#i googled “how to make espresso without a machine” and had to try it immediately

[dailycupofcreativitea]

You ever want an iced latte or something but you're too lazy to leave and you don't own any coffee equipment? Fret no longer! After some desperate googling I found the EASIEST FUCKIN DIY ESPRESSO EVER (please don't come after me coffee connoisseurs)

1. Add 5 spoonfuls of ground coffee to a glass

2. Saturate with hot water

3. Cover and wait 1 minute

4. Stir to generate crema

5. Filter through a sieve into another glass

BOOM!!! ESPRESSO!!! No fancy equipment or anything!

I poured mine in a glass with ice cubes and milk and added pumpkin spice and sugar (pre-dissolved in hot water), AMAZING

[tommyparkerr]

Enough | Shawn Mendes x Reader

Alright y’all here’s one of my dusty old docs I happened to stumble across in my every-now-and-again clean up of Google Docs. Just as a disclaimer, I wrote this in 2018 so no one is allowed to judge me for this, okay? Okay. 

Words: 3.0k

Warnings: Panic/anxiety attack (though it’s presented differently than the majority I’ve seen), some angst, Shawn being stupid, crying

-Masterlist-

E N O U G H :

How’d studio go?

You were hesitant to send the text but did it anyway. You hoped for a positive response, but with the way things had been lately it was highly unlikely. Still, you so badly wanted to give Shawn the benefit of the doubt so you decided you would wait until his response proved you differently. After two hours had passed and he still hadn’t replied, however, you got your answer, and the benefit of the doubt quickly fizzled away. 

Shawn wasn’t one to just not answer you, but lately it’d been more and more reoccurring. It wasn’t that he didn’t care or that he was angry at you; it was that he cared too much and was angry at himself. You still remembered when Shawn called you after a studio day a while back, disappointed that he hadn’t managed to find any sort of inspiration. You didn’t know it then, but that was only the first of many uninspired days he’d be facing over the next several months. 

The boy hid it well—the self-hatred and frustration—but you saw things that others didn’t. You were the one who saw the dark rings under his eyes before he had the chance to cover them up. You were the one who spent countless nights with him on the phone, trying and failing to reassure him that it was all right he was feeling this way and that it happened to all writers at some point. You were the one who brought him coffee with an extra shot of espresso each morning because you knew if you didn’t he would fall asleep in the middle of warm-ups. 

Shawn was going to crash soon, and not in the metaphorical sense; he was going to mentally crash. In a way, he already had. But you had a feeling that these past months were going to catch up to him, the meaningless guitar strums and pointless piano chords adding up to be one too many, and he was going to crash. Hard. You just had to make sure you were there when he did. 

Lucky for you your apartment wasn’t too far from his, that way when he called and asked you to come over because he needed you (and vice-versa), you could be there in five minutes or less. It hadn’t been purposeful, the close addresses, but it worked out. And you were happy it did, as there’d been numerous times the short distance was used to your advantage in emergency situations—such as the time you made cookies and wanted to surprise Shawn with them while they were still hot. 

Your phone buzzed from the coffee table, startling you from your half-conscious state. You rubbed your eyes and your hand fumbled to pick up your phone. 

Same.

You sighed. Somehow you knew that while you’d been relaxing in your apartment watching cheesy movies and almost dozing off, Shawn had been sitting staring at blank sheets of music in an apartment that was entirely silent apart from the experimental chords he’d strum and immediately nix. 

Before you could even think, your fingers were making the appropriate movements to call Shawn. It rang a few times, the soft sound making your eyes droop again. 

“Hey, it’s Shawn!” 

Shawn’s voice snapped you awake and you shook your head at yourself, frustrated that you’d almost fallen asleep when he clearly needed someone to talk to. 

“Hey Shawn, you oka-“

“I’m busy right now, but leave a message and I’ll be sure to call you back.”

You blinked a couple times, the switch from your boyfriend's voice to the teller machine making you stumble. You quickly hung up before a voicemail could be recorded and tried calling again, but you only got the same result. 

There was no reason he shouldn’t be answering his phone when he’d texted you back only a minute ago. 

An unsettling feeling washed over you and you scrambled up from the couch to find your shoes and throw on your cardigan. It was below freezing outside but you didn’t care enough to spend the extra time finding a coat and warmer clothes; besides, it was a short walk to Shawn’s place. 

You called again. This time when the teller came on instructing you to leave a message after the beep, you did. 

“Hey bub, you’re really starting to worry me. I’ve been calling but you haven’t picked up, and I know you have me as an emergency contact; I know my calls are going through. So, I’m coming over. Right now, actually. Hang tight, okay? I’ll be there in a few.”

You were in such a rush that you hardly even noticed the cold. You were sure you’d feel it after you sorted everything out with Shawn, but until then it had no place in your mind. 

The receptionist didn’t question your presence in Shawn’s building, quite used to your late night visits, although she did look a bit concerned; you always made sure to bundle up this time of year and never went upstairs without flashing her a smile and quick hello, but now you did both, sprinting to the elevator and maneuvering the buttons to work as quick as possible. 

You didn’t bother knocking when you got to Shawn’s door, instead pulling out the key he’d given you months ago and using that to unlock it. At first you heard nothing when you stepped in, making you painfully aware of your racing heart. 

“Shawn?” you called out cautiously, not wanting to do anything that could possibly scare him off. You stepped further in to find the living room and kitchen clean as usual, but no Shawn. As you travelled further into the apartment your uneasiness grew stronger. “Shawn, where are-“

A mix between a shout and a groan came from the bedroom and you quickly sprinted to the area, finding that the sound had come from inside the closed—and locked—bathroom door. 

“Shawn, it’s Y/N. Please open the door, baby,” you said calmly, gently. 

“Get out!” he suddenly yelled after you’d made a couple more attempts. 

“I’m not leaving, Shawn-“

“Get out, Y/N!”

“Shawn,” you stated firmly, not being thrown off by his irrational anger. “Open the door.”

A loud bang sounded as Shawn slammed his fist against the door, making you jump. But your resolve still wasn’t weakening. 

“Leave me alone!”

“You do realize I’ll stay here all night, right?” you said truthfully. Even if he stayed angry the entire time you were here, you would much prefer it over silence. At least with anger you knew what he was doing; silence could mean anything. 

“I’ll call security!” he shouted. 

“With what phone?” you asked, having seen his supposed phone on the floor by his bed. Your point made him stumble for just a moment as you weren’t usually the type to fight fire with fire, but somehow you knew that tonight it might be the only way to get through to him. 

“You’re trespassing!” Shawn tried. 

Fire it was. 

“You mean on the property you gave me a key to and never asked for back?”

Shawn paused again—only for a second. “Can’t you live your own life for once instead of following me around like some lost puppy?” he jabbed. “I don’t need your help, Y/N!”

His words that were meant to extinguish the fire only fueled it, and before you could tell yourself to stop you raised your fist and banged hard against the door like he had—so hard that your hand ached. But it had gotten his attention; you could tell due to the sudden silence on the other side of the door. 

“Shawn,” you said, speaking quieter but still with unwavering tenacity. “I’m not leaving.”

The next few minutes were silent yet deafening. Just as you were about to open your mouth and say something else, a resounding shatter filled the air. You instinctively flinched and felt your heart drop when you realized what had happened.

Shawn had broken the mirror. 

You snapped into action, grabbing a pair of socks and shoes from Shawn’s closet then knocking on the bathroom door again, hoping beyond hope that that was the peak of his episode and it was all downhill from here. 

“Baby, please open the door.”

You breathed a quiet sigh of relief when you heard an answering click and carefully pushed the door open, taking in the sight of glass fragments scattered amongst the floor with Shawn right in the middle of it, looking unphased and too caught up in his own head to notice the mess he’d made. 

“Shawn.”

He turned to look at you, his cheeks flushed and his hair a mess from constantly pulling at it. Your heart broke and you so badly wanted to reach out and wrap him in a hug, but that probably wasn’t the best move right now considering the circumstances so you held back, instead offering him the socks and shoes. 

“Put these on and try to avoid stepping on the shards, okay? Go lay down. I’ll clean this up.”

While he didn’t show any reaction to your instructions, he did as you told him, carefully slipping on the footwear and treading out of the bathroom to his bed.

It took a bit of time to clean up the glass, especially when it came to scooping it out of the sink and off the countertop, but you did it, sweeping it several times to ensure there were no shards left behind. It was only when you’d finished the task, put the broom back, and dumped the glass in the trash that you went to Shawn. 

He was sitting up now, his legs hanging off the side of the bed and his feet bare of the amenities you’d provided him just minutes ago. Unsure of how to go about the situation, you sat on the floor in front of him and reached for his hand. He let you have it, and you were surprised to see he only had a few shallow cuts from the breakage. You decided you’d deal with those later. For now, though, you needed to deal with the mental wounds. 

You sat in silence, trying desperately to find the right words to say to get Shawn to talk to you. Lucky for you, though, you didn’t have to. 

“I-I didn’t mean what I said,” Shawn said, his voice hoarse and cracking. “Any of it—all of it. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” you replied quietly, tracing the lines of his palm. 

Shawn swallowed and shook his head, his free hand clenching into a fist. “I don’t know why I did it. I was just so-so angry and I couldn’t stop and I just…” He trailed off, his eyes laden with the self-hatred he’d been guarding from sight all these months. His eyes shut as if he knew what you‘d spotted and his head tilted away from you. 

