Title: The Best Day Ever (Reader x Natasha Romanoff)
Summary: Natasha and the Reader are having a laid back, relaxed day of staying indoors and cleaning. All is full of rainbows and smiles until Natasa insists that she can handle cooking a box of macaroni and cheese.
Word Count: 1129
A/N: OMG THIS IS JUST TOO CUTE AND UGH ADORABLE. I love it so much, and hope you do, too. I hope you enjoy! :)
Holtzmann has no candy preference. If it’s sweet and bad for you, she’ll eat it, but she loves to set up jelly beans across her desk and “Pac-Man” them up, or goes for the ‘I’m snorting cocaine only I’m inhaling jelly beans instead’ approach and scares the shit out of Erin. She’s also been known to suck the cream out of a Cadbury cream egg.
Patty loves exotic chocolates. You get her a gourmet chocolate box from Sweden and she’ll hug you tight enough it might count as premeditated murder on account of being suffocated in boob. Hollow chocolate rabbits are a close second.
Abby is a slut for chocolate bunnies. The bigger the better. And bags of Starburst jelly beans, which she has to wrestle away from Holtz. One year, Patty gave Abby a big hollow chocolate rabbit she filled with enough chocolate liquor, salted caramel vodka, and half-and-half to drown an alcoholic. That quickly became her favorite Easter treat.
Erin love peeps. This is a secret she has to hide from everyone on account of the ‘busters distaste for the marshmallow candy. The more colorful the better, in her book. Reece eggs are close second and she shares a love for jelly beans with Holtz and Abby, only in slightly less moderation.
I work remotely so I rarely see the team I work with. I’m going to be managing some of them now, so I decided to get things off to a good start by ordering them a box of gourmet donuts to the office. Above is one of the emails I got in response.
What the actual fuck is wrong with people? Who needs to pick up and unfold
- EVERY - SINGLE - SHIRT -
on a display? What takes customers seconds to mess up takes you minutes to fix and while that may not seem like a long time, multiply that by four displays per aisle, and multiply THAT by the dozen in your department alone. And you don’t even want to THINK about all of the destroyed clearance racks, shuffled hanging displays, and repetitive questions from rude shoppers that will pepper the rest of your six hour closing shift.
Keeping the store neat is your job though, just behind making sure customers have a “good shopping experience,” whatever the hell that means. Thankfully, you have a partner today, someone to watch the ever busy fitting room while you try and maintain the merchandise on the floor. Quite frankly, it feels exactly like bailing a sinking oil tanker with a measuring cup.
Ah, the wonders of retail.
“Can I have all associates meet at the registers for the nightly huddle?” your manager’s peppy voice screeches out of your ear piece as you grapple for the volume knob on the walkie talkie, turning it down to save your hearing.
Nightly huddle, great. Fifteen minutes taken out of your meticulously planned folding schedule for the luxury of knowing if the store reached corporate’s sales goal, credit goal, unreasonably high service score goal, and other, completely useless information.
You would admit to hating it, but you need the money.
It’s the middle of summer, after all, and what better way to spend your break from college than at your part time job? At least your coworkers are nice. Most of them.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome!” your manager coos, clapping her hands excitedly, “We have big, big, big news today!”
Just like the big, big, big news yesterday, but you fail to bring it up, opting instead to share her large, but impressively genuine smile because kissing up to managers is one of the things you do best.
As the other employees slowly congregate, setting down the clothes they had been fixing nearby instead of waiting idly, you nod your polite hellos, happy to see some more than others, naturally. You pause your visual sweep, the motion abruptly stopping on a new face, and immediately notice two things.
Thing number one: he’s VERY cute.
Dark, feathery hair frames his slight baby face, slender, dark eyes amicably soft. He’s not the tallest guy, but you’re also not the tallest person either, so that detail is easy to overlook, especially in sight of the fact that even DESPITE his semi-formal, work appropriate button up shirt, you can see the generous amounts of muscles in his shoulders and arms, a stark contrast to the structure of his face. It’s a confusing combination, but one that ultimately leaves you, to say the least, interested.
Thing number two: the way he’s looking around, intrigued, excited, it’s easy to tell he’s not only new, but also another victim of naive “wonder and awe.”
And you love it.
As your manager begins listing off the store’s sales statistics, the majority of your attention stays fixed on the boy standing across the half circle of employees. He actively listens until the part about the customer service score and then his gaze begins to wander, sliding idly around, exploring, until stopping to make DIRECT eye contact with YOU.
Face flushing, you give him a small, hopefully friendly nod, which he returns, supplementing it with a naturally radiant smile.
