us guessing. He locked up the Vulture - hopefully for good. But our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man chose not to take his life. He’s no Daredevil, though I hear speculation that they may know each other. All things considered, we know Spidey’s in league with billionaire Tony Stark. Does this mean we’ll see Spider-Man among the Avengers soon?

This is so much harder alone. That’s the only thought running through your head as you rub your temples. You’re not even close to finding out Spider-Man’s real identity, never mind writing an article on it. Suddenly, you hear your ringtone go off. At this point, no one else really calls you, so you know who’s at the other end of the line.

“Hi, Mr. Bushkin,” you greet quietly.

“Y/N! How’s that Spider-Man reveal goin’?” Oh, you’ve been dreading this call.

You can’t bring yourself to lie, though. “It’s not goin’.”

“Hey, don’t become discouraged. I can always hand off the job to -”

“No, sir,” you cut in, nervous. “I can, uh, I can do it, I swear. I just need a little more time.”

“There’s that fire! Now go find out who he is. I believe in you.” The phone clicks as he hangs up. Something about his words feel empty to you. Does Mr. Bushkin really believe in you? His I believe you doesn’t sound like Peter’s I believe in you.

Peter. Mia. You miss them both more than you care to admit. A shaky sigh escapes your lips when you think about the longing that’s been pulling at your heart strings for the last few weeks. You’re so burned out. You’ve given up every shred of your sanity for this.

You close your laptop and pull out your phone, opening up your conversation with Peter to read the messages you haven’t bothered to check since he went to D.C.

(8:42 AM) Peter: hey are you doing okay?

(8:45 AM) Peter: i’m just asking cuz your texts are like short and stuff

(8:45 AM) Peter: i mean that’s not a bad thing like i’m not saying you have to write like paragraphs or anything

(8:46 AM) Peter: idek what i’m saying anymore help lol

(10:24 AM) Peter: y/n? are you mad at me?

(11:11 AM) Peter: ok i’ll leave you alone if you don’t feel like talking rn

He didn’t say anything for a few days. And then:

(7:14 PM) Peter: may wanted to invite you to dinner tonight if you can make it? she knows how much you like her stir fry :)

(9:48 PM) Peter: we’ll just save you some in case you wanna pick it up in the morning then

A few more days.

(3:39 PM) Peter: ned, mj and i are binging star wars! you should come and meet mj btw, you’d love her

A few more.

(4:23 PM) Peter: coffee? ik you’re super busy and i’m about to get super busy too but imy! let’s catch up <3

Before you can stop yourself, you’re choked up. You can’t help it. As hot tears spill out of your eyes and onto your cheeks, you wonder how you became such a jerk. When did writing stop making you happy and start making you turn on everyone good in your life?  A sob escapes your lips. Angry with yourself, you pick up the photographs and newspaper clippings strewn across your bed and throw them at the wall as hard as you can. You hate it all.

You hate yourself for carrying so much anxiety with you, for being so unappreciative of everyone in your life, for being so egotistical and cocky as soon as you found a throne to climb onto. You hate yourself for ignoring Peter without a decent reason and for not trusting Mia enough to know what’s best for you sometimes. You hate yourself for being so flawed, but you can’t figure out how to fix it.

You stand up, brushing your tears away. Spider-Man can wait. Your friends need you. Or, at the very least, you need your friends.

You slide on a pair of sneakers and glance in the mirror. You look the same way Peter did weeks ago - sunlight deficient and exhausted. You make your way down the street two blocks, regretting forgetting a jacket. The bitter cold wind leaves goosebumps on your arms and chills you to the bone. Finally, you make it upstairs, knocking on the all-too-familiar door to the apartment.

May Parker opens the door, clearly surprised when she sees you. “Y/N?” Your heart breaks all over again as soon as she says your name, and suddenly you feel like crying again. “Hey, sweetheart,” she says gently, pulling you into a hug. You pull yourself together, blinking away your tears as you hug her back. When you finally let go, she urges you to come in and have a seat at their dinner table.

“You want anything? A drink or something to eat, maybe?” She offers kindly. When you shake your head no, May takes a seat in front of you. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ve been terrible to Peter,” you blurt out. “I just - I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but ever since I got my job, I’ve been - I have…” You take a moment to figure out what you want to say, May’s patient gaze never straying from you. “I just wanted to catch up.” You try to smile, but it’s more of a grimace.

She nods in understanding, and she thinks for a few seconds. “You know what? Let’s talk about it. Peter’s in the shower right now, so you can wait in his room if you want. And then you can come out together and we can all talk. That sound okay to you?” You nod, trying to take a few deep breaths and sort yourself out. Finally, you stand up to head into Peter’s room. “And Y/N,” she says. You glance up at her. “Peter’s been dealing with some stuff too. He was, um...sneaking out.” You raise your eyebrows at this. Peter, sneaking out? She sees your reaction and nods. “I know. But he lost his Stark internship a while ago, and that’s how he dealt with it. I know how important these things are to you guys. They get so important that you do dumb things sometimes.”

You hold May’s gaze, wondering if you’ll ever be as wise as her. You smile slowly and nod. “Thanks, May. Can I, um, have another hug?”

May laughs and walks back over to you. “Of course, Y/N.” She wraps her arms around you for a second hug, doing the same back rubbing that Peter does when he hugs. When you finally let go, you feel a lot better. You give her one last smile before heading into Peter’s room.

You start thinking about Spider-Man again. All the research you’ve done on him wasn’t for nothing. You’ve narrowed it down a little. Based on how amateur he is, both in action and in conversations, you can easily rule out Spider-Man being an adult. Or at least, if he is an adult, he’s fairly new at being one.

You blink, remembering why you’re here. You take a seat on his bed and look around. He’s got photographs of you and Ned strung up on his wall. It looks like he’s in the process of stringing up pictures of someone else, too. His decathlon jacket is sprawled on the back of his chair. Next to that is his backpack, with all of his school things still inside. Ugh, your pet peeve is backpacks that are open when they don’t need to be. Very specific, you know, but it’s so annoying to you.