“Hey,” you said softly, interlacing his fingers with yours and working with his other hand to do the same. “Look at me.”

It took awhile but eventually Shawn complied. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery, so sad and so genuinely upset that it made your own eyes water. 

You physically watched as all of the burden Shawn had been carrying around suddenly came down on him, his shoulders dropping and every muscle in his body relaxing to the point where he was falling forward. You jumped to your feet, catching his weight and pulling him into your mid-section. A broken sob left his lips, and you were quick to hold him firmly against your chest as you played with his tangled curls. 

You let him cry, let his wounded hands twist into your shirt even when it rose up and exposed your abdomen, let his tears and dribbles of blood soak through the thin fabric of the only clothing you had with you. Because this was the breakdown. This was the crash. 

You resisted shushing Shawn like you would a crying child, knowing that if you didn’t let him break then he wouldn’t be able to build himself back up—as much as it hurt you to watch. “I’ve got you, bub,” you whispered instead. “I’m here.”

Eventually Shawn’s tears slowed but he didn’t move, allowing you to continue your soothing touches and calming words. His hands slowly moved from your shirt to your waist, his fingers tracing patterns along the bare skin there. You felt him frown and he tilted his head up, looking at you concernedly. 

“You’re freezing.”

You rolled your eyes with a small smile. It drove you crazy sometimes how utterly selfless he was, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t one of your favorite traits of his—one of the traits that drew you to him in the first place.  “I’m fine, Shawn.”

“Did you wear a coat?” he insisted. 

“No, I-“ You stopped at his disapproving look and exhaled. “I am fine, Shawn. It’s you I’m worried about, not me.”

Your words seemed to chase him away, as he rigidly pulled back into a sitting position and moved his eyes away from yours at the remark. You sighed and took a seat next to him, looking at your dangling feet versus his solidly planted ones before taking his hand again and guiding him to look at you. 

“Talk to me, Shawn,” you simply said, your voice the gentlest you could make it. 

He took a deep breath, letting it escape heavily through his nose. “I feel so pathetic.”

“Why?” you prodded, and when he shook his head you softly reminded him, “Bub, it’s just me.”

It took awhile for him to open up, but you stayed patient. You watched him as he formed the words in his head, trying to figure it out just as much as you were. 

“I’m supposed to be making music,” Shawn started quietly. “I know how pathetic I look each time I walk out of the studio with nothing more than what I brought in. Everyone’s waiting on me, expecting me to do something. It’s been months—months—and I’ve got nothing. I’ve done three albums back to back with no problem, I’ve done countless shows and tours and festival runs, but I have nothing now. No music, no ideas, no inspiration—nothing. And...and it makes me nothing.”

You paused. “If having nothing makes you nothing,” you said, choosing your words carefully, “then why am I here right now?” 

Shawn didn’t reply, training his eyes away from you and to the wall in front of him. You could see you’d simultaneously struck a chord with him and backed him into a corner; the only way Shawn could reply was either by telling you he didn’t know, which you both knew was false, or with self-deprecating reasoning, which you wouldn’t let slide for a second. 

You swallowed, knowing your next words would be extremely controversial. “Have you ever thought that maybe this is your mind’s way of telling you it’s time to take a break?”

Shawn immediately tensed, his head snapping back to you. “I am taking a break,” he argued. 

“No, you’re not,” you said, keeping your composure. “You’re working yourself twice as much as normal. You barely sleep, you hardly eat or drink anything other than what I give you, you never have the ‘time’ to hang out with me or your friends anymore, your mental health is spiralling-“ You quickly came to a stop, watching the fight you’d just recently seen in Shawn’s eyes begin to drain again at the last item on your list. “Shawn, I don’t know what taking a break means to you,” you began, “but to me it means letting go of your responsibilities—letting them disappear to the back of your mind where you won’t have to see them for awhile. It means relaxing, not worrying about deadlines or expectations or anything else remotely pressuring.”

Shawn was quiet, letting your words soak in. You and everyone else (including his fans) agreed it was time he took a break, but getting Shawn to agree himself was a whole other challenge. 

“I just…” He struggled for a moment, fiddling with his fingers and looking down. “I just feel like I’m not enough.”

There it is, you thought sadly. 

You gently grasped his chin and moved it until he was looking at you again. He looked so vulnerable, and you knew that whatever you said in the next moment could break him if you weren’t careful. 

“Shawn Peter Raul Mendes,” you breathed, “I promise you on all the stars in the world that you are and always will be enough. And if I have to promise you that every day for the rest of my life, I will. You are enough, Shawn, and the day you aren’t is the day tomorrow never comes.”

His eyes filled with tears again. He grabbed you and pulled you into his lap, burying his head in the crook of your neck and hugging you so tightly you could barely breathe. 

“You’re everything to me, Y/N,” he whispered. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you carded your fingers through his tangled hair. “Probably break another mirror.”

Shawn let out a choked laugh, his breath giving you goosebumps. He squeezed you tighter and placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. “Please don’t leave,” he whispered. “I love you so much, Y/N. I’m so in love with you, I’m sorry.”

“I love you too, Shawn,” you said, trying to hide the lump you now had in your throat. “I’m so in love with you, too. I’m not leaving, I promise.”

You held on to each other like that until the wee hours of the morning where you fell asleep in a different position but still curled up just the same. And when you woke up and were met with  Shawn’s sleeping face and gentle snoring, you realized that you wanted to wake up to that every day for the rest of your life. 

As if he could hear your thoughts, Shawn subconsciously hugged you closer, his lips upturned in a soft smile. 

“You are enough, Shawn Peter Raul Mendes,” you whispered, prepared to mark today as the first day of the promise you’d make to him every day from now until forever. “I promise on all the stars in the world.”

---

Permanent Tags: @dahliaspidey​ (There were a few others here whose URLs must have changed, plus I’m redoing all of my tag lists, so if you’re interested in being added to any of my tag lists check out the link in my bio!)

Shawn/Fic Tags: @odd-lil-duck @rava13 @deamus-liv @mendesficsxbombay​

[ardentprose]

Cold Brew - Prologue

This is my attempt at the old coffee shop cliche. I’m warning you now, my writer’s block is strong. But I will tell you this story to the best of my abilities. 

*I don’t own the gifs.

*Dialogue: English will be in standard font while Korean will be italicized.

Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slow-Burnish, Romance

Warnings: Language (if more are found, please message me)

Summary: Going to an American college for music was an opportunity Min Yoongi could not pass up. Despite the comments about his eyes and accent, he’s determined to make it through the semester and prove himself to his parents back home. After an awkward but fateful conversation, Yoongi finds himself crushing hard for a girl he only has so many weeks to confess to. If he will at all.

November

He sits at a table shoved against a wall, his mind concentrated on chasing down the train of thoughts bustling through his mind before it escapes him. His hand scurries across the page, the inevitable pain slowly rising in his wrist as the pen audibly scratches through the journal. Now and then, his left hand brushes the pale hair settling on his eyelashes. The brim of round wire glasses faithfully slides down the smooth bridge of his nose and so his fingers are kept busy with this task as well.

In the past hour, the bell has jingled a hundred times, the voices of patrons intermingling with the whistling espresso machines and clank of the register drawer. It’s background noise easily tuned out, and yet with an uncanny sense, when the bell chimes again announcing a new arrival, Yoongi slams his journal closed, slipping it into the safe cavern of his backpack.

He pulls out his English Composition 101 textbook and the accompanying black spiral notebook to set on the table.

She slides into the chair across from him, her sweet perfume cutting through the ever present aroma of coffee. The soft thud of her messenger bag accompanies her warm tone.

“Yoongi.” His eyes train on his notebook, watching the veins in his hand flicker as he opens the massive textbook to the current chapter. Only after finding the correct page does he looks up at her and her awaiting smile. That brief moment of delay does nothing to prepare his heart as it skips twice, taking in her shining eyes, rosy cheeks, and chapped lips parted for him.

“Hey.” He swallows the strain in his vocal chords, hoping to disguise their fragility with a long sip of his cold brew.

“How are you? Did you get any sleep last night?” She asks as she leans forward and slips out her winter coat. She drapes it over the back of her chair, left in a hoodie dyed the navy blue of the university.

“The same.” He mumbles, licking the aftertaste from his lips and anticipating the crinkle in her brow.

“Yoongi, you have to learn to go to bed! It’s not healthy to skip sleep. One of these days you’re going to collapse from exhaustion.”

“I have...too much work.” He reasons, watching the lavender scarf she claims to have knit herself unravel around her neck. She leans over to stuff it into her bag and then gives him a glare.

“We all have too much work to do, Yoongi. You need to sleep.”

Why does she keep saying my name? He muses, intrigued and yet horrified at the electricity that shoots through him every time he hears her say the familiar syllables.

“And you?” He chides, watching her momentarily cover a cough and then sniff. “You gonna catch a cold.”

“No, I’m not. I was just outside.” She shakes her head, tugging out her own textbook and note-taking utensils.

"Your voice is scratchy. That wouldn’t happen if you drank the warm honey water like I told you to.” Yoongi says.

“Yeah, well...” She sighs, and her eyes flicker to his along with a guilty smile. Despite her age, youth couldn’t prevent the exhausted wrinkles creasing under her eyes.

“Let’s both agree to take better care of ourselves. You go ahead and start, I’m going to order some tea.”

“I got it.” Yoongi says, allowing her to remain in her seat, albeit with a confused expression. He waves his hand above her head, catching the eye of the barista, who nods and disappears behind the kitchen. He returns promptly with a porcelain tea cup on a saucer, setting it down in front of her wide eyes.

