#my coworker is giving me a table and chairs and I’m giving her the dryer from my current house

[coffinlid]

Opportunities keep falling into my lap and I think it’s crazy how #blessed I am. I was scrambling for a place to live after the breakup and the funeral home was like “hey lol btw we have an empty apartment above this other location” ……………………….,,….

Reader, rent is $200 and I don’t have to pay utilities. WHAT??? And my friends that I’ve made in this state are jumping up to help me clean the place before I move in and donate furniture or whatever I may need. This is crazy. Never have things fallen so perfectly in place for me before. GOOD THINGS COMING!!!!!

[truecobblepot]

2:26 AM

brew talks: another fic, this time set in pre relationship era🫣. thanks to the one and only @multicolorlou for emotional support and encouraging me to keep making more content (and obviously for giving me more ideas) – ILY POOKIE🥰💗‼️

knocking on the door, followed by the soft ring bell, pulled William Steve out from sleep. he rubbed his face and stood up after a moment going towards the door. on his way he glanced over the clock. 2:26 AM. great. he frowned while opening the door; although his grimace disappeared as soon as he looked down, noticing short woman, soaked wet from the rain. her hair that was previously neatly curled now sticking to her face, hands awkwardly pressed against her sides, small bag on one of her shoulders. her dress also not in the best condition as rain stained it completely, now the fabric sticking uncomfortably to her body. and her glasses fully covered in rain drops - he noticed, as she looked up awkwardly.

“sorry i was, uhh… late for my bus and i didn’t wanted to wait a few hours for another one in the rain and i know only you in the area-“

William Steve frowned, but in a more worried way this time, moving to the side, gently pulling her inside by her shoulder.

“Nela, come on… you’ll get sick.”

she gave him a small, thin smile, quickly coming in. she tried to desperately fix her appearance but dropped the attempt as soon as she felt that her wet hands made her hair look even more messy.

“wait in the living room, i’ll be right back.”

William Steve said softly, still a bit sleepy. She knew her way around his house so well by now. she visited him many times; for coffee, work or to take care of his place when her ‘favourite coworker’ was away.

she stood awkwardly near his couch, not wanting to stain it with her wet clothes. she turned towards him as he came back with a towel, shirt and a pair of dress pants, holding them out towards her.

“go change, you can put your clothes in the dryer until you’ll have to go. maybe they’ll dry a bit until then.” he rubbed his chin, giving her a small smile.

she nodded in return and after kicking off her heels she quickly rushed towards the bathroom, changing into borrowed clothes and leaving her dress to dry. she came back still softly drying her hair with a towel.

“thank you and- i’m sorry, i know it’s late-“

“it’s okay.” he smiled as he interrupted her apology, not even letting her to finish it; leaning against the back of the couch he stood next to. “tea? coffee?”

“tea, please.” she smiled gratefully yet still a bit awkwardly, sitting on the couch as he entered the kitchen to pour the liquid.

“what happened?” he asked as he set down a cup of warm tea in front of her on the coffee table.

“i wanted to leave the party sooner, messed up the time when my bus arrives… and it started to rain.” she explained sipping on the drink.

ah. yes, the party. company party william was supposed to attend before he cancelled last minute. he frowned.

“i thought you weren’t going?” he asked and she just shrugged in response.

“yeah. i thought the party would be better, but it was a bit too much… and i got bored halfway through so-“

“i’m sorry it didn’t turned out how you expected it to.” he sat down in the chair next to her.

“that’s okay… i don’t like parties and people mindlessly drinking all night anyway…” she scoffed at the memory of their mutual coworkers tonight. William Steve just continued to frown.

“so… why did you go in the first place?” he asked in further confusion.

“well- you were supposed to be there too.” she looked up at him.

“oh. ohh.” his expression softened as he straightened form his hunched position. finally realising.

“yeah…” she smiled awkwardly and looked down again at her tea before taking another sip.

“i’m sorry. i should’ve told you.”

“no, that’s okay.” she shrugged, smiling softly. “i should go soon-“

“no, that’s—“ he stood up before she did, placing his hands on her shoulders to keep her on the couch. “—that’s okay, i’ll get bed ready for you. it’s already late, have some sleep and I’ll drive you back home in the morning… alright?” he looked down at her, slightly hunched to her level.

she smiled, nodding a bit as she leaned back against the couch, cup of tea in her hands.

“alright.”

William Steve nodded, already going upstairs to change sheets for her.

“hey Steve?” she called after him, stopping him for a moment as he turned around before reaching the stairs. “thank you. i mean it.”

he just smiled warmly at her before turning around to go prepare the bed for her, leaving her with a soft smile on her face as she thanked herself for going to that damn party after all.

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 4)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2652 Warnings: none

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​ Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 3 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

The past few days have been exactly what you wanted a month ago, peacefully silent, yet somehow it doesn’t feel right. You were able to finish your paper in record time, fully concentrating on your work but part of you missed the incessant music from next door.

There was an odd comfort knowing Bucky was home playing, and with the knowledge of his musical talent you now wanted to hear what he would come up with. Getting to know him briefly was… well, it was something. It could have gone a lot better if you didn’t stick your foot in your mouth.

Bringing up the music related noise was one thing but how you ever managed to bring up the noise of his “nighttime activities” made you wish you could have vanished into thin air, never to be seen again. You had done your best to avoid Bucky ever since, rushing out of or into your apartment as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure how you could ever face him again but you couldn’t deny that a small part wanted to.

Facing your shared wall you imagined where Bucky might be, picturing him on his couch, lounging across the cushions of the soft leather as he leisurely plucks away at the guitar strings, sounding out a melody. Or was he more focused, sitting upright and gliding his dexterous fingers across his keyboard? Was he at his computer editing his melodies? Was he thinking of you?

The silence was deafening. With your palm pressed against the wall you began to lean in with your ear, hoping you could hear anything. With a slight gasp you jumped back, there was noise but not any coming from next door. Your phone buzzed against the coffee table, with Steve’s face illuminating the screen.

“Hey Steve!”

“Guess who I saw going into Sweetgreen?” The strain in his voice clued you in to the right guess, Lillian. “Yup, and she wasn’t alone … yeah she’s still with Jason, for now,” he muttered under his breath, expecting her to cheat again.

“I’m sorry Steve. You know you deserve better than her, right? I know you know this.”

Steve sighed heavily. Even though he knew what you were saying was right, seeing his ex still hurt a lot.

“Thanks Y/N, I do know that, doesn’t mean I’m going to torture myself though and go in there so is it cool if I pick us up something else? I’m in the mood for carbs.”

Chuckling at Steve’s admission you couldn’t help but agree, salads were great and all but all this Bucky stress you’ve put on yourself definitely makes you crave heavier foods.

“Tacos?”

“Mmmm, yes tacos! Extra guac please Rogers!”

You set your table in preparation for Steve to come over with food, remembering to throw your wallet on the table to give him money. The last time he came over you had forgotten, being so caught up in reliving the terrible memory of your interaction with Bucky. Steve might have been right, if he handled talking to Bucky maybe you wouldn’t be so worried about running into him.

“Sam tells me you guys spoke,” Steve said, digging a tortilla chip into the container of guacamole.