You stand up, going to zip up the bag when you see something in the corner of your eye under Peter’s bed. Itt’s red and blue, and at this point, you’ve seen it so many times that you recognize it instantly as Spider-Man’s Underoos. What the hell? Your heart races in anticipation. Maybe it’s just a replica, or a cosplay outfit. You drop to your knees to reach towards the suit. As soon as you touch it, you realize that this is too perfect to be cosplay. You pull it out and hold it in the light, a million things racing through your head as you stare in disbelief.

“Y-You’re writing about...Spider-Man?”

“I mean, maybe you shouldn’t reveal his identity to the world. Maybe he wants his private life to stay private.”

“Okay but - that was before I knew him.”

The door clicks open. On Peter’s end, he sees you sitting on his bed with his Spider-Man suit clutched in hand. On your end, you’re glancing back and forth between the half-naked Peter and the suit. You don’t know if you’re supposed to be shocked or panicked.

Almost at the same time, you and Peter say, “What the fu -”

[skeletonscribbles]

26 from the prompt list for Ben/bev!!

my friend, I genuinely think getting to write this Benverly ficlet cleared my skin, watered my crops, improved my lifestyle, etc. etc. etc.

I wanted to give them a nice little coffeeshop AU moment, because it’s what they Deserve, so here they are in Face The Music, with the prompt “maybe not” :)

(and if you’d rather, you can read it on Ao3!)

Some days, Ben Hanscom felt like he was out of his mind for choosing architecture.

Sure, he was good at it - he always had been. The minute he’d stepped into his drafting elective in high school, he’d known that he had a talent for clean lines and physics and the necessary vision to design something beautiful, tasteful, and in synch with its surroundings. He was an architect. That was what he was going to do.

From there, his life followed a prescribed course of actions: down to hot, sweaty Texas to study at Rice University, then up to cold, meticulous MIT for graduate school so he could, at last, land a low-ranking job at a top-ranking firm in New York City. Ben wasn’t sure that he liked New York - he sure as shit didn’t belong there, coming in from ass-nowhere Kansas - but it was where he was supposed to be, career-wise, so…okay.

Well…not quite okay. It would be easier to ignore the parts of New York that grated on him if he actually felt like he was going somewhere with his career, but all of the big projects the firm took on seemed to be going to people (if Ben was to be bluntly honest) much less capable than he; Emma from New Hampshire, for example had been hired just after him, had put forward mediocre blueprints for a standard corporate building as the key piece in her portfolio, and had, within a month of being on the job, been pulled for the major midtown renovation that the firm had been commissioned to do. Ben was left to his paperwork and his resentment, and resolved to work harder, push himself further – but how much further could he go? He barely made it home most nights as it was. Last night, he’d been at work until 3:30 a.m., filing and sketching and re-sketching and thinking, and now, at 7 a.m., he was back to do it all again.

This is rewarding, he reminded himself as he shuffled his way down the sidewalk. This is what you’re good at.

Fuck. No pep-talk was going to be worth anything if he didn’t have coffee. He should have thought about that sooner, because at this point in the trek he’d passed most of his usual java joints - there was only the new place left between him and work, and it wasn’t a chain, it was an independently owned little corner market.

He wasn’t big on going out of his comfort zone, particularly where coffee was concerned, but…it was going to have to do for now. He hoped to God they’d grant him the extra espresso he so desperately needed.

“Hi, welcome to Maturin Coffee–” the barista began as he walked in (prescribed, he thought), and then they made eye contact and all of what was left of Ben’s coherent thought (which wasn’t much, to be fair, after about an hour and a half of sleep) went out the window.

There was a lot that could be said about the young woman before him - things that Ben could probably infer about her personality and the store as a whole based on her green turtle knit cap, mint green button-down with lavender stripes, and rainbow apron (that clashed with her red, red hair), but none of that mattered at all, because he was trapped in the pull of her jungle green eyes.

Shit, shit, shit. He didn’t have time for this. There was too much work on his plate for him to be falling in love with every manic pixie dream barista on the block. Shaking his head a little bit to knock himself out of his funk, he approached the counter.

“I need something with at least four shots of espresso in it.”

The woman raised an eyebrow at him, clearly somewhat bemused. “Four shots, huh? No rest for the weary?”

“Slept for an hour and a half last night,” Ben told her honestly, hoping the truth would make her speed up her work. “Not out of the ordinary for me. Espresso’s gonna keep me alive.”

The woman whistled, raking her eyes over Ben’s face with something akin to concern. Instead of asking questions about his personal life, though, as he’d feared she might do, she moved to grab a large cup.

“Any particular flavors you like?” she asked him, bringing his cup towards a disorganized jumble of what looked like flavorings and creamers. “Allergies, things I should know, etcetera?”

He racked his brain, trying to come up with something on the fly. Most of the baristas he’d  encountered would have just served him four straight shots of espresso in the bottom half of a paper cup, and he found himself almost grateful that this girl was trying to make things nicer for him. Very few people did that, these days (or ever, really, if he was being honest with himself).

“I like almond,” he told her, allowing himself one thin, quiet smile. “No allergies.”

Her returned grin was a revelation - it stretched her face so brilliantly that his heart couldn’t help but throw itself against the front of his chest like it was trying to get out and reach her and holy shit, did he have absolutely no self control whatsoever?

“Coming right up,” she told him, and busied herself with his concoction while he tried to pull himself the fuck together. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to focus on the residential project he was building a model for for that day, but found his mind was now completely devoid of anything that didn’t have to do with the spread of freckles across barista girl’s cheeks. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He’d have to try a new strategy for clearing his mind - what was that New Kids on the Block song that had been stuck in his head a couple of weeks ago? Said all that I wanted was you….you made all my dreams come true…..