“Thank you!” She glances from the barista to Yoongi, blinking several times at the steaming cup of tea.

“Let’s get started.” Yoongi clears his throat, taking another sip, and flipping open his notebook to the next blank page.

She hums, taking a careful sip of the spiced chai she so dearly craves. Soon, they slip into routine silence and time passes as it always does. She explains the English language in a patient voice, sometimes reaching over with her pen to point out a particular word or phrase. He writes it down, taking note of her correction and the way his knuckles burn when she grazes them in proximity. The atmosphere is calm and productive, and Yoongi can’t help but notice the contrast between the silent companionship in the café to the initial meeting they had only a mere three months ago.

September

He had just arrived in America, via a Student Visa and Study Abroad program. Though he had only spent three weeks at most on campus, he quickly realized the color of his skin and the accent of his words was evidence enough to attach numerous stereotypes to his character, most of which he had never heard of before in his life. The American students would clap him on the shoulder in class, asking if he could check their math homework. The teachers would speak to him in a patronizingly slow English, as if he had a mental issue, not a language barrier. A fair share of giggling girls with pretty Asian men tucked into phone cases would ask for his number, but struggle pronouncing his name. The worst of it came from the frat boys who, though having never seen his crotch, assumed it was lacking in comparison to their superior American-made crotches. It was by that time, Yoongi decided that save for the incredible opportunity it was to study music in America, the rest of it could burn in hell.

The only one stopping him from taking the next ticket back to South Korea was his roommate Hoseok, who came over on a dance scholarship the year before. Having acclimated for one year to American college life, Hoseok tried to convince Yoongi on a daily basis that not all Americans were as ignorant as they let on. However, it still took Hoseok disconnecting Yoongi’s laptop from the school Wi-Fi on a particularly climatic night in order to convince him to stay in America - at least until the end of the semester.

That being said, Yoongi had, fair or not, formed a prejudice against American students and avoided them at all costs. Ironically, it was this mindset that caused him to open his mouth, one picnic table away, and comment on some American’s awful pronunciation of his native tongue.

The soon to be victim was sitting at the picnic table next to his sitting with a presumably Korean girl.

“I haven’t gotten it down perfectly, but I definitely know how to have a basic conversation.”

“Really? Show me, show me!” Her loud volume caught Yoongi’s attention, which up until now had been focused on the next four measures under his pencil.

Having forgotten his earbuds in his dorm, he was left with no other choice but to eavesdrop.

“How are you?" The friend immediately asked and Yoongi could hear her smile in the eager question.

“I’m great! How are you?” The American responded.

A frown wrinkles Yoongi’s brow. He understood her words, but the pronunciation was slightly jarring, as if she was talking with rocks in her mouth.

“Very good!” The native encouraged and asked her what her career is, a basic introduction that any stranger would ask.

“College study gift. I’m study music and singer.“ Stumbling and humming her way through the sentence, Yoongi can’t help but snicker, holding his knuckles to his grin.

“Yes!” Expecting a correction, Yoongi scoffs as she ignores the obviously incorrect sentence and encourages her on. 

“Are you kidding me? She sounds like a damn Google translation.” He laughed, resuming his writing with a shake of his head.

“Hey! Who the fuck asked you?!”

Yoongi’s heart jumped into his throat. One moment he was scribbling notes on a composition sheet, chuckling to himself. The next, a furious Korean female was in his face, cursing him out. 

He blinked up at the sudden fire and brimstone before him. Before he fired back a few choice words of his own, he pieced together that his comment had been overheard. 

He glanced at the woman currently sitting at the other table, her tears brimming and her lips tucked in shame. She may not have understood his comment, but clearly, by the tone of his words and the righteous anger of her friend, he had insulted her. She cautiously lifted her eyes to him and Yoongi felt the boulder of remorse hit his stomach.

“Fuck.”

Leave it to him to insult the one American woman who, at the very least, was doing her best to understand his culture, and at the very most, was the prettiest woman he had ever seen.

Without a moment’s hesitation he met the eyes of the furious friend, choosing to deal with her first. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you could hear me.”

“That doesn’t mean you can insult her! She was trying her best. We weren’t even talking to you.”

“I’m an asshole, okay? I didn’t mean to take it out on her. Can I at least apologize?” Choosing to agree in order to calm her down, Yoongi maintained his calm exterior despite the guilt twisting his stomach into knots.

The friend huffed, tossing her raven hair over her shoulder as she stepped back slightly. Yoongi cleared his throat, ignoring the tremble in his fingertips and shuffled over to the picnic table, sitting down on the opposite bench.

“Hey, I’m...” Doing his best to clearly pronounce his English was just another lash of shame against his burning cheeks.

“I’m very sorry for...my words. I was...idiot. Very big idiot. I...You speak...good Korean. More good than...I speak English...” Stuttering and flitting his eyes around her face, the table, and his shaking hands, Yoongi stumbled through an apology, his voice gruff but his expression sincere.

“It’s alright.” She sighed, swiping under her eyes with the back of her fingers. “I get it. I probably do sound really dumb. But thank you.” 

Her instant compassion tore at Yoongi all the more and he wondered at which point he turned into the monsters that terrorized him all day long.

“I...I help you, if you help me.” He was speaking the words before he could register them. Once they do, a cold terror drained his expression at the same time a large smile warmed her face.

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Hey, what about me?” The two glanced at the Korean friend who sensed the sudden shift in the conversation.

“I need all the help I can find, Eun. You know we hardly have time to meet up as it is. This is the first since two weeks ago I’ve been able to practice with you."

Eun rolls her eyes. “He just insulted you. Don’t trust him so easily.”

Yoongi blinks, lacking the words to defend himself and still processing why he offered his help to a stranger when he hadn’t given the time of day to anyone other than Hoseok - who wore a watch.

Her gaze fell on him now, taking in his features for the first time. Her eyebrows wrinkled. 

“Haven’t I seen you in a class before?”

“I...uh...I take music.”

“Oh, I am too! Music Production with Mrs. Harris, right? You’re the one who plays the piano all the time. I never see anyone with you. Have you made friends here?” Before he has time to think of an answer, she cuts him off. 

“Oh my word - ignore that! That was so rude to ask! I’m so sorry.” 

Again, how could he have insulted the kindest person on campus?

Yoongi licked his lips, shrugging. There weren’t enough English words in his vocabulary to explain the prejudice-driven harassment and bitterness he had experienced since moving here. He never noticed someone so genuine and sweet in that classroom of entitled pricks, himself included as one of them.

“Never mind. All the more reason. It’s a deal, then.” She held out her hand, brimming with a newfound excitement that hadn’t caught onto him yet.

“You’ll fix my pronunciation. I’ll help you pass ESL 101.” She promised as Yoongi slid his palm over hers. The fact she knew he was taking the English as a Second Language course wasn’t a surprise. All exchange students were required to take it and this incident more than warranted her assumption of his class register.

Swallowing thickly he nodded, now finding himself the one put out. Eun rolled her eyes but sat down beside her friend again.

“At least tell each other your names if this is gonna happen.” She exhaled.

Yoongi’s new tutor laughed, and it’s so contagious, he cracked a smile.

“We’re off to a great start, aren’t we?” She giggled, giving him a look that could rival the stars.

Chapter One

[perlocutionary]

Notorious, pt. 1 - Stuart Twombly

Description: You may have finally met your equal.

Warnings: Look, I’m shit at warnings. This is about a fuckboy!Stuart and an equally fucked up Y/N. Of course there will be sex - and a lot of it, and in all different kinds of ways. But I swear you, nothing else (e.g. mistreatment, rape) will happen, or I will explicitedly mention it. Btw, I don’t write that - ever.

Relationship: Fuckboy!Stuart Twombly x Reader

Word count: 2057

Title: You know him. Or at least his reputation.

Part 2

"Look at that hot piece of equipment," I mumble underneath my breath, taking my glance off the barista's ass long enough to throw a knowing smirk in my best friend's direction. Her eyebrows are up, smirk edging on her own lips as she awaits the finish of my sentence. "And I'm not talking about the espresso machine." A snort leaves her, the tiniest shakes of her head indicating she believed I was a complete and utter moron – And sometimes, I knew I was.

"He's quite alright. And he makes a mean cup of coffee." Sarina hums in agreement, nodding her head along her statement as she lets her gaze flutter over the people occupying the line of the coffee shop just off campus. The young male mixing up our drinks might be a sight for sore eyes, but he wasn’t very quick. Every day we had come here, and every day, we had to wait forever to get out drinks. At first, I was sympathetic toward the young man – a new job is always nerve wrecking. But this was getting out of hand. My fingers are impatiently rapping along the counter, gaze once more glued to the curved ass of handsome young barista – I think he was new.

"Oh, look at that fine ass!" Sarina's elbow playfully jabs me in between my ribs to gather my attention, a loud huff passing me at an instant. I refocus my attention on the male she is speaking of, slowly sipping his coffee as his eyes stay glued to the laptop screen in front of him. It was no secret our campus held many amazingly attractive men, and it seemed they all gathered here, at the lone coffee shop near the edge.

"He can put milk in my coffee any time."

Immediately, my features contort into one of pure disgust, the tip of my tongue poking past my lips as I squeeze my eyes closed. "Sar, ew. Gross." Her head snaps to mine and her grin falters, a pointed look thrown my way as she slaps my upper arm. This banter between us was something that never seemed to waver.

