#man I wish I had a group of friends in my suburb who would just be like LETS GO TOGETHER | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

needleandhammer · 4 years ago

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From Simmer to Score

Pairing: Soft!Curtis Everett x Reader

Summary: Curtis is good with his hands. And other stuff.

Warnings: 18+ only, explicit, smut, oral sex, penetration, fingering, dub con breeding, unprotected sex, breeding kink sort of, size kink, petite!reader, Curtis' fingers

Word count: 4k

A/N: This doesn't really fit the prompt i chose from @stargazingfangirl18 's 5k Soft Dark Challenge: "You hire a local handyman to help you with a few home projects." But the prompt still inspired this. I wanted to take the prompt somewhere more explicitly dark but once again my contribution to this challenge turned marshmallow soft. This is an au, non-apocalypse au, normal life au, idk. Just self-indulgent. Also, it was a struggle finding a gif of clean Curtis. Because he's clean in this and not living on a train, i swear.

“Try again. Very good. Let’s have you run through the exercises and then we’ll take a look at the new homework."

At your smile, the little girl nods and quickly turns to concentrate on coordinating her footwork on the pedals of your old Altenberg while reading the notes in front of her.

You back away, heading to the kitchen for some iced tea. You nearly forget your other guest who sits at the table.

This is the third time he’s accompanied Wendy for her lessons. For a man of his size, Curtis makes no sound except the faint swish of pages turning in his book. Like before, he arrived with Wendy, nodded a greeting at you, waited for your invitation to the kitchen, and then spent the entire hour silently reading.

You pull the fridge door open and pour tea into three glasses. You quietly slide one towards him. Curtis’ eyes flicker up to you, brilliantly blue, and he gives you a low murmur.

“Thanks.”

You’re about to return to Wendy when you hear your name in Curtis’ smooth baritone.

He nods to the notepad left on the table. “I, uh, noticed your reminder to call for maintenance. Something wrong?”

“Oh.” You tidy up the table, sheepish at being caught procrastinating house chores. “Just needed a second look at the water heater. The repair company came by and we tested things out when they were done, but the next day I had no hot water.”

You grimace, thinking of taking another cold shower.

“If you’re okay with it, I can grab my tool bag from my car and take a look,” he says.

You’re not prepared for the offer. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

He shakes his head, no hesitance. “I don’t mind at all. As long as you don’t.”

“I mean. I-I would really appreciate the help.”

Your time with Wendy ends after you review practice goals with her until her next lesson.

Curtis joins you two. “Hot water is running again.”

Your jaw drops and you skip to the kitchen. Hot water pours out of your faucet. You return, unable to resist grinning widely at him.

“Thank you, Curtis. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Curtis taught my dad everything about fixing houses!” Wendy chirped. He offers her a crooked smile.

“Do you have everything?” you ask your young pupil.

While Wendy thanks you and you help her pack, Curtis watches on with a faint curve to his lips.

“Edgar’s changing over to late shifts for the next couple of months. I’ll probably be driving Wendy to lessons again.”

You nod. “Sounds good. See you both then.”

After they leave, you enjoy a glorious steamy shower and then you settle onto your couch with a plate of leftover grilled veggies and fish.

Reviewing your schedule, you consider taking on one or two more students. It was years ago that you gave private lessons to help pay for college. Nearly a decade of moving between a few jobs, you are now in a quiet suburb working with a team of digital designers. The job allows you to work from home half the week, a flexibility you take great appreciation in. The professional stability encouraged you to return to music and to helping others develop their musical interests.

Wendy is your only student at the moment as you want to ease into taking on this additional responsibility. You smile, recalling your initial meeting with Wendy and her father, Edgar. Her father’s bubbly energy is such a stark contrast to Curtis. Edgar opened up quickly, sharing that he and Wendy’s mother were no longer together, that he would support whatever Wendy wanted to do. There was a perpetually youthful vigor to the room when Edgar was present.

Wendy calls Curtis, Uncle, and his adoration for her is clear. He barely said two words when he was here the first time. It doesn’t bother you. You get the impression Curtis purposely tries to not draw attention to himself, and you can empathize with that preference for tranquility.

_ _ _ _

It’s a windy day, heavy with rain clouds, the next time Wendy and Curtis are over.

“I saw your screen door was down. Planning on replacing it?” Curtis asks when you wrap up with Wendy.

“Nah. I was just going to look up what I would need and try fixing it myself.”

“It’s kind of heavy.”

His tone doesn’t imply any skepticism aimed at you and you’re not offended. You’re used to people calling you ‘small,’ though you’re not small so much as you’re short. You like to think you take up ample space. You also admit strength is not something you have in abundance. Your whole life you relied on family and friends for a lot of literal heavy lifting. But Curtis already helped you out once.

“I could fix it up.”

“I won’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s no bother, really. I’m happy to help out.”

He promises to be quick about it. While he works, Wendy happily practices on your piano.

“I have Oreos,” you announce.

She pauses to grab a cookie. “Thank you so much for letting me practice longer.”

“Of course, dear.”

She chats a bit about her upcoming birthday plans, as children are wont to do.

Curtis pops his head in. “All set. Do you want to take a look?”

You follow him out back. Swinging the screen door on its hinges, you nodded appraisingly.

“I suppose it passes inspection.” You look up with a cheeky smile, pleased to see Curtis’ lips twitching. “Thank you. Really, Curtis. I do wish you’d let me pay you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Besides, you’re great with Wendy. I’m grateful for that.”

You can tell he loves Wendy just as much as if he was her father. “In that case, I shall give Wendy her next lesson for free.”

He blinks at you, trailing behind as you make your way inside and calling out to Wendy.

Curtis has resigned himself to a quiet, bare life. He doesn't think he wants anything much. He has Edgar’s loyalty, a result of the brotherhood he formed in his impoverished teen years. They survived together, looked out for each other. Once Wendy came along like a little star burning in a smoggy midnight, Curtis counted himself lucky to witness the little girl growing up. A chance to help nourish one seed.

The first time he arrived with Wendy at your home, Curtis couldn’t help listening in on the entire lesson, making no progress in his book. Your clear voice, your generous encouragement. You, light on your feet moving so swiftly. You, barely reaching his shoulders yet mighty in spirit, curvy and sensuous. Curtis had an urge to lift you in his palms to be stored safely in his pocket.

_ _ _ _

And so things follow. Wendy diligently learning and Curtis primarily accompanying her, taking his place at your kitchen table. You come to enjoy his steady, grounding presence just a couple steps away from you and Wendy.

Now and then, he’ll notice some upkeep you’re doing – a leaky faucet, a box of new light bulbs on your counter – and volunteer his assistance. You are reluctant to put him to work, sure that he spends enough of his days working and doing chores in his own home and besides these are tasks you can handle even if you find them tedious. Curtis is always gentle in his offers, always obtains your permission first. As time goes by and you grow less shy about accepting his help and he grows more comfortable in your space, you realize working with his hands is second nature to Curtis.

It doesn't take long for Curtis to admit to himself he wants to be near you.

Curtis doesn’t meddle. He doesn’t mingle. He doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. He is aware you thrived on your own for a long time, just like him; and like he has Edgar and Wendy, you have a small close-knit group of friends. Lending a hand to you doesn’t count because you are like him.

Maybe this is why he lets his guard down under your roof. There is something kindred in your calm nature that his soul responds to. Under your roof, no silences need to be filled; no pretenses forced upon him. Your invitation to rest is unspoken – he hears it and almost weeps. The more time he spends with you, like two wavelengths in tune, the stronger his urge to insert himself. To fix, or in some way leave his mark on your home. Curtis doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. Lending a hand to you didn't count. Until he cannot help it. He doesn’t reach out for you, doesn’t try to prove you’ll curve perfectly within his arms; but he’ll ensure your softness can curl up in a sturdy home and delight in simple pleasures.

One evening, when Edgar works later than usual, you ask if Wendy and Curtis would join you for dinner.

“Nothing fancy. I have some noodle soup and salad. Curtis, can you call Edgar to meet us here?”

Wendy sets the table. Curtis assists with the food.

He’s quick to cup your hand in his when it's nicked with a knife. You can’t help leaning into him as he runs your finger under water, wraps it in clean paper towel. He finishes with the salad, making you sit at the table.

Edgar joins you all, tired but quickly gaining energy with food and a few sips of wine. You are full and warmed by their company. While Edgar cheers on Wendy while she practices from her book, you feel Curtis’ fingers curl over your hand. His thumb brushes over your cut. You share a smile with him.

_ _ _ _

You settle into your little Toyota only to find it won’t start. It stumps you because you never had issues with this car before. You have no experience with car maintenance and don’t know the first thing to check for an engine that won’t wake.

Calling Curtis to see if you can reschedule, he insists that he can swing by to pick you up.

He had called you, his voice almost shy. He wanted to surprise Wendy for her birthday with a piano and asked for your help.

You direct Curtis to the string instruments shop in the city’s downtown area. The two of you are greeted by a sales staff upon entry. When asked, Curtis looks to you, wordless, so you do your best to describe to the salesperson what you're looking for.

There are several options of acoustic and digital instruments. You give little demonstrations on a few pianos that you consider reasonably priced.

“Curtis, check this one out.” Your hold on his sleeve is loose and propels him towards one of the upright Baldwin pianos.

“I think any of these would suit Wendy. The sounds are clear, and they don’t take up too much space. The salesperson said this one is second-hand and it’s in really good shape.” You press a few chords, then look up at Curtis with a smile.

He looks at you, gaze gentle. “I’m not worried about price. I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

That was his general response when you asked his opinion during your time in the shop: he was up for anything you recommended. Other than that, he trailed behind you so that the salesperson assumed you were the primary purchaser. Much like in your house, Curtis seemed to try hard to not draw attention. Oddly, you didn’t think anyone in the same room with him could help noticing him. Even with the dark apparel he favored, Curtis’ reserved nature can't hide all the intensity and strength just thrumming beneath the surface of his tall imposing build.

You convince him to sit beside you on the bench. He’s never played before, but humors you and tries random combinations of thirds with you. You watch his hands – clean, wide, with thick fingers – hover and slide along the keys.

He nudges you.

“Sorry. I was just impressed your sausage fingers are quite nimble.”

A half-hearted glare. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

“If I say you’re welcome, will you take a look at my car when we get back?”

He stays for dinner.

It starts raining and you have to rush out to gather hanging linens. He helps and you both run back inside. You're giddy at his eagerness to assist, resulting in damp clothing on you both.

“Oh, let’s dump it here. I’ll fold it tomorrow.” You are happy to leave the laundry in a pile on an armchair, in too good of a mood to care.

You catch him with his attention on you, a look so soft you have to look away, walk blindly a few steps. His touch is on your arm, turning you around just as you reach the piano.

He dips his head low to press chapped lips to yours, capturing your lips more, closing in to envelope you in his heat.

Curtis’ hands grip your hips with a quick jostle against the piano, prompting a slur of bright notes ringing from the keyboard that you are pressed against. And then he’s hitching you further up and firmly in his arms. His tongue licks against yours. You slant your open mouth, inviting him to taste, to devour you from the inside out. Your legs wrap around his waist like you belong there, tethered to this point in time. There’s no past or future, only Curtis, only feeling safe and real in his arms now now now.

You barely register Curtis moving, tipping you onto the couch cushions to hover over you so close. You can’t remember burning for someone like this. You can’t remember much of anything, focused on Curtis, solid and unyielding between your thighs, muscles buzzing with raw strength.

You want so badly to know more of him. Your hands wander shamelessly under his shirt, sliding up his wide back, grazing under to squeeze appreciatively at his pecs only to be called south by a narrowing of hair that leads you on until you bump his belt buckle.

You’re distracted by the tease of hot kisses he drops along your neck. There’s something sweet, vulnerable in how you allow him access to the delicate skin there. It makes Curtis bury his nose against the crook of your jaw, a long moment for him to whisper something like a prayer, before his tongue swirls and he nibbles your ear lobe. Your high pitched gasp hastens his desire. Your shirt is gone. Your bra untangled from your arms. Your breasts, oh, Curtis takes a mouthful of one fleshy breast, sucking greedily when you moan, breathless and aching now.

You claw at his shirt until it too disappears. You wriggle to help Curtis pull your pants and underwear off. Your legs want to yank him back to you, but he braces himself to allow just a bit more space between you both than before.

“Let me.” It’s almost a growl, and you want to say yes, but you want to kiss him more. You’re clinging by his neck, drinking from his soft lips, until you both part to draw breath.

His hand caresses your cheek, sliding over to slip two fingers into your slack mouth. Your tongue swipes at them, lips close to suck them in, eager to touch and taste any part of him. Jaw tight, Curtis pulls his fingers away and down. Down. His hand spans large over your curves and you hold your breath, grit your teeth. One finger saturated with saliva, sinks into your cunt. You swear you can feel more arousal dripping from you to soak his hand and he adds another finger, drawing short whimpers from you as his fingers withdraw and plunge in. God, you won’t ever tease him about his fingers again because they’re perfect. Agonizing in their quest to undo you.

His voice is husky groans, wanting so bad to feel your oh so tight cunt around his cock. Soon.

He tortures you, adds a third finger. You’re riding them, whimpering as he pumps them in you and parts the digits to stretch you. His weight slides away and you can only grasp at his hair, you’re barely glimpsing his head between your legs before you arch high when his thick wet tongue swirls and licks your folds, dialing up the white hot blooming inside you. His fingers curl just enough inside to press that patch against your pelvis that strings you tight as a bow. Pressing insistently, scratching with finger pads, until you burst and all you can do is chase more of that pulsing pleasure, humping against his face. Your hips quiver while Curtis laps at your slit.

His sucks grow gentle, thumb teasing your bud, helping you come down from the intense high.

You sigh his name.

“I’m here.”

“I want you.”

His arms wind around you, holding you tight while he kisses you. You can’t remember feeling anything better than being cradled like this as Curtis languidly kisses you.

He’s not rushed to move from you, so you cling to him and he loves you for it. Yes, he’s hard, but he wants to savor this. Already high on the sensation of your soft flesh underneath him, your thick thighs tight at his waist, your quiet hums of pleasure the evidence of his thorough work.

He ran from his past, from early years strife with despair, washing away those memories like dust and grime. He thought his life of isolation was one that moved him forward; but he has been stuck all this time.

Seeing you care for Wendy, Curtis realized he wanted that. He wanted what his friend had. He wanted you, and the precious something conceived between two souls that sing for one another. Soon. He’ll make your sweet little body his to protect, to warm through the nights.

_ _ _ _

“Thanks so much for having us for dinner,” Edgar says. He was been watching Wendy run around your humble backyard, chasing butterflies and searching for little frogs. He turns to you with a toothy grin. “And for your help with the gift. Wendy’s going to flip. I’m lucky to have you and Curtis both around.”

Your smile is just as affectionate. “Happy to have you here. Although,” your smile turns sly, “I’m a little disappointed that your special lady friend didn’t join us.”

“Curtis,” Edgar mutters under his breath. Curtis is washing dishes at the sink and pays no mind to any half-hearted curses directed at him.

Your brow arches, urging Edgar to talk as he can't help an embarassed grin.

“Well, she was traveling for work, unfortunately. But I know Wendy doesn’t mind her.”

The girl has whispered to you that Edgar’s girlfriend is beautiful and she wished she would become her new mom; this you keep to yourself, not wishing to embarrass or pressure your friend further.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Edgar’s eyes slide sideways, quiet for a moment before he jumps out of his seat and heads to the door leading to the backyard. “I’ll just…uh…” He exits, trailing off without finishing his sentence.

You sigh and take another bite of your cake, indulging in the moist chocolate flavor. Glancing up, you find Curtis watching you. His attention is singular, a warm simmer in those bright blue eyes, causing you to freeze except for your tongue that finishes sweeping over your upper lip. His gaze narrows, grew weighty, tracking your tongue as it retreats into your mouth. He pushes away from the counter, steps close until he is able to drop to his knee beside your chair. One strong yank has your seat turning so you face him.

The door creaks open again.

“Well, the sun’s getting low so I think we’ll head home and wind down.” Edgar announces with his daughter close at his side. He has a boyish grin on his face, pulling Wendy towards the front of your house. "Wendy, say good bye.”