He was so busy humming softly to himself, he almost didn’t notice her come back with his drink.

“Try this,” she said, and he flinched away from her, startled by her sudden reappearance. When he looked back down, she was holding a cardboard cup of coffee up to him with a knowing grin. “I think you’ll find that it has the right stuff.”

Ben bit back a groan. “Oh, jeez…”

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” she assured him, although the effort she was obviously putting into not laughing suggested otherwise. “We’ve all got a secret crush on Donnie Wahlberg, it’s fine. Take a sip.”

Not wanting to embarrass himself further, he took the cup and blew softly on the liquid to cool it down. He sipped slowly…and then sipped again and again and again as fervently as he could without burning the roof of his mouth.

The coffee she’d made him was INCREDIBLE.

“What’s in this?” he asked, wide-eyed, and the girl’s grin grew wider.

“It’s a secret,” she told him, eyes twinkling merrily.

He let out a surprised laugh at that, and promptly clapped a hand over his mouth in wonder - how long had it been since he’d laughed?

“Anyways, thank you,” he said, sounding more sincere to his own ears than he had in the past five years at his firm. “This is the best coffee I’ve ever had. How much do I owe you for it, because I’ll pay you twice that, it’s that good–”

“Maybe not,” she interrupted him gently, and he spluttered, staring down at her. Didn’t she need the business?

“Not…pay you?” he asked, dumbfounded.

She shook her head. “You look like you need that coffee more than I need your money. Do me a favor, though?”

“Anything,” he said, not realizing until the word was already out of his mouth how absolutely pathetic he sounded. God, she was going to think he was the biggest creep in the world.

“Well, two favors, actually,” she amended, and Ben steeled himself, waiting for her to drop the anvil: she had a boyfriend, she never wanted to see him in this shop again, she was filing a restraining order….

“Take a vacation or quit your job,” she said instead, and Ben couldn’t help the little gasp of surprise that escaped his lips.

“Wh…why?” he asked once he’d regained his bearings, frowning a little bit as he registered that her expression was sincere. She didn’t know what he did, or how hard he’d worked to get there. How could she ask such a thing?

“I’ve lived in New York for years, now,” she said, “and before that, I was in small town Maine, so I’m sort of an expert on groups of people that are really, really unhappy with their lives.”

“And?” he asked, cataloguing the personal information she’d just shared and wondering what her point was.

“You are without a doubt the most miserable looking person I’ve ever seen,” she said, and Ben felt an embarrassed blush sweep its way across his face, ears, and neck.

“Oh,” he said, not sure what else there was to say.

“And I don’t mean that you’re not attractive or anything,” she quickly backpedaled, mirroring his flushed face, “I just mean that you don’t seem….”

“Happy?” he asked, thinking quietly about his time at the firm and all the work he’d put in. He’d been trying for such a long time to convince himself that he liked what he was doing…but was he happy? Was convincing himself that he was happy something that happy people did?

“Yeah,” she agreed, looking at her hands. “Sorry if I overstepped, but.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her, still sort of reeling a little bit from all of the new thinking he now knew that he was going to have to do. “What was the second favor, quickly? I’m running late.”

“Oh,” the girl said, expression revealing that she’d forgotten that she’d asked for two favors. “Oh, it’s nothing. I was just going to ask you for your name.”

Ben’s heart did a quick backflip, and he couldn’t help but let that thin, quiet smile from earlier sneak back on to his face.

“Ben,” he told her. “Ben Hanscom.”

She seemed to weigh his response in her mind, as if assessing him anew based on his name…and then she smiled, letting him know that he’d come out favorably.

“I’m sorry for making you late, Ben Handsome.”

“Hanscom,” he corrected quickly, collecting his coffee and willing his blush not to reappear.

“I stand by what I said,” she told him with a wink. “I’ll see you around.”

Flustered, he stumbled over his own feet and almost spilled his coffee on the way out. He could hear her laughter echoing through the coffeeshop as he tripped his way out the door.

It took him another block’s worth of walking to realize that he hadn’t gotten her name in return.

He had half a mind to turn around, and he went so far as to stop in the middle of the sidewalk, frantically searching the cup for some sort of contact information.

It turned out that she’d been a step ahead of him the whole time. There was a note scrawled in Sharpie on the side of the cup that Ben had been holding.

-coffee’s on me whenever you need it. hang tough. love, Bev Marsh, aka the new (coffee) kid on the block-

She’d put a phone number (presumably her own) under where she’d signed her name, and Ben took a moment to stare at it, mentally committing it to memory.

Bev Marsh, he whispered to himself, and smiled quietly at how well the name seemed to match the girl he’d just met - the multicolored, coffee magician that saw right through him with her green, green eyes.

For once in his life, he had something to look forward to.

[peachyzens]

barista! Minhyun au

barista! Minhyun au

genre: fluff! summary: not only were the daily drinks a sweet treat, the boy working there was another one. (1,213 words) a/n: this is like 80% based on my life story at this one boba place i go to all the time ahsdfabsk but it has inspired me! anyways yay for soft minhyun!! masterlist can be found here!

you had a coffee addiction

latte, macchiato, americano, you drank it all

you’ve visited practically every single cafe in your city at this point, but there was one that stood out to you the most

it was the perfect location, being in the center of your commute and all

not to mention, the drinks were great and the workers were really friendly!

that cafe quickly became your regular spot for drinks

you would go there basically every day, you’re on a first name basis with most of the workers already

one day when you walked in, you noticed there was a new worker!!!

he looked so adorably nervous that you just smiled at him, excited to get your latte

“Can i get an iced hazelnut latte with whip cream and java chips?” LOL DONT JUDGE OK

“Sure! can i get a name for your order?” the cute new worker asked

“it’s y/n!!! she’s a regular here minhyun, better get used to that order!” seongwoo called out as he popped his head out of the kitchen, flashing you a cheeky smile

you rolled your eyes at seongwoo while making a mental note of the new worker’s name