"As if you wouldn't." A shrug of my shoulders follows her question, my tongue slowly trailing over my bottom lip as I give the male another once over. The male looked familiar, but not in a sense that I had properly met him before. Probably wouldn’t like to either. I shrug my shoulder nonchalantly, meeting Sarina’s smug grin. "Yeah, I'd probably tap that."

I sigh aggravated as my gaze flicks to the barista again, almost at the point in asking him what's taking so damn long. Instead, I'm once again distracted by my best friend's voice, her attention on someone else in the small, cramped coffee shop. "Didn't you meet him in our first year?"

The male's back is toward us, my eyes trailing from his broad shoulders down to his ass as I contemplate. "I think I did..." As I trail off, the unknown male turns around and a sound of acknowledgement slips me. "Ah. Yeah. I did. He was okay." Our eyes meet and I’m quick to grant him a tight-lipped smile, immediately averting my gaze to avoid him coming up for a small chat.

I am met with an over exaggerated eye roll, my lips pressed together tightly as I once again snap my head toward the counter. I knew it was busy at the beginning of a new year, but seriously? I huff annoyed as he slides Sarina's drink our way, my hand cupping the paper cup to present it to my otherwise-occupied friend. Her fingers curl around the container without a second thought as she speaks again. My hip rests against the counter again, arms crossed over my chest. I’m blatantly eyeing everyone here, but no one seems to spark my interest. Until Sarina speaks. "Now that is a face I'd like to sit on."

I hum, trying my best to find Sarina's gaze and see who the hell she was looking at. Instead of trying and failing, I lean further back against the counter and wait for Sarina to elaborate. "Him." She points directly at Stuart Twombly, a name and face she sure should know after three years here. Stuart Twombly was an anomaly. His eyes were always glued to his phone – and he wasn’t very social either. But somehow, he was one of the most popular guys around here. And that was before the whole ordeal with Google took place over the summer. "Why don't I see that around campus?"

Perhaps he was on the receiving end of one rumor spreading like wildfire. I once heard a story about this non-attractive, awkwardly-social guy who got laid more than all his friends together at the end of his school career because one of his friends told a girl he had a big dick. Maybe that’s why Stuart Twombly had such a success with the ladies. Although I had to admit, he was gorgeous.

"Dude, seriously? He's in my class - English I believe." My eyes rake over Twombly's form, wandering from his brown hair covered by a beanie along his prominent jawline, down his upper body until it's hidden by the round table he occupies. Maybe gorgeous had been an understatement. I wasn’t one for glasses, but it made him seem more attractive – I can’t explain it.

"Who is he?" Sarina takes a sip of her drink without taking her eyes off the handsome young male. Needless to say, I could appreciate beauty when I encountered it. And although I had no idea what it was, Stuart had it.

"You know him. Or at least his reputation," I start off, waiting for the gears in Sarina's head to click into the right order, but continuing as soon as she throws me a confused glance. "Stuart Twombly. First of all, he's the guy that won that job at Google over the summer.” I mumble, rethinking about the buzz that seemed to float around campus when the end of the summer rolled around. He had been the underdog, but still gotten the one thing he dreamed about since he was a little kid. I was glad he had let his eyes wander up from his phone once in a while nowadays.

“It catapulted him into like a university-super stardom; but I do have to give it to him – he’s probably one of the best in his business, especially for such a young age.” I continue on, locking gazes with my best friend; my lips are pursed as I watch Sarina’s features conflict. “Have you spoken to him before then?”

An immediate shake of my head follows. “No, not that I’m aware of. But – “ I shrug my shoulders, not knowing how to answer her question. Instead, I continue on.

“Secondly, he is the guy from Melissa. And that guy from Britt. Oh, remember that rumor about a threesome in which Julie and Steph were involved? Also, him." I start listing off all the conquests of Stuart Twombly that I was familiar with, although I'm certain there were many more stories added to his repertoire over the short years he’s roamed this campus.

"I can see the appeal though. Seemingly, she's next." I point to the lanky girl openly flirting with the brunette, his lips set into a cocky smirk as he strokes her arm. A chuckle slips from Sarina's lips, her head snapping to the barista as he slides my drink my way. "Finally,” I mumble underneath my breath, “… thanks." I curtly smile, turning on my heel to add sugar and milk.

"I'll bet you twenty they leave here together." I mumble, not taking my gaze off my paper cup, struggling with the lid. "Mhm?" Apparently, Sarina's attention was once more, directed elsewhere, and I lift my head long enough to nod in Twombly's direction. "Them."

"Ah, nah Y/N. You're always right about this shit. I'll pass." Sarina laughs, and I chuckle along, adding the tiniest bit of milk before grasping to the sugar dispenser. We stay quiet as I gently tap my pointer finger on the glass, watching the sugar flutter from its container and into my cup.

"So, are you going to go for him?" Sarina questions, her attention back on the barista who is still busying himself by making drinks, the smallest shakes of my head following straight after. If he handled his women the way he handle my coffee just now … "Nope. I don't fuck where I eat. Learned that the hard way." I stick my tongue out at my best friend, trying to contain the boisterous laughter that wants to slip me, refraining from drawing attention to myself.

"I don't want to know..." Sarina shakes her head jokingly, taking a few steps towards the exit as I recap my paper cup. Our gazes land on the large hand of Stuart Twombly resting on the lanky girl's back, guiding her outside the small cafe. My head motions to the action taking place. "Ha! Told you so, didn't I?" I hum in satisfaction, pointing at the disappearing bodies before we make our own exit.

The cold air nips at my skin, my head snuggling further into my thick scarf thrown haphazardly around my neck. “You’re always right about this. Do you have a sixth sense about sex?” I snort loudly, almost spitting out my coffee at my best friend’s words.

“That sounds like such a useful skill to have.” I sarcastically remark, rolling my eyes as I bring my cup to my lips. The weather was slowly becoming colder, chilling our skin as a clear indication that summer had passed, and another year was awaiting us just around the corner.

We walk in peace, occasionally sipping from our hot beverages as we stroll back toward campus. I know Sarina is mauling over something, but I'm not going to pry her for her thoughts. Eventually, she'll share them anyway.

Silence overcomes us, draped over our conversation like a blanket – but it never got awkward. Sarina scrapes her throat, gathering my attention briskly.

"Remember my friend Daryl?" She starts off, a hum leaving my lips to acknowledge her words and answering the question all together in one go. "I think she fucked him. From what I recall, she couldn't remember much though." Her head turns toward me as we turn the corner, our house - dorm, whatever you want to call it - slowly creeping closer.

"That bad, or that drunk?" I laugh, throwing my empty cup in the trash bin we encounter along the way, changing up the pace as I start walking backwards, eyes glued on a grinning Sarina.

"That drunk." Another chuckle slips my lips. I wouldn’t have guessed it any other way.

"Of course."

This time, the silence doesn’t dwindle down, Sarina quick to start up conversation again as I fall into step beside her once again.

"Are you excited for this year?" Sarina asks again as we walk up the driveway of our humble home - which we share with a couple others - stopping right in front of the front door. "As excited as you can be to resume school, Sar. Yeah. I guess I am." I'm nonchalant in my words, but I do am pretty ecstatic to start. Our third and final year rolled around, we've got a good set of friends - and roommates - and tomorrow night, we'd get the chance to meet the new people that would take the leaving friends' places. For what it was worth, this year could only be the prime of our lives.

"I'm nervous. After this, everything's changing." She pushes the door open, revealing the busy, working bees of our home. Getting decorations in order, preparing snacks, some yelling at others about god knows what. "Maybe worry about that shit later, Sar. We still got to make it through a whole year before we're there." I laugh, shaking my head as I climb the stairs, toward the confines of my bedroom and away from the chaos.

“You just wait. Sometime in the next months, realization will strike you. And you’ll be shit scared about all that’s changing around you.” Sarina threatens me, and I giggle as I disappear upstairs, leaving her behind at the end of the stairs.

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[eat-a-mint-jungkook]

I like you a lattae (but can’t espresso myself)

Apparently Jimin’s been drawing dicks in the lattes of regular customer and crush, Kim Taehyung. 

3.4k composed of a cup of pure crack, two pumps of memey wholesomeness, and a sprinkle of sugary fluff served with a sugakookie

“You still waiting for Gucci-boy?”

At the sound of the code name that Jungkook had come up for his crush, Jimin glances up at the door.

If it had been one month earlier, Jimin would’ve said that he hated Monday shifts the most because it would mean another week of having to fake-smile at customers, getting the orders right, and making drinks as fast as he could. It’d mean another week of spending hours at a time on his feet while crying over the assignments he still had to do for class and the midterms he still had to study for, and whoever said being an visual arts major was easy, was definitely wrong.

Oh, and another week of being teased by his arch-enemy, Jeon Jungkook, for being too short to reach the supplies on the top shelf, for dressing the way he did, for just breathing it seemed like. Even though it was so hypocritical of Jeon to even say anything because who only wears oversized white t-shirts?

But anyhow, it’s all bearable now when Jimin finds his afternoon shifts spent glancing at the door, waiting for that someone to show up.

He’s probably a college student too, always arriving with notebooks sprawled across the table by the window. What’s missing though, is the look of crippling stress shown through dark circles and downturned lips and dead gazes of college students. Instead, he has the appearance of some designer brand’s runway model, trench coat flowing down to his long legs, and occasionally the prettiest pair of glasses Jimin has ever seen.