“Isn’t Curtis leaving too?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll leave when he’s ready.”

“Have a good night, you two,” you say, walking with them to the front. Though Edgar is still cheerfully thanking you for the meal and insisting you stay inside and not see them off.

“You go on and just have a good time, both of you.” He sends a wink your way. You shake your head at him. “Curtis! You be a gentleman now.”

Quick as he can, he has Wendy secured in the car and they are on their way.

“Huh.” You lock the front door before turning to find Curtis. You can tell he wants to roll his eyes at Edgar’s antics. Instead, he closes in on you.

“Are you worried about me not being a gentleman?” he murmurs. His fingers hook under yours loosely.

You smirk. “I’m worried about you being too much of a gentleman.”

That smolder returns to his gaze. For a second, your body shivers, overwhelmed and you side step him, if only for a moment’s relief from the heat of his eyes.

You reach out. He takes your hand.

Once you’re down a layer, he grows even hotter seeing the mesh and lace number you have on. A tantalizing tease with the hard peaks of your nipples veiled in barely-there maroon. Just daring him to unwrap you. So he does.

His mouth leaves a wet trail seeking sensitive spots on your neck, you breasts, your thighs. Even as he moves, he still covers nearly all of your body, his heat and weight drowning you in want.

Your shudder has him grazing his beard up the inside of your thigh so that you arch and plea for his touch. God, all your uninhibited responses spur the blazing hunger in him. Curtis peels the mesh underwear down, impatient for a taste of you. His mouth waters, catching wafts of arousal and then he’s sucking and lapping your wet pussy. His rumbling groan is like a physical nudge that bows your back, and you remain rigid in the air at the sensation of his thick tongue pushing into you. Wide shoulders part your legs, shifting until your thighs rest on vast muscles.

You rock against him, keen at the hard sucks. Two fingers dip into, fucking you and rubbing with a dizzying rhythm that brings you over the edge.

With little effort, he holds up your hips and you feel a pillow slide under you to angle you higher. Then his muscled arms hook under your knees and he finally lines up and rocks forward. The tip of his cock parts your folds. Your breath hitches. His cock slides in, forcing your walls to stretch, to mold tightly to his girth.

“Curtis” – your hand was going point to the little bedside table with condoms.

Instead, you’re gripping a blanket. Gasping as he withdraws and your pussy tries to hold him in.

You mumble against his lips, incoherent. “The…inside..”

And then he feeds you his length again. And again, that delicious, addicting friction.

"Yes, inside," he agrees softly. "Like this."

With every pump, the spark catches and blazes higher. Curtis rises onto his knees, thrusts harder, watching your eyes flutter open and shut. He’s panting with the pretty picture of a needy you. He grips your thighs. As if his life depends on how tight he clutches you. Concentrating hard, his eyes drop low. Fuck. He can see your pussy clench, your puffy outer lips suckling his cock. Curtis swears your little body is refusing to give him up, and you’re wet but your cunt squeezes him so tight he has to drive harder into you to avoid slipping out.

You’re not even aware of your breathy moans, so turned on by his groans, the rough thrusts he gives you. There’s no grinding. Curtis can tell he’s rubbed against your g-spot and he keeps his snapping hips angled just right, one callused thumb circling your clit too lightly. And then your breaths stutter, your legs seize, your back arches. Curtis grits his teeth, keeping the exact same pace, draws out the storm of your pleasure. It’s so consuming, you lose your voice.

Just as you are able to breathe again, able to sense the physical realm around you, Curtis speeds up, bucking hard with low grunts, powering into you.

A high gasp – you feel him flood you. He drops to press his chest to you, still pumping his release into your clenching walls; and it’s too much, his cock merciless within your sensitive channel. He can’t help it, even as your legs start writhing with his unrelenting stimulation, even as he hears your hitched whimpers.

He finally stills. His lips find yours, tongue stroking deep.

Long moments later, his name is gentle, falling from your lips. “We didn’t use protection.”

Curtis nuzzles you, rubs his nose along the planes of your cheeks. Returns to suck your bottom lip. “It’s okay,” he whispers.

There’s a soft frown upon your brow that he kisses, and then scatters more kisses on your face.

“But, what if?”

“I want you. I want everything with you.”

You’re barely able to react as he nips hard at your collarbone and then rolls his hips. He’s half-hard inside you. You’re quickly losing yourself in Curtis, overwhelmed by the combination of his hungry mouth on your skin, unyielding clasp on your thigh. His thrusts persist, pins you in place, lights you up and scorches you. You’re right where he wants you, whining for more more more.

Now with each beat of his heart, Curtis has his mind’s eye on the prize. He’ll have you over and over. And you’ll grow a piece of him inside you. You are the way forward. You are his.

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A/N: Hurrah, this one felt like it took forever. I blame Curtis. He didn't give himself up to me easily. Let me love you, ya broody boi! Thank you for reading!

#curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #smut #fanfic #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge

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xmint-conditionx · 4 years ago

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tongue tied | myg

pairing: yoongi x reader, f2l

w/c: 3.5k

summary: you've been best friends with yoongi for almost a decade, and you're hopelessly in love with him. he's the most important person in your life, and you don't want to mess that up, so you can never be anything more... right?

written as a response to a request from the old blog -- the requestor was @yoongi--enthusiast; thanks again for your request, i loved doing it!!! "I had an idea... something based off of the song “tongue tied” with yoongi. I feel like it would be super soft with soft smut... I just think it would be nice to read so can you please wright it 🥺👉👈"

tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, outdoor sex, overall a little angsty but super cute too

a/n: i did not know that there was a song called tongue tied by marshmello before i wrote this so... i hope the person who requested this didn’t mean that song because I wrote this drabble over the grouplove song lmaooo but anyway, here goes! thanks luv, enjoy! also reposted from the old blog!!

Yoongi’s laugh is so beautiful. It’s rare, so when you see it, you soak up everything you can about it. The way his eyes crinkle up into crescent moons, the way his lips curl back putting his gummy smile on bright display. You can swear you see his eyes sparkle.

You are in love with him. You are in love with your best friend.

He makes loving him such an easy thing to do; bringing you into his inner world, showing you the sweet and warm center he conceals from everyone else. The way he looks at you, the way he says your name, the way he pouts when he wants a back scratch, all of those little things that make him who he is only deepen your infatuation with him.

You’re with him again this Friday night, making the drive to Bom’s house. It’s been a long week for the both of you; he’s been wrapped up in producing a track and you’ve been nose deep in college textbooks. His track is completed, and your exams are over. It’s safe to say that you both could use a good break.

It’s the end of the spring semester and the weather is going to be gorgeous tonight. The racing summer breeze coming through the open car windows is exhilarating. The sun is setting, and the warm evening light on Yoongi’s dewy skin makes him appear absolutely radiant as he navigates the highway.

You’re just listening to fun little summer jams as you speed off toward the city’s suburbs. Ones with funky little basslines that are easy to groove and sing along to. Ones that make you shout and laugh into the rushing wind. Ones that make you drink in the moment you’re having with Yoongi; ones that make you soak up all of his joy.

And when he steals a sly look your way, one hand still on the top of the steering wheel, you can swear your heart stops.

You’ve loved him as long as you can remember really knowing him. Since you were both 12, bonding over games of tag and basketball and the spilling of secrets to each other. You’d sit beneath the big tree in his backyard and share the snacks you’d bought at the corner store. He’d always let you have the last chocolate.

The only secret you’ve ever kept from Yoongi is the matter of your infatuation, and you are pretty resolute in keeping it that way.

He is the single most important person in your life. He had been there with you through it all; when your parents split up at 13, when your dad got you your first car at 15, when your long time boyfriend cheated on you at 16, when your dream college denied you at 17, when you got a full ride scholarship to a smaller university outside of the city right after that, when you were drugged at a house party at 20, when you were diagnosed with depression at 21, and when you were accepted into your masters program at 22.

You needed him, and because of that, you could never tell him.

You pull into the gates that surround Bom’s neighborhood. Her parents are pretty wealthy, so they live on a golf course. As you pull up into the driveway, you see some other students milling about, catching Frisbee. There’s Eunha, Ireum, Ji-Ah, and Miyeun that you recognize from some of your classes, but there are a few more that you’ve never met.

After a few rounds of drinks and a few lost games of flip cup, you all head outside to the back patio with all of your schoolwork from the year. Bom turns on the bluetooth speaker and sets it on the railing. You take in the night air and gaze up at the sky, wishing there was a shooting star to wish upon.

“Alright, everyone,” Bom begins, “essays and lab reports first, then tests, then miscellaneous homework.” Yoongi helps you dig through your stack to fish out the cursed papers. You all toss the stapled packages into the fire pit, one by one, each hitting with a soft thud. Once everyone has thrown their woes into the pit, Bom tops it with actual firewood and unceremoniously sets the whole lot of it on fire. You gaze into the center of the flame, watching your entire year catch fire. All the hours you spent doing that research project, all the disappointment when your group members wouldn’t follow through. Gone, like it never existed.

Yoongi’s holding your hand in his, and he’s busy drawing little circles with his thumb on your palm. Your head rests soundly on his shoulder, and you sigh into him, comfortable in where you are. The whole group piles in more papers, as you lament about the shitty professors and the shitty group projects and the shitty caf’ food and the shitty grades. Yoongi turns into you and nuzzles gently on your forehead. You feel his soft lips graze your temple, breath warm on your skin, tingles rising through your body, and you’re right where you want to be. Under the moon’s gaze with the person you love.

Before long, the breeze sends a chill through you that even the fire won’t remedy. Yoongi feels your shiver and unceremoniously removes his hoodie and puts it on over you, pulling up the hood and kissing your forehead. You always love when you wear his jackets; they surround you in his warmth, his smell. A smile plays across your lips until you notice Yoongi’s goosebumps.

“Hey,” you pout, “I don't wanna wear this if you’re gonna be cold.”

“I don’t wanna wear it if you’re gonna be cold,” he snaps back, smiling.

“Here,” you say, standing up from your deck chair. You take the step to get you to Yoongi’s chair, and sit in his lap. “This way we can both be warm, yeah?”

It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms firmly around you again, mumbling a “yeah, that’s fine” when you glance at him over your shoulder.

Your attention is called back to the group with Bom asks if you’re going to the Summer Romance Festival by the river next weekend. She’s been pushing you to get yourself out there more. The last time you were in a real relationship was high school, after all.

“I’d love to go; I hear they have the most beautiful fireworks display,” you start, “but I don’t think I will this year.”

“Well,” Bom says, “Why not?!”

“Because I don’t have a date, Bom!” you say, covering your face in the sweater paws you’ve made from Yoongi’s hoodie. “I don’t think I could find one in enough time.”

“Ya, just get Yoongi to go with you! You already do everything together anyway,” Eunha quips.

You notice that the steady rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest has stopped.

“Hey, you know we’re just friends, right Yoongi?” you look to him for backup.

The man nods, looking down and to the left.

“Okay,” Ireum speaks up, “In that case, do you want to go with me?”

“Wait, what?” you say.

“Do you want to go to the Summer Romance Festival with me? As a date?”

Yoongi tenses beneath you.

“Oh, I don’t know…” you breathe, “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. We can even get dinner before we go. Not too much, though. I’ll want to get us a treat from one of the dessert stalls.” Ireum says with a soft smile.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling back at him, “Okay. We’ll go together.”

Yoongi stirs beneath you. “Hey, can you get off of me?”

“What, why?” you pout.

“I said get off.”

“Yoongi, wh--”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish before he abruptly stands up, forcing you to catch yourself. When you look back at him, he’s walking toward the French doors that lead back into the house.

“Ya! What was that about?”

He keeps walking. You storm after him and slam the door, trapping you both inside.

“Yoongi, I’m talking to you! What’s your fucking problem?”

He whirs around.

“Oh, I have a problem?”

“Well, it sure seems like it.” you spit back, hands on your hips.

“Why don’t you go talk about it with your date, huh?” he says, gesturing out the window to Ireum. “Don’t you have some details to work out? He gonna pick you up? You gonna let him hold your hand? On your nice little extra special romantic date? I guess I’ll just fuck right off and leave you two alone, yeah? That’s what you want, cause we’re just friends and all.”

“Yoongi, we… are friends! You’re my best friend!”

“Did you ever for a second think that I could want more?”

“What?!”

“I fucking love you, Y/N! Isn’t it obvious?! I’ve loved you since the 7th grade. You remember when we played spin the bottle at Ha-joon’s house? Do you remember when you kissed me?”

“Yoongi…”

“No, let me finish. Do you remember the frat party we crashed junior year? Remember when we got up onto the roof and made out until we fell asleep? And then you weren't there when I woke up so I walked back to my dorm and then we just pretended it never happened? What the fuck was that, Y/N?!”

You reach for his arm, but he backs up, flinching away from you.

“I am so in love with you it hurts!”

“Yoongi.”

“But I guess if that guy can make you happy, then whatever,” he sighs.

“Yoongi.”

“Go on your little date and have fun and I’ll just go write some more goddamn songs about you--”

“Yoongi!”

He stills, pain flashing through his eyes.

“Yoongi,” you say quietly, easing toward him, “I had no idea. I left the roof to go inside and get you some water. When I came back, you were gone. You had been drinking a lot that night… and I felt really bad because… I thought I had taken advantage of you… Ever since I first kissed you at Ha-joon’s house, I wanted to do it again. And again. And, you looked so good that night and up on the roof when you were laughing about the quarterback I just… I couldn't hold myself back anymore. I thought surely you didn’t want to actually be kissing me.”

“Why the fuck would I have kissed you back, then?”

“You were drunk, and I--” you’re cut off when he grabs your wrist.“I have wanted to kiss you every time I’ve seen you since you first kissed me,” he says, glancing down at your lips. ”I want to kiss you right now.”

You take no time in closing the distance between the two of you, your lips crashing desperately. You’ve tasted his kiss before, but this time feels different. His hands are winding through your hair, pulling you deeper into his kiss. You moan against his mouth, and he responds with his tongue teasing your lips, asking for entry. You grant it, and he explores. One of his hands holds your jaw, the other still intertwined with your hair. His tongue runs along your bottom lip before he sucks it in, drawing out a small whimper from you. Taking his hand from your jaw, he runs it down your neck and décolleté and then down over your stomach and latches it on your hip, sinking his fingers into your skin. He gives your hair a small tug, just enough to break the kiss and expose your neck. He breaks off and trails kisses up your jawline and then onto your neck, speaking in between kisses.

“You have… no idea how… much I’ve… wanted to tell… you everything,” he breathes onto your neck, and you feel a heat pooling in your panties.

“Please, Yoongi…” you say as you begin to run one hand under his shirt. He stops kissing and looks up at you with the softest expression.

“What is it?” he asks as he grabs both of your hands in his, bringing one of them up to his mouth to sprinkle kisses along your fingers.

“You…” you begin and sigh, “you have no idea how much I want you.”

He stills.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to, I’m sorry, I just…” he trails off, eyes getting lost in the way his jacket is draped on your figure.

Him eyeing you up doesn’t make it any better.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” you say, eyes pleading up at him. “I’m tired of waiting.”

After a beat, he sighs.

“Neither of us are waiting another minute,” he says, landing a quick peck on your lips and going across the room to the couch, grabbing the throw blanket that rests on the arm.

“Come on, I have an idea,” he says, grabbing your arm and leading you out of the front door, across the street, through someone’s back yard until you reach the top of a hill on the side of a fairway. You watch as he scans the area, holding the blanket tight. His gaze lingers on two hills near the green of whatever hole this is, where there are a few more trees and hills to block you from the sightline of those second story windows. He looks at you, eyes asking the question. You smile and nod, and that’s all he needs.

He tugs your hand and you both go running down the fairway, laughing along the way. Once you reach your spot, he quickly puts down the blanket and lays on it. You’re still standing at his feet, hands fiddling with the ends of the jacket sleeves.

He smiles up at you and holds his arms up in your direction and says, “come here, beautiful,” while doing little grabby hands.

You slowly walk up to where he’s laying and sit on top of his hips, feeling how hard he already is. His hand rests on your hip underneath the fabric of his jacket, the other holding the side of your face.