You chewed quickly to swallow the bite you had taken. “Why do you always ask me a question mid-chew?” you joked. “But yes, we did speak and…” your voice lifted with anticipation as Steve’s eyes widened, waiting for you to continue. “He gave me the number for Elena Rodriguez. She’s head of the social work department and…”

“Oh my god Y/N please just tell me!” Steve begged.

“I set up an interview with her next week!”

Steve’s eyes crinkled with his excited smile though it faded shortly after as you nervously mused about fitting the internship into your schedule.

“One step at a time,” Steve offered with a small laugh.

He’s right. One step at a time. You didn’t even go on the interview yet, you might not even be hired for it; the thought of which worries you even more, but you remind yourself to breathe and take things as they come.

The elevator ascends slowly, filled with your eager coworkers looking to join the rush home. As it lets off on the ground floor, everyone dashes to the heavy glass doors as you leisurely stroll to the security desk.

Mr. Lee had a big smile on his face as he seemed to be in the middle of telling Steve a story. Slowly you approached the desk, seeing Steve smiling down at something in his hands.

“That’s what I said but Howard was ahead of his time. A comic book movie…” Mr. Lee chuckled. “It didn’t work in ’47 but it sure would be a hit now.”

“Oh, what’s this?” you asked.

Steve held up a sealed copy of a comic book, Kid Colt, which you were unfamiliar with.

Leaning over the desk towards you Mr. Lee spoke, “Tony found that for me in his father’s things. That’s how Howard and I met. He wanted to make a movie outta this. Stark Pictures. He never did though, the whole thing became a big tax write off.”

“I didn’t know you knew Howard Stark.”

“Oh yeah,” Mr. Lee boasted humbly, “Since I was seventeen. He was a good man. You know he was so proud to finally be a father. He worked a lot, probably more than he should have but he had Maria and the nannies bring little Tony over to the office. Tony Stank I’d call him. Oh boy, you could smell those diapers from a mile away it was so bad.”

Hearing Mr. Lee talk about the head of your company so freely like this made you laugh. It also made Tony Stark seem a bit more human. As far as you knew he was a workaholic who may or may not be seeing Pepper Potts. You’ve caught the way she looks at him though, with an extra twinkle in her eye or how she hesitates for the smallest moment to gather herself before going into his office.

“Tony Stank, that’s amazing,” you laughed, wondering if Pepper has ever heard this story before. “Well, have a good night Mr. Lee!”

Steve came around to the front of the desk standing tall, filling out his blue uniform with his broad stature. It was unfair how he could pig out on food with you and not show any sign of it. Meanwhile, your stomach has been rumbling all day from last night’s dinner.

“I’m on the late shift today,” he frowned.

“Poor Stevie,” you joked, wiping an imaginary tear from your eye. “Not that my night will be any better, I’ve got a shit ton of laundry to do.”

“Enjoy the sweaty laundromat then.”

“Oh I will,” you said sarcastically.

The steady hum of the running washing machines drowned out the sound of the newscast coming from a small TV mounted on the wall. It’s muggier inside than out, and even with the door open you can’t escape the permeating smell of cheap soap and mildew.

The wash cycle is nearly over so you move from the metal chair you had been uncomfortably sitting on, listening to music to pass the time, and lazily stroll over to the machine that is spinning your clothes. Quarters jingle in your pocket as you walk, ready to be placed in the dryer as you wait some more. You hate laundry day.

It’s crowded too, with all the chairs taken and other people leaning against the wall. A few kids were running around screaming, not helping their tired mother who looked too exhausted to even reprimand them as she folded all their clothes.

No one looked happy to be there, not even the attendants who had to apologize to the screaming man who didn’t understand why he couldn’t use one of their reserved machines. It was a cut throat world on laundry night, with other patrons fighting to stake claim for the next free machine.

A loud buzz lets you know your clothes are done, you wheel a basket over and open the door. The shadow of the clearly impatient person waiting for your machine blocks the dull light from the fluorescents above so you hope to grab everything quickly without dropping anything on the dirty linoleum floor.

“It’s all yours– oh.” Your mouth hung open, not expecting to see Bucky standing beside you. “H-hey.”

“Hey Y/N. Didn’t want to startle you,” he sheepishly said. “Uhmmm, is this free?” Bucky gestured to the obviously open machine.

You nodded quickly. Not knowing what else to say you stared awkwardly at the basket of damp clothes and said, “I’m gonna dry these.” Smooth.

Turning around you let out a deep breath and worried over what would happen next. It would be extremely rude to ignore Bucky and continue to listen to music. He hasn’t done anything wrong to you, not this week at least, but you were too scared to risk saying something stupid, again.

It would take at least a half hour for your clothes to dry so you put on a brave face and decided to walk back towards Bucky. Dressed in casual black shorts and a white t-shirt, his smooth, toned arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned against a support column, squinting to read the poorly transcribed closed captioning on the TV.

“Hey neighbor,” you said, offering a small friendly wave as he turned his head.

Bucky smiled, standing upright as he turned to face you completely to greet you back. He looked genuinely happy to see you, which made you feel even worse for how you left things.

“I’m sorry if I made things weird the other day. I didn’t mean to,” you blurted out before your brain gave any thought to see if this was a good idea.

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, the gaze of his ocean blue eyes staring right through you. “Don’t worry about it,” he said with a cavalier air.

“So how’s the music coming along?” You were truly curious, having not heard any sound.

“It’s not bothering you, right?” Bucky winked.

“No, not at all,” you smiled softly. “Are you still working on that one piece?”

Bucky asked which one and you hummed the tune. Closing your eyes you missed the way his own lit up in delight hearing you repeat his melody.

“I know I complained about the noise but honestly it was so beautiful,” your voice lightened and he felt the weight of emotion even through the simple way you described it. “Maybe that’s why I couldn’t focus.”

Bucky adjusted his weight, needing to ground himself after your words made him feel as light as air. His music meant so much to him, working tirelessly to bring to life the sound he envisioned in his mind, to know that the unfinished piece had such an effect already made his heart swell with pride.

He developed his music like a chef crafting a recipe. Each instrument was a different ingredient, carefully selected notes were gathered on the counter, waiting to come together in a symphonic skillet. The flavors of music combine, heating up together the piano is covered in the spice of an electric guitar, with the drumming rhythm simmering beneath the surface as the sound of strings are poured generously over the top.

In the end the dish is a delicious feast for the ears but here you were, happily devouring the unfinished ingredient in its raw form.

“Yeah…” his voice came out breathless. Catching himself Bucky cleared his throat. “It’s actually for an upcoming video game. I can’t say which, but it’s part of an emotional scene when the main character finds his family is gone.”

“I can sense the depth of it.”

“That’s not even the best part,” he explained as his face grew with a wide smile. Bucky became lost in describing the emotion of the violins that would come in. “They’re the voice of the character and when he’s lost everything I have them coming in, crying out in pain. It’s sharp and strong, and beautifully tragic.”

Listening to Bucky describe his music resonated in your soul. You saw the complete love and passion he had for it and once again you felt terrible about asking him to stop.

“I’d love to hear it, if that’s okay.”

You looked at him with hopeful eyes, and Bucky smiled, nodding before he spoke his answer. He couldn’t wait for you to hear everything together.

You passed the time by getting to know each other a little more. Bucky has a younger sibling named Rebecca who moved west to work as an avian veterinarian in a bird sanctuary.