“alright then y/n, your drink will be out soon” he flashed you a dazzling smile, one that made you weak at the knees

the way he said your name gave you butterflies and you were looking forward to seeing his cute face again!

his voice was as smooth as the coffees they served

you took your normal spot on the bench that faced the pickup counter and stole a few glances at the boy

you admired his profile as he greeted every customer with a smile, slightly leaning in to hear them better, while maintaining eye contact the whole time can u imagine asdkfja i would cry

“y/n!!!! your drink is ready!!!” seongwoo called out to you, snapping out of your daze

“By the way y/n, if you’re gonna stare at least be slick about it” seongwoo whispered to you when you got closer

you gasped and covered your face at the fact that you were caught, while seongwoo was over there laughing by himself at your reaction

“anyways, if you need any adjustments let me know. i guess i’ll be seeing you tomorrow?” he asked as you sheepishly nodded

you left hoping that minhyun didn’t hear seongwoo’s loud mouth, or that he himself noticed you staring

but you couldn’t help it!! the boy was a Living Sculpture

guess where you found yourself the next day? at the same cafe

you walked in to be greeted by minhyun’s signature eye smile, but his smile grew with recognition

“wow, they really weren’t kidding when they said you’ll be back tomorrow” he lightly joked around with you

to which, you blushed at and let out a chuckle

“yeah, i can never seem to stay away from here. anyways, i’ll get an iced hazelnut-“

“latte with whip cream and java chips?” minhyun finished for you

“yes please, wow you already memorized my order” you stated in amusement

“of course, you were one of the customers i remembered the most..anyways that’ll be $4.28” he smacked himself mentally for letting that first part slip out as he felt his ears heat up

“well i’m glad, it makes ordering a lot easier!” you smiled before heading over to your bench after paying

you felt your cheeks heat up and you just hoped that minhyun didn’t see those red cheeks of yours

ANYWAYS

So seeing minhyun became apart of your daily routine, even on days when you didn’t need coffee

you just liked seeing him and he liked seeing you too :,)

on days when it would be slow, he would keep you at the register even though you paid already to have a conversation

and then when you would get a drink, you would be surprised to see a large size instead of a medium

“i ordered a medium though?” you asked minhyun in confusion

“oh no, i must’ve made a mistake” he winked at you with his words laced in sarcasm

you felt flustered by his sudden wink and you knew your cheeks were heating up but you just said a quick bye and DASHED

“bye y/n!” you heard minhyun call out with a light chuckle as you walked out

when you were finally out of his sight, that smile that was itching to spread finally came out

the next day when you stopped by, you noticed that minhyun was not working the register but it was seongwoo instead

seongwoo smirked at your entrance, already knowing the reason for your daily visits

“sorry y/n, lover boy’s not here right now” he said when you approached him, cue you rolling your eyes

“you know, i come here for the drinks and nothing else”

“mmhmm then tell me why your facial expression dropped a bit when you saw me here and not minhyun?” he asked back with a raised eyebrow

cue your flushing cheeks

“i did not!!! ugh, just get me a caramel macchiato, i want something sweet today” you grumbled, handing your card over

“since minhyun isn’t here to provide you with sweet talk?” seongwoo said nonchalantly ask he swiped your card with a sneaky smile

“if there wasn’t a counter separating us i would Fight you right now” you stared at him dead in the eye

“yeah yeah whatever it’ll be out in a bit”

you went to go sit on the bench, and you thought about seongwoo’s words

honestly, seeing minhyun did brighten up you day and the bitterest of drinks would taste sweet near him

but you shook those thoughts off, telling yourself it was just a crush

next time you saw minhyun, the cafe was insanely busy, meaning you guys didn’t have a chance to talk :(

but nevertheless he still flashed you that eye smile that never fails to make your knees weak and face heat up

the next day, it was slow again so you were able to have a nice conversation with him again!

“by the way, i finally finished season one of stranger things like you recommended!” he spoke with excitement

your eyes lit up with excitement as well, excited to have some to geek out with over stranger things

“really?! what’d you think of it? have you started the second season yet?” you asked back

soon enough, you both were going back and forth talking about the show

letting you inner geeks come out

but it was nice, having such a genuine conversation with someone who shared the same passion with you

your conversation was cut by the entrance bells ringing, signifying the arrival of a new customer

“well, i guess that’s where we have to end it today y/n. how about we continue this conversation and i treat you out to coffee?” he asked suddenly, his cheeks reddening

“i think you’ve treated me to enough coffee with all those drink upgrades” you laughed, cheeks also burning

“true, guess that means i have to treat you out to dinner instead then” he winked, making you more flustered

the sweetness of the caramel in your latte could not compare to the sweetness of the boy who served you it.

;)

[yoon-kooks]

Coffee for Two

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi’s love for coffee was no secret, and neither was your love for him.

Genre: Fluff

Prompt: “I’m gonna hold my breath until you say you love me.” (request by anon)

8:57PM Mean Yoongi “are you free on saturday?”

You had been staring at your phone screen for at least an hour, trying to decide whether the boy was asking you out on a date or if he had other evil intentions. The two of you could be considered friends, but lately you noticed he had been acting differently around you. For instance, rather than taking a nap during lunch, he’d help you with your last-minute homework—only after calling you an idiot for procrastinating, of course. He’d also do little things like send you low-quality memes of Jungkook and your other friends. The boy never failed to make you smile. And you weren’t quite sure what the reason was for him suddenly changing his habits around you. But it probably had to do with the fact that you told Taehyung a secret about your teeny-tiny crush on Yoongi.

10:09PM Y/N “maybe”

10:10PM Y/N “why”

10:12PM Mean Yoongi “bc theres gonna be buy one get one free coffee”

10:13PM Y/N “but i dont drink coffee”

10:15PM Mean Yoongi “thats the point”

10:16PM Mean Yoongi “come with me so i can get 2 large americanos without looking weird👍”

10:17PM Y/N “whats in it for me???”