“Let me see you,” he says with a tinge of whine in his voice, and that gives you an idea.

You reach under the still zipped jacket and fiddle around. Yoongi looks up at you befuddled, the corners of his lips turning down slightly as he tries to figure out what’s going on. When your hands emerge, one is holding your strapless bra and the other is holding the halter top you had been wearing. You can’t believe you managed to unzip the back by yourself.

You throw the garments to the side, and watch as understanding hits his face. His eyes glaze over and he licks his lips, clearly shaken up by your little trick.

He carefully dips his fingers below the waistband of your shorts and eases them down. You put your weight on him and give him a few kisses as he continues to move them down your legs. Once they too have been tossed to the side, you sit back up, lips red and swollen from the kiss.

He gently reaches up to the zipper of the jacket and begins to slowly pull it down, letting the cool night air in. You feel your nipples harden at the exposure to both the night air and Yoongi’s hungry eyes. He swallows and licks his lips as he runs his eyes over every new inch of you that is revealed. Memorizing your form, your perked nipples, the way your chest rises with each anxious breath.

He reaches back up to the collar and eases one shoulder of fabric off. You move to take the rest off despite the cold, but he stills your hand with his.

“Keep it on, please. I love seeing you wear my clothes,” Yoongi says, intertwining his fingers with yours.

You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing them against his knuckles as you slowly grind your still covered core on his length. He groans in frustration, his pants getting tighter. You let go of his hand and run your fingers up beneath his white cotton v-neck, his ab muscles flinching under your touch. You help him remove his shirt, taking in the way his pale skin shines under the moonlight.

Seeing you look at him makes his cock twitch in his pants, and you think it’s time to provide him some relief.

You scoot back and start to undo his belt, getting low and staring up at him through your lashes. His breath hitches when you make eye contact with him, and then it starts to pick up as you undo the button and zipper. You shimmy down the denim, but leave his black boxer-briefs where they are.

You come back up to the waistband after releasing his jeans, and you take the elastic in between your teeth. You tug them down with your teeth while your hands pull them on the sides. His erection springs free, and he sucks in a fast breath when his cock meets the cool air. You take the opportunity to let your warm breath ghost over his throbbing cock, coaxing a deep groan from Yoongi. He puts his hand to your cheek, and you look up to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think I can last if you put me in your mouth, baby girl. We can do head next time,” Yoongi says, and your heart soars at the pet name. You ease back up so that you’re straddling him once more, and reflexively start to grind on him again.

“Please let me take care of you. Look how wet you are,” he says, running his fingers over your clothed slit, dipping one finger in to collect a bit of slick. He tastes his finger and says. “Yeah, we’re definitely going to need to do head next time.”

You blush at the thought of him buried between your thighs, vulgarly slurping up everything you have to give him. You clench just thinking about it, and Yoongi notices. He pulls your panties to the side, takes the head of his cock and presses it to your clit, teasing your entrance. His precum mixes with your wetness, and you can’t resist him any more. You’ve resisted him for years, and you’re done.

You slowly ease yourself down on his cock, only making it halfway down before you have to wait for you to adjust. You both look at each other; Yoongi’s jaw is set and his eyebrows are furrowed together. Your mouth drops open as you raise and lower yourself again, feeling the delicious stretch that accompanies it. You bottom out and begin setting a slow and gentle pace.

Your body is rolling steadily, moonlight creating beautiful shadows on your body as you take him in over and over. As many times as you’ve dreamed of this, you still didn’t fathom it being this good or it feeling this right.

Yoongi is everything you had imagined he would be and then some. The way he is looking up at you, the way his soft little moans escape every time you bottom out, the way his eyebrows furrow together at the sight of your dripping heat enveloping him. Perfection.

He takes his hands and trails them up the curve of your waist, stopping just below your breasts. He runs his thumbs over your nipples, making you shudder and arch your back, pushing your chest into his hands. He palms them, kneading little circles around your areolas.

You lean forward, putting your weight on him again, and he meets you eagerly with another kiss. He wraps his arms around your back, keeping himself under the jacket, and you pick up the rhythm. Yoongi scratches his nails all the way down your back. Once he gets to your ass, he cups it, squeezing gently. You place your forehead against his, and your eyes meet.

“Y/N,” he whispers, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “you look so beautiful on top of me like this. Please let me see this sight for the rest of my life.” You whimper at the praise, and pick up the pace.

“Please,” he continues, small grunts mixing in with his words, “Don’t wake up tomorrow and pretend like this never happened. Please... don’t break my heart,” he pleads.

“Not a chance, Yoon. I can never let you go. You’re everything to me. You’ve always been.”

“Baby, I am so close. Can I--”

“Come with me, Yoongi. Let’s do it together,” you say. Yoongi’s hands are on your hips and he’s thrusting up into you with an unrelenting pace. At this angle, you can feel his head graze against your cervix with each thrust, sending white spots in your vision.

You both reach your end at the same time, breaths mingling as you come down from your highs. You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat gradually slow. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head and sighs into your hair.

“So…” he begins, “do you wanna go to the festival with me?” Yoongi asks.

“Are you gonna pick me up? Let me hold your hand? Have a nice little special romantic date?” you fire back, trying your best to sound like him. You sit up on your arm, letting your hair hang over to one side, and watch the light dance in his eyes as he laughs.

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I might even get us a little snack from one of the desert vendors.”

#bts smut #bts smut reactions #bts smut one shot #bts fanfiction #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi x you #yoongi smut one shot #soft!yoongi #yoongi--enthusiast #send me requests

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sxveme-2 · 4 years ago

Text

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Unedited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Thirty-One : The One With the End

Warnings: Child Birth

Word Count: 3293

Lily let out a breathy sigh as she sat up in her bed that morning. Her breathing was laboured from her crying the night before, and eyes felt swollen and puffy. A feeling she'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks. When she became coherent, a new feeling of dread fell over her shoulders. It was her birthday.

The knock on her door only solidified that.

Hunter pushed open the door, and walked in with Rose with a plate of blueberry pancakes and orange juice. Butter and icing sugar coated the sweet breakfast and Lily smiled brightly as she opened her arms for her son. The boy ran forward and tackled his mom, hugging her tightly and wishing her a happy birthday, before rolling to the end of the bed with Joey.

Rose waddled forward and smiled, tilting her head as she placed the tray down, eyes scanning her sisters face, "You alright Lily?"

The older sister pursed her lips, forcing a fake smile on her face, "No one likes getting older."

Rose nodded slightly, taking a seat on the other end of the bed beside Joey and Hunter. The three sat in silence as Lily began eating. Lily wasn't really sure what to say to them. Birthdays were never really a big thing for her. She went all out for Hunter, but never enjoyed them herself. She preferred to just go on with her day like it was nothing. It was easier than having all of that attention on her for the whole day. Agreeing to the dinner tonight was more so for Gen's sake than her own. It would put her best friend at ease. So Rose was staying home with Hunter while Lily went to the cafe and spent a few hours with her best friend.

"Can I style you today?" Rose grinned, wiggling her eyebrows at her sister, hands resting on her swollen stomach.

"...Do I?" Lily chuckled, sipping her drink, "Will I end up walking out of the house looking like I own 57% of a company?"

"No. But it'll get you out of those sweats," she grinned, "Plus it's your birthday present. I bought you clothing. Don't worry, it still fits you're 'don't talk to me I'm a ball of anxiety' style."

"I do not dress like that!" Lily laughed, scoffing halfway through.

Hunter turned his attention to his mom, raising his eyebrows, "Mom. I'm twelve, and I know that's your style."

"Ha!" Rose laughed, standing to her feet, "Looks like our little man's gonna follow in his aunt's footsteps and go into fashion."

"No." Hunter stated, turning his attention back to Hunter, "I wanna join the military like Bucky."

Lily choked on her drink, the orange liquid staining her grey pyjama top. Her mind went blank as she placed the cup down, staring at her unbothered son. Rose above him was wide eyed and stunned at the sudden confession. Lily wasn't even sure how to process the information. She never would have thought about Hunter doing something like that, let alone following in the footsteps of his mothers ex-boyfriend. But she figured it made sense, he looked up to Bucky more than Lily could fathom.

"When did you decide that?" Lily managed, wiping her mouth with a napkin, facing her son.

"After hearing Bucky's stories on my birthday," Hunter shrugged, scratching Joey's ears, "And I fully decided when he went on the mission before you and him broke up."

Rose stared at Lily's shell shocked face. Lily could barely peel her eyes off of the back of her son's head. He was so nonchalant about it all that Lily felt a shiver of fear slide down her spine. This seemed like such a casual topic for Hunter, all while it shredded the last bit of Lily's heart that was intact after the end of her last relationship. She didn't know if this was something that Hunter was truly serious about, or if this was his weird way of trying to get his mom back together with the supersoldier.

"Okay buddy why don't you go get dressed okay?" Rose hummed, shooing the twelve year old from the room with the dog following suit.

The moment the door shut behind the boy, and his footsteps were far enough away, Lily broke once again. Her tears fell down her cheeks rapidly as her heart grew heavy and lead like in her chest. Rose struggled onto the bed and tugged her sister close, letting the elder cry into her shoulder. Letting all of those broken pieces shatter into something unfixable.

The only one able to fix it too far from her reach.

-----

Lily stared at herself in the mirror. She wasn't used to wearing dark colours, Rose knew this. However, Lily now stood in front of her bathroom mirror in a black knee length tennis skirt, with a black and white striped sweater tucked into it. It wasn't something she was used to. She only really reached out from her comfort style when her and Bucky got further into their relationship. She took a guess that Rose knew this, and used it as leverage to get her sister to finally grow from the shell of who she was.

"I feel like I look like a sore thumb." Lily muttered to herself, running her hands down the front of the skirt, readjusting it at the hips.

"I heard that!" Rose called out.

"Then stop listening!" Lily replied, turning her head back to the mirror.

Running a hand through her golden hair, Lily tilted her head. She didn't hate the outfit, she just wasn't used to it. But she supposed it was her 34th birthday, she could experiment with fashion a little. Besides, it was only her and Gen for dinner and a bunch of strangers that still occupied the cafe. It's not like anyone would give her a second glance. Touching up her lipstick, Lily turned and walked from the room, smiling tightly at her sister.

"You look great, Lil." Rose nodded, wincing slightly.

"You okay?" Lily asked, walking forward and placing a hand on her sister's nine month pregnant stomach.

"Yeah yeah I'm fine, he's just a bit of a kicker recently." Rose chuckled, standing to her feet and walking from the room, Lily trailing her.

"I can stay home if you need me to, Rose. I don't mind." Lily insisted, following her younger sister closely behind.

"I'm fine Lily, really," Rose sighed, easing herself down the stairs, "He's just kicking. I know the difference between labour and kicking."

"I said that too, and gave birth later that day." Lily further pushed, placing her hand on her sister's shoulder as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

"No. Lily, you're going out. It's your birthday," Rose sighed, handing her sister's purse to her, "Now go. Hunter knows how to dial 911 if in some freak case I end up going into labour. It's 7:30, you know Gen hates it when people are late."

"No she do- "

"Go!"

-----

Lily sighed as she stepped out of her car, embracing the warm and slightly muggy air of the city. As much as she adored the smell of the grass and the noises of kids playing, Lily always had a soft spot for the hustle of the city and the sounds that came with it. She had lived in the thick of it for a bit with Gen, and she enjoyed it. But knew that it would become too overwhelming for her if she stayed too long. Hence her desire to be out in the suburbs with her own individual space.

Paying at the meter, Lily locked her car. She ducked and dodged around pedestrians as she walked towards the cafe that beckoned her forward. Her hand rested on the iron door handle and she pulled it back, beaming at the comforting smell of coffee and croissants. Taking a quick survey of her surroundings, Lily walked forward towards the back of the cafe. Where she could only assume Gen was slaving over an oven working on a meal for her and Lily.

"Well if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're cooking for a family of seven." Lily chuckled as she walked further into the kitchen.

"Good lord!" Gen exclaimed, dropping her spoon, "Announce yourself when you walk in here Lily!" She chuckled, turning and walking towards her.

"You just looked so focused." Lily teased, wrapping her arms around her best friend.

"Happy Birthday hun." Gen smiled, pulling back and pressing a kiss to the blondes flushed cheek.

"Thanks love, now can we eat? I'm starving." Lily teased, turning and walking back out onto the slightly crowded cafe floor.

The blonde found her seat in a booth just adjacent from the kitchen, and slid in. One of the servers brought her over a cup of coffee and left the pot, wishing her a happy birthday before she scurried off to help the other customers. Lily pursed her lips as she watched the young girl hurry around, a round bump protruding from her stomach and stretching at her apron. With a tight smile, Lily took a sip of her coffee.

"Okay I've got something to confess," Gen sighed as she walked out with the two dinners in her hands, "a certain group of people called and reserved a booth here tonight."

Lily raised her eyes to meet her best friends as the latter slid into the booth across from the blonde, "...what certain group?"

"Before you lose it on me, Elijah took the reservation not me," Gen added quickly, raising her hands in defense after putting Lily's chicken parm in front of her, "but it may be the group your ex-boyfriend is a part of."

Lily dropped her fork onto the table and pinched the bridge of her nose, "Are you kidding me? Gen you told me this would be a peaceful and nice dinner, just the two of us."

"I know I know I know!" Gen sighed, twirling her own pasta on her fork, "There's nothing I can do. I put them at the booth farthest from her though so, don't worry. There's no chance you'll run into your robot ex."

-----

Liar.

Turns out, Gen, being her forgetful self, put the Avengers at the table directly across from their booth. Leaving Lily in the direct eyeline of Bucky or whoever decided to sit on the far side of the table. Either way, it wasn't a good placement. And of course, right when they sat down, Gen realized her mistake and stared at Lily with wide and apologetic eyes.

Only to receive the dirtiest glare from Lily.

"I could have sworn that I put them on the other side of the cafe, in a booth." Gen sighed, feigning innocence as she returned her attention back to the food in front of her.

"You also said it was the Avengers. Not just Sam, Steve, and Bucky." Lily hissed, sipping her coffee and staring down her best friend, "What are you playing at, Genevive?"

"Tomato tomato," Gen sighed, waving her hand, "It's not like they're going to come talk to us. No one has been in contact with them in a month. Not since you broke the terminator's heart."

Lily dropped her fork again and raised her eyebrows at the brunette, "Really?"

"Oh relax. Now I'm going to check on your cake in the back. Don't go flirting with Captain America while I'm gone." She teased, standing from her seat and walking towards the back.

Rolling her eyes, Lily pushed her plate away from her and focused solely on her coffee. She tried with every part of her to avoid turning her gaze towards the hushed voices of the three Avengers who were sat a mere few meters away from her. However, even the strongest wills can bend. She dared a glance, dark eyes lifting from the strong liquid in her cup to just get the slightest peek at what he looked like.

She regretted it instantly.

Lily instantly locked eyes with his steel blue ones. Heavy eye bags that matched her own weighing down those once bright and lively eyes that Lily had fallen in love with. His beard was overgrown and hair too long and unkept. His entire face was fallen and solemn, as though he lost all life in him the day she told him to leave. His frame was fallen and thinner than she remembered.

He looked equivalent to her.

Shallow breaths, sunken shoulders. Troubled eyes and heavy thoughts. She had caused that. Lily's breath caught in her throat as she placed her cup down, tearing her eyes from his. Without a second thought, she stood from her seat. He followed suit. The cafe seemed to fall silent as the two stood at the same time, both daring the other to come closer. But Lily didn't intend to speak with him. Instead, she walked past him with her chin up. Right towards the bathroom opposite of the kitchen.

The steps grew quicker as she got closer, before slamming the door shut without a second thought. She placed her hands on the sides of the marble sink, attempting to catch her breath. The cool feeling on her hands brought some relief, but not much. The blonde lifted her head to stare herself down in the mirror. Her eyes seemed hollow and cheeks fell inward. She had lost a part of herself the day he left. After she told him to. It was her doing. She pushed him away and refused to talk about her feelings.

She destroyed both of them.