“My parents are lost without them around,” Bucky joked. “Do you know how hard it is to try to explain how to use Skype to them over the phone?”

“Oh believe me, I know. Somehow my mom always calls at the worst time to have me explain the most basic function on her phone that she already knows because we’ve gone over it a million times but…” You threw your hands up as Bucky joined in with your laughter.

When your clothes were dry Bucky gave you some space to fold them alone which you appreciated, not wanting to showcase your intimate items in front of him. He was still a stranger, sort of, but you were glad you were getting to know him.

Checking the time you realized it was on the late side and you still needed to shower before bed. Your clothes were packed neatly into a laundry bag, well most of them were at least. One sock managed to get eaten by the dryer to your dismay, and you hoped its pair was somewhere on your floor having fallen out as you prepped the laundry.

Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you gripped the bottle of detergent with your other hand and walked towards Bucky.

“Hey,” you called out to Bucky who lifted his head from his phone. “I’ve got a few things to do tonight still so can I take a rain check on hearing your music?”

“Yeah, of course.” Bucky did his best to mask his disappointment but he understood. He noticed the slump of your shoulders, balancing the laundry bag high on one side and letting your other limb hang low with the weight of the heavy bottle.

“Do you want me to carry that back?” he asked.

“Oh, no it’s okay, I can manage.”

The apartment was only two blocks away, two long blocks but still, you didn’t want to inconvenience Bucky even though judging by the curve of his biceps it wouldn’t be a problem.

Bucky walked with you to the front of the laundromat as you smiled and said goodnight.

“Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered, watching as you walked down the sidewalk until he could no longer see you in the crowd.

The words stayed on his lips like they were always meant to be there and Bucky has a brief flash of a life he’s never thought about.

A warm bed, made even warmer by the figure curled against him. His breath syncs with theirs and he’s at peace. His heart beats to the rhythm of love and his lips purse together to plant a soft lingering kiss on their forehead. A smile secures itself on his face because he’s truly happy; surrounded by the comforting feeling knowing that when he wakes up that person, his love, will be by his side.

The machine buzzes at the end of its cycle dragging Bucky back to a reality that has him gasping for breath. He steps outside for a minute for air, needing to clear his mind of the vision that seemed so real it scared him; for better or worse he can’t quite say.

PART 5

[haosvteen]

“you want me to kill them? i’m free tuesday” with jihoon

requests: open

jihoon x reader

~ - fluff

word count: 1.1k

masterlist

a/n: omg i’m sorry for using this gif but i just had to 

looking at the clock on you desk, you let out a sigh of relief and drop your head to your hands, rubbing your temples

it has been the longest day ever and it was only 12:30…at least it was time for your lunch break

your boss had been giving you more and more work every minute, it was going to be impossible to complete all of it by their deadlines

closing up the file you had been working on, you tossed it into the stack with the others and slowly walked over to the break room to grab your lunch

“hey, y/n, i heard the boss has been piling you up with work,” one of your coworkers said as she took another bite of her sandwich

you groan and shut the refrigerator door, “yes and that’s why i’m going to have to work through lunch”

“ugh, i’m sorry,” she responds. “well if you need anything, just let us know…we know that you get too much work, we’re here to help if you need it”

“thank you, i’ll let you know!” you smile at her and your other coworkers and head back to your desk

unpacking your lunch and popping a blueberry in your mouth, you decide to check your phone

with a smile on your face you log into your computer to check your emails

you couldn’t help but keep looking at the clock every fifteen minutes for the rest of the day

you were just so excited to go home and relax with jihoon

he knew how much stress you were under

and you weren’t the type to rush through your work just to get it done faster

you took your time because you wanted it to be good

you wanted to be proud of what you completed

and jihoon understood that

there were many nights that you spoke about this as you were cuddled up in bed

he would tell you about how difficult it was for him sometimes when making songs because he wanted them to be perfect

often times, you would bring him food to the studio late at night or plan a relaxing day for him to just take a break

and that’s exactly what he was doing for you tonight

you were tapping your foot and staring at the clock intensely as it read 4:59…just a few more seconds

when the clock struck 5:00 you immediately grabbed your coat and bag

“have a good rest of your night everyone!!” you called out at you exited the office

once you arrived home, you sluggishly walked up the stairs to your apartment

the short burst of energy you had at the end of work was gone and you were exhausted

you felt like you could just flop into bed and sleep for a week

turning he doorknob and walking in, the apartment was filled with the smell of your favorite meal

after taking your shoes off and setting down your bag, you round the corner to the kitchen with a curious face

you’re met with jihoon setting up your small dining room table with platters of all your favorites

“ah, there you are,” he says with a smile, walking over to you and wrapping you in a hug

you allow your body to relax in his arms and let out a heavy sigh

after staying that way for a few moments with jihoon stroking your hair to relax you, he grabs your hand, “come on, let’s eat..i tried my best to make all of your favorite foods”

he pulls your chair out for you and you sit down, “i guess giving you a key to my apartment was a good decision” you giggle

laughing,, he serves you some food and you dig in

after spending the meal talking about your days and other mindless subjects, you grab you plate and begin to take it to the kitchen to start washing

“no no no,” jihoon says coming after you. “no, go rest on the couch, i got this.”

“jihoon, no, you don’t have to-“ you begin

“seriously! go relax”

sighing, you give him a kiss on the cheek

you go lay on the couch, scrolling through your phone for a while and end up drifting off to sleep

you’re softly awoken by jihoon caressing your face saying, “jagi..come on”

“huh?” you respond

“come on,” he repeats, outstretching his hand to you

he leads you to the bathroom where you find candles lit, filling the space with your favorite scent

the bathtub is full of water and there are some rose petals scattered on the surface

jihoon stands behind you, playing with the hem of your shirt

you reach down and begin to take it off with him helping

he then begins massaging your shoulders, causes a soft moan of relief to come from you

letting out a quiet giggle, jihoon starts to leave small kisses on your shoulder leading up your neck

between kisses he says, “relax…you deserve this”

with that he wraps you in a hug from behind and gives you a squeeze, planting a kiss on your cheek, and leaving you to relax

as you submerged yourself in the warm water after undressing, you couldn’t help but think of how lucky you were to have jihoon as your boyfriend

he always knew the right thing to do

he knew you

better than anyone

smiling to yourself, you allowed your tight muscles to feel relief

once you were finished (and the water had basically turned cold), you got out, changing into the big t-shirt and shorts jihoon left for you to change into

walking into your bedroom, you found him tucking in the bottom of your blankets at the end of the bed

noticing you just walked in, he smiled, “i put all of your sheets and blankets in the dryer so that they’re warm..”

sleepily, you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his waist

“thank you,” you say into his chest, taking in his sweet scent

“ah, no need to thank me,” he responds, resting his head on top of yours

you pull away and look at him with sleepy eyes

“early night?” he says, telling how exhausted you are

you lean up, softly kissing him

“yes, definitely an early night,” you respond

walking over to your respective sides of the bed, you both get in under the blankets

jihoon holds you in his arms, your head on his chest

“i love you,” you say as you’re on the brink of sleep

the last thing you hear before you drift off is jihoon whispering, “i love you more”

[rodypowderedmilk]

hehe @tonguetiedmisfit1

Del remembers being a teenager and desperately wanting to shop at Victoria Secret, like the girls with the beautiful bras in the laundry room. She wore Hanes bras from Target, and never felt comfortable or beautiful enough to join in with the confident strutting of the girls with the lacy bralettes and push up bras. Not to mention the imagined embarrassment of her mom doing the laundry on Sundays and having to move the lacy, sexy bras or underwear from the washer to the dryer. The situation was shudder inducing- at best. 