10:25PM Mean Yoongi “you get to go on a coffee date with me”

You froze. To be honest, a date with Yoongi was something you thought of more often than not. But it wouldn’t really a date. If you agreed to go, you’d only be playing into that boy’s hands just so he could get his caffeine fix. And you weren’t about to give him any hints that you liked him.

10:28PM Y/N “lol a date with you 😂😂😂🙌”

10:29PM Y/N “nope nope nooope i will not”

10:30PM Mean Yoongi “really? thats so funny”

10:32PM Mean Yoongi “bc i heard you had a C R U S H on me”

Your jaw dropped at the sight of the Yoongi’s text. He knew.

10:35PM Y/N “tell tae to watch his back 😡😡😡”

10:36PM Mean Yoongi “lol sure. but you still have to come get coffee with me”

You were pissed that Taehyung had exposed your feelings, but at the same time, maybe this was your chance. Yoongi was already aware of your feelings for him, so at the very least you wouldn’t have to confess to him. The scariest part was already done and over with.

10:40PM Y/N “fine but youre buying me lunch”

-

As the week went by and Saturday approached, you felt more and more nervous and self-conscious. What if Yoongi was just using your feelings to get what he wanted? What if coffee was more important to him than you were? What if he was only asking you out so he could reject you in person?

You sighed as you got yourself ready for the ‘date’. You spent about half an hour debating on whether you should put together a pretty outfit, or just not give a shit about what you looked like. Yoongi probably wouldn’t notice anyway. But what if he thought you were cute…? You let out a loud groan. Being in love with your friend was driving you crazy. Sure Yoongi knew how you felt about him, but you still had no clue how he felt about you.

A black car pulled into your driveway, right on time. Yoongi looked up at your window from the driver’s seat and waved. You took a deep breath and walked down the stairs to meet him.

The first thing you noticed as you opened the car door was a sweet vanilla scent. Usually he was covered with an aroma of freshly-brewed java, but it was nice to breath in his cologne for once. And the dark circles under his eyes were no joke either. The boy needed his caffeine.

Yoongi eyed you up and down as you hopped into his car and buckled your seatbelt. “You look cute,” he said, backing out of your drive way and heading in the direction of his favorite coffee shop. You mumbled a thank you, almost inaudible in case the boy didn’t really mean what he said.

The coffee shop was relatively far from your house, and part of you was dreading the long drive because you knew how grumpy Yoongi would be until he had his dose of coffee. He would always vent to you about his roommates, exams, work, or whatever. And you’d just sit there and listen, knowing that what he needed wasn’t advice but rather someone to hear him out. But to your surprise, he was in a pretty good mood. He turned up the radio and hummed along, and went on and on about how wonderful Americanos were.

By the time you entered the coffee shop, you still didn’t understand how an Americano was any different from regular coffee, but you weren’t about to tell that to Yoongi. You loved seeing him so happy and excited, even if it was only over coffee and not you.

Yoongi had you order whatever food you wanted first. You felt out of place buying plain water rather than coffee or tea, but it would have to do. “And two iced Americanos for this guy.” You pointed at the boy next to you and smiled innocently. He narrowed his eyes at you and pushed you along to a table for two.

After your order came, you stared at Yoongi’s two huge cups of coffee and chuckled when his face brightened from a single sip. It was almost as if the caffeine had magically cleared his skin of any dark circles. He was glowing.

He set down his cup and nodded in satisfaction when he noticed your stare on him. “Wanna try it?” He held out his precious Americano for you to taste. You already knew you weren’t the biggest fan of coffee, but you also weren’t going to say no to the boy.

You took a small sip, but as soon as the coffee hit your tongue, you made a face and almost choked. It was more bitter than you ever remembered coffee being. And then you remembered Yoongi didn’t like anything too sweet.

He laughed at you as you downed your bottle of water to remove the bitter taste on your tongue. You paused to glare at the boy before finishing the rest of your water.

“Here.” He slid you a few packets of sugar. “Try adding these before you decide you hate it.”

You took a packet and shook it gently. “But you don’t like sweet things.”

“It’s fine. You can have the whole drink if you like it.”

“But-”

“It’s really fine, Y/N.” He took the lid off the cup and dumped a ton of sugar into the coffee. After securing the lid back in place, he slid the drink back over for you to taste.

“Thanks, I guess.” You angled the straw into your mouth again, with caution this time. You kept your eyes shut as the beverage worked its way up the straw, and when it finally hit your tongue, your eyes shot open. It was a thousand times better than your first try. So you took another sip as your face brightened. You were enlightened.

“Is it good?” Yoongi chuckled as the coffee was quickly being drained from your cup.

“Not bad.” You licked your lips and nodded.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Yoongi gave himself a pat on the back, proud to have converted you from coffee hater to coffee rookie. Maybe someday he’d even promote you to coffee enthusiast like himself.

“Thanks for bringing me here.” You hid your blushing face behind your cup. “Were you actually planning on drinking two of these though?”

“Of course not. One was for you.” For you. Your heart jumped at the sound of those words. “And there’s no point in trying to hide behind a clear cup, silly. I already know your feelings, remember?”

“Thanks for reminding me, meanie.” You crossed your arms and puffed up your cheeks.

“So you really do like me then?” He raised his eyebrows. You weren’t sure if he was just teasing or if he was genuinely curious. “Taehyung wasn’t lying?”

“What do you think?” Your cheeks were burning.

Yoongi took a moment to study your face for clues, but the blush was a dead giveaway. “I think you like me. Am I wrong?”

You took a sip of your coffee and didn’t respond. Or rather, you didn’t know how to respond. You thought Taehyung and your red face was enough evidence. You thought you could avoid having to confess. But it was as if Yoongi wanted to actually hear how you felt about him.

“Ah, I’m right, huh.”

No response. All you had to do was say yes, but for some reason, that felt like the most difficult task in the world.