Fixing up her makeup and attempting to recenter herself, Lily felt every bit of dread fall on her like a blanket. If she had talked to him, told him her fears, her anxieties, this could have been avoided. They could have still been together, a pairing that worked so well it baffled Lily. He would still be in her arms, safe and away from the danger. She would have still been the girl he greeted with a kiss when she came home from work. But no. Instead, they were husks of people missing the other half of themselves.

Turning on her heels, Lily opened the bathroom door. Only to come face to face with the man who had plagued her thoughts for over a month now.

"Hi." He said softly, voice deep and gravely.

"Hi." She replied, heart picking up as she stood in front of the door, letting it tap against her back gently.

"Happy Birthday." Bucky whispered, taking a box out of his jacket and reaching forward, handing it to her.

"Thanks." She replied, voice equally as weak as she took the box, staring at him with confusion.

"Open it."

Lily nodded, her hands shaking as she went to open the leather case. She wasn't sure what he was playing at. If he was just being a nice person, if this was a hurtful prank, or hell, if he was trying to get her back. She wasn't sure. It all rested on the leather box that she held in her hands. But the moment was cut short when he phone vibrated in her pocket.

She whipped it out, ignoring the thud of her wallet on the floor. She'd pick it up after the call. Sliding her phone up, Lily answered her sister's call. But she didn't get to speak before she was running out of the cafe at Rose's three panic filled words.

"My water broke."

-----

Lily wasn't aware she could drive as fast as she did. Hunter had called an ambulance and the two had already made it to the hospital when Lily pulled up. Without a second thought, she tore through the entrance and stopped at the front desk, chest heaving and face red.

"My sister's giving birth. Rose Osborne. Came in with a little boy. My name's Dr. Lily Osborne. I work in the children's wing." The blonde stuttered, breath still trying to catch up with her voice.

"Right this way, Doctor." The nurse nodded, leading Lily through the doors and towards the maternity wing.

Lily followed hastily after the nurse, only picking up the pace when she saw Hunter sitting outside of a room. She ran forward and wrapped her arms tightly around the boy, pulling him tightly into her chest. Her breathing relaxed as she kissed the top of his head, bending down to be his height as she gave him a tight but warm smile.

"You did great buddy, now I'm gonna go help Auntie Rose bring you your cousin." She whispered, kissing his forehead before turning and walking into the room.

-----

Three hours. Lily held Rose's hand tightly for three hours as the latter officially became a mother to a healthy baby boy. Three hours later, Lily had a large bruise on the back of her hand from the sheer grip of her sister. Three hours later, the father of said child showed up. On the phone though, with his new girlfriend.

He didn't get far. Lily refused to allow him in the room until Rose was ready. And he didn't put up a fight, showing just how willing he was to truly become a father to the young boy that was swaddled in his mothers arms.

"Do we have a name for the little guy?" The nurse cooed as she walked back in the room, smiling at Hunter, who sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the baby boy in Rose's arms.

"Leo." Rose sighed breathlessly, "Leo Logan Osborne."

Lily smiled and kissed Rose's head before excusing herself from the room. Feeling a bit more relaxed, she slid into a seat and pulled out the leather box that Bucky had given her. She flipped it a few times in her hands, before pulling the trigger and opening the lid. Her heart hammered heavily against her chest as she pulled out the bracelet, smiling softly at the charms that he had already put on it.

Pancakes. Coffee. And a dog.

Clasping it around her wrist, Lily nodded to herself. Agreeing with herself that she would call him tomorrow, when everything was a bit more relaxed. Or more so, when she was less anxious about speaking with him again.

Peaking into the room, Lily smiled at Hunter curled into his aunt's side, staring longingly at the young boy in Rose's arms. Shutting the door softly, Lily turned towards the wall and walked towards the cafeteria, her own stomach rumbling. She could only imagine Rose's hunger. As she walked forward, something pulled her deep within to walk faster. So she did. Her feet moved faster as she rushed for a spot in line, staring up at the options.

After ordering and paying, Lily found herself coming face to face with a large chest in front of her. With the same intoxicating scent she had come to love over the last few months. She shut her eyes, before forcing her neck upwards, a tight smile on her lips as she met eyes.

"You left your wallet." He stated softly, reaching out with the leather item.

Lily pursed her lips once more and nodded, taking the wallet and sliding it into her pocket as she met his eyes once more. His eyes stared down at the bracelet on her wrist, and she grinned at the blush that formed on his cheek.

"Thank you." Lily whispered, "For the bracelet as well."

"It's my pleasure," Bucky commented, reaching his hand up and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, "What'd you get?" he said, earning a deep chuckle from her as she leaned into his touch before answering.

"Blueberry pancakes."

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kayrogers · 4 years ago

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to all the girls i've loved before ][ p. parker

a tatbilb au

Paring(s): LJ!tom holland x PK!reader

Inspo: TATBILB cause Peter is a total soft boi and also I'm a slut for rom-coms

Word Count: 1500+

Warning(s): cursing and Peter being an awkward bean

Part: prologue | part 1 | part ??

A/N: andddd we back what’s popping y’all

You sat outside the Parker residence, well the apartment building he lived in, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel of your car. Butterflies filled your stomach as you made your game plan. You were definitely going to confront him that was for sure, but you weren’t sure how. Pull a usual [Y/n] and practically yell at the poor kid or try to be as calm as he usually was? The entire situation freaked you out. Especially how much you... actually liked the kiss?

Taking a large obnoxious breath, you stepped out of the Jeep and made your way into the building. The elevator ride up was filled with more nerves than you thought possible. Once reaching his floor, hoping your memory of his apartment was correct, you found his door.

You ringed your knuckles against the door, almost gasping when it opened immediately.

“[Y/n]?” Instead of finding the strange boy you expected, there stood May.

“Hi!” You have an awkward wave only to be pulled into a surprisingly strong embrace.

“Oh my gosh! Little [Y/n]! I haven’t seen you since you moved. Look at how pretty you got. And tall!” The brunette gushed and pulled away from you with a large smile.

You blushed at her compliments, bashfully shrugging as she quickly ushered you inside.

“What brings you here? Want me to make you a chocolate milk or something? I don’t have the farm-made you used to like, but I have Nesquik!” May excitedly babbled on while you took a look at the interior of the place you once knew like the back of your hand.

It felt a lot... emptier. Sure, Peter had lost his parents when he was young, but there was always May and Ben. Now there was just May. You remembered Ben’s funeral, how hard it must have been for Peter. He couldn’t look anyone in the eyes that day, he could barely even get through his eulogy. You wished that the two of you hadn’t grown so far apart that day so you could comfort him. But life had different plans.

“I uh actually need Peter, is he home?” She stopped rifling through her cabinets at your question.

“Oh? In that case he is at Gugino’s, down the block. Can I ask why? Sorry I’m just nosy and excited, you have to come back for dinner soon!” You paused at May’s question, knowing the truth would be way too embarrassing for Peter.

“We’re working on an independent chem project for extra credit. I didn't see him at all in school today, so I just want to get it started.” Double lie, good job [Y/n].

“Then I will stop holding you here! Have fun on your little study date!” May ushered you out of the apartment in the same frantic nature she possessed since you were little.

Though hearing the word ‘date’ made your eyes go wide.

“It’s not a-... date.” She closed the door before you could even finish your sentence.

Peter would definitely be hearing back about this.

You couldn’t dwell on May though, you had a mission. Confront Parker’s scrawny ass. The letter? One thing. Looked like he wrote it in the eighth grade, weird but whatever. Him jumping you in the middle of gym?? Totally different story.

Stubbornness took over and you didn’t even have the time to think about how soft his lips were and how chills went down your spine when his hand touched your waist. Nope none of it. Absolutely not.

The drive to Gugino’s was indeed just down the block and you are thankful to see Peter inside from your car window. As well as his bike barely locked into the bike stand out front. You shook your head, that shit was bound to get stolen.

Gugino’s was a small Italian diner which primarily focused on pizzas and deli sandwiches, the smell that greeted you on the inside was pure nostalgia. Though you didn’t have time to bask in old memories, you had questions which needed major answers.

You took it upon yourself to join the boy at his lone table, not so gracefully making yourself a seat with a “Sup Parker.”

He gasped while taking a sip of his soda, nearly making him choke. “O- oh! Hi [Y/n].” He meekly replied, and you could feel just how much he was already panicking.

Even when he looked like he wanted to run away from you he was cute. How did you never realize this? You shook your head to dispel the thought line before it could get any further. There was a time and place for deciding on how adorkable he is and it is not right now.

A waiter stopped by the table and patted Peter on the shoulder. He was an older Italian man, grays occupying what was left of his balding head. He had a warm face though.

“Oh.. and anything for your lady friend, Peter?” He smirked while Peter put his head in his hands.

“She’s not with-“

“I’ll take mozzarella sticks and do you have cherry coke?” You interrupted the boy with a smirk.

The man smiled, “coming right up, Sweetheart.”

The two of you sat in awkward silence for the next few seconds, yourself actually choosing to wait for him because you knew he would make it even more uncomfortable. Well, make himself uncomfortable, you felt fine.

“So... uh what brings you here?” You nearly giggle at his question, but pull yourself together to put on that nonchalant attitude he apparently doesn’t like about you.

“Who? Me? I’m just here for some fried cheese sticks. Though I guess while you’re around I’ll ask... what the hell was that today?? See normally when a girl rejects a guy over a love letter he wrote when he was 14, said guy takes the hint. No instead, you made out with me in front of the student body and ran away!” Peter’s face turns more and more pink as you ramble, and you hate how cute you find it.

“[Y/n] [Y/l/n]. I am not trying to date you, I’m so sorry about today.” He says and you two both pause when the waiter brings over your mozzarella sticks and soda.

“Okay well, here’s the thing. Your mouth is saying something... but your mouth was also saying something today? So forgive me if I’m a little confused.” You dunked a stick in marinara sauce with a cheeky grin.

He shook his head, “I only kissed you because I wanted to make someone else think I wasn’t in love with them.”

Well way to make a girl not feel special, Parker. Then again, at least it confirmed that he wasn’t obsessed with you. Still weird, though.

“Oh.. who?” Your confused frustration quickly disappeared, changing instead to a devious curiosity.

He shakes his head, lips pursing as if to say he wouldn’t be answering that question.

“You know... I could just tell the whole school that you wrote me-“

“Fine! It’s MJ. And you’re not the only one that got a letter okay, so get off your high horse.” This time you did actually giggle at his frustration, finding the boy to be very entertaining.

“Damn player. Isn’t she like one of your best friends, why don’t you just ask her out?” His jaw dropped and Peter rapidly shook his head.

“She was never supposed to read that letter! None of you were. I can’t- me and MJ are so close, I don’t want to scare her away by saying I’m in love with her. Though I guess I already crossed that bridge.” To be honest, you felt for the guy.

Sure the letter thing was a bit strange, but it was clearly something personal for him. Maybe a diary type medium, and it really seemed like he didn’t want anyone to read them. Even as a kid he had been that sweet, emotional type. Which was welcome in the small friend group the two of you used to occupy.

Flash was an ass. MJ was aloof, mysterious, and not even there half the time. Peter was quiet. You were wild. Ned was a dork. And Harry was somehow the playboy who always butted heads with you for the leadership position. Though that changed almost immediately after he transferred to his fancy rich boy school. And then you moved out to the nearby suburbs, with Flash as your boyfriend.

MJ and you felt out of touch too easily. And Peter and Ned became just a ‘hi’ in the hallway. Though, that was just the way time managed.

By the time he finished ranting, you had already finished your mozzarella sticks and soda.

“That’s rough, Parker. I’m sorry these got out, just from mine... seemed really personal. I’m sure you and MJ will be okay though.” You comforted him, placing a hand on his shoulder before standing up to take your trash out.

“Want me to give you a ride home? Least I can do after ambushing you.” You add and he has a small smile on his face before he nods.

The ride home is silent for the most part. Both of your minds are too occupied to speak. Yours fills with thoughts of the day after that kiss. All your friends mentioned how word got to Flash and just how pissed he got. You hoped he wouldn’t lash out on Peter, but part of you was happy that he was jealous. Not that he had any right to be considering he was the one that fucked it all up.

Then, it was as if you had been struck with a stroke of genius.

“What if we just let everyone think we’re dating?”

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taglist(s):

tatgilb -

@radtwinkie @dolan-mendes @whormotional @pluckypete @princessleah129 @banjosanjo @astrobub @mktravelbuggie @iamaunicorn4704 @used-avocado

permanent -

@ultrunning @jesseswartzwelder

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #marvel imagine #tatbilb imagine #tatbilb au #spiderman homecoming #spiderman imagine

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tiny-doe · 4 years ago

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rant time

not about disability stuff for once!! but i was listening to a podcast analyzing the weeknd’s “blinding lights” and how the album itself addresses drug addiction, and it immediately made me think of my friends that i’ve lost due to drug addiction, namely heroin. I haven’t had any close friends die, but I’ve lost close friends figuratively due to the drug. One is in jail, the other 3 have since gotten clean (to my knowledge) and are doing better, but the damage to our relationships while they were using is hard to repair (minus one friend, she was kind to me regardless of addiction status). In retrospect I became bitter towards a few of my friends, who my friend group would bend over backwards to help out while I struggled with my class work due to PTSD and depression, and I wish I had been kinder to them then. I’m glad one of those friends keeps in touch every once in a while. But the point is these people are all human, regardless of the state of their addiction! None of these people chose to start doing heroin for fun.

Which brings me to my main point. I’m tired of jokes about “crackheads” and “nodding out” on heroin as if these aren’t real human being suffering from an addiction. Yes, without context, some acting erratically in a benign way may be funny, but once the context is added that the person is suffering from an addiction it should cease to be funny. This is someone that needs help, not someone who should be mocked. I used to live down the street from a methadone clinic and saw a lot of patients walking around nearby. I called 911 (was naive at the time, but even still idk what i should have done) on a man that was initially unconscious in the park under the influence of heroin, he asked me to call 911 but started to get a little conspiratorial once they arrived. He wasn’t being violent. He wasn’t being rude. But the first responders were laughing as if this was a spectacle, and I was shaking because 5 minutes earlier I thought I was staring at a dead man.

I remember when I was in driver’s ed, it was on the border of the west side of chicago and the neighboring suburb (oak park maybe? river forest? idk). The teacher always joked that we had to lock the doors after class started “to keep the crackheads from walking in”, which of course lead to a lot of laughs. There was a time that someone walked in asking for a job, and she was shooed away for being a crackhead (under what evidence? she was just skinny and had an arthritic-looking gait) and then chastised us for not locking the door. But this was someone looking for a JOB. Someone trying to better themselves, and they were immediately labeled as a crackhead and shown the door. Just because someone is an addict doesn’t mean they don’t deserve human rights and respect. Be kind, try to be patient. It just upsets me the way so many people treat those with drug addictions.

#tw: drugs #tw: drug addiction #tw: heroin #please just be nice to people with drug addictions

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jojolu · 4 years ago

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Six Months in Boston

Pairing: Chris Evans/OC Erin Rose

Summary: Up and coming YA author Erin Rose, was sent to a small suburb 30 minutes Northwest of Boston to finish the last two books of her series, she is about to get very close to her very handsome new neighbor.

a/n: here goes nothing!

chapter 1: Enjoy Nature

"Oh my God! Just poop already Letty!" You shout at your Chihuahua Dachshund mix breed dog. She finally does and you pick it up and tie the bag.

You are walking on a new path the realtor showed you on a map. Your phone rings and it's your sister Tilly FaceTime'ing you.

"Hey girl......where the fuck are you? Are you exercising?"

"Ugh gross! Never. Just exploring, Mike the realtor was saying there are 30 beautiful walking paths all around! Enjoy nature....that fucking tool."

"Where exactly are you? In case I need to come and find your body in the woods."

"In a small suburb, its technically the country! I'm thirty minutes northwest of Boston. My editor sent me to Boston. MASSACHUSETTS!! LIKE WHO AUTHORIZED THIS. For a year Till! I'm a hard core West coast kid! Born and raised near the ghetto."

"Pasadena, is nowhere near the ghetto. Its your fault, your way to good of a writer. Your first book shouldn't have been so good. Like bitch, you already have studios fighting for the movie rights."