But she still thought about it and admired the window displays from the lingerie shops. In her brave moments she browsed the online shops, looking at all the pretty lace and gauzy material, the fancy embroidery and intricate straps. She wondered what it might look like on her body. 

Now, almost a real adult and going through her masters program in the shining and steaming city of New York, Del does her own laundry and has her own washing machine. Well. A washing machine that she doesn’t share with her mother. New York certainly has more malls and outlets than the midwest, and the copious amounts of advertisements- billboards, big screens, and window displays had been something to get used to. They’d become the starry night sky of home. On full moons, it used to light up the town, back home. Now every night in the city, there are no stars to be seen, but the light of the city is akin to every beautiful full moon. 

It was the second semester of her freshmen graduate program when she’d been on her walk home from campus, gyro remains in her hand from a late lunch when she’d walked past that great big Victoria’s Secret store. She’d taken one look at those glamorous black and white photos with the airbrushed girls and their [double decker titties] and said to herself, today is the motherfucking day. 

Del remembers wondering what Dr. Banner might think if he knew what she were using her internship money for, and at first it was hard to reconcile what seemed like such a frivolous and needless purchase with her current lifestyle. High school days were filled with going along for snack runs and declining to buy those chips she wanted, and trips to the mall wondering whether or not to use that three year old gift card from Auntie Margaret because maybe something even better will come along and I’ll really, really need it. 

Things have changed a bit from then. 

You keep trying to talk yourself out of it and the inside of your head is beginning to feel like a high school debate team meeting, except none of the arguments are well thought out or succinct. It’s mostly just panicked half-thoughts and repeated curse words. 

It’s, of course, not your first Avenger’s party- not even by a long shot. There’s been Superbowl Parties, March Madness Parties, dinner parties- sushi, pizza, and chocolate fountain alike. There've been drinking parties, and New Year’s parties, and then, of course, the Just Because parties. You are no stranger to the party planning expertise of Tony Stark. 

Tonight seems to be one of the ‘Just Because’ parties, with all the staff from the upper floors of the tower invited. Which means some of your coworkers from the lab floors. And, of course, Tony Stark who is a bloodhound. 

So, while the strappy piece of lingerie that is currently laying on the bed seemed like a good idea, it now seems very… rash. 

It’s black and… risque, to say the least, and you’ve already picked out a dress to wear over it. With any luck, no one will notice what you’re wearing underneath. But the thought of anyone finding out what you’ve got on is enough to send your head spinning and your stomach alight with aggravated nerves. You reach out to touch it, one little pat, and groans. It shouldn’t be this hard, should it!?

“Hey, uh Del?” 

You jump, hearing Bruce call from the other room and clutch at your chest which is still damp from your shower. 

“Are you almost ready?” he calls out. 

“Shiiit,” you curse to yourself through gritted teeth, lightly pounding your first against your forehead, “UhhrrrrAH, fuck- Yeah just a minute, I’ll be right there!” You yell. 

“Fuck.”

The ride up to the Party Deck, as Stark has so affectionately dubbed it, is spent trying to get your legs to stop shaking. Not to mention the, ahem, underclothes you’re wearing are wedgied so far up your ass you think if you were still a virgin, you might have just been deflowered. 

Bruce reaches out and grabs your hand, bumping his forehead against your shoulder, “Hey, you look really nice.”

The struggle to hide a squeal or a moan is immense and you finds your cheeks growing hotter despite how long you’ve been with this man. 

“Thanks, I- uh, thanks,” you give him a short smile. 

The elevator dings, opening, and Bruce places his hand on your back. You relax into him, grateful for his warm touch. God, he’s just a calming presence, and for a second you want to ride the elevator back up to his floor and just.. 

He tenses up beside you, and you realize his hand is resting just over where all the straps conjoin. You fight the urge to whine and collapse from embarrassment. He looks over at you, eyes wide. You’re hoping no one is looking at who’s just arrived. 

“Uh, surprise?” 

When you’ve made it away from the entrance, coaxing the shocked Bruce Banner beside you, he holds onto your arm. 

“Are you-” he blows air out through his mouth, and groans a little bit under his breath, “Mmmmm Del….”

All you can really do is whimper and squeak and face plant into his shoulder, making various embarrassed noises. “I’m sorry, I just! I got the idea and…”

Bruce runs his hands over your back, probably attempting to soothe you, and consequently feeling the rest of straps up and down your body. 

You pull back and look at his face, trying to gauge what he’s thinking. He swallows thickly, “Yeah.” 

He reaches down and absentmindedly adjusts himself, eyes still locked on you, his other hand still on your back. You squeak, “Bruce!” 

“Huh- oh, what? S’ just… tight.” 

You faceplant back into his shoulder, pretending to sob, “Ohmygod.”

He chuckles, “No, no, it’s good, I… I really like it.”

“Obviously,” you grumble. 

He holds your shoulders, pushing you back. He holds your face, “I really like it,” and presses his groin into your stomach. You can feel him hard under his pants, and it lights up your stomach, and deeper, between your legs where you’ve become hot and swollen- the arousal zinging through your body quicker than lightning. You hold back a whimper. 

He kisses your nose, “Now, let’s go see if we can find me a chair… or a pillow.” 

A snort escapes you, unattractively, and he shoots you a fond smile. 

The first 20 minutes pass without fanfare, although your stomach remains a livewire of energy and nerves, snapping like crackling fire and embers. Bruce sits beside you on the incredibly posh and low to the ground couch that Tony for some unthinkable reason has deemed acceptable for the Party Deck. Some of your coworkers are milling around and have stopped to come say hello to you and Dr. Banner. You fight a blush every time they do, what with Bruce’s hand comfortingly on your thigh, and his blazer awkwardly draped over his lap.

You’re worried at any second there’s going to be some impossible breeze and everyone is going to see your underthings, or maybe the material is actually see-through or thinner than you thought, and everyone is going around and whispering about what you’ve got on. 

You’re trying to hold onto the arousal that you felt moments ago, but are only grasping to the tail end of it, like a rope falling out of your hands. The longer you sit there, the more anxious you become. Until, of course, Bruce’s hand begins creeping up your thigh. 

You shoot him a look, and at first he looks bashful, but as you lean further into his side, he continues. His hand moves over one of the straps around your thigh and you can feel him breathing in shakily beside you. “Jesus, Del,” he says, breathlessly. His grip on your skin tightens, and you feel yourself growing hotter, thinking of the way he revels in the shape and feel of your thighs. He pulls at his pants again, looking around the room surreptitiously. “Ohmygod, Bruce,” you whine, tilting your head onto his shoulder. 

“Ah- I’m sorry! It’s- it's tight.”

You can’t help but nervously laugh, the noise coming out a bit hysterically. 

“‘And ‘s your fault,” he rumbles. That alone is enough to make you want to hide in the crook of his neck and never come out. 

“I’m sorry,” you whine, drawing out the y at the end. You’re feeling almost like you could cry, you’re so overwhelmed and anxious and hot. 