“So stubborn…” He shook his head at you and took a long sip of his drink. You almost thought he gave up until he opened his mouth again with a new idea. “I’m gonna hold my breath until you say you love me.”

Before you could shove the boy for challenging you to such a childish thing, he already had his cheeks puffed up with air. Of course, you knew he wasn’t actually holding his breath. But he did look super cute.

So you just let him hold the position and stared at his squishy face for a good two minutes. “I know your breathing through your nose,” you finally said.

After being exposed, he deflated his cheeks and instead gave you his infamous pouty lips. You’d never ever admit it, but his pout was your greatest weakness.

But that got you thinking. Why was Yoongi trying so hard to get you to say you loved him? Did he have a crush on you as well? Because if that were the case, you’d gladly confess to the boy. But the thought of uncertainty scared you.

“Well what about you?” You turned the question to him. “How do you feel about me?”

“I like you,” he answered immediately.

You waited a moment for him to say something more. He had to be joking. “I meant romantically.”

“I know,” he chuckled. “I like you, Y/N.”

You blinked with your jaw dropped. Min Yoongi, the boy you had the biggest crush on, really just said he liked you. Your head was spinning, and you weren’t sure if it was because you and Yoongi shared the same feelings, or because you had overdosed on caffeine.

“You like me more than Americanos?” It might’ve sounded silly, but it was a genuine question. You knew how much that boy loved his Americanos, and how he needed them practically every day to function. If he could really say he liked you more than that, you’d believe he truly meant it.

Yoongi stroked his imaginary beard, pretending to be deep in thought. Just when you were about to tell him to hurry the fuck up, he answered. “Yes, I like you more than Americanos.” He gave you a nice gummy smile and touched behind his ear, a cute little habit he did when he was embarrassed. “Although it was a pretty tough decision.”

You tried to look annoyed by his last comment, but a smile quickly slipped, unable to suppress your feelings any longer. “I like you too, Yoongi,” you said softly.

“Took you long enough.” He ruffled your hair around before getting up and extending his hand out to you. “C’mon let’s go.”

You grabbed your drink and took the boy’s hand, still unable to stop smiling as the two of you walked back to his car.

But before you could open the door, you felt a gentle push with your back pressed against the car. Yoongi looked into your widened eyes before leaning in for a kiss. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about what it’d be like to kiss him before. You had always assumed it’d be bitter, with the aftertaste of coffee. But thankfully, his lips were sweeter than sugar. And in that moment, you realized you never had anything to worry about in the first place. Because Yoongi was the sweetest boy.

[voltronbutheadcanons]

"karaoke usually isn't a turn on for me" with Keith and a male s/o :D?

I sound like a whale at karaoke, so I understand why someone wouldn’t get turned on by my lovely mating calls :’D ~Mod Saffron

“Last night was pretty nice,” you smiled at your boyfriend over your coffee mug. “Thanks for that.”

Keith rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and lowered his lids to avoid your gaze. “Ah, yeah. Lance kinda pushed me to take you out to something nice. We haven’t gone anywhere in a while.”

You sipped your java slowly, careful not to burn your tongue. “It’s okay. I understand that you’re busy with work.”

His hand fell from his shoulders onto the mahogany table with a light ‘thump’. Keith wasn’t too eager this morning and you wondered if you had done something wrong to get under his skin like that. The night before, you two had sex after a little karaoke session with the team. Did it have something to do with that?

Lowering your mug, you inhaled deeply through your nose and gripped the marble handle tighter to calm your shaking fingertips. “Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Did...did I do something?” Your voice was soft and a small crack lifted your tone towards the end of your question. This made Keith swiftly lift his drooping head, his ebony bangs waving in disarray.

“No, no.” His shy attitude shifted into one of reassurance as he noticed your change of tone. He brought his hands out from under the table to grasp your own, his cold digits contrasting your warm ones.

“Nothing is wrong, babe.” Keith ducked his head under to meet your dispirited stare. His bright gray-black irises held many apologies and sincere concern for your sudden despair, but a sense of secrecy was contained behind his sharp eye movements. “I swear, it’s okay, I’m okay. Don’t be sad.”

A half-hearted smile cracked your pursed lips. “No, I’m not sad. But...I do want to ask you something.”

Keith blinked a few times out of nervousness and through his fingertips, you felt a couple of sound beats pulsing before you caught him reassuring himself.

“Go ahead.”

“We’ve been having sex for a while now, right?” You blurted without thought. The explicit, almost “taboo” word caught Keith off-guard as he visibly jolted and a rising blush crept onto his cheeks.

“Y-yeah,” He cleared his throat. “So?”

You maintained thorough eye contact so he would understand that the topic to be discussed was serious in all aspects. “And we have a safeword?”

“Mhm.” He was shaking in your palms, growing sweaty and damp by the second. “It’s ‘Red’, right?”

“Yes.”

“...what’s wrong? Do you want to change it?”

Your bubbly laugh surprised him and he watched your Adam’s apple bob to your steady giggles, and he noticed a few teeth marks coating the sides of your nape, where it vanished under your sweater when you leaned forward and pecked his nose.

“Agh, you silly boy.” Your eyes twinkled with laughter as you held a deep gaze with his innocent, confused ogle. “I’m asking if I did anything to make you uncomfortable last night that you’re acting so restrained this morning.”

His immediate answer was one that astonished you in turn. “If I tell you, you’ll have to die by this secret.”

You snickered and placed a hand between your clothed pecs. “Pinky promise.”

His head dropped for the second time that morning, but you waited as you leaned closer to his muffled mouth to hear his answer. 

“Karaoke usually isn’t a turn-on for me.”

Three hours later, you were still laughing, Lance apparently heard through the walls, and Pidge did not approach Keith within 10 feet.

[prince-kyloren]

Coffee Shop (Destiel)

     Hello everyone! This is my first time writing Destiel, though I have written before. I’m super nervous posting this as I feel I don’t write Cas or Dean very well. Anyways, on with it I suppose.