You wrote, The Wish Masters, your senior year in Grad school on a whim. Your professor wanted you all to write 1 chapter of a book and you wrote 15, when you turned it, she called you into her office the following Monday. 6 years later on your 35th birthday it was released.

It bit of Harry Potter mixed in with Tinkerbell. All the Fairy families are separated by the type of groups and your story starts when the age of fairies start to die off. Deenah and her friends Mave and Trax are off on a journey to fix and restore the age of Fairies.

"Yeah, yeah. Oh no there a dog loose." You see a brown and white dog with a red collar and leash dragging behind him.

"Let me see!" Tilly says.

You flip the camera and stick your phone in your sportsbra.

You call him over and read his tag.

"Hey Dodger, gosh are a pretty dog. Letty, this is Dodger, Dodger, this wild animal is Letty girl."

You pick up his leash and continue walking the way Dodger came from.

"You fucking weirdo. That dog looks familiar. What's his name?"

"Familiar? Are you an Instagram dog, D man?" You say leaning closer to Dodger.

"Holy fucking shit! That's Chris Evans dog. I bet my fucking life on it."

"Seriously? Please God, don't let this be his dog. I'm not ready!"

You hear a man's voice calling out Dodger's name.

"Oh no......"

The person you see, isn't Chris Evans but his younger brother, Scott.

"That's Scott his brother!" Tilly says.

"I know.....Shhhh."

"Dodger! Hey man, you scared us." Scott says walking up to you.

"He just walked up to us." You say handing him the leash.

"Thank you! Chris would have KILLED me! I got him." He says as he yells back to the sound of a person walking up behind you.

You look past him and see Chris Evans.

Your mind goes blank.

"Hi I'm Tilly!" You sister says from your boobs.

"Hi, mystery voice coming from this nice lady's boobs. " Scott says.

"OH my God! It's my sister." You take your phone out of your sportsbra and turn it so he can see her.

She waves like a crazy person.

"Hi, Tilly. I'm Scott."

"Hi! This is my sister Erin Rose."

"I totally forgot to introduce myself."

"She's a writer she wrote The Wish Masters, Jimmy Fallon just had her on last week. She just sent the second and half of the third one to her editor, She there to write two more books, she'll be there a year and she lives at 347 Mills Rd and that's her dog Letty, we found her on a trip to Joshua Tree, four years ago."

"Stop talking or I'm going to hang up and block you." You say to the phone.

"Sorry....."

"Well, this is my brother Chris Evans, he is an actor, you know him from Not Another Teen Movie and Cellular. He's has lived here for about three years and he lives at 345 Mills Rd and that's his dog Dodger, who he got a shelter about three years ago."

You look at Chris who is shaking his head.

You mouth, "I'm so sorry."

He mouth,"No, I'm sorry."

You both smile at each other. You look away to where Dodger and Letty are laying down, Letty is laying on Dodger's legs licking him.

"Well, it looks like you two are neighbors." Scott says to you both.

"Right! That's awesome, she's very single." Tilly says as she hangs up.

"Oooh she's not getting invited to any of the movie premieres. I'm going go home. Come on Letty." You say pulling her leash.

She doesn't budge.

"To bad you only weigh eleven pounds." You say picking her up.

You turn to your left and then to your right.

Fuck!

Erin why are you so dumb!

You have no clue which direction your house is.

"Left." Chris says.

"Thank you." You say turning back left and walking away holding a dog that doesn't want to leave.

"She left her water bottle." Scott says.

"I'll take it to her later." Chris says picking it up.

"She's gorgeous......did you see her ass......damn." Scott says.

Chris just looks at him as he starts to walk away, Dodger turns and tries to follow the direction you left in.

"I did, and that's all I'm going to say."

"You going to save that image for your spank bank?"

"Spank bank? Seriously?"

"Sorry, I watched 10 Things I Hate About You last night. Great film. I know how long it's been, so don't act like you haven't already ready pictured her under you or on her knees."

"For fucks sake, Scott!? I just met her, technically we haven't really even met." Chris says walking away.

Scott laughs as he walks behind Chris.

"Fuck you, Scott! Now that's all I'm thinking about!" He yells as he starts to run.

You make it back in 10 minutes.

You were talking out loud the whole time.

"Really! Is this really fucking happening! Chris fucking Evans! Is this because I read that Chris Evans fanfic? Listen! I'm sorry! Well I'm not really! That's story was cute and he sounds great in bed. Speaking of bed! Am I supposed to act like I didn't see his dick? What a beautiful penis.....oh my God. We share a driveway....his house is what like sixty fucking feet from my house.......great now all I can think of his is dick! Did I save that on my phone?"

You were walking so fast and distracted you just realized you left your water bottle. You set it down when you picked up Dodger's leash.

"Dammit, I love that water bottle, let's go inside." You say to the dog that is sniffing all around Chris's side of the driveway.

You walk inside and Letty goes and gets in her kennel and gets under her blanket.

You take off your shoes and head to take a shower. Tilly calls right after you walk out of the shower.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi, I just spent the last 20 minutes Google'ing him. He's very much single. He loves to take Dodger out on walks, he's covered in tattoos, he enjoys working with his hands, he loves his family, is an ass man and he has a huge penis."

"I don't care. I'm not going to do anything with information. I'm here for one reason, to write these books. This is not a story someone is writing. I'm not going to fall in love with him, he isn't going to take me on long walks where we can't keep our hands off each other, our dogs aren't going to be best friends and constantly have to see each other, you and Scott aren't going to be best friend and have matching toasts at our beautiful Farmhouse wedding." You suddenly get choked up.

"Ohhhh Erin...I'm sorry. I just got excited." She says suddenly with emotion in her voice.

"Serves you right! Who said those acting classes wouldn't help me write better."

"You bitch! Just so you know he has a wide tongue, too." She hangs up.

Ugh, you just used the massage setting on your handheld shower head. Living next to him was going to kill you.

You get dressed, in a tank top dress that has a built-in bra and head out your pool. You hear laughing coming from your neighbor's house and fight the urge to look over.

"Erin!" You hear Chris yell.

"Please, have a shirt on...." You say before turning around.

"Hey, Chris."

Fuck him.

No, seriously.

Fuck this sexy ass bastard.

He of course, is in just black swim trunks walking closer to his the fence. There are all the tattoos Tilly said he had, she didn't mention the chest hair.....you just want you rub your hands all over his body.

This is the closet your houses are to each other.

"Did you get that?" Chris asks looking at you.

"Shit, sorry thinking about my...book." You stumbled out.

"I have your water bottle and I was thinking that I could say thank you for grabbing Dodger, by ordering us some lunch?"

"It was no hassle, he just walked right up to me. Sure, yes that would be great."

"You want to come over now? You can come swim with me....if you want. Can you....." He stops himself.

"Were you about to ask me, a black woman, if I can swim?" You say giving him tons of attitude.

He goes beet red.

"Uh no...I was just...you have your hair straight....so I....."

You start to laugh at him.

"I thought Mackie would have told you what not to ask a black woman, it's a weave, I'm taking out next week and getting braids. Yes, I can swim, I was actually a lifeguard all throughout high-school and college. I'll change and grab Letty."

You see the relief in his face.

Did you just fluster Chris Evans.....

You are thankful for your sister, she made you buy all new swimsuits with your cash advance money. You put on your Victoria's Secret ruffle bottom bikini, you got it in three colors, white, pink and green.

You put on the white one. Put your black sheer cover up.

You put your hair up in a messy bun and grabbed Letty.

"Listen, woman! You better act right! Do not pee on his floor!" You say to the dog who is very confused why she is getting a lecture.

You put her down and grab the gift basket you just got from Sam Adam's and the freezer box it came in. He isn't in the back yard any more so you walk to his front door and ring the door bell.

"Brace yourself Erin...." You mumble out.

You can hear Dodger barking and Chris telling him to calm down.

He opens the door and smiles at you.

"Welcome, here let me take that. Come in."

Thankfully he put a shirt on.

You follow him to his kitchen while looking in all of his rooms.

"Our houses are the exact same. Even down to the floors. Literally the exact same. You need to see it."

"I'd like that."

You both pause for a second.

Letty and Dodger playing is what broke the tension.

"Its Letty, right? From The Fast and The Furious."

"It is. Strangely, not many people get that."

"And Dodger, from Oliver and Company?"

"Yes, exactly. Most people think the baseball team."

"Why you have the Sox over here."

"Exactly. You want to head outside?"

"Lead the way."

He grabs the gift basket and walks towards his backyard.

"Did you buy this?"

"Nope, I mentioned them in an interview and I got this, just yesterday."

"Not going lie that probably my favorite thing about this whole crazy life."

"Same, dude! I swear, someone asked what pen I used and I said Paper-Mate and I had a special delivery the next day. I'm really looking forward to when these studios choose my book."

"Which studios?" He asks opening your gift basket.

"You're just gonna open MY gift basket?"

"I thought this was for me?" He says laughing.

"Why would I give you MY gift basket? I don't know you like that!" You say laughing too.

"Go ahead you already opened it. Paramount, Warner Brothers, Universal and Disney! I'm really excited about that one. They are thinking of my books as movies will start a new segment of Disney aimed at teenagers!" You practically shout.

"That's amazing and my heart is with Disney."

"Holy shit, I haven't told anyone that and wasn't supposed to........I figure you can keep a secret, Cap."

"You going to make me sign an NDA?" He says waaaaay to flirty.

He opens one of the beers and takes a long drink.

He licks his bottom lip.

"I could get one drafted up, if I need to. Can I have I one of MY beers, please?"

"Fine, but I get this hat." He says pulling a blue Sam Adam's hat out.

He hands you a beer and your hands touch. He doesn't let go, he grabs his bottle opener and opens for you.

"Thanks. Stop taking my stuff Christopher!"

"You don't want this hat or.....this beer coozie or.........these beer pretzels." He says taking all the things he mentioned.

"Give me those fucking pretzels."You say reaching for them.

"Come on, you don't want these." He opens the bag and takes a handful.

"Ohh you are not nice." You say standing up you take off your swim cover and walk up to him. Your breast are touching his chest and every time you inhale he looks down at your chest.

"Can I help you?" He says looking down at you.

"Chris, can I please, pretty please have those pretzels, I need something hard..and..salty in my mouth."You say with your hands on his chest.

He hands them to you without another word.

"Thanks, dude." You say grabbing them and sitting back down on his pool chaise.

"That was so mean! I'm still keeping this hat and coozie." He says looking over at you.

"Sure, but I'm keeping the corn hole set."

"You sure? I can take it off your hands."

You hear Letty barking at the backdoor.

Chris goes and let's them both put, they are chasing each other in circles, they finally sit he keeps messing with her and she keeps biting him then running away.

"Looks, like they found their best friend." Chris says.

"Yep. She's such an alpha. I'm surprised she letting him be so aggressive with her."

"Well, he definitely likes the challenge of a strong woman."

"She definitely likes the attention."

"He really likes to give it."

You weren't sure at what point you both stopped talking about the dogs but you needed to get in the pool to cool off.

"So we doing this or nah?"

"Huh?" The confusion on his face was priceless.

"Swimming? Or did you just asked me to get in a bikini for nothing."

He pulls off his shirt, finished his beer and walks to the pool, turns to face you, winks and does a perfect back flip.

"Oh you fancy." You get up and walk up to about 3 feet to his pool turn towards him do a cart wheel, that goes into a round off, which has you end right at the edge of his pool, then you do a backflip into the water.

"I give that a fucking ten." He says swimming up to you.

"Thank you. I'll give yours a 9.5 you lost a half point for trying to flirt with the judge."

"I should be given a whole extra point for that."

You splash him and swim away.

"Oooh now you started it." He dives down and pulls you under the water.

You poke him in the ribs and he let's go.

"Ouch!"

You swim up close to him.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to...."

He pulls you under again.

You pull him down too and start to have a contest to see who can stay under water longer. It's been 30 seconds and he is struggling. He groans and swims up.

He watches you as you flip into a handstand underwater and walk away from him, you come up 20 seconds later.

"Damn...."

"Sorry, lifeguard!"

"I normally have much better breath control." He says swimming closer to you.

"Oh really? You practice that?" You say smirking.

"Haven't needed to, come here."

You get closer and he reaches right under your eye takes the eyelash that had fallen.

"Make a wish." He says holding it up to your mouth.

You close your eyes and blow.

You open your eyes slowly and he is staring at you.

You throw caution to the wind and put your arms around his neck and he immediately put his arms around your waist and pulls you towards him. He walks to the shallow end of his pool and puts you against the side of it.

"I'm fighting every urge to kiss you." He says.

"Same. You have no idea how much I want to."

"Then why aren't we kissing?" He says nuzzling and nipping your jaw.

"Because we both know it not going to just be kissing."

"Kiss me and find out." He says kissing your cheek and right under your ear.

"Why don't you kiss me?" You say running your nails down his back.

"I am kissing you." He moves down to your neck.

You turn your head so he'll kiss that spot under your jaw. He does and you practically moan out his name.

"Fuck, you sound so good moaning out my name."

"Kiss me." You moan out as he kisses that spot again.

"Where?" He runs his tongue against that spot and gently bites you.

You finally turn your head and kiss him. He somehow pulled you even closer.

You put your hands in his hair as he slides his tongue inside your mouth. You pull away a bit and just look at him.

"What? We can stop."

"Nothing, I'm just taking you in. You're really good looking. I did not think this was going to happen." You say giggling.

"You're sweet. You're so gorgeous. You didn't? That bikini doesn’t agree." He says putting his hand on your ass.

You just laugh.

"Apparently, the internet is true, 'Chris Evans, an ass man'."

"With an ass like this, most definitely." He says putting his other hand on your ass.

"You are a whole mess. But to answer your question, I had maybe hoped that I could make out with my super hot neighbor, maybe just once."

"I knew it. Well that same internet calls you 'The writer who is taking YA by storm' I also saw your photoshoot in Vanity Fair, that's why I hoped you were going to wear a bikini, but this....."He runs his thumb along the edge of your bikini bottoms. "This is better than I could imagined."

He kisses you again and you wrap your legs around his waist and you can finally feel his amazing dick against your pussy.

"Damn, I can feel how warm your pussy is, I can't wait to taste you." He says in your ear.

"You look like this and can talk dirty."

"That's nothing......."

You bring his mouth back to yours and bite his bottom lip.

He reaches up and unties your bikini top, then kisses his way down to your nipple and slowly sucks it into his mouth, between his hot mouth and the chill of the water your close to an orgasm.

"Oh my goodness. You are the absolute worst."

He moves to your left breast, while his hand slowly making its way to your pussy.

The backdoor opens....

"Chris, I called you like 8 fucking times...............well hello Erin." Scott says.

"Oh my God, Scott!" You yell.

Chris just holds you close to give you some sort of cover.

"I obviously don't have my phone on me."

"I can see your hands are very full." He says looking straight into the water.

Chris tries to re-tie your top.

"Walk her to me." Scott says squatting down.

He ties the your top for you and get off of Chris.

"Well, this is not embarrassing at all!" You say swimming away.

"I'm fine." Scott says taking off his sandals and shirt and getting in the pool.

"That was the beginning and not the ending of that, right?"

"Ask him." You say laughing.

"You good over?" Scott asks him, when you both realize that he hadn't moved.

"Yep." He quickly turn and swims straight for you.

You scream and try to swim away.

He grabs you around the waist and puts you over his shoulder, then stand up so your ass is in his face and he turns and bites your left ass cheek. Then takes you back under the water. You bite him on his back and he let's you go.

You swim away and hide behind Scott.

"Nope, don't bring that shit over here."

"You heard him. Go away Chris."

"Come here, Erin."

He says as he lunges towards you.

You were quicker and got out of the pool.

He watches you walk away.

"Erin, can I have fries with that shake?"

"You better behave."

"This is me behaving."

"You want a beer, Scott?"

"Always." You open it and had it to him.

"Do I get one?"

"Are you going to behave?"

"Probably, not."

You open his and walk it over to him.

You finally get yours.

"Watch this."

You put your beer bottle on the edge of the pool, stand to the left of it.

You do a cart wheel right over the bottle but stay on your hands and pick it up with your teeth and suck it in a little, then do a front to back slit then push off your hands and gracefully flip into the water. You come up with the beer bottle still in your mouth.