There’s the noise of a glass ringing, someone tapping their glass to make a toast, silencing the small crowd of the party. 

“Heyo,” Tony says, where he’s decided to stand on top of some impossibly designed coffee table, “drinks are served,” he announces, elongating his r and pronouncing the -ed ending. 

The crowd heads over to the bar, mostly leaving you and Bruce alone in your area of the floor. 

“You look like you could use a drink,” Bruce jokes, stroking his hand over your jaw, “you’re all red,” he teases, cupping your cheek. 

“Bruuuuce.”

It seems your embarrassment is just turning him on more because he adjusts himself again, actually palming himself this time. 

“Ohmygod, Bruce!” you whisper shout. 

“Wha- I can’t help it! It’s just-” he sighs, “you’re so fucking hot,” he says, almost mournfully. 

You feel like you have a sunburn, your face is so red- probably unflatteringly so, “Uhm, do you wanna… do you want me to…” you swallow, feeling his intent gaze on you, “you want me to, uhm, help?”

“Oh my god,” he mutters, almost to himself, “Yes. Yes. Please,” his voice cracks. “Wait, wait, are you sure? Are you sure?”

You’re not, really, but you respond, “Yes, yeah, of course. I offered didn’t I?”

He kisses you, so soft, so sweet, with a little nip, “Hey, you really don’t have to. I can- I can go get a glass of,” he swallows, “of ice, or or, or something, I-”

You stand up, holding his hand in both of yours, “Let’s go,” you pause, “please?”

He stands before you, blazer awkwardly held in front of his crotch.

“Yes. Yes, always.”

You’re pretty sure you two manage to slip away unnoticed by the crowd, and hopefully unnoticed by Stark, who’s ribbing you won’t be able to handle come Monday. 

You slam the door of the bathroom shut behind you, leaning heavily against it. Bruce is panting heavily, facing you and staring at you with the intense longing of a starved lion faced with a field of gisseles. 

“Ohmygod,” you whisper, covering your face with your arms, “oh my god, ohmygod.” You groan into the corner of your elbow. You’re genuinely worried your legs might give out, that feeling coursing through your stomach and between your thighs, turning you molten and shaky- like melting cotton candy about to be blown away into the wind. And then you feel Bruce’s warmth, pressing you into the door behind you with his hips, and caging you in with his hands pressed into the darkwood beside your head. And, god you can’t help but throw your arms around his neck and cling for dear life. Jesus, it’s just a glorified bra. 

“Hey, hey,” he kisses the side of your head, “Hey, baby, you’re okay. Listen, listen, we can go right upstairs, no problem.”

You shake your head, “Mm, no, please, wanna-” you gulp in air, “wanna suck you. Please.”

“Fuck. Fuck,” and he devours your [mouth], thrusting his tongue into your mouth like he wants to taste every inch of you. You can’t help but open up, melt into the door, and make soft whimpering noises- and he, he smiles into your mouth, devilishly amused at your reactions. “Mm, that’s my girl, huh?” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, the sharp press of his teeth making you gasp and grasp at the salt and pepper hair at the back of his head. 

His hands are under your dress, pulling and kneading at the skin of your thighs, hungrily feeling for the straps you’ve hidden under your clothes. 

“Mphm- wait, wait,” you pull back from him for a second, trying to get some oxygen to your brain and knowing that if you don’t pull his hands away from you, you’ll get fucked bare ass on the glass sink of Tony Stark’s ridiculously lavish party floor. The- it’s- underwear doesn't really go with the set you’ve bought. You’re surprised your dress hasn’t already got a wet spot on it from when you were sitting on that couch- and it’s, it’s made your thighs tacky with your own wetness. So, no, you don’t think Bruce- or you for that matter- will be able to contain yourselves.

Your hands are shaking as you try to unbutton his pants, weak with desire for him. “I just,” gasp, “gotta get my mouth on you,” you get out, finally getting the button. He shoves your hands away unzipping the rest and pulling his underwear under his cock, “Here, here, that’s it.”

It’s thick enough that you never quite get over the difficulty of getting your mouth around it, on it. Your mouth is spread wide enough for you to feel a tug at the corner of your mouth, a considerable stretch. And you never had a thing for big dicks before, but Bruce’s makes your mouth water, wrapping your lips around it and massaging your tongue against the head. 

You remember your first time with him, timid, and awkward, but so fucking hot to see him above you in pleasure. You’re not much better than that first time- can’t get the length very far down, and you’ve not mastered any intricate technique, but you’ve got a wet mouth and an eager disposition.

“Yeah, that’s my girl, look at you, so perfect. Damn, how’d I get so lucky, fuck, god you’re so beautiful.”

And that’s your other favorite part. No matter how poor of a job you do, Bruce seems to eat it up, praising you to hell and back, his mouth running faster than he can keep up with. It sends pleasure down your spine, tingling pleasantly against your neck and cradling you in warmth. It makes you suck on him harder, makes you whimper, makes you take him deep enough to gag. 

He reaches down, cradling your face between his palms, “mm, good gir- ah mm, good girl,” he’s got your hands in your head, half trying to pet you, and half trying to hold on to something. He’s got his head thrown back against the bathroom door, and that makes you swallow, and whimper, setting off vibrations against his skin. He’s hot and heavy in your mouth, hard and perfect. You can taste his wetness on the back of your tongue, and goddamn it’s just… fantastic. 

“That’s it, uhnn, fuck, that mouth, jesus you’re so good. So hot.

Look at you- how lucky am I, how lucky am I, hm?” 

He holds his hand under your chin, coaxing you to look him in the eyes, “You want this, baby?” he asks, checking in with you more than goading, and pushing his hips into you a little bit. You nod, or nod as much as you can with a mouthful of cock. He presses into you slowly, pulls out and then in again, “Oh, oh mm, baby, shit-” you suck on him harder, “whew, fuck that feels… uhhhhnnnn yeah, go on.

“Here let me hold you,” he says, holding your face and caressing his thumb over your cheek. You get a little too eager, slipping forward and gagging, wanting to feel his touch on your skin. “Gentle, gentle,” he eases, “damn, girl, you really want it, huh?” 

You nod and moan low in your throat. 

“OH, fuck, ahhmfuuuuck, you’re gonna get a lot more than you bargained for really quick, sweetheart, shit.”

And that makes you even more eager, bobbing up and down on his dick, breathing as deep as you can through your nose and letting a few tears roll down your throat. You’ve got your eyes trained on him, ensuring his eyes stay closed. You’re still a bit insecure about how you look giving head, and as far as you're concerned, if his eyes are closed, that means you’re doing a good job- and even better, he can’t see you. 

“Jesus, kid, you trying to make me look bad?” he says, with a little jerk of his hips. You can tell from the tension in his stomach, and the kicking of his dick in your mouth that he’s close. You can feel the tremors of his thighs, and you put in that extra mile.

“Fuck, fuck, slow down, slow down, slow down, oh no, fuck I’m gonna- Fuck, Del, sweetheart, I’m gonna come if you don’t-” you swallow hard, and moan, “you gotta-mmMM” and he comes in your mouth.

[themurphyzone]

All Time Travelers Go to Heaven Ch 15

 So the stuff with the Murphys is pretty much a combination of the scenes with the mother dog and her puppies and the couple that adopts Anne Marie. 