Pairing: Cas x Dean

Warnings: none

Word count: 

    Deans trip to the Java House had become a common routine for him. Every morning at 7, he would wake up, get dressed, and make his way across the sleepy town he called home, over to the quaint little coffee house.

Every day he sat at the same table, sipping the same drink, made by the same barista named Cas.

And Cas noticed this pattern of Deans.

Everyday at approximately 9:30, Castiel would prepare a tall, non-fat latte with caramel drizzle. And everyday Cas would write “Dean :) “ on the side of the cup and that was the extent of his attempt at flirting.

What Cas didn’t know was that Dean saw the tell tale blush that crept up his neck and cheeks whenever Dean winked at him after handing him his drink, or when Dean asked him flirty questions.

The fact of the matter was that Cas liked Dean, and Dean liked Cas. Cas was just too shy to admit it.

One day Dean hadn’t come in at his regular time, and hadn’t ordered his usual drink that had his dean scrawled on the side accompanied by a crooked smiley face.

At 9 pm, Cas began wiping down the granite countertops, the tables, and burning out the fire in the brick fireplace. As he was doing so, he heard the chiming of the bells above the door.

“Sorry were clo-” he began but he was cutoff by the soft clomp of boots on the hardwood floor. Cas knit his eyebrows together his eyes coming up to meet Deans.

“Hello Dean. Whatre you doing here, were closed?” He wiped his hands on the front of his apron.

“Well, I thought I would come see you, when there aren’t as many people around.”

“That’s kind of creepy.” Cas said squinting at Dean suspiciously.

He chuckled, “No I meant, maybe itd be easier, for us to talk alone ya know, get to know each other a little more.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Cas was surprised at his own blunt comment and blushed despite himself.

“Well, kinda. Yes I am asking you on a date.” Dean smirked at the shorter man.

“Y-yeah that would be nice?“ his response came out more of a question than a statement or agreement

[harolddetective]

Are Your Messages Repeatable & Retweetable?

Guest post by Sam Horn

Are you preparing an important communication? Whether it’s a report to your boss or board, [annual report, or donor thank-you campaign], its success depends a lot on whether people can remember what you said.

Because if they can’t, all the hours (weeks?) you spent collecting your research, organizing your thoughts, preparing your copy or video, just went down the drain.

The good news is, I’ve developed a step-by-step process for crafting a repeatable-retweetable phrase-that-pays. Here it is:

Step 1. Condense Your Primary Point into Ten Words or Less

What is a change you want people to make? An action you want them to take? Condense that into a single sentence with a verb to prompt people to take the desired action. Follow Elmore Leonard’s advice and “leave out the parts people skip.” You know it’s perfect when you wouldn’t change a word.

Step 2. Use Word Play to Turn that Sentence into a Phrase-That-Pays

What’s a phrase-that-pays? It’s a crafted one-liner that is repeatable and retweetable. You want it to resonate, which is defined as “to have extended impact beyond that which is apparent” and for people to be able to repeat it after hearing it once. Because if they can’t repeat it, they didn’t get it. And if they didn’t get it, you won’t get their greenlight or go-ahead.

Step 3: Put Your Rally Cry Into a Rhythm

In one sentence, what do you want people to do differently? Write it down even it doesn’t sing. See those words as a jigsaw puzzle. Right now, the words probably don’t fit. They may feel awkward or sound clunky.

Start talking out loud and experimenting with synonyms. Try different word combinations. Keep playing with variations until the words fall into place. Your will ears tell you when you’ve found the perfect mix because there will be a rhythm—a cadence—that sounds right.

For example, say, “If you see something, say something.” “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing.”

Feel how easily those words roll off the tongue?

When a phrase is fun to say, people voluntarily share it which takes it viral. This Week Magazine reported that “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” is “one of the most recognized ad campaigns in any industry and has generated billions of dollars in additional revenue.” That’s just one example of why crafting a rhythmic rally cry isn’t petty word-play, it’s a bottom-line pay-off.

Step 4: Use Words That Start with the Same Sound

Have you ever put one of those cardboard insulating sleeves around a hot cup of coffee so you didn’t burn your fingers? Entrepreneur Jay Sorenson saw an opportunity. He knew it’s hard to build a business around an unpronounceable name. So, he played with alliteration, came up with Java Jacket and cornered the market.

In fact, Jay says, “Customers who meant to call our competitors call us because they can’t remember our competitors’ name.” Wouldn’t it be nice to have people calling you because they so vividly remember what you said? Increase the likelihood of that happening by using alliteration to craft a name/tagline that is music to our ears.

Step 5. Use Rhyme So You’re Remembered Over Time

The U.S. government was concerned about the number of injuries from car accidents. So, they launched a public service campaign to convince people to wear their safety belts.

“The original tagline? “Buckle Up for Safety.” Yawn. No one noticed. No one cared. No one changed their behavior.

Back to the drawing board. Second time around, they incorporated rhyme and rhythm and came up with “Click It or Ticket.” That intriguing phrase not only got people’s attention, but compliance also went up and injuries went down.

What does that prove? That a well-crafted phrase-that-pays can change behavior. It might even save lives.

Step 6. Pause and Punch Your Phrase-That-Pays so It POPS

People often race through high-stakes, high-pressure communications. They’re so nervous, they are subconsciously trying to get the presentation over with.

The problem? People can’t remember our content if our words are a blur.

Arthur Levine, editor at Scholastic of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series, came up to me at Maui Writers Conference after watching me emcee and said, “Sam, I like the way you speak. You put space around your words.”

When I coach clients, we craft a repeatable, retweetable call-to-action for their big idea.

Then, they rehearse putting space around their words. To prevent “rushing and blushing,” they practice putting a three-beat pause before … and after … important points so people are more likely to absorb them and imprint them.

So, what’s an important communication you’re preparing?

“What do you want people to remember?