"Holy shit. That's awesome." Scott says.

Chris is just leaning against the side of the pool staring at you.

You swim up to him

"You didn't like it?" You ask feeling a bit insecure.

He grabs your hand and walks you out of the pool and straight towards his back door.

"We'll be right back. Go ahead order whatever for lunch." He says to Scott as you follow him inside.

#chris evans #chrisxwoc #one year in boston #jojolu

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let-me-write-shit · 4 years ago

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Somebody To You: 26

Friendly reminder to please Like and/or Reblog. It helps more than you think! :)

It’s not quiiiite my post day yet, but why not??

Word Count: 3,031

Click Here For Previous Chapter & Other Completed Stories

PLEASE let me know what you think

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CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Last night was draining and Zoey hardly got any sleep. There were too many thoughts running through her head. Being back home gave her mixed emotions. There were so many great memories filled with lots of great people, but there was so much loss, as well. She felt like she was on a death march, visiting a terminally ill man, a son who is about to lose his father, and bereaved parents. The knowledge of the losses made her normally bright and cheery little suburb feel dark and gray. How was she supposed to make light in these situations? She stressed, trying to figure out how she was supposed to act when she met Mr. and Mrs. Lewis for lunch.

“Just relax, it’s going to be fine,” Michael tried soothing her in the car on the way to their house. “You don’t have to impress them. They’ve known you for years. Just act normal.”

Zoey took a deep breath, nodding. He was right. This isn’t her first time spending time with them. But it was her first visit since she’s moved to LA on their dime and she felt pressured to explain or justify all that has been going on in her life since moving there. How do you thank the people responsible for changing your life in so many different ways?

The first thing Zoey noticed when they pulled up to the house was the different flower beds by the front door. They had done some rearranging. Honestly, it was refreshing to see at least a minor change in scenery. Still, her nerves began to grow as they made their way to the front door. She began to contemplate whether she should knock or just go right in, having always done that in the past. But she figured its been too long since she’s been here to just walk in, so she knocked, bouncing anxiously on her toes. Within seconds the door flew open and was instantly being enveloped by Mrs. Lewis’s curly blonde hair. Zoey’s worry eased at the sound of the woman’s delighted laughter, pulling away to take a good look at each other.

“Oh, Zoey, you look beautiful with your hair down,” Mrs. Lewis cooed, smiling adoringly at her, “Come in, Mr. Lewis should be back any minute with the pizza. Hello, Michael, how are you?”

“I’m doing well, thank you,” Michael grinned as they followed Mrs. Lewis inside, closing the door behind them and making their way to the eat-in kitchen.

Mrs. Lewis looked different than the last time Zoey saw her. She was more put-together, wearing a little bit more makeup and in business-casual clothes, instead of the robes and oversized sweaters that she had gotten used to wearing after the death of her daughter. Her eyes weren’t sunken and dark any longer, instead, they were bright blue and she had a glow about her that radiated through her smile; something she hadn’t seen Mrs. Lewis do in over a year. She seemed to be doing better, and Zoey couldn’t have been happier about that.

“I was so happy to get that phone call from you yesterday, Michael. I didn’t know you were going to be in town,” Mrs. Lewis turned to Zoey, pulling out cups and plates in preparation for her husband’s arrival with their lunch.

“I didn’t either,” Zoey admitted, “It was a last-minute plan to come after hearing about Paul.”

Mrs. Lewis nodded seriously, “Yes, I’m so sorry to hear about your dad, Michael. How are you feeling?”

Mrs. Lewis listened intently as Michael confessed himself to her; something Zoey was surprised by. Michael was never one to delve into his feelings too much, but it seemed that he had so many thoughts pent up, understandably, that when provided with an outlet to express his feelings without the worry of judgment or hurting anyone else’s feelings (like he would have had he expressed these thoughts to his parents, perhaps) he was able to really dig deep to the root of his worry and have a weight lifted off his shoulders from the burden it carried.

Michael wasn’t an emotional person. He could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him cry. So when she saw a tear trickle down his cheek, Zoey couldn’t help but get emotional and cry along with him. She felt for him. What do you say to a person who is about to lose their father?

She felt guilty for not being there for him sooner. For letting their ties loosen so much that he felt he couldn’t confide in her anymore. It was no wonder he didn’t absolutely hate her for it. He deserved much better than what she’s offered him in the past five months.

When Michael had reached the end of his rant, Zoey felt the urge to hug him, pulling him into the tightest, warmest hug she could muster as she pushed her tears aside. He relaxed into her embrace and felt the shuddering of his body begin to calm until his breathing evened out. She’d never seen him in so much pain before and she couldn’t blame him for breaking down in front of Mrs. Lewis. But if anyone would understand what he’s going through, it was her.

Mrs. Lewis rounded the table and wrapped her arms around Michael, motherly shushing him and gently rocking him back and forth making a grown twenty-eight-year-old man look like a child in her arms. Michael seemed to calm from his uneasiness and cleared his throat, wiping his eyes as Mrs. Lewis sat back down in his seat. He was embarrassed, but neither of them criticized him for it. How could they? He had every right to feel what he was feeling.

Not even a minute later, Mr. Lewis came stumbling through the front door, making his way back and beaming when he saw the two of them sitting at the table.

“You made it!” he exclaimed, plopping the boxes of pizza in the center of the table and reaching out for a quick hug while his wife began serving slices. He noticed Michael’s puffy red eyes and looked as though he was about to say something, but decided not to at the last minute, resorting to, “Dig in, I want to hear all about what you two have been up to.”

They each had a bite of their pizza while Mrs. Lewis eyed them curiously, asking, “So, are you two back together, or…?”

“No,” Zoey hurriedly responded, swallowing down her bite of food, “No, Mikey, here, has found himself a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend yet,” Michael narrowed his eyes at her.

Zoey grinned in amusement, wiggling her eyebrows at Mr. and Mrs. Lewis who laughed, “So how did you meet this girl?”

“She’s a new hire at work. She’s the receptionist.”

“So no dating apps for you, then, huh?” Mr. Lewis joked before turning to Zoey, “What about you? Any boyfriends in LA?”

Zoey shrugged, feeling a little more confident in being more open now that she knew she didn’t have to worry about Michael being hurt. But she didn’t want to get into too much detail. Surely they didn’t need to know about all of her one night stands, friends with benefits, and sleeping with an international celebrity. So she simply said, “I’ve been dipping my toes in the dating scene, but nothing serious so far.”

“No?” Mrs. Lewis asked, expression bordering confusion, “I thought your mom said you had a boyfriend who took you and your sister to Italy for your birthday?”

Zoey’s eyes widened, unsure of what to say. Certainly, no one ever told her mother that Harry and she were a thing. Mrs. Lewis must have misunderstood. At least she was none the wiser on who the supposed ‘boyfriend’ was. She shook her head, laughing in an attempt to conceal her surprise, “No, no, no. I mean, yeah, I went to Italy, but it was with several of my friends. Boy friends, not boyfriend.”

She stared at them fixedly to make sure they believed her. When they nodded and continued to ask her about her trip to Italy, she felt Michael’s suspicious gaze on the side of her face. She ignored it, telling them all about the guided tour, Katie’s crush on a cute Italian boy, shopping in the lanes, pizza making, wine tasting, and all of the dreamy nights spent poolside underneath the stars.

“We’ve only been there once on our honeymoon,” Mrs. Lewis fondly recalled, smiling dewy-eyed, “I’m so glad you were able to meet some nice friends in LA. Jess would be so happy for you.”

Mr. Lewis placed a supportive hand on his wife’s back and Zoey pursed her lips with wide puppy-eyes. She missed Jess and wished, more than anything, she could have experienced all of this with her. She wanted to make new friends in LA with her, immerse themselves in Italian culture, she wanted to go on double dates with Jess, she wanted to go on more beach trips with her and ride on the back of sketchy motorcycles side-by-side, she wanted to tell Jess all about Harry and all the gross, cliche, sappy little moments between them that made the butterflies in her stomach go crazy. She wished Jess were here as a lending ear to hear her rant about the absurdity that came along with stupid boy crushes and as a shoulder to cry on when the unavoidable overwhelming grief took over her when Paul was no longer here.

They’ll be together, she told herself. She’ll be in safe hands with Paul. They’ll be looking down on all of us, proud. They did this. The two of them. Jess and Paul were the light of this town, the reason why so many were compassionate, kind, and happy. And Zoey took solace in knowing that the world was a better place because of those two people. She was a better person because of them. And she will love them until the day she meets them again.

The minor display of emotion caused a group hug between the four of them and when they pulled away, they all laughed. After lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis took the two of them to the poolhouse to check out Jess’s old living space. They hadn’t done much with it. They explained that they had plans to eventually make it into a guest house. They wanted to paint and get new furniture, but they hadn’t had the heart to change it entirely just yet. Most of her things were still there. Framed pictures of her with her friends, books that she was reading, most of her wardrobe still in the closet and dresser drawers. But it looked cleaner and more organized. There weren’t random clothes strewn about the floor or makeup covering the vanity. It felt different.

“Do you mind….can I have this?” Zoey asked, holding up a framed picture of her and Jess sitting on Zoey’s trampoline.

Mrs. Lewis smiled, nodding a yes. They talked a little longer before they decided it was probably time to get going and the couple led them to the front. “I’m so glad you were able to stop by, you guys. Thank you for thinking of us,” Mrs. Lewis sang.

“Thanks for having us. And for the pizza,” Michael smiled, giving them each a hug, followed by Zoey.

As they made their way towards Michael’s car, Zoey suddenly remembered and turned, calling out, “Oh! I almost forgot. My parents are having a BBQ tomorrow around 2. It’ll be my last night here before I catch the red-eye home. Would you two like to come? Michael’s parents will be there, too.”

The two of them smiled, looking at each other briefly before nodding and Mr. Lewis said, “We’ll see you two tomorrow, then.”

She grinned at them before jumping in Michael’s car and heading back to her parents’ house. The journey back was mostly discussions reflecting on Mr. and Mrs. Lewis and how happy they were to see the two of them in a better mental state than the previous year, but by the time they reached Zoey’s house, the conversation had changed to bets on which parent got drunk at the BBQ first. Zoey bet Paul would be first while Michael had bet on Mr. Lewis.

She had assumed that Michael would only be dropping her off at home, saying a quick goodbye to her parents on the way out. But her mom had cornered him, practically forcing him to stay for dinner as she was making her ‘world-famous shepherds pie’, which honestly had no taste to it and had no business being called ‘world-famous’. Not wanting to be rude, Michael accepted and stayed to eat. Throughout dinner Mary subtly hinted at her desire for Zoey to move back home, discussing the office remodel, mentioning little trips they could take as a family, and visits to Katie in college. It was clear that she was suffering from pre-empty nest syndrome, but she was laying it on thick.

After dinner was finished, Zoey had offered to clear the table, and with the help of Michael, loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. She dried her hands on a spare dish rag that sat on the countertop, staring at the framed picture of her and Jess that she had placed there right before they ate. Michael looked over at her, then to the yard, and back at her.

“Come on,” he urged, taking the picture and leading the way towards the back door.

Zoey followed him outside, the sun setting and the faint, flickering glow of the lightning bugs hovered and the warm porch lights illuminated the garden. Michael climbed onto the trampoline, bouncing on his knees as she climbed on after him. The lack of netting surrounding the trampoline always terrified her mom, but she and her sister always hated the idea of being confined, so she left it open.

The springs from the trampoline squeaked and creaked as they sat cross-legged, facing each other. Zoey slipped the picture out of Michael’s hands, running a few fingers across Jess’s face. She hadn’t seen her in so long that she was beginning to feel like Jess was a made-up imaginary friend. She needed these pictures and trinkets, like her bracelet, as proof of her existence.

“Can’t believe it’s been a year,” Zoey hushed.

Michael nodded, pausing before wondering, “What do you think we’d be doing right now if she was still here?”

“We’d probably still be together,” Zoey said, laughing and looking up at him, teary-eyed “My life has changed so much in the past year. I’ve experienced more in the last four months than I have my whole entire life and she wasn’t here for any of it.”

“She was there,” Michael placed a reassuring hand on her knee, “you know that.”

“It’s not the same,” she shook her head, laying down on her back to look up at the stars, her hair scattering around her while holding the picture to her stomach.

Michael laid down beside her, sighing. The two of them had been through so much in the past year, and it still wasn’t over. He was glad that someone else understood what he was going through, but the fact that they had to go through this at all was ridiculous. There was a long silence before Zoey finally spoke again, the subject changed.

“So...tell me about this new girl of yours. Has she met the parents yet?”

Michael groaned again, “No because it’s not serious yet.”

“Oh, come on, you don’t have to be afraid to tell me. I broke up with you, remember?”

“There’s just not much to say. It’s too new,” Micheal shrugged, turning his attention towards her. “Besides, what about you?”

“What about me?” she asked defensively, furrowing her eyebrows at him.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he smirked, “you don’t think I noticed the panic in your voice when Mrs. Lewis mentioned the ‘FRIEND’ who took you and Katie to Italy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she blushed, looking back up at the night’s sky.

“I was with you for over four years. I know when you’re lying.”

Zoey rolled her eyes in annoyance, hating how predictable and easy-to-read she was. Hating the fact that she was about to talk about a man she considered to be her soulmate to a man she thought she would end up marrying. When did her life become this complicated?

“First of all, he was never my boyfriend. Nothing even happened before the trip to Italy,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, so things happened in Italy, then?” He sounded cheeky, “Tell me about him. What’s he like?”

Zoey chuckled, trying to connect the dots of the stars above her, seeing what sort of pictures she could make out of them, “You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you,” she said under her breath. Sighing, she spoke louder, “It doesn’t matter, though. We kind of got into a fight. I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

“A fight about what?”

“Something stupid,” she admitted, “I called him out because he can’t ever make up his mind about what he wants and I basically told him I didn’t want to waste my time. He’s the one that called at dinner last night.”

“Is that why you came inside looking all upset?” Michael turned to look at Zoey, earning a nod in response. Michael slowly turned to look back up at the sky, putting his hands behind his head to elevate it a bit more, “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re right. You deserve to be prioritized. You’re worth it.”

“Thanks, Mikey.”

“No problem.”

The two of them laid there in comfortable silence for what felt like an hour, counting the stars when they heard a crack from the back door opening and closing. She figured it would just be Katie wanting to join in on the conversation. But when a deep, humble, monotone voice sounded her name from behind them, the two of them sat up, surprised by the unexpected visitor.

“Harry?!”

KEEP READING

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Taglist for Somebody To You:

@thurhomish , @stilljosiegrossie , @odetostep , @apples2019 , @stylesmioamore , @inyourhaven

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irwinkitten · 5 years ago

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coffee shops and seasons | a.i

notes: so a couple of months ago @5-secondsofcolor had put forward an idea in the gay!sos gc and with Alma’s permission I took the idea and fuckin ran with it. Like I sprinted, then forgot about it and then carried on sprinting again. It’s a soft writer!ash concept and I’m very uwu over it. warnings: none word count: 2.1k!

also, i’ve got myself a ko-fi. i erred over this for a while before deciding to go with ko-fi as i fell this gives more freedom to the writer and those that donate, so feel free to donate.

Ashton enjoyed having routine.

Routine was something that his chaotic life could not take away from him, no matter how close his deadlines were for the publishers.

If anyone studied him, he always went to the small coffee shop that was tucked away in the suburbs of the city.

It held a small garden that he never sat in, preferring the sounds of the coffee shop to become his soundtrack of his writing. However, he often stepped out under the canopy of vines, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of the moment, in any kind of weather.

It happened a year ago when the smallest change occurred in his routine.

You showed up, wrapped up in a jacket and scarf, the almost childlike glee in your face as you reached the barista, exclaiming softly how this was your first snowfall.

Your eyes met his, and the two of you shared gentle smiles as you sat on the table in the corner of the window, eyes watching the world pass by as your attention eventually slid to a book in your lap.

At first he only saw you twice that week, both of you sharing smiles with each other when you entered into the coffee shop. And for a few months that was all he saw of you.

Then the next change came when you walked in, your eyes red and face slightly swollen and a part of him wanted to ask you how you were. But he didn know how to ask you that question.