It was fitting, really. That day Jimin was on cash duty and took the gorgeous man’s order.

“Hi, how are you today?” Jimin had everything prepared, finger over the buttons on the machine, ready to type in the order as soon as he heard it. Then he’d grab the right cup and get the name of the cute customer and—

“I’m Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.” Gucci boy had then paused without realizing what he’d said wrong, or rather, what he’d heard wrong. “And you are…?”

“Uh – Jimin.” An awkward smile. “I’m Jimin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jimin.”

And that’s how it all started.

Kim Taehyung.

He’s so attractive that Jimin would totally draw him in latte art if he could. Wouldn’t those lattes be so thirst-quenching—

“Well it looks like he’s here again,” a teasing voice floats over from by the sink, pulling Jimin out of his thoughts. “It’s the second time today too.”

Jimin hears the smirk in Jungkook’s voice without even turning, and immediately glances at the door again for the ten-thousandth time this hour. As mentioned, Jimin could indeed see the expensive man heading towards the cafe.

“Second time?”

“He was here when I started my shift.” Jungkook dries the blenders and puts them on the rack. “Seemed kind of disappointed when you weren’t here. But hey, maybe that’s why he’s coming in again.” He simply shrugs when Jimin shoots him a glare. “Got thirsty.”

“Isn’t your shift supposed to like,” Jimin gestures vaguely, “end, or something?”

“Not for another two hours,” Jungkook raises his eyebrows and clicks his tongue knowingly. “So you want to take the cash so you can talk to Gucci-boy, or do you want to make his drink…with love, and all that?”

“I’ll make the drink.” He grumbles.

It would give him more time to talk to Taehyung than being at the cash register would, if other customers came in. Besides, Jimin wanted to draw something nice for him.

“Hi, what can I get you?” Jungkook asks, and Jimin can hear the smirk dripping from his voice. That asshole.

“Just the usual, please,” Taehyung says, eyes flickering over to Jimin for the briefest millisecond, and Jimin almost forgot how deep his voice was. “For here.”

“I wanted to ask you something about latte art.”

“Why, are you planning on drawing your phone number to give to Gucci-boy?” Jungkook has that ugly smug look on his face again and Jimin fights the urge to smack it off.

Jungkook is literally his last resource, for he’d spent all too many hours on Google browsing through pages of the same kinds of latte art that just wouldn’t be special enough for Taehyung, and all too many shifts practicing on his macchiatos in a corner when his asshole barista partner wasn’t looking.

Screw Jungkook.

“Can you actually do that?” Jimin rolls his eyes when he sees Jungkook nodding. “No, but I was actually thinking of drawing a heart or something.”

Jungkook snorts, bending over the counter in attempt to conceal his laughter, and failing at it for a good full minute. “You – what?”

Jimin doesn’t bother answering him and frowns, waiting for the brat to stop. Someday Jungkook will get a giant coffee stain on one of those white t-shirts of his and who will be the one laughing then?

“Seriously? Hearts?”

“You have a better idea?”

“Your number is probably a better idea.” Jungkook pauses. “But I’ll teach you how to do both anyway.”

A few hours later, Taehyung was undoubtedly walking through the door as usual, and Jimin was ready to do the thing. It was going to be his phone number floating along the top, with a couple of pretty swirls at the bottom.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah, just go give it to him.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. Like it’s so easy to do this.

Jimin glares at him. “I don’t see you making any moves on boy-who-looks-like-death.” His real name was Yoongi or something, but Jimin still thinks he’s intimidating as hell. Though he was probably the only one who could bring out the non-asshole side of Jungkook, so Jimin is thankful for his existence.

“Well, you were born in Busan first, right?” Jungkook flashes the brightest evil smile with his bunny teeth and stupid eye crinkles and Jimin wants to punch him. “So I guess you’re doing this first too.”

“Fuck off,” he huffs, picking up the cup to bring over to Taehyung’s table.

After trying not to be disappointed at his blank phone screen every five seconds and actually trying to pay attention in a few of his classes, Jimin starts to believe that the bright smile he’d seen on Taehyung’s face hadn’t actually meant anything, that the light blush was just from the lighting, and the gentle brush of fingers over his arm had just been an accident.

Because why would there be any reason for Taehyung to like him anyway? Gucci-boy was probably friendly with everyone and more well-liked than Jimin would ever hope to be.

Jimin pushes the hope in his chest down and buries it under more pressing issues like the assignment he hadn’t even started on. He throws himself in the pile of work that needs to be done, and doesn’t even check his phone for the rest of the night, resulting in a bunch of missed texts from none other than the brat, Jungkook.

He really doesn’t want to go back to work. Ever again.

“Did he text you?” Jungkook asks the next day when he’s unfortunately back at the coffee shop. Again.

“No,” Jimin’s heart sinks with the reminder, cheeks ablaze from the embarrassment, “he probably thinks I’m a creep now. I think I’ll just stop trying. If he ever comes back at all.”

To his surprise, Jungkook doesn’t say anything at that but there’s still a hint of some sort of evil smile at the edge of his lips. Maybe it was like a resting bitch face but like, some sort of permanent evil, smug face.

“You know, maybe I’ll just quit and find a new job. That way I won’t have to see your ugly face again either—”

“Dude, you’re in luck,” the brat nods towards the door, “because it looks like lover-boy is back.”

And just as he said, the slender runway model is walking through the door like he’d done every day so far.

“Go talk to him when you give him his drink. Maybe he doesn’t even have a cell phone. Or a texting plan or something.”

Jimin groans. “Who, in this age, doesn’t have a cell phone?”

Jungkook side-eyes him, staying silent.

“Wow, Jungkook, don’t tell me you dropped it in the toilet again.”

“Shut up, and get your short ass over there, ugly.”

A few minutes later, Jimin brings the latte to Taehyung. There’s a normal heart design as the art today since he figured it would be a bit too strange if he suddenly stopped doing the latte art. That’s what he tells himself anyway: No, it’s not because I want to impress him. I’m done with trying. This is just a drink from a barista to a customer—nothing more, nothing less.

“Here’s your drink. Enjoy!” Jimin sets it down and avoids staring at Gucci-boy for too long.

Just as he’s about to give up thinking of things to say and brace himself for Jungkook’s teasing, Taehyung opens his mouth.  

“Do you prefer talking to people in person instead of texting?” Taehyung suddenly asks, an unreadable expression on his face.

It’s definitely not what Jimin was expecting. In fact, it’s so far from what he was expecting that it takes him a good thirty seconds of his jaw hanging open and brain reeling for any sound to come out of his mouth.

“Um, what? I don’t mind either?” In fact it would be great—no, excellent— if you could text me back, yes thank you.

“Oh. But you told me to stop texting you?”

“Wait, what?” Jimin quickly pulls out his phone. The notification section still remains blank. Unfortunately just like his love life. “I never even received any texts from you.”

“Hmm.” Taehyung pulls out his phone as well. It’s a shiny black and super sleek, and there’s a very artistic case on it. “Is this your number?”

It looks right for the most part. Except where there should be a six, there’s an eight instead.

“Ah, that’s why.” Jimin shyly takes his phone and makes the correction. “It was wrong.”

“You mean I’ve been texting the wrong person this entire time?” Taehyung pulls up the text conversation with the wrong number, showing a string of memes with a couple of fluffy puppy gifs in between. And a few compliments for Jimin’s drinks. Followed by a “stop texting me” from the ungrateful recipient.

“That’s so mean. Who could say no to all that?” Jimin doesn’t say anything about the compliments but could feel the blush creeping up his neck and ears. “I mean… I wouldn’t mind if you sent all that to me now.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll get even better.” A wink.

So Taehyung didn’t hate him after all, and even came back into the store despite having “Jimin” tell him to stop texting him. Which is a pretty big deal because Jimin definitely would not have been able to face him again.

Either way, Jimin just needed to improve his latte art.

“Here’s your vanilla latte!”

It’s his usual drink, with the usual heart latte art that Jimin had been drawing for the past while now. For consistency, he tells himself, not to impress a certain someone. He just hopes that Taehyung never looks at other people’s drinks that are missing the fancy designs.

“Thanks, Jiminnie,” is accompanied with the brightest smile that makes Jimin’s heart flutter just a little.

Jimin goes back behind the counter and tries to hide that wide grin he can’t seem to keep off his lips so that other customers don’t think he’s too weird. Luckily for him, Jungkook hasn’t come in for work yet and isn’t there to make his life miserable.

When there’s a lull and no customers show up for a while, Jimin finds his eyes constantly drifting back to this Kim Taehyung who has a gorgeous side profile that Jimin just can’t look away from.

And that’s when he notices Taehyung glancing strangely at the latte. He lifts it, holds it against the natural light streaming through the window he’s sitting beside, and then he looks at it from one side, then from the top, then the other side. And strangely enough, he takes out his phone, and it’s not to take a picture for Instagram like Jimin might’ve thought. Taehyung holds it so that the black screen is facing the latte, then looks into the screen as if checking out the reflection.

Maybe there was something wrong with the latte. Maybe there was a bug in it? That would be quite terrible.

He approaches the table after about five minutes of hesitating. “Is everything alright?” Jimin asks softly.