What action do you want them to take?

Have you already crafted a pithy, profound one-liner to reinforce that point?

If so, good for you.

If not, use this process so you’re the one people remember, your [organization is] the one they talk about, and…the one whose words make an enduring difference.

Intrigue Agency founder Sam Horn is on a mission to help people create quality communications that scale their impact for good.

Are Your Messages Repeatable & Retweetable? syndicated from https://harolddetective.wordpress.com/

[dailygirlstuff-blog]

10 Ways to Reduce Lips Naturally and Permanently The Result

http://dailygirl.co/?p=313

10 Ways to Reduce Lips Naturally and Permanently The Result

How to enlarge your lips naturally and permanently can you try with various natural materials that are safe for the body. Many natural ingredients that can help us to get red lips. When you've done some of these ways, do not forget to keep your lips red and healthy with tips that will be covered in this article.

How to Lift the Lips Naturally and Permanently

The color of the lips may change with lifestyle and the diet we live. The color of dark lips look less fresh and moist so many people who prefer the color of red lips. Here are the ingredients you can use as a way of making natural pink lips:

1. Java sugar and honey

This material can be used as a lip scrub to remove dry skin. Lips will also look more red and fresh. How to use:

Combine sugar 1 teaspoon with honey 1 tsp

Rub the mixture to the lips in a circular motion

Let about 5 minutes

Rinse water

2. Cucumber

Cucumbers are not only fresh when eaten, but also can refresh and brighten the lips. Regular use can even make your lips become more red blush. How to use:

Cut 1 piece of cucumber

Gently rub on the lips for about 5 minutes

3. Lime

How to lend your lips with lemon is very easy to do. The content of vitamin C is very high in the oranges can brighten the lips and help regenerate skin cells on the lips. How to use:

Squeeze 1 lemon

Add honey 1 tsp

Apply to lips before going to bed till next day

4. Olive oil and coconut oil

Both of these ingredients are useful in keeping the moisture of the lips, helping to regenerate the skin, and reddening the lips naturally. How to use:

Mix ½ tsp olive oil with coconut oil ½ tsp

Apply to lips evenly

Let stand about 10 minutes to seep into the lips

Rinse with water

5. Pomegranate

Fruit that is famous for its sour taste is able to moisturize and nourish the lips because of the various vitamins in it. This method has the same benefits as how to redden the lips naturally with turmeric. How to use:

Destroy one fruit with its seeds

Pour pure milk or rose water 1 tbsp

Mix and apply on lips while gently rubbing for 5 minutes

Warm water rinse

6. Red rose

Bunga mawah efficacious to give the red color on the lips naturally. In addition, your lips will be more moist and feel fresh. This is better than when you do how to make red lips with toothpaste. How to use:

Enter 5 roses of crown of roses into pure milk or 50 ml of honey and let stand for 30 minutes

Blend the material with blender

Apply to lips for 15 minutes

Rinse water

7. Tomato / cherry / strawberry

These fruits have a positive content that can brighten the lips. The content of vitamin C in it can also help rejuvenate the skin, including the skin of the lips. How to use:

Blend one of the pieces

Apply to lips

Let about 20 minutes

Rinse water

8. Fruit bits

This fruit is perfect for you who prefer with dark red lips. Posiif content in it makes the lips are dark red. How to use:

Wash off 1 piece

Puree the flesh

Apply to lips evenly

Let about 5 minutes

Rinse water

9. Ice cubes

When viewed from the color of ice cubes, it does not seem to contain materials that can redden the lips. However, the existing cold can narrow the blood vessels or make blood vessels in the lips to contract so as to provide greater pressure. How to use:

Prepare 1 small block of ice cubes

Gently rub ice cubes into lips for about 5 minutes

Occasionally do massage on the lips

10. Milk

Milk is a beverage that contains many good nutrients for the body. One of them is lactic acid that serves to brighten the skin, including the lips. How to enlarge the lips naturally in 1 week with milk can be done by directly eating them. How to use:

Apply milk to lips

Let stand about 15 minutes to remove dead skin cells, brighten and moisturize lips.

11. Aloe vera

Aloe vera has considerable benefits in the world of beauty. The tongue can lift dead skin cells on the lips and refresh them. How to use:

Cut 1 stalk of aloe vera and take its gel interior

Apply the gel on the lips

Let about 15 minutes

Rinse water

How to Maintain Red Color on Lips

How to make red lips quickly will be useless if you do not keep the lip color to look healthier with red. Here's how to keep the red color on the lips:

1. Drinking enough water

Fill kebutuha mineral water for the body, at least 8 cups or equivalent to 1.5 liters in a day. Dry lips can be a sign that our bodies lack fluids.

2. Avoid consuming too much food or drink

Hot food or drink can burn skin so its color will turn darker.

3. Avoid smoking

How to make red lips naturally for men is to quit smoking. Cigarettes contain substances that are not good for health, including will make the lips look darker and shrink.

4. Keep the lips from the sun

Sunlight is able to make your skin more dull and wrinkled, as well as skin lip. You can prevent it by using lip balm with SPF 15. But make sure that the lip balm used does not contain harmful chemicals, such as mercury.

5. Keep the lips always moist

Eliminate lipstick that is still attached to the lips then apply olive or honey oil to keep the lip moisture

6. Do not use lipstick too often

Brighten lips in 2 hours with lipstick may look attractive. But, using too much lipstick will make the lips dry. Choose lipstick which contains high levels of vitamin E, moisture and water.

7. Consumption of fruits and vegetables

Foods containing vitamin E and C will make our skin look fresher, including lips skin.

8. Avoid licking the lips too often

Saliva can indeed make your lips look fresh and red, but that's only temporary. Once dry, you will see lips drier and cracked.

9. Avoid foods too salty and spicy

Food that is too salty or spicy can make the lips inflamed, dry until finally cracked.

Thus lend your lips naturally and permanently that you should try and prove for yourself the results.

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