So instead of asking you, he listened to your order, and when he left, he quietly paid for another drink for you before heading out.

Had he waited, you would’ve gone to him to say thank you, but when you’d looked up as the barista explained that he’d paid for your drink, he’d already gone.

That week he’d had to give up his routine for the publishers and he had never felt so gutted to have missed something so pivotal as seeing you in the shop.

When he got back to routine, there was a coffee waiting for him at his usual table, but you weren’t in the shop. Glancing to the barista, they smiled slightly.

“She paid for it in advance and said to make sure you got it. I’ve wasted seven coffees on you.” Ashton laughed.

“I can pay for those.” And the barista shook their head.

“I’m kidding with you Ashton. I know that your deadline came up. I realised that every time you hit a deadline, you vanish for a week.” Ashton couldn’t stop the blush rising in his cheeks.

“It gives me a break. I get to write for me until they decide on book tours that I’ll refuse. It’s the same routine.” The barista chuckled before returning to work and Ashton found himself crafting a new world of characters.

There was a break in the routine four days later.

You hadn’t been in the coffee shop that week, and he found himself missing that small thing, and his mind started to craft up elaborate daydreams and ideas as to why you hadn’t come, but he left them as that, daydreams and ideas of a person he couldn’t quite have.

When you showed up, he glanced up and watched as your face lit up when you realised he was sat in his usual spot.

He heard you make your order and he expected you to be nestled in your little spot, people watching like you did every time, but it took a moment for him to realise that he hadn’t heard the scrape of the chair against the floor.

Lifting his head, he found you stood there, uncertainty shifting across your features before you finally spoke.

“Would you mind if I joined?” And it took him a second before a smile bloomed across his face and your shoulders relaxed.

“Please, take a seat.” He motioned to the chair sat opposite him, tilting the laptop screen down so that he could focus his attention on you.

“I figured that we’ve been dancing around like this for a while now. And you bought me a drink...” Your words trailed off and he could feel the warmth rushing to his cheeks as you acknowledged his small gesture of kindness.

“It was nothing, really. You looked so sad the day you came in, and I wanted to ask if you were okay but we’re two strangers who don’t know one another and I knew that it could’ve come off as strange if I just asked that.” He hesitated before a soft smile graced his lips. “I hope you’re better now, though.”

The chuckle that left your lips was void of any humour, it was dry and almost sarcastic in nature. And Ashton found himself being drawn into you, wanting to learn more.

“I wish I could say I am, but I’m not. I will be though.” You hadn’t elaborated and he didn’t push.

You were simply two strangers.

“I just realised that I hadn’t even introduced myself.” It was almost like the same thought had hit you both, but you’d vocalised it in such a way that had him grinning as you introduced yourself with a dramatic flourish, earning a small laugh from him.

“It’s not often that people willingly laugh at the dumb shit I do.” You muttered, earning a grin in return.

“Since you’re the dramatic one, I’ll be the calm one. I’m-”

“I know who you are.” He paused as you cut him off, your eyes refusing to lift off the table. He could feel the palpable of emotion rolling off your shoulders, the near embarrassment surrounding you as your eyes refused to meet his.

“I’m always curious about what other people think of me. Who am I?”

The silence that filled the space between you a your eyes finally lifted up from the table, meeting kind eyes and a gentle smile. He watched as you seemed to be gathering steam, your teeth sinking into the skin of your lips before you finally spoke.

“You’re Ashton Irwin. You’ve written some really good stuff, but that’s not really important to me.” You paused and he raised an eyebrow, a silent question at your statement.

Somehow his silence seemed to make your words that much louder.

“Y-you’re the man in the coffee shop who was kind to me on one of the worst days of my life. You’re the writer that sits and taps his feet to the beat of the song playing in the shop. You’re the man who types something, laughs just once and then carries on as if you hadn’t done a single thing.” You kept your words calm despite the slight stumble.

Yet the smile on his face continued to grow and it set something in your heart on fire at the joy in his features, his eyes lighting up.

“You’re observant, but then I guess you’d have to be for someone who people watches.” At this, you grinned at the playful accusation.

“To come in and shut away from the world, it’s a small relief in a life of stress.” He understood your words, knowing how important it was to shut away from time to time and just allow yourself to be. He did it often enough.

“Not many people understand that need. It’s why I like finding places like this coffee shop is a dream because people don’t come out of their way for something like this. It’s hidden enough that the only people who find it are the ones who need it.”

A smile blossomed across your face as the two of you continued to talk until you had to go.

For the rest of the day, Ashton had the biggest smile on his face.

The following day, he decided to sit in your seat, to try and understand your fascination with people watching. The people who did walk by, seemed to distract his mind, but it opened new avenues to explore.

And when you arrived, sitting in your customary seat, he spoke up.

“So many lives walk past and you never know what’s going on in them. The little old lady across the street, I’ve decided has been waiting for a bus that changed the route and she never found out.”

He hadn’t expected the bubble of laughter to escape your lips as you realised the small game he’d fallen into.

“The biker that’s sat on his bike is waiting to hear from a job interview. He’s a baker that only bakes cakes for birthday parties. This interview was for a bakery that only specialises in weddings.”

More laughter.

You kept up a quiet commentary for him whilst he continued to write, pausing and chipping in his own two cents which you thoroughly enjoyed.

And slowly this became normal for the two of you. He found more enjoyment writing with you sat beside him, crafting up little stories about the people that walked by the coffee shop, oblivious to the pair of fast made friends creating absurd stories to pass the time.

He stopped dreading his deadlines and began to enjoy the moments of peace and joy you gifted him with those small stories.

Some days you were quiet, and he never pushed you to open up to him. Instead he told you elaborate tales of the characters he’d created, some of them over the top and others just entirely out of character from the character’s you knew. It always got a giggle.

That was when he told you about how he started writing when he was younger because he always told his siblings stories. Even as a child, his imagination was one which made elaborate stories about a prince who ran to save his life, teaming up with bandits to save his kingdom or ones of a princess running from her home and boarding a pirate ship to escape from her life.

And so you told him the tales of how you used to sit in cafes after school, waiting for your mom to finish her shifts. You’d make up stories of the groups of people as a child and it was something you continued to do as an adult. It was a moment of comfort and he understood that entirely.

Suddenly his routine had been changed in the best ways. He enjoyed the moments with you, and he realised that if he kept it up, he knew that he was heading down the route that he so often wrote it was like an old friend, that familiar feeling of comfort.

The two of you had become so comfortable in your friendship and part of him wanted to push it to the next step. You’d been apart of his life for so long. The first few months was simply ships passing in the night, seeing each other but never really meeting. And then you collided and he enjoyed every second of the following year.

Seasons came and went, as did the staff. But you two were constantly sat together, talking. He still took his week off after a deadline and you still took days away. Both of you went on holidays and lived lives separately, but found a way to tell each other about those things you both got to enjoy.

Ashton knew he was falling in love, in one of the more cliche ways that he’d written often enough. Yet for all the words that he could write, the words that flowed from his fingertips to paper-or at least fingertips to keyboard-he could not find the words to tell you, or to even invite a discussion for him to admit that he had feelings for you.

After weeks of agonising over how to ask you out on a date, you took the problem from his hands and gifted him with a solution that had him laughing.

“So with all of those days that we’ve been meeting up for these drinks, do they count as dates or are we beyond that?” And it caught him so off guard that he laughed.

“Would you turn down my question for a dinner date with you?” He braved the question now that he had an idea of where your thoughts about the two of you lay.

He watched as the shyness that he first witnessed when you stood at his table, waiting for his attention before asking to sit down, reared up.

“I’d never turn down that kind of date with you Ash. All you have to do is ask.” You finally murmured, a hand reaching over to take his. And his heart sped up, a blush building on his cheeks.

“Please may I take you to dinner tonight, say 7?”

“I’d love that.” His heart exploded with excitement mixed with relief as he shifted the hold of your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips gently.

“Then I do believe it's a date.” The blinding smile you gave him told the butterflies in his heart and stomach that you were definitely worth it.

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1132

survey by chasingghosts

What was the best vacation you've ever been on? Every time we get to take one has been great, but I’d say the best vacations were the ones in Boracay, Sagada, and East Asia. I also feel like I’d have had more of a blast on the latter trip if I had already been into K-drama and K-pop by then, but it was still a fun trip nonetheless.

What would you buy first if you won the lottery? Oh man. I probably would just order sushi first.

Did you grow up in the city, the suburbs or somewhere more rural? I’ve always lived in the suburbs. I was raised in the city very briefly as a baby, but my mom hated Manila and wanted somewhere quieter and closer to her parents.

Describe the bag you use most often. It’s a white shoulder bag that has 47594857945 pockets in it, which is tbh a pet peeve because it’s since become a lot harder to find my shit as soon as I need them; but the bag itself looks nice so it works for me.

What languages did you learn in school? Just Filipino and English. In 1st grade I do remember how our teachers tried to teach us French - our school foundress was from France - but as far as I know the practice didn’t stick and they only tried it out that year.

What has been the happiest time of your life so far? I hear a lot of people my age talk about how 2016 was such a fun time what with all the music and trends that simultaneously came out during that year; I’d have to agree. I’d say 2014–2016 was generally a fun period that just let me be a dumb, carefree teenager who didn’t have to worry too much about the future yet.

What do you usually order when you get Chinese food? My family likes to get fried rice, minced pork with eggplant, pork buns, xiaolongbao, and a side of century eggs. I’m almost sure we get more than one viand, but I also haven’t been to a Chinese restaurant in over a year so I’ve forgotten some of the usuals we get.

Have you ever had a crush on a celebrity? Who? Yeah, I guess, but that’s exactly it - a celebrity crush - so I’ve never been a creepy stalker or anything like that lmao. My biggest crush rn is on Kim Seonho.

Do you have any fears you would rarely admit to anyone? No. When it comes to matters I’m scared or apprehensive about, I feel much better sharing them with at least one person because at least it lessens the weight I have to carry around.

Name one thing you always have in your fridge. I don’t think we’ve ever run out of eggs before.

What website do you spend most of your time on? Google Suite if that counts...

What was the last music you listened to? I belieeeeeeeve I was listening to either SHINee or VIXX before I closed Spotify.

How did you feel when you woke up today? Excited to work and fade the fuck out at the end of the day, because it was Friday.

What would your dream house be like? Brutalist on the outside, minimalist and modern on the inside. Mostly black and white with some earthy tones, lots of cove lights, and big windows.

Do you own any clothes with polka dot patterns? I don’t think so.

Have you ever been orienteering? No. This was offered as a PE in my university but I never took it because it sounded like I had to go outside for it HAHA

What class in high school did you struggle with the most? Chemistry was such a fucking bother. I didn’t need it, never did, and it wasn’t my strength by any means, so I hated the fact that I had to take it. I felt this way about trigonometry and calculus as well, but by then I had senioritis and stopped caring whether I was performing well in the class or not lol.

What did you have for dinner last night? We had my dad’s pad thai *chef’s kiss* which reminds me I’m in the mood for another round of it, so I’ll probs grab a plate after this survey.

Would you change anything about yourself? No.

Do you like musical theatre? No.

What was the last party you went to? The party that Hans’ group of friends threw at BGC to celebrate one year of their small business. I’m so glad we were able to squeeze that in before the whole world went into lockdown. I haven’t been anywhere that has been that crowded ever since.

Do you like to make lists? Of just about anything, yes.

What could you talk about for hours? My dogs, my favorite TV shows, and some parts of history I’m particularly interested in.

Are there any slang words/sayings that you just hate? It’s a local one, but “sana all” got annoying a long time ago lol. It literally means “I wish all” and it’s something you say if you want what someone has. So like if I see a couple holding hands, sana all would be an appropriate response. The thing is it’s overused as fuck, so I never picked it up as a habit.

Do you have a lamp beside your bed? Yes.

If you were in a band, what kind of music would you play? Idk I’m not musically inclined at all, but it’d be nice to play music that’s inspired by both jazz and lo-fi, my two favorite genres for when I want to chill and unwind.

What was the first cell phone you owned? That One Famous Nokia model haha. I’m too lazy to look it up and check what model it is.

What's your favourite ice cream topping? I don’t like toppings on my ice cream as much as possible, but if I had to go with one it would be hot fudge.

Is there something big you're currently saving for? I want to get braces again, which are pretty costly, yeah.

Who can you be your true self around? Angela.

#survey #surveys

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quicklyseverebird · 4 years ago

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An intervention for an Antifa friend

Written to a sweet friend of mine who is, I learned, a member of the Portland Antifa. Ok, so maybe I just need to get this off my chest so i can move past it. I just don't believe you, XXXXXX. There is an utter lack of any evidence to your claim.

Consider this, the Proud Boys, to use the biggest example, are castigated on every media channel as white supremacists and alt right bigots, despite the fact that their leader--in fact several of their local leaders as well--are men of color. So the media is already skewed against them and hostile to anything they might say or do, regardless of logic or common sense. Whenever an act of violence breaks out and there's even a RUMOR that someone is a PB, they jump on it as proof of this, even when the PB's own leaders state that there is no record of that person ever being a member of any of their chapters. Still, despite that, with a media seeking to demonize them, every video we see of your altercations is them having their rallies, marching about, waving flags, etc, and then you show up and attack them, and they fight back. Not only that, but even when they just SAY they are going to show up, and then don't, just to punk you, you guys show up and riot and damage things anyways, without a proud boy in sight. So no. I do not believe you. Nor do I believe that "nothing has been laid to waste" when we can literally view videos of buildings being burned, businesses looted, people killed, etc. Streets vandalized and boarded up, shopkeepers being subjected to protection rackets, then looted anyways. Your people post the videos *yourself* showing evidence of this. So no. I do not for a moment believe you. And no, this has nothing to do with my "news sources." The news bends over backwards defending you. The politicians defend you, say Antifa doesn't exist, or is just "an idea." The politicians justify and defend these riots, and even raise support to pay for bail. When you attack a PB rally, they call the PB's white supremacists, and blame them, though they were standing there minding their own business and having a rally, which is their constitutional right to do. When you attack a man in his home, threatening to kill him and burn his house, it's the man who's arrested. When you break into private property and threaten a home owner with death, and they brandish non-functioning weapons as a deterrent, as they are legally allowed to do (they actually would have been legally justified by castle doctrine to open fire on those people the moment they entered the gate), it's the home owners charged with crimes, and evidence is tampered with in order to make a case against them. When your rioters are arrested, the DA's let them go without charges. Your own mayor stands in the front lines with you in an assault on federal property, and then has his own home attacked and tried to set on fire, yet he STILL defends you. The establishment is defending you at every turn. You are not the victims of demonization. You are not "the underdog/oppressed." You are the ones committing brutalization and when people try and defend themselves from you, you cry "victim." You are the oppressors. Because...and here I need to make a distinction between you the individual and your organization and those like them. I like and care about you. I believe you are at heart a good person. I can hear the passion you have for prisoners and while I might disagree with some of your beliefs and arguments, I can acknowledge and even admire your idealism and desire to make things better. Even your belief in socialism is rooted in a desire to make things better, and I can respect that, even though I find socialism morally repugnant and stupid. But your organization and those like it: Antifa, BLM and the whole cult of intersectionality are *EVIL*. I am not using this term to be hyperbolic. I mean it quite literally. They are actively, objectively, factually, morally evil. I mean it in the same way I say that grass is green. I place them on the same moral level that the KKK or neo-Nazi's are. In actuality, I believe they are worse than those. The KKK is a couple thousand deluded, sad, old, little white men, and the neo-nazis are a couple thousand deluded young white men seeking identity and purpose. Stupid, sad, disgusting, but irrelevant, and scorned by the general public and in public opinion. It's not the KKK rioting through cities, burning businesses, buildings, looting and destroying primarily minority-owned property. It's not NN's today stirring up racial hatred and attacking people based on their skin color. It's not the KKK who have killed something like 35 people in the past 140 days of violent rioting, most of them POC's as well. It's not the neo-Nazi's who stalked two guys walking down the street minding their own business who had just driven around town and caused no damage or violence, then screamed "we have a Trump supporter here" and then executed an unarmed man. It's not the KKK that showed up at a detention facility armed to the teeth with weapons for a shoot-out. It's not NN's chasing down a kid who literally hours before had been cheering BLM's position, cleaning up damage and providing first aid to rioters, while shooting at him, and forcing the kid to defend himself with lethal force, then claiming he was a white supremacist. It's not the KKK tearing down statues of Lincoln, paid for by freed slaves, or Frederick Douglas, or of abolitionists who died fighting slavery, or hell, even a statue of an elk! It's not NN's who go to a black man's house and demand that he take down his american flag or they will burn his home down. It's not the KKK who burned down an apartment building where families were living because there was a rumor the building was used in trafficking, without evidence. It's not the NN's marching through suburbs, frightening normal people and using their presence as a shield against police actions. It's not the KKK writing justifications for looting, and calling Jews the face of capitalism. (sound familiar?) It's not NN's who walk up to people they don't like, away from the people they were allegedly and illegally hired to protect and use the excuse that a man has pepper spray in his hand, to shoot them in the face. That's all you. I am, admittedly, lumping you all into one pot, so some of my accusations blur the boundaries between these groups, but you are more or less the same in my eyes. Same drink, different flavors, in my view. I do feel like I am living in pre-war Germany. But you are the Nazi's. In a very real sense, I mean that. You are the Nazi's in today's society, waiting for your Hitler to arise. You are the ones going about advocating against free speech...with violence. You are the ones justifying your actions with claims of socialistic reform and revolution, with violence. You are the ones burning books, both figuratively and literally. You are the ones with cancel culture as part of your methodology. Even you. I've literally watched you do it, XXXXX, though you said you think cancel culture is stupid. YOU did it yourself and I watched you do so because someone dared to speak and eat with people you don't like. You are the ones stoking the fires of racial hatred. You are the racists and identitarians. Even in your racism against white people (and POC's who disagree with you, which justifies you in calling them racial slurs) you are, ironically, the actual white supremacists. I'm not scared of the KKK. I'm not scared of Neo nazis. I'm not scared of the Alt Right. I'm not scared of the Proud boys or patriot prayer. I don't see any of them committing acts of violence. I AM scared of you. I DO see your violence. The PB's could march down my street, and I'd watch from my porch and drink a coke. If you marched down my street, I'd get my gun and watch through my window blinds. You are the Nazis. You are the violent racists. You are the fascists, in a very real sense of the word. You are the authoritarians seeking a revolution of society to place your own bigoted views in a place of power.