“Now let’s welcome one of our new associates,” your manager’s voice pulls your attention back to the conversation, “This is Jimin and he’ll be working in shoes. It’s his first shift on the floor by himself, so make sure to listen out in case he needs help.”
“Hello everybody,” the boy, Jimin, gives a small wave, voice gentle, body language betraying shyness, but also eagerness to please. A pleasantly warm feeling spreads through your chest.
A chorus of subtly bored “hello”s rustles through the gathering, but you make sure yours sounds even more chipper than your usual bubbly greetings. By God, you’re reading this book by its cover, but you WILL indoctrinate him into friendship. This place has always needed a little more happiness, sunshine, and…spunk, and quite frankly you’re tired of being known as one of the few “happy go lucky” people here.
Jimin would seem to be a nice addition, but there’s a small problem: he’s working in shoes, meaning you’ll probably never get to speak to him.
Sure you have a friend or two that works over there, but the only reason you ever really interact with them is because you know NOTHING about their merchandise. Granted, it’s not a matter of friendliness, but rather being at opposite ends of the store.
“So don’t forget to stop by and introduce yourself if you get the chance,” your manager’s voice permeates through your thoughts again, drawing you back to the present. “Thanks for stopping by, everyone!”
Like you had a choice.
But your internal cynicism takes a back seat as you weave your way through the displays, bounce in your step, to catch Jimin before he disappears.
“Hey! New guy,” you let out that too loud, obnoxious laugh that most everyone somehow manages to find “cute.” He turns around, eyes brightening once he realizes your tone is humorous, corners of his lips turned up in a smile. “How are you liking the job so far?”
“It’s actually not as bad as everyone keeps saying it’ll be,” he rubs at the back of his neck, tousling his dark hair, shrugging. “I’m really enjoying myself.”
That enthusiasm will likely fade and die soon, but here’s to hoping it won’t.
“That’s FANTASTIC to hear,” you extend your hand, “I’m _____, and Jimin, it is very nice to meet you.”
“_____,” he repeats, committing it to memory. “Nice meeting you too!”
“Welcome to hell,” you wink, over exaggerating, drawing a laugh from both of you before going your separate ways. For the next few hours, you don’t think much about Jimin except when you hear his voice over the walkie, eagerly answering questions for a department he can’t possibly know much about.
It’s nice to see his attitude hold up, that spark of sunshine that brings a smile to your face.
Closing the store that night is brutal. This one customer refuses to leave until fifteen minutes after the doors have been locked, the lady in the intimates department failed (once again) to finish putting away bras from the dressing room, and as you were helping her, you managed to find one of your folding tables had magically blown up.
The only solace you can bleed from the situation is the box of gourmet fudge your mother shipped home from a vacation, which is sitting in the trunk of your car. You’re so excited about it that you accidentally tell your friend, who talks a bit too loud, and soon four people are following you outside after clocking out.
Darn you and your generosity.
As you pass around chunks of the dessert, in your peripheries, you see someone walking alone to their car.
“Jimin!” you call before you can help stop yourself. “Do you want some fudge?”
“What?” he stops walking, either unsure of what you said or not understanding the question as he IS missing some context, observing that people don’t usually dispense fudge from the trunk of their car.
“Come here!” you insist, gesturing enthusiastically with your friends until he joins you. “Chocolate, mint, or red velvet?”
Jimin lets out a nervous laugh, “Actually… I’ve never HAD fudge, so…”
After everyone stops giving him shit, all in good humor of course, you take the small plastic knife from the box and cut off a chunk depositing it in his open hand, “Then we’ll start you off with just regular chocolate.”
You watch in excited anticipation as he takes a bite, but his true expression is lost as soon as someone says, “Yeah! Boy popped his fudge cherry!”
All of you begin cackling hysterically, save Jimin, who’s smothering a laugh, but beet red. He subsequently makes a hasty exit, but thanks you a dozen or so times before fleeing to his car. Honestly, you don’t blame him. You were just as skittish your first couple of weeks; yet never had to deal with people like you and your friends. Oh well. Now that you’ve decided he’s going to be your friend, he’ll have to learn to live with it.
The next time you see Jimin, you’re fortunate enough to not be closing. It’s a simple four hour shift, nothing too taxing, and you walk into the store twenty minutes early, meaning when you see his already recognizable figure in the shoe department, you decide striking up a conversation will be a good idea.
“Jimin!” you watch with excitement as he turns to see who called his name, expression brightening by a couple lumens.
“____, hello!” he returns the greeting just as enthusiastically, if not more so, “How are you?”