“Yeah, just perfect now that you’re here!” Taehyung spares a glance and his eyes immediately light up when he sees Jimin sitting across from him. But when he looks back at the latte, the confused expression still remains on his face despite his answer. “Well, actually…”

Taehyung leans over the table and beckons Jimin to do the same, as if he has a big secret to share. “I’ve finally come up with an answer.” There’s a kind of eureka spark swimming in his eyes, and Jimin is about to ask if he’s solved the matter and energy problem. “My answer would be yes,” comes out in a loud whisper, “because you’re really hot.”

“Answer to what?” Jimin tries to ignore the last part and can’t figure out how it’s relevant to the other stuff Taehyung just said. His mind replays snippets of their conversations and texts and even memes throughout the past month, but he doesn’t remember ever asking anything.

“You know,” Tae leans back, relaxed now that he’s shared what he’d wanted to say, “if you wanted me to sleep with you, then you could’ve just asked. Or like, at least asked me out on a date first.”

Jimin balks, feeling his face heating up real fast. Why would Tae think that…? It had to have been that brat, Jungkook. He was definitely going to kill—

“I mean, it would’ve been easier than drawing dicks on my lattes every day.”

If Jimin had been drinking something he’d have immediately choked on it, spat it all out, and then spilled the rest on himself.

What? The? Fuck?

Out of all the possibilities he’d thought of during his nervous pacing behind the counter, none of them even came close to what this man had just said. Out loud. In front of all the other customers in the cafe, which wasn’t too many, but Jimin could only pray that no one else heard anything or he’ll actually die on the spot from embarrassment.

“You drew this, right?” Taehyung looks at him expectantly, pushing his cup forward. “It’s not a bad drawing, but—”

“It…it was supposed to be a heart.” Jimin could tell his cheeks were reddening with how hot they felt, and he wanted nothing more to just go back in time and bury himself before he even went to work today. Or actually quit his job the last time he thought about it.  Nice going, idiot. You’ve not only failed at impressing him, but now you’ve offended him. “All of them were meant to be hearts.”

Upon looking closer at the drink, he can see that Taehyung was…not that incorrect. The heart he’d drawn a while ago is now completely deformed. It’s much longer and thinner, probably from the movements when he brought the cup over, and the bottom corner is now flatter and—there was nothing left to say because Taehyung was completely right.

Jimin’s heart sinks as much as his latte art did. “I guess hearts aren’t great for latte art…”

“Oh.” Taehyung furrows his brows, lips pursed together. “But why would you put a heart?” He sounds genuinely confused, but the expression makes Jimin feel even smaller.

“I-I—” There was no way of answering that one without giving away how Jimin really felt. “Um, you know what… I’ll just um, make another latte for you. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Picking up the latte, Jimin quickly turns around so that his crush wouldn’t see any how his eyes shone with the tears that threatened to spill. He’d just make a plain latte, no art. There’s really no point of making latte art anyway when this kind of outcome—

A hand gently grabs his arm, stopping him mid-step.

“Jiminnie, it’s fine.”

His heart throbs at that nickname. “No, I want to make your drink perfect this time.”

“It’s fine.” A pair of large eyes gaze up. “I like it.”

He doesn’t meet Taehyung’s gaze and keeps his face turned away slightly. “No you don’t; it’s terrible. I don’t even want to look at it—you should’ve said something much earlier so I could fix—”

“Jimin, it really doesn’t matter. I like this because I like you.”

“What are you talking about?” Jimin finally looks directly at Taehyung and there’s no sign of him joking around or trying to troll him. Those beautiful eyes are clear, and there’s a hint of a small smile. “Why?” Jimin says again, on autopilot, but softer. His brain is frozen and he doesn’t know what else to do besides stare back at the gorgeous man.

“Ah, you’re so cute.” The smile widens. “I really like you.”

Jimin can still only stare back at him silently.

“You can put as many dicks as you want in my lattes, and I’ll enjoy them just the same because you made them.”

He doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry or maybe just sink into the depths of the ground, but Jimin’s heart pounds loudly against his chest. He sees an old lady from a couple of tables over turn her head towards them and drop her jaw in shock.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to try to make me feel better about this. It’s completely my fault.”

Taehyung thinks for a moment and then suddenly frowns. “Wait, maybe that came out a little weird. I just mean that whatever you make is always perfect, Jimin. Seriously. You have a talent for this and your drinks always come out nearly as sweet as you are and maybe you’re trying to make me get diabetes here but I think that’ll still be fine because it’s from you. Wait I mean getting diabetes isn’t good and no one should want that, but my point is that you’re great. You’re sweet.” A pause. “Ah, that’s what it was supposed to be: you’re so sweet that I’m going to get diabetes—”

“Sh-shut up, Tae.”

“But it’s true! You’re so perfect and if you weren’t so good at your job, I’d go tell you to be an artist or something because you’re really good! Hey,” he points at the old lady who’s still staring at them with a face frozen in shock, “isn’t our Jiminnie great? He’s the best barista ever—”

“Tae, stop!”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No—” Jimin tries to cover his face with a hand. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

“Do you? Hey when do you finish work? Let me take you out sometime.” Taehyung looks at him so intently with those mesmerizing eyes that it’s hard to look away.

“Wait, what?”

“I like you, Jiminnie. Like like. Well, and like, I guess, because who doesn’t? You’re the highlight of my day and amazingly, your dick latte art pretty much helped me pass that one philosophy class. But I—”

“Okay.”

Now it’s Taehyung’s turn to pause and do a double take. “Wait, what?”

“I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Okay, good. I mean, great. Excellent. Wholesome.”

They’re left with a warm silence between them, smiles mirrored on faces that manage to show much more than words could. Sweetness lingers amidst the blood still roaring in his ears and pulse still racing endlessly, and somehow Jimin’s pleasantly surprised at how things turned out.

Then the moment ends with Tae suddenly frowns.

“But does this mean you actually don’t want to sleep with me?”

When Jimin leaves for his date with Tae, all he sees his Jungkook’s smug face. But the joke’s on him because the next time when Yoongi walks into the coffee shop, Jimin doesn’t tell Jungkook that the hearts he’s been drawing for boy-who-looks-like-death indeed turn out looking like dicks. Nor does Jimin tell him that there’s a giant coffee stain on the front of his white t-shirt.

[writings-andstuff]

Not a Damsel in Distress (Bucky x Reader)

Okay guys, this is the fic I am going to start trying to rebuild my blog with. It’s one of my favorites that I’ve written so far, and there was an anon on @bovaria s blog who wanted this fic. So here it is. There are two parts, and I backed both up to my Google Docs account, which is how I still have them.

Regardless, I hope you like it. 

Without further ado, Happy Reading!

Words: 3320 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None

Excerpt:  You understood: she broke him.  But you now saw it as your personal mission to put him back together.  To make Bucky Barnes whole again.  He brought you lunch; that was more than any of your exes had done for you this early in the relationship.  Or ever.  

Tagging: @beccaanne814-blog

Bucky knew that few things in life were truly dependable.  It took him a long time to find people he was comfortable enough around to be himself, but he wouldn’t call what they had “trust”.  No, he’d call it companionship.  People deciding to hang out together so they wouldn’t have to be alone.  

Sure, he likes all of them.  But he also liked peanut butter, and all it took was one god-awful video shown to him by Sam to make him never touch peanut butter again.  

It was that easy.  Some would say it wouldn’t be that easy with people, but they were wrong.  People betray.  People hurt.  People cheat.  Only human beings are capable of the worst type of viciousness because once you let someone in, they can take advantage of that.  Get you while you’re vulnerable.  

The only person he trusted—like, truly trusted—was Steve Rogers.  His best friend.  His confidant.  And, at Steve and Peggy’s wedding, his best man. Bucky would trust Steve with his life and, for Bucky, that was a huge deal.  Bucky couldn’t say he ever truly trusted anyone but Steve.  

Until Y/N came along.  

Y/N was a barista, working at Bucky’s local coffee shop.  A new recruit.  New meat.  Bucky could see her floundering as he passed the little shop on his way to work one morning.  He couldn’t say he’d ever taken notice of her before, but that was probably because she’d just started. Bucky knew how brutal the normals for the shop could be, especially on a newbie.

He tried to tell himself that this was her job and he shouldn’t go in there. Shouldn’t try to make her day a little better despite the workload.  But he couldn’t quite convince himself of that.  The shop was swamped and she was the only one at the counter trying to juggle three customers at a time.  

It didn’t help that she was just about one of the prettiest women he’d ever seen.

Remember Dot, he told himself.  He couldn’t be swooned by good looks.  Not again.  Dot had done too much damage, Steve could tell you that.  

But she looked like she was going to combust.  And Bucky knew the owner well: a german guy he’d met in the military.  He wouldn’t mind if Bucky came in and helped out a little.

Bucky checked his watch.  He still had an hour before he had to be at work—enough time to hop in and help out the new girl.  

He opened the door and four people exited before he was able to enter. Jeez...they were really mobbed today.  He made his way through the mob and up to the counter, pushing a few patrons in his haste.  He made it to the front of the line, despite some grumbling from other people behind him and rang the bell. 

The girl behind the counter cursed under her breath and turned around from the espresso machine.  Foam plopped out of the machine behind her and onto the floor but she seemed unconcerned about it.  He glanced behind the counter; it was a mess.  Coffee was spilled on the floor, there was the aforementioned espresso foam sitting in a neat pile underneath the machine, and the girl’s sneakers were messy with coffee.  

They’d left her alone on her first day, Bucky guessed.  Good thing he’d worked here a little whenever the old German man needed help.  He knew how everything worked.  