And just to be clear, I'm not condoning the actions of the groups you fight. I'm not saying I agree with them. I gather there have been some violent acts with PB's in the past. They had a "4th degree" in their organization that you reached if you were involved in a fight, but they've stepped back from that I gather. They seem more like a fraternity, and I don't like fraternities (or sororities for that matter). I am not aware of any violent activity perpetrated by Patriot Prayer. And any group has its own, individual crazies. I don't have to agree with them, or even like them to acknowledge that Antifa, BLM and company are worse. For them, violence is a primary means and goal, not something that pops up accidentally. No. You are not right. You are not noble. Your organizations are literally, morally evil and the closest thing to a Nazi party in existence right now in our country by any metric or standard. I just wish you would recognize this and get out before its too late. I adore you, and I hate to think of you as part of them, just as I would, had I learned you had joined the KKK.

#cancel culture #antifa #intervention #proud boys #blm #fascist

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driftwork · 4 years ago

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from a drone, arcadia

A drone flies over a garden in mid-summer, it has flown over the house and is moving slowly down the garden above the treeline. The cameras recording. Below what passes for a domestic scene in these days. Nobody dies. The woman in a grey dress is lying on the garden bench her head resting on the lap of a man, her man she thinks with some amusement. She is listening to her nine year old daughter running down the garden screaming aggressively and waving her plastic sword at imaginary enemies. Watching the drone fly across. I wonder whose drone that is, she asks aloud. Her husband pauses and looks down at her, someone wants photographs of you and the kids. (He thinks that he will never quite understand how he ended up here with this woman, a chance meeting and a decade later here they are, here, the probability of their meeting were at least a googleplex to one.) Who though ? She says watching it pass over again. There is always someone. He says looking back at the woman sitting at the end of the table. So if you're getting promoted Jean, does that mean I do as well ? Not until I do the woman's voice said from the hammock. He looks over at the hammock - not a chance pervert. The other woman in the hammock raised her head above the edge, hit him for me Park. She hits his left shoulder with her hand. Your baby has woken up. Jean shook her head, You are not going to be allowed to corrupt anyone else. Congratulations Jean, the woman in the grey dress says, don't promote him, think of the trees any new business card would have to... she sat up. I'll get the baby. You see even your wife thinks promoting you is a bad idea. The woman in the grey dress looked archly at her. Muttering to herself wife, wife, i've become wife. She went to pickup her friends baby. If I'd known you were police I would have stayed in tokyo... Good job you didn't know he says.

Hasimon is watching the recorded feed from the drone that flew over her daughters house, their house, his house, her house, some days earlier. It's showing a bright sunny day, her grand daughter is running down the garden to the swing. Her daughter is dressed in a grey dress, black leggings that end just above her bare feet, and is draped over a garden bench her head on the lap of a man, who is sitting at one end facing towards another woman who is sitting on a chair at one end of the table. She can see his hand is on her daughter's shoulder, perhaps even touching her left breast. (she pauses the image) and looks at the woman who is pouring a glass of wine. She can see the clear white liquid, a stream of liquid pouring into the glass. She watches her daughter hit the man's shoulder, gently with her hand. On the grass to one side she can see a hammock with one or two people in it. Her younger granddaughter is walking down the path from the house. Watching the video at half speed she watches her daughter go into the house and re-emerge carrying a baby which she hands to one of the women in the hammock. She watches as she returns to the bench to lie down again with her head on his lap... The woman with the baby half rolls and half stands upright holding the baby and goes and sits down on the vacant bench to feed the baby... The drone flies west...

She returned and handed the baby to his mother in the hammock, and went down to sit on the bench. After a few moments she lies down again with her head on his lap. They talk about food, she asks jean if she wants to stay dinner or tea ? Tea, i can stay for tea. She sits up. Still leaning against him. Jean looks amused. Perhaps you can retire. I can keep you. She says. You already keep me. He says. He's not allowed to retire, Jean said, I don't have a budget for that. There is the sound of groans from the hammock, the woman feeding the baby stokes the babies head. The woman in the hammock says, You are not allowed to retire, you've ruined my career already, who could I work for after this? She looks across at her sitting upright now in the hammock. That's true, your would have to come and work at K. And that's why he is not retiring, �� I am not working for your wife or or or my partner when she returns to work. You’ll need to tell me who you will bring with you. Jean said, and she’s right nobody else could work with her. Gesturing at the woman in the hammock. Frank is bringing most of his team. Everyone I think. I have a kidnapping case i need you to take over, the DCS running it is incompetent, we want the child alive. Whatever it takes. Anything at all? Yes. (Fifty or so people die because of this, the child is amongst those rescued.) I could, Osaka said stroking the head of her child.

On the return pass of the drone she watched her youngest grandchild kick the sleeping man before sitting on his chest. Oh god I need to retire, I am being abused by your children. It's your alter-destiny ley said looking at him with affection. He grabbed the child’s ice cream and took a bite. Oh nice, go and get me one and I'll let you have a bite of mine... I wonder whose drone that is... Hasimon regrets not being... She looks at the way they are sitting up and wonders what they are talking about. I think i’m getting divorced again, jean is saying as they put food and tea on the table, i think he’s having an affair with his secretary, i simply can’t ignore this. i am so terrible at choosing men... the woman sitting with the baby says to her, i'm sorry to hear that, perhaps we should vet him for you. can you do that? yes, actually i have vetted a few men for a couple of the software women, good scientists terrible choice in men. it was software's idea, strangely humane that guy. Gesturing at the woman behind her, i vetted steve for her. What? Your so paranoid Ley... jean’s face crumpled into laughter, them, them... Hasimon watches them all laughing and wonders what they are laughing at.

Hasimon is watching the video two or three days later in Tokyo, whilst the people in the images are asleep. The video pauses and continues - It was a beautiful day there in the summer. The light of the afternoon sun, the rural to outer suburbs road that headed out to the north east, winding through the pastoral fields on the horizon hills. The road is the bridge between the suburbs and the and countryside. She wished there was an empty chair which she could occupy, travelling to sit with this group of exiles and power that they had become. A circle around the woman in the grey dress, her husband and children. She would have been excited by the great journey ending on that chair. Hasimon regrets. I wish, she says speaking aloud, that I could hug my grand children. She looks at the book of french poetry on her desk. Perhaps I could translate some of this poetry, Aragon, Eluard, Gamarra and Char.... Hurry, Hurry to transmit she says aloud. On the drones return pass, the table has been rearranged, the people are sitting around the table eating. It was a beautiful day there in the summer. They seem happy she says to her secretary, who never speaks to her about her regrets but knows what it is. Her daughter is carrying trays of food which she is putting on the table, another woman is carrying cutlery and drinks to the table swinging a jug of liquid in a 360 degree arc over her head. There is a later set of images, of her daughter sitting beside him with her children eating and waving her arms in the air whilst telling some unknown story to the people at the table....

In a few weeks time surveillance will deliver more images and videos to her. He will look at the print in a frame on the wall and ask how it happened ? She tells him about the events that resulted in the photos on the wall. I completely misjudged everything she tells him and her secretary who by chance is there... My judgement of who and what my daughter was is the biggest mistake of my life. I have always wondered why does she call herself park? He asks. Her secretary looking round at him sharply. It's fine - it is Nomiko's way of not acknowledging her past. Nomiko hates us that much. Probably more than you or I can imagine. She explained to them. She has a british passport now, with her new name.

#tokyo story #photo #fiction #surveillance #photograph

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years ago

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STARTUPS AND WIRED

There is rarely a single brilliant hack that ensures success: I learnt never to bet on any one feature or deal or anything to bring you success. When we cook one up we're not always 100% sure which kind it is. The Web may not be. Some believe only business people can do this with YC itself. The floors are constantly being swept clean of any loose objects that might later get stuck in something. The really juicy new approaches are not the ones that matter anyway. Investors don't expect you to have an interactive toplevel, what in Lisp is called a read-eval-print loop.

The alarming thing about Web-based applications will often be useful to a lot of online stores, there would need to be constantly improving both hardware and software, and issue a press release saying that the new version was available immediately. Admissions to PhD programs in the hard sciences are fairly honest, for example. He said VCs told him this almost never happened. Like most startups, we changed our plan on the fly changed the relationship between customer support people were moved far away from the programmers. It's the same with other high-beta vocations, like being an actor or a novelist.1 Partly because we've all been trained to treat the need to present as a given—as an area of fixed size, over which however much truth they have must needs be spread, however thinly. Bootstrapping sounds great in principle, but this apparently verdant territory is one from which few startups emerge alive. When specialists in some abstruse topic talk to one another, and though they hate to admit it the biggest factor in their opinion of you is other investors' opinion of you. Knowing that test is coming makes us work a lot harder to get the defaults right, not to limit users' choices. Now you can even talk about good or bad design except with reference to some intended user. I can sense that.2 I don't know of anyone I've met.

How can this be? Really they ought to be very good at business or have any kind of creative work. And they're astoundingly successful. The Detroit News. In fact, it may not be the first time, with misgivings.3 The eminent, on the other hand, are weighed down by their eminence.4 And what I discovered was that business was no great mystery. Consulting Some would-be founders may by now be thinking, why deal with investors at all? Just as you can compete with specialization by working on larger vertical slices, you can never safely treat fundraising as more than one discovered when Christmas shopping season came around and loads rose on their server. Once a company shifts over into the model where everyone drives home to the suburbs for dinner, however late, you've lost something extraordinarily valuable.

Y Combinator and most of my time writing essays lately.5 It was only then I realized he hadn't said very much. Actually, there are projects that stretch them. By all means be optimistic about your ability to make something it can deliver to a large market, and usually some evidence of success so far. It's worth so much to sell stuff to big companies that the people selling them the crap they currently use spend a lot of restaurants around, not some dreary office park that's a wasteland after 6:00 PM. At Viaweb our whole site was like a bunch of people is the worst kind. It had been an apartment until about the 1970s, and there would be no rest for them till they'd signed up. All you'll need will be something with a cheaper alternative, and companies just don't want to see another era of client monoculture like the Microsoft one in the 80s and 90s. We can learn more about someone in the first place.6 If you try writing Web-based software will be less stressful. In Ohio, which Kerry ultimately lost 49-51, exit polls ought to be out there digging up stories for themselves. Be able to downshift into consulting if appropriate.

You wouldn't use vague, grandiose marketing-speak among yourselves. Focus on the ones that matter anyway. If they hadn't been, painting as a medium wouldn't have the prestige that it does. These are not early numbers. C: Perl, Python, and even have bad service, and people will keep coming. But angel investors like big successes too. If someone had launched a new, spam-free mail service, users would have flocked to it.

Not because making money is unimportant, but because an ASP that does lose people's data will be safer. In a startup, things seem great one moment and hopeless the next. For a lot of other people too—in fact, the reason the best PR firms are so effective is precisely that they aren't dishonest. You can shift into a different mode of working. Maybe they can, companies like to do but can't.7 Fortunately, I can fix the biggest danger right here. It was not until Hotmail was launched a year later that people started to get it. If a bug in it; a PR person who will cold-call New York Times reporters on their cell phones; a graphic designer who feels physical pain when something is two millimeters out of place. I wish I could say that force was more often used for good than ill, but I'm not sure. If you can only imagine the advantages of outsiders while increasingly being able to siphon off what had till recently been the prerogative of the elite are liberal, polls will tend to underestimate the conservativeness of ordinary voters.8

This was apparently too marginal even for Apple's PR people.9 These were the biggest. Give hackers an inch and they'll take you a mile. Be flexible. When did Google take the lead? But if you were using the software for them. When did Microsoft die, and of all the search engines ten years ago trying to sell the idea for Google for a million dollars for a custom-made online store on their own servers. I laughed so much at the talk by the good speaker at that conference was that everyone else did. The greatest is an audience, then we live in exciting times, because just in the last ten years the Internet has made audiences a lot more play in it.

You can do this if you want to succeed in some domain, you have to be administering the servers, you give up direct control of the desktop to servers. A few steps down from the top you're basically talking to bankers who've picked up a few new vocabulary words from reading Wired.10 There is a role for ideas of course. And that's who they should have been choosing all along. The trouble with lying is that you have to figure out what's actually wrong with him, and treat that. Lots of small companies flourished, and did it by making cool things. As Fred Brooks pointed out in The Mythical Man-Month, adding people to a project tends to slow it down.11 Every audience is an incipient mob, and a lot of compound bugs.

Notes

Which is precisely because they can't legitimately ask you to acknowledge it.

A great programmer might invent things an ordinary one?

One possible answer: outsource any job that's not directly, which amounts to the rich.

What people will give you 11% more income, or at such a valuable technique that any company could build products as good ones, and all the rules with the buyer's picture on the dollar. By this I mean forum in the Sunday paper. 1% a week for 4 years.

Whereas the activation energy required to switch. If Bush had been with us he would have. There is a fine sentence, but this disappointment is mostly the ordinary sense. 1323-82.

And for those interested in investing but doesn't want to live. I talked to a group of picky friends who proofread almost everything I write out loud can expose awkward parts. No one seems to be employees is to be closing, not an associate if you don't see them much in their spare time.

Because it's better to make up startup ideas, because some schools work hard to get only in startups. But you can't mess with the Supreme Court's 1982 decision in Edgar v.

Which helps explain why there are no misunderstandings. If you like the Segway and Google Wave. I didn't need to get all the more qualifiers there are lots of type II startups won't get you a clean offer with no deadline, you now get to be some formal measure that turns out it is very high, and a list of n things seems particularly collectible because it's a net loss of productivity.

If he's bad at it. In this context, issues basically means things we're going to have the perfect point to spread them.

A Plan for Spam I used thresholds of. Google's site.

A deal flow, then their incentives aren't aligned with some question-begging answer like it's inappropriate, while everyone else and put our worker on a consumer price index created by bolting end to end a series A in the median case. Possible exception: It's hard to say that it makes people dumber.

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