“I’m good, you?”
“Great, I get off in an hour,” he sets down the stack of shoes he’d been holding, leaning casually against a shelf display.
“Oh, well aren’t you lucky,” you tease, wrinkling your nose, but not even attempting to hide your smile. “You have to say goodbye to me before you leave.”
“Definitely,” he nods, but you know better. Yes, it’s a stereotype, but those exist to protect people’s fragile egos. He’s the new guy (emphasis on GUY) who probably doesn’t even know your name. He probably won’t think twice about you once his shift is over. It makes you sad, but you’re no stranger to disappointment.
Thus as you walk away to clock in, exchanging polite “see you around”s, you force yourself to forget about the interaction too.
This shift is easy, because again, it’s only four hours and you’re not entirely responsible for making the department “ready for closing.” It’s freeing, watching customers pull apart the folding tables and thinking, “hey, that’s not MY problem.”
It’s a bad habit, but one that plagues every retail employee. Principle of the diffusion of responsibility: a psychological phenomenon which states that the more people involved or the more distant one is from a problem, the less likely a person is to take responsibility for action or inaction. Or possibly, in simpler terms, the bystander effect.
That’s why you volunteer to back up at the registers, hack away at the long line that snakes down the aisle.
You used to be afraid of ringing up customers, namely because the store had so many sales and people have so many (stupid, repetitive) questions; but lately, especially when you don’t need to compulsively worry about a department, you like the distraction. It makes time go by faster.
You get through one person after another, an endless stream of stimulating activity, an adequate diversion, interrupted when your supervisor’s sharp voice says the name that can’t help but draw your attention.
“Jimin! What are you doing over here? Aren’t you off?”
“Yes,” he practically squeaks from the front of the line, eyes wide. “I just wanted to say goodbye to…”
Jimin points at you, making eye contact around the shoulder of the customer you’re helping. It pretty much confirms he doesn’t know your name, which is disheartening, but hey, he remembered.
And then you realize something. He’s standing AT THE FRONT OF THE LINE.
He had been WAITING to say goodbye to you.
A warm feeling permeates through your chest, but it’s not as warm as the fire on your cheeks. There’s no way for you to tell him how thankful you are as the customer is starting to get impatient, but there’s nothing stopping you from quickly waving, shouting, “Have a good night, Jimin!”
His chirp like laugh fills your ears as he ducks beneath the ropes that mark the edge of the line, leaving, replying happily, “You too.”
A/N: sorry if this was a bit random… but something similar happened to me recently irl and I thought it would be cute to share.
yoongi is the kind of heavy sleeper that wouldn’t so much as budge a single muscle even if the zombie apocalypse were to break out and chaos befell the world around him.
he’s actually been known to sleep through a consecutive string of wake up calls consisting of seven pre-set alarm clocks, one shouting manager hyung, and a really annoying air horn that taehyung had picked up from somewhere in america during one of their pacific tours (seokjin has tried to get rid of it on many occasions, but taehyung must have some kind of hidden powers because the thing manages to reappear no matter what the circumstances).
however, returning to the point, min yoongi can pretty much sleep through anything.
but when there’s a five foot seven, hundred and thirty pound boy sitting on top of your stomach, effectively cutting off the flow of your air circulation, even a sleeper like yoongi is bound to be jolted into waking up.
and yoongi is definitely not pleased, no matter how much jimin might be his favorite.
Title Be Mine? Rating General Word Count 3,600+ Notes HAHA guess who was your Valentine, @obsessivedino? IT WAS ME. I was so happy that I got you, I love writing for you and need to do it much more :* HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY INK!! __________________________________
Something had been bothering Noiz for a couple of weeks now. He couldn’t entirely put it into words, but it felt like a heavy weight settled on his chest, bothersome and ever-present.
Aoba had been spending more time around Theo lately. A lot more time than usual, without even telling Noiz. Even more than that, when he stepped out of his office, the two of them were usually standing in the hallway, whispering excitedly to one another, and as soon as they noticed Noiz was near, they went quiet, looking in opposite directions like nothing happened. Whenever Noiz asked anything about brief encounters like those, Aoba avoided the question entirely.
Once when he brought it up, Aoba brushed it off by asking a question of his own.
“It’s nothing, really. Why are you so worried?” he asked while finishing up drying the last of the dishes from dinner. Suddenly his lips curled into a smirk. “Could it be that you’re jealous?”
“I am not jealous,” Noiz refuted, speaking far too quickly and far too hastily, taking the plate from Aoba’s hands and putting it away.