As soon as the girl behind the counter turned, Bucky’s breath hitched. Forget “just about”.  She was the prettiest woman he had ever seen.  Beautiful in every way.  She had long hair that was held up in a messy bun, beautiful eyes that were, at the moment, panicked, and flawless skin.  She was...wonderful.  

Bucky smiled at her, warm and inviting and leaned against the counter.  “Need a hand?”

The girl was staring at him suspiciously.  She crossed her arms over her chest. Her red apron was covered in coffee stains. “Oh, sure, make fun of the new girl. Doesn’t that get old? Don’t you people get tired of making fun of me?”

Bucky frowned and stood straighter. “I’m not making fun of you...”—he read her name tag—, “Y/N.” At her scrutinizing gaze, he went on.  “I know the owner. And, no offense, but you look like you could use a little help.  But if you don’t want it...” he trailed off.  

He started to turn around when some patrons behind him started getting angry.

“Wait,” Y/N said.  Bucky turned around, smirking and slipping behind the counter.  Now next to her, Bucky could tell that she smelled like coffee and...something else.  Lavender?  Yeah, something pretty like lavender.  

Bucky pulled an apron over his head and tied it behind his back.  

“You know,” Y/N said.  “If you’re gonna help, I might need to know your name.”

“Bucky,” Bucky said, smiling and holding his hand out.  “Bucky Barnes.” She shook his hand.  

“Y/N,” she said.  Then she let go of his hand and blushed, looking away. “But, you know, you already knew that so—”

“If you two are done flirting,” a man at the front of the line said, “I ordered a Vanilla Latte.”

Bucky had to hold back a snicker.  The man was maybe almost three-hundred pounds of muscle wearing a NYC DPW reflective vest. A ginormous Department of Public Works worker ordering a Vanilla Latte? It was laughable.  

Holding back his laughter, Bucky got the man his latte, took his money, gave him his change, and sent him on his way.  Y/N gaped at him.  “Show me your ways.”

Bucky grinned.  “Fall in, Newbie, this ain’t gonna be fun, and it ain’t gonna be pretty, but with another set of hands, you’ll be alright.  We’ll take turns.  You get the next guy and I’ll get the guy behind him and so on.  Can you handle that?”

Y/N crossed her arms again and gave him a droll stare.  “Yes, commander, I think I’ll manage.”

Bucky held his hands up in surrender, then got back to work.  

They were stop-and-go for a while, but, soon enough, they found a rhythm and moved around each other with ease.  Bucky forgot he had a job to get to, but it honestly didn’t matter much.  He hadn’t missed a day since he got out of the Military.  Three years with the same people and he’d never missed one day.  He earned a day off helping a beautiful girl with her own job.  

By twelve, the shop was less swamped. Bucky offered to help clean up the back, but Y/N insisted on doing it herself.  And so Bucky let her, sitting at a table with a black coffee watching her mop and then hand dry the floor before cleaning up the counters.  An hour later, the place was spotless.  You would never know that a mob had just been in there.

Beautiful? Check. Neat? Check. Capable? Highly. But under immense amounts of stress, she cracked.  And now he knew her weakness.

This is what he was talking about earlier: when people know your weaknesses they can exploit them.  It almost never ends pretty.  God knows it didn’t with Dot. She knew...she found out something about him, and she used it against him. Something not his fault.  

But getting away from that, Bucky finished off his coffee and then brought it to the back to place in the sink, next to the large basin where Y/N was washing some plates. The chef was sitting on a stool in the corner reading a Time magazine about the proper cooking of frittatas.  

Y/N dried her hands on a dish towel after setting the rest of the dishes (save Bucky’s cup) on the drying rack.  She glared at him.  “You’re gonna wash that, right?”

“I’m just the help,” Bucky said.  At her hard stare (one he would call a ‘mom’ stare if forced to describe it), Bucky immediately got to washing his mug.  He set it on the rack when he was done and turned to her, hands soapy and wet. “Happy?”

Y/N nodded and headed out of the kitchen to the main room.  No one was there.  She turned to him as he hung up his apron on a hook and stepped out from behind the counter. “Why’d you help me?”

Bucky shrugged and put his hands in the pockets of his jeans.  “Dunno.  You seemed like you were having trouble in here.  Couldn’t let a beautiful woman flounder all by herself, I guess.”

Y/N blushed.  “I am not a damsel in distress.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Bucky said.  He headed towards the door.  

“Wait,” Y/N called. Bucky turned at the door. “You’re just gonna leave? No asking for my number or anything?”

Bucky smiled. “I didn’t want to be forward, Doll.  We just met.”

Y/N rolled her eyes.  She looked around behind the counter for a minute before picking up a cup and writing something on it.  Bucky waited for her to finish for what seemed like hours.  Finally, mercifully, she handed him the cup and, as he started looking at it, she plucked it back from him.  

“No,” she said.  He gave her a questioning glance, but said nothing.  “Don’t look at it until you’re down the street.  Okay?”

Bucky nodded.  “Okay.” She handed him the cup and, before letting go of it, got up on her toes and kissed his cheek.  

“Thanks for the help, Bucky.”

With that, Bucky turned on his heel and left.  His cheeks were feeling a little warm and he wasn’t sure why.  Well, no, he knew why.  But he hadn’t felt this giddy since...well, since Dot.  Since freshman year of college.  That was when things were still relatively new to him, the wonder of high school graduation was still fresh, and the world still seemed warm and cozy.  And then he met Dolores.

Bucky shook his head to get rid of that thought.  He made it down the block to the point where he could no longer see the little coffee shop and then turned the cup over to see the words written on it in Sharpie:

021-3695

Thanks again for the help, Bucky. I guess I was floundering in there.  Come by again, okay? But not to help.  Just for coffee.  Now I’m going to say something really girly: Call me.

Not a damsel in distress,

Y/N Y/L/N

☻

Bucky smiled to himself as he walked down the street.  He was definitely going to call her.  Definitely.  

A week passed and you still hadn’t heard from Bucky.  He was supposed to call you.  That’s why you gave him your number.  Had you misread things.  Was he not into you? Was he really just being nice when he helped you out and called you beautiful?

Thinking about all of this brought you to an even worse thought: what if Bucky hadn’t liked you kissing him on the cheek? What if he was freaked out because you’d kissed his cheek and now he wasn’t going to ever call you or come back to the shop? And all because you’d read a few signs wrong.  

Dammit, Y/N, you chided yourself.  You weren’t wrong. You couldn’t be.  It just didn’t seem right.  No.  You were at least 75% sure that Bucky Barnes was totally into you.  

You hadn’t made a mistake. Or so you desperately hoped.  

It was a normal Tuesday a week after you’d first met Bucky that he decided to come into the little coffee shop again.  A few large state cops came in and ordered coffees to go. You made the coffees for the officers quickly, trying to move morning rush hour along.  

By noon, the place was nearly empty, except for one regular who sat at a table in the corner using his computer for work and sipping at a coffee that had gone cold hours ago.  You hunched over the counter with your study materials set out everywhere.  Because the counter was two-tiered, you used the lower tier for your work and the upper tier to serve customers as they entered the small shop.  

This way, you got your work done, and it didn’t hinder your job.  Who knew studying law would be exceptionally hard? Oh yeah, everyone.  Everyone had told you that pursuing a degree in Criminal Law was going to be one of the most difficult things you ever did. But you hadn’t listened, and now you found yourself wishing you had.   

And so you stood hunched over the counter with a highlighter in your hand and the cap of a pen between your teeth.  Technically, you were on lunch break, but you really didn’t get a lunch break.  The chef, Martinez (you knew he had a first name but no one ever used it so neither did you), was in the back reading some magazine on some exotic food.

Sure, Martinez was nice, and he made amazing food, but unless you specifically asked him for something, he didn’t do anything.  Not of his own accord, anyways.  

Bucky passed the shop on his lunch break, heading towards the deli a couple of blocks down the street where he was a regular for lunch.  But as he passed the window, he saw you.  

Now, here is what happened.  Bucky had picked up his phone the night he’d first met you and meant to call you, but his brain told him not to.  His brain told him that he’d had enough heartbreak with one girl in his life, and that he couldn’t afford anymore.  

The next day, he’d talked to Steve about it, and he had told him that maybe dating you was a good thing.  It didn’t have to get too serious too soon, and it would be fun.  Steve told Bucky that he needed a little fun and that you seemed intriguing and funny.  But, after mulling it over, Bucky had decided not to call you.

Now, as he passed the little coffee shop, he saw you, on your lunch break, hunched over the counter with study materials everywhere.  You looked like you hadn’t slept well in a few days, and that you’d practically been living off of coffee.  He wasn’t wrong.  With back to back midterms, you were sinking into an academic black hole.  Three hours of sleep a night (if that), had produced small circles under your eyes, but Bucky thought you still looked beautiful as ever.  

He checked his watch.  It was a little after noon and it didn’t look like you were eating.  Had you eaten at all today?

What Bucky did next, he would later try to play off as concern for a hard working friend.  If they could even be considered friends.  

Bucky headed to the deli he frequented and ordered  grilled cheeses to go.  The waitress gave him an odd look because not only did Bucky always eat in the deli, but he only ever ordered one sandwich.  

“Hungry today, Bucky?” the pretty waitress asked more or less rhetorically.  She had made some passes at him before, but he’d rejected her advances.  Why? At the time, he didn’t want a girlfriend.  Or even a friend to mess around with.  Now though? Well, he still wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he knew he wanted you.  And if that was a bad idea, then call him crazy.