Ch 15- Evening

Balthazar placed the bowls of shredded lettuce and diced tomatoes in the middle of the table, while Brigette cleaned up the stray pieces of cheese. Vinnie had gone upstairs to hang out with the kids, and judging from the laughter, they were having a good time. 

He chose not to disturb them until dinner was ready. Besides, Vinnie had a far better disposition for kids than he did. Collecting Milo’s sweatervest from the dryer, he neatly hung it off the back of a chair. 

“Cavendish, how did you and Dakota meet Milo?” Brigette asked. “If you don’t mind me asking. Did you adopt him?” 

They adopted him all right, but not in the traditional way through dealings with the local CPS and the legal system. He couldn’t exactly communicate that to her though. 

“Yes,” Balthazar replied. “A child shouldn’t have to be raised in such a brutal environment.” 

And he was hiding behind vague statements again. This habit was almost as bad as his watch-grabbing. 

“I see,” Brigette said as she washed a heavy pot. “And I’m sorry if I’m prying too much, but do you know if he was...abused?” 

The last word hung in the air heavily. 

Balthazar grabbed the sweatervest and refolded it just to give his hands something to do. These questions were starting to get a bit invasive for his liking. 

“I...can’t say to which extent,” Balthazar said softly. “But it’s hard to tell at first glance.” 

Brigette said nothing.

An awkward silence settled in the kitchen for a few minutes, Brigette rubbing the same spot of the sink with a kitchen sponge while Balthazar tried to refold the sweatervest so it didn’t wrinkle in the corner. 

It was broken by the sound of a scream and a dull thud from the backyard. Brigette turned the water off, rubbing her hands on a dish towel. “You’ll have to forgive him,” she said with a fond smile. “My husband is always crashing into the backyard on his bike.” 

Balthazar rushed outside to see a man sprawled in the grass, his bike overturned next to him. “Sir! Are you okay?” he asked. 

He groaned in pain. “Mrs. Astric, my wildebeest ate my microscope,” he said dazedly. 

“I can take it from here,” Brigette smiled. “Why don’t you get everyone else to the dinner table? Don’t worry about Martin, at least he was wearing two helmets this time.” 

Balthazar said nothing as he watched her pull the two bike helmets off Martin’s head, hugging him gently. He had a cowlick like Milo. His short, brown hair was like Milo’s. 

Even the nose and eyes were similar. 

Balthazar forced himself to go upstairs before he could think too hard on the resemblance. 

“-and that’s why you should never go undercover at a bar while you have food poisoning from the previous night’s Chinese buffet,” Vinnie finished. 

Balthazar leaned against the wall, unimpressed. “Dakota, that story is highly inappropriate for children,” he said. 

Vinnie responded with a mischievous smirk. “That’s not inappropriate. But I suppose I could tell them about the time you were dreaming about that Hildegarde woman and you suddenly woke up with your hand near my-” 

He crossed the room quickly, hauling Vinnie to his feet and pointing him in the direction of the stairs. “No, we are not speaking of that! Downstairs, now!” 

Vinnie shrugged nonchalantly, heading downstairs. 

“Ahem, my apologies to both of you,” Balthazar said. “Milo, your sweatervest is ready. It’s hanging on a chair by the dining room table.” 

“Great! Tacos, here we come!” Milo exclaimed, following Vinnie. He tripped over the second to last step and landed on his stomach, though he wasted no time in getting back on his feet. 

“Don’t forget to wash your hands, both of you!” Balthazar shouted, prepared to catch and drag them to the nearest sink. Then he caught Sara giving him a strange look. 

“So,” she began. “Are you two married?” 

“W-what?” Balthazar sputtered. “No! Why would I marry Dakota?” 

Sara shrugged. “Well, you two act like an old married couple. No offense.” 

“A bit late for that,” Balthazar muttered. 

“What? Some couples are all mushy and others banter. No biggie if that’s your schtick,” Sara giggled. 

Balthazar shook his head in annoyance. Teenagers. 

Martin recovered somewhat quickly, though there was an ice pack and paper towel tied to the side of his head. Sara ran up and hugged him. “Hey, dad!” she exclaimed. “Rough day at work?” 

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Oh, this? I had another bike crash. Work wasn’t so bad. Bobby’s car got caught underneath a flock of migrating Canadian geese though. Poor man. So are these lovely folks all of your guests, Brigette?” 

Brigette nodded. “This is Cavendish, Dakota, and Milo.” 

Balthazar and Vinnie politely shook hands with him. 

On the other hand, Milo’s head was caught in his sweatervest as he tried to put it on. Balthazar quickly helped him before he could accidentally stumble into any heavy or sharp objects lying around. 

“Thanks!” Milo gasped. 

“Don’t worry. I do the same thing,” Martin said. “Milo, right?” 

As Martin regaled them with his own embarrassing stories, Balthazar was struck by how remarkably similar they looked. He wondered if some parenting instinct had already led them into recognizing their own son. 

“So, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s eat!” Sara exclaimed, grabbing the tortillas from the middle of the table. 

“Sara, what are we forgetting?” Brigette scolded gently. 

Milo took his seat, glancing at Sara in confusion. “My hands are clean,” he said. 

“No, not that. Prayer,” Sara muttered. 

“I’ll lead,” Martin said. 

Martin and Brigette closed their eyes and bowed their heads. Sara clasped her hands together, but she was more focused on the food than the prayer. Vinnie quietly poured himself a glass of soda, sipping it while he waited. Milo and Balthazar looked at each other awkwardly. 

“Dear Lord, thank you for this wonderful meal. We’re truly blessed for having this time together. I ask that you watch over every person at this table. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen,” Martin said reverently. 

Balthazar was just thankful he wasn’t long-winded about it. Time traveling typically left no time to attend to spiritual matters, not that people at the Bureau actually practiced religion. Most of the time, it was faked if they needed to go undercover during a particularly religious time period. 

Sara was the first to the tortillas. She plucked two from the plate before passing them to Vinnie, then starting spooning everything else into them. 

“Good choice in clothing, Milo,” Martin said. “Don’t really see that many kids wearing sweatervests.” 

“Really?” Milo asked with a mouthful of lettuce. 

Sara nodded as she took a large bite of her taco, not caring as the contents spilled out on her plate. “Considered nerd culture, dorky, and uncool years ago. But we reclaimed their honor now! Even if it’s still uncommon with the younger generations. Oh well. We should be trendsetters!” 

“That’s an awful lot of work. I tried making tracksuits trendy a while back, but it only caught on with joggers,” Vinnie said. “Just try not to attract any weirdos with your fashion trend. It’s a fair warning.” 

Balthazar tuned out of the conversation, uninterested in fashion trends among 21st century adolescents. He was more concerned about not making a mess with his tacos. Granted, eating neatly without splattering meat and lettuce everywhere was difficult but not impossible. 

Besides, Mexican food was practically an invite for uncouth table manners. 

“So Milo, where’d you go to school?” Martin asked. 

Balthazar froze, opening his mouth to quickly fumble for a lie. Vinnie placed a hand on his leg. 

A silent no. 

They would have to back up whatever Milo said. 

“Oh,” Milo said nervously. “I didn’t really stay at one school for long. Guess I just had to teach myself.” 

Unfortunately, the file on Milo was long gone, buried somewhere in their old apartment. As a result, he was unable to recall if the papers inside included testing for literacy and arithmetic. 

However, he never saw Milo have issues reading, so he’d probably learned at some point. But he had a sneaking suspicion Milo was self-taught with minimal support to hone his skills. 

“We can recommend a few schools around here if you’d like. Danville may be strange to newcomers at first, but the teachers here are some of the nicest around,” Martin said. 

“Ah, that won’t be necessary,” Balthazar said. It would be difficult to find the appropriate documentation that was necessary to enroll in a school. He would rather not give the Bureau a paper trail to track Milo down to a school facility anyway, or be in legal trouble for falsifying records. 

He was already a criminal, and there was no need to lengthen the list of illegal stunts he’d pulled so far. 

When Brigette gave him an odd look, Balthazar decided he needed to elaborate more to convince them. “Milo is still adjusting, and until he says ready to attend a public school, we won’t force him to enroll.” 

There was a light slap on his leg, and Balthazar looked over to see Vinnie with a small smile directed at him. Martin and Brigette dropped the subject, and instead began talking about their coworkers. 

It was a better fabrication than he’d thought. 

Sara and Milo were the first to finish their meals, and they rushed back to the TV to watch the second Krillhunter movie. 

“Do you want help with the cleanup?” Vinnie asked, already moving the leftovers to the counter. 

Brigette nodded. “That would be lovely. Thank you so much!”

And that left Balthazar and Martin. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” Martin said, patting the open couch cushion next to him so they could chat comfortably. Balthazar chose the loveseat that was slightly further away as a precaution. Martin didn’t seem to mind though. “Brigette has a soft spot for children. Can’t ever turn one down. If she hadn’t chosen to be an architect, well, teaching would be right up her alley.” 

“You have a lovely family,” Balthazar said. And he meant it. Sara had her charms too, even if she was a bit eccentric. 

Martin glanced at the floor. “There could’ve been another one. We would’ve had a little boy if he survived. Sara was so excited to have a little brother.”

He let out a humorless laugh, and Balthazar cast a glance upstairs. Their son was finally home where he belonged and they didn’t know it. 

“She begged us to let her name him,” Martin continued. “Wanted to call him Krillhunter. I told her we were willing to take ‘Hunter’ into consideration. I wanted to name him Martin Jr. though. Brigette looked at me like I was crazy for that one.” 

Balthazar couldn’t imagine Milo being named anything other than Milo. Both ‘Hunter’ and ‘Martin Jr.’ didn’t suit him at all. 

“Labor was a long process. Seemed like an eternity because I had to wait outside the room. The staff didn’t want me in there with her. Afraid I would mess up the equipment because they had to do a C-section. And there was no time to call a babysitter for Sara. She was only four, and she kept asking me, ‘Daddy, can I see my brother now?’ She fell asleep on me, so I could only hold her and hope Brigette and the baby would be okay.” 

Of course Milo was wanted. He’d been loved before he could set foot outside the womb. He would be so happy to hear this. 

“Brigette was too exhausted to hold the baby. The doctor let me catch a glimpse of him, but he was adamant that the baby needed to be tested. Apgar scoring, blood tests, the usual. I only held him for five minutes before he was whisked away. It was lonely. Wife out of it, young child needing rest, personnel rushing around. I thought everything would be all right. Murphy’s Law spared this child during the nine months of development, that he was a little fighter and could take on the world one step at a time.” 

Balthazar knew what happened next. The doctor passed Milo onto someone else at the Bureau, then told the Murphy family their son had died from complications after birth. The horrible act wouldn’t be caught for another thirteen years. 

“The doctor came back, and told me our son hadn’t survived. He didn’t give us the option of saying goodbye,” Martin’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “I had to explain to Brigette that he was gone. She wanted to see the body, and I told her no. But Sara was convinced aliens had stolen her brother. There was a kind woman on staff that day who explained death better to a four year old than I ever could. I don’t know how much Sara remembers.” 

Balthazar wasn’t sure how he could explain that Sara had simply identified the wrong culprits that day. 

Martin took a shaky breath. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you. You probably wanted a break from life, huh?” 

“It’s difficult, but we manage,” Balthazar replied. 

Milo was supposed to be asleep in Sara’s bedroom. She was more than willing to have a sleepover, and it took Balthazar and Brigette to convince them to go to bed once ten pm rolled around. However, there was still a fair bit of giggling and muffled noises from the bedroom above. 

Vinnie was already laying down on the bed, watching as Balthazar took off his socks. “I heard your conversation earlier,” Vinnie said. “Guy never found it suspicious that the doctor never let him see the body?” 

“They were sleep-deprived, stressed, and emotionally compromised,” Balthazar said, setting his watch and glasses on the nightstand beside him. “It’s understandable.” 

He put on some borrowed pajamas in the bathroom, then laid down next to Vinnie. “I’ve been thinking of talking to Milo,” Balthazar said.

Vinnie turned to face him. “We’re doing this, huh?” he yawned. “He’s a strong kid. He’ll be alright.” 

As his eyes fluttered closed, Balthazar wished he could be so sure. 

[artisticvicu]

Dancing in the Rain

Everything was soaked. Her clothes were soaked, her bag was soaked, the work papers and her phone - all of it completely soaked as she stood under the shop awning. Tears blended with the rainwater on her face, sobs pouring from her chest unhindered. It was all she could do to remain standing tucked against the building.

“Hey, you ok, miss?”

The smell of cigarette smoke curled around her as her head snapped up, surprise interrupting the sobs. The shop door had opened and a man was leaning from the door frame looking at her. He took a step out of the door and straightened, facing her properly. “Want to come in and dry off? I’m sure a coworker has something you can wear while your clothes dry.”

She glanced at the shop, overwhelmed. The shop itself looked sketchy with things she didn’t recognize being sold and promoted. The man himself was in black skinny jeans, black tank top with some sort of graphic on it, and black knee high boots that had a full lace work and buckles. He wasn’t overly build but his tattooed arms looked like they could hold her in place with ease.

His brown eyes, though, were kind, careful, like he knew what he must look like to her and was doing his best not to scare her off. He felt bad for her - it was clear on his unshaven face - but it wasn’t demeaning like it could have been. If she was reading him right, he felt bad for her situation than anything else.

Her grip on her bag tightened. “O-ok,” she finally uttered.

He grinned at her. Beyond the slightly yellow coloring, he had a perfect smile. “Awesome. Come on in and we’ll get you wrapped up in something warmer.” He gestured into the shop even as he called into it. “Hey, Lacy! Come give this lady a hand!”

There was a shout from the back of the shop as she stepped in. He closed the door before stepping around her, whatever response sent back at his words jargon to her ears. He kept walking towards the back and seemed to understand the jargon because he shouted in turn, “Well then it’s a good thing she isn’t a customer!”

He disappeared between a set of shelves near the back. She remained dripping at the entrance but her gaze didn’t stay where he had vanished.

Now in the shop, she could see that it was a lot of everything. The area she stood in held the register to her left and music of all formats to her right. Instruments were tucked in along the walls or hung from the ceiling. The short racking that separated the music section from the rest of the shop was filled with knickknacks, small purchase items, and snacks. There was a section at the end that held a few clothing items. The section beyond the music section was books. Lots and lots of books packed into tall bookcases. Beyond the register was all sorts of games and game components. The short glass cases that defined the register area were packed with card packs, boxes of loose cards, all variety of video games, and dice. A lot of dice. The high shelves behind the counter that stretched along the wall were packed with figurines both in and out of boxes. There were wall units under the high shelves beyond the counter that held DVDs and video games for a wide range of consoles.

She found herself coming to a stop at the end of the music section at the start of the book section. The shop was far larger than it looked from the front. The tall shelves that held the games hid the opening in the left wall that led into a space full of tables. The tables were empty and the chairs tucked in neatly but the walls were covered in posters and a number of white boards and tv screens. There was a second counter that looked like a coffee shop counter with a display case of goods and a menu hanging on the wall. The remainder of the back area of the shop and wall were filled with racks of clothing and other accessories.

“On top of being a popular hangout space, we do an assortment of tournaments and DnD nights so the cafe’s been the best decision we’ve made with the old restaurant kitchen.”

She jumped, spinning around to face the new voice. The stranger she found herself facing had sounded female but her first visual impression said male. The stranger’s hair was short, the strands barely tall enough to hide the fingers that ran through it briefly. The outfit didn’t help. The stranger was wearing a blue jeans overalls dress over a black and white striped short sleeved shirt but there was no bust to be found. If the drape of the dress was anything to go by, though, the stranger’s body shape was more female than male with narrow shoulders and waist and wide hips.

“There’s also a few old arcade games in an office offshoot of the gaming room but I doubt that’s of much interested sopping wet. I’m Alix. Or Lacy, if you listen to Lent.” She frowned and the stranger grinned. They too had a slightly off white perfect smile. “It’s a blend of Alex and Alice. Just replace the ‘e’ in Alex with the ‘i’ in Alice and you get my name.”

“Why?” she found herself blurting through chattering teeth. The shop wasn’t exactly cold but it was cool enough that she was now freezing.

Alix shrugged, the grin now an encouraging smile. “Why not?” They gestured towards the doorway on the other wall. “Come on. Lent’s running a few towels through the dryer to warm them up for you and I’ll see if I have anything you can wear.” The stranger started for a door opposite the space full of tables. “If nothing else, we’ll find something in the shop in your size that you can have.”

The door led into a hallway that ended in a door a stretch to the left. A staircase ran along the opposite wall. The stairs and the hallway itself looked recently renovated compared to her first impressions of the shop. Her gaze drifted as she waited for Alix to close the door and take the lead; there were two other doors on the wall that had the door for the shop.

Alix took the stairs slowly, looking to her as they kept talking. “Lent owns the shop with his husband and leases out the second floor apartment to a small fraternity of a nearby college. Good batch of boys. They do a lot around here.”

They came to the second story landing as the only door opened on the wall opposite the top of the stairs. Two young men looking like stereotypical jocks stepped out and immediately beamed at Alix.

“We wondered what Lent was hollering about,” the first of the two commented, both of their gazes drifting to her for a moment.

“Do you need us to get anything?” the second offered, voice softer, calmer than his companion. “We’re doing a quick grocery run Picking up Lent’s list while we’re at it.”

Alix shook their head, starting for the next stretch of stairs. “I have an order in for the shop so don’t buy anything for it, regardless of what Lent says.”

“Ay, Captain!” the two men chorused. The softer spoken one started down the stairs as the first one paused at the edge of the stairs. “You sure you don’t need anything Alix? I could always call Brooke. She and a number of her girls live close by.”

“I’ll send a text if I need anything,” Alix returned, a large smile on their face. “Promise.”

The young man gave a determined nod before barreling down the stairs. Alix rolled their eyes before leading the rest of the way up the stairs. “Good batch but they can be a bit much sometimes.”

The third landing had a slanted ceiling over the stairs, as if they had stepped into the attic of the building. The only door on the landing was open into the apartment beyond and she hesitantly followed Alix into the very modern, very well kept living space. The apartment was an open floor plan with vaulted ceilings. The entire right wall was windows. Whatever view was beyond was obscured by the rain and she turned her attention to the rest of the space as Alix disappeared through a door at the other end of the space past the kitchen.

Chatter drifted into the living space as her shivering subsided. It was warmer in the apartment than it had been in the shop - not to mention the two flights of stairs she had climbed. A man she didn’t know stepped out of the bedroom with Alix.

“This is Lent’s husband Derrek.”

“Pleasure.” Derrek offered his hand and a soft smile. She shook it, unsure. “Lent’s getting the towels laid out in our bathroom. We figured you’d appreciate a hot shower before changing into something else.” Derrek turned his gaze onto Alix. “You were checking to see what you had?”

“Yeah. It’s downstairs, though, so I’ll be right back.” Alix paused at her side, meeting her eyes with a serious expression. “Are you comfortable with that? I can have one of the boys go check, or even Derrek if you’d feel more comfortable with me here. Not that either Derrek or Lent will do anything.”

“I-I-”

“Bathroom’s set up,” Lent announced, stepping out of the bedroom. He met her gaze with that kind, careful look again. “ And we’ll just negate that situation. Derrek and I will start prepping the shop for open while Lacy takes care of you. Bathroom door does have a lock on it, as does the bedroom door if you need to barricade yourself in.”

She found herself nodding, watching the tension leave the two men. “Take as much time as you need,” Derrek encouraged. “And if you need anything, just let Alix know. They know where everything is at.”

“Thank you,” she offered quickly as the two men started for the door.

Alix shifted their weight, gaining her attention again. “Checking to see what I have will only take a few minutes but I can stay outside the apartment for fifteen or thirty minutes, if you want to be alone.”

“Why are you all doing this for me? Letting some stranger into your home like this.”

Alix smiled gently. “Lent told me he found you crying on the doorstep looking like a drowned rat.” Her cheeks colored in indignation and Alix laughed, hands gesturing in a placating manner. “It was said as an expression rather than a description. He was very concerned about you. Derrek had to actually talk him down from the panic that started to set in.”

“Panic?”

Alix’s expression softened. “He may look gruff but Lent’s a mess like the lot of us. He over thinks everything and, while he’s getting better, he still frets over every little action. It’s why we’re all a little more blunt that what people expect around here, why there is so much communication. It helps everyone not worry about misstepping or poor impressions.”

She gave a breathy chuckle at that. “That doesn’t seem real.”

Alix grinned. “Oh, trust me. It was extremely difficult adapting to it. But, it’s been worth it. I love working here because of them.” They shrugged. “Clientele helps a bit with that too.”

She glanced at the front door. It was still open and the sounds of happy, very enthusiastic chatter was echoing up the stairs. Her grip on her bag tightened.

“Hey.” She looked back at Alix. “If you’d rather, I can just call you a lift and send you out the back door without anyone being the wiser. You don’t have to take their offered hospitality if you don’t feel comfortable doing so.”

She looked towards the stairs again as a roar of several different laughs came from the stairwell. “You’ll stay out for the time I ask for?”

Alix nodded. “I’ll either put the clothes or a note saying to raid the closet outside the bedroom door. Won’t even get close to the bathroom.”

Some of the tension left her shoulders and she smiled. “Thank you.”

Alix grinned. “Of course. How much time do you want? 15 minutes? 30?”

“Fifteen’s just fine.”