He took the Styrofoam containers a few blocks down to the coffee shop.  

You didn’t even see him enter the shop.  

Bucky sidled up to the counter and rang the bell.  The noise was so loud and so close to your head that you nearly jumped backwards.  No, not nearly, you did flinch backwards, straightening up and groaning at the tightness in the back of your neck.  Pain laced its way down your spine and up into your head.  

And then you saw Bucky.  To say you were surprised would be a gross understatement.  You were thoroughly surprised, but more than that, you were wondering what was in the containers he held and why they smelled so good.  

“Grilled cheese,” he answered your unspoken question.  “I thought maybe you could use some food.  Looks like you’re studying your head off, Doll.”

You smiled at him.  “Yeah.” It only took you a minute to set up a table with a few napkins and precisely two chairs.  You flipped the sign on the door to read closed; you were sure that people could survive without coffee for an hour while you took your lunch break.  

You grabbed a few waters from the refrigerator before sitting down at the table across from Bucky.  

“Thanks, Bucky,” you said.  He smiled at you.  

“You’re welcome, Y/N,” he said.

You two ate in tension-filled silence for a few moments before you asked him what was on your mind.  

“Okay,” you said.  “So, let me get this straight.  You helped me on my first day of working here. I gave you my number.  I thought there was something, you know, between us, but you never called.” Bucky started to interrupt you but you went on.  “Then, you show up again, without warning, and bring me lunch because...well, I’m not sure why.  The point is—did I read something wrong here?”

Bucky shook his head.  “No, you didn’t. “

“Then what’s up, Bucky? Why didn’t you call?”

The answer to that was both simple and complicated.  But he didn’t have to answer; you saw it in his eyes.  The fear, the sadness, the anger, the betrayal. He must have had a past girlfriend.  There is a certain type of pain that comes from heartbreak, and there it was, written in the crystalline dots in his beautiful blue eyes.  

“Ah,” you nodded in recognition. “Ex-girlfriend?”

Bucky laughed humorlessly and stared down at his sandwich before answering.  “Try ex-fiance.”

Your face fell.  An ex-fiance? Bucky had been engaged? Wow. That was a-whole-nother ball game.  

Bucky went on, “She cheated on me.” He sighed, deep, and you watched the tension fall from his shoulders. Finally, he looked at you.  “I guess I was just scared, you know.  To start something new.  To trust like that again.  She—she was the love of my life.”

You understood: she broke him.  But you now saw it as your personal mission to put him back together.  To make Bucky Barnes whole again.  He brought you lunch; that was more than any of your exes had done for you this early in the relationship.  Or ever.  

Reaching across the table to take his hand in yours, you looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bucky. But I’m not her. I’m just a law student struggling through midterms and life in general.  I like you, Bucky.  I think you’re sweet, and funny, and hot as hell,”—he laughed at that and you smiled at him—, “and I’d like for you to let me put you back together.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress,” he mimicked and the two of you laughed.  The man in the corner startled at the loud interruption but if he minded he didn’t say anything.  

“So,” you pulled your hand away from Bucky’s, “what d'ya say?”

“You know,” Bucky smirked at you.  “It’s usually the guy who asks the girl out.”

You smiled and held your hand out.  “Hi. My name’s Y/N.”

He laughed and shook your hand.  “Bucky. May I take you to dinner sometime?”

“Indeed you may,” you giggled. “Happy?”

Bucky grinned from ear to ear and all you could think was that this man would be the death of you.  You could already tell that he was going to be your bane as well as your greatest happiness.  And, in the moment, you had placed a piece of his heart back into place.  

“Very much, Doll.”

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Hey!I had a lot of interest from a comment I made about advice on starting as an affiliate on this post about a $80,000 profit in December via affiliate sales. So..let's start Amazon versionWhat does it mean to be an affiliate for Amazon?Amazon Associates is one of the first online affiliate marketing programs and was launched in 1996. The Amazon Associates program has a more than 12 year track record of developing solutions to help website owners, Web developers, and Amazon sellers make money by advertising millions of new and used products from Amazon.com and its subsidiaries, such as Endless.com and SmallParts.com. When website owners and bloggers who are Associates create links and customers click through those links and buy products from Amazon, they earn referral fees. It’s free to join and easy to use. Provide customers the convenience of referring them to a trusted site where they can immediately purchase the products you advertise on your site. And when they do, you can earn up to 10% in referral fees. Take advantage of various Amazon retail promotions and leverage our newly created advertising features to drive traffic and earn referrals. SourceTL;DR the most basic entry to being an affiliate is you have a site with traffic and when people click out to Amazon and buy something, you get a percentage usually from 4% all the way to 10%. Examples of AffiliatesThisiswhyimbroke.com is a very visible example of an affiliate site. Click on any links and you'll see a ton of redirects to Amazon.Basically when you sign up on Amazon, you'll be given a unique identifier and in Amazon's portal, you select items you want to list on your site and it gives you a URL that you include in your image or anchor text.From there, a user comes on your site and if they click something, they just goes to that product page on Amazon. However, Amazon processes that URL so that it identifies you were the reason X person went to their site.��How do you make $$$?As an affiliate, Amazon has it that if someone goes on Amazon because of you, ANYTHING they buy within 24 hours you get a commission on.Now let's say in that 24 hours, they add something to the cart, Amazon will allow 89 more days for the purchase to be complete but ONLY on the items they added in that 24 hour window.If x shopper adds 5 things to their cart after going because of you and add 10 more things 3 days later and check out, you get commission on the 5 things, not 15. How can I do this??Well first you'll need somewhere to post a link. If you have an active website and an active blog with traffic already, this is super easy for you to utilize. Just write a great blog post with a lot of information and images and you're already good to go. Go make some $$$!If you're a first time user, this gets more tricky but honestly, making money isn't easy and this is a very low barrier to entry method of at least trying entrepreneurship and seeing what happens. How do I start from scratch?Think of a niche. Being very, very specific is the best way to differentiate. Anything general, you're likely going to face competition and get discouraged. And I'm talking super niche. Maybe watch an episode of Shark Tank and be as niche as the most niche product they have there.Here's an example:Look at the results for "Best Espresso Machines".Pretty niche..."Espresso Machines" and throw on "Best". But still...some good competition.Let's niche down even more. "Best Espresso Machines 2017". Competition eases up even more and you see sites like this: http://ift.tt/2j8dtY4. Affiliate affiliate ding ding ding. How do I check like I just did?Download Moz as a browser extension. It'll show you the DA (domain authority) and PA (page authority) of sites your competing with. My rule of thumb is if you see too many sites that have a DA of 20 and above, can be hard to compete against and rank.The espresso site above has a DA of 10, PA 1 of 1. Theoretically, you can rank and compete with this site without that much difficulty. Found a niche?Sweet you found a niche.If you haven't, look around your house, look at your interests, talk to your friends. Ideally, you want to be an expert in it so you can speak to and write compelling and intelligent content. You can also google your niche and see what other people are doing and.."get inspiration".Generally you'll want a site. You can go on godaddy, bluehost, whatever and buy a domain with hosting. From there just install wordpress and utilize a theme.Usually though, your site will look like shit and if your site looks like shit, no one will want to hang out on your site. Remember, this is your digital flagship so it has to look nice and professional.Look through your personal network but /r/forhire usually has good redditors, upwork.com or whatever to help make your site look nice. Also look at other sites that are affiliate and see their formats to draw inspiration from.When you have WP, install Yoast SEO and make sure your site is optimized. You can have your entire site be themed around this niche and then have a page be even more niche.So your site can be about the "best espresso machines" and then you have a page that is "best espresso machines 2017". This is what your keywords are and essentially what you want to rank for organically in google.You want whoever to type in "best espresso machines 2017" to see your site on page 1 of the rankings, ideally top 3.Yoast SEO will help you focus your site and also optimize your title tags and meta descriptions. But you gotta rankHow google works is they "rank" sites based on the Domain Authority, Page Authority and backlinks pointing to the sites.For starters with a low risk site, I recommend getting someone with PBN's (private blog network) to write articles about your site. Note, this is a gray hat method of backlinking but if it's your site and their's little risk if Google picks it up, then go for it. Don't do this for client SEO.Sites like this offer PBNs for sale: http://ift.tt/2iHWPLt basically, you have someone write an article about your site, they backlink to your site and utilize anchor text like "Best Espresso Machines 2017" with a link to you.What happens is these private blogs send link juice and up your domain authority, page authority and also relevance for those keywords. If someone is dripfeeding blogs about your site, maybe 1 or 2 a week, you'll see your rankings start to jump in 2-3 weeks if your niche isn't too competitive. Eh to lazy for this?You can buy an expired domain. An expired domain is a domain that someone had but decided to not pay for anymore and it's released for you to buy. You can check it out here..Why this is advantageous is you're buying a site that will have a DA/PA score already. In theory, you can by pass the backlinking and if your niche enough, you can just revamp the site, post an article and it will naturally rank for your focus keywords on DA and PA alone.Just buy the domain, install wordpress on it and off you go. Ranking not for you?You can create a site but you need to draw traffic. A few guerilla methods are posting on forums (but don't be annoying), going on FB groups or other means of notifying groups of people your site exists and it's helpful to them. A friend of mine created a site for festival products and did no SEO. Just posted on a bunch of fb groups and subreddits and drew traffic that way and made good money doing this. That's itThis is the 101. There's a lot that I didn't cover but it's a road map from start to actually having a viable site that ranks for keywords in a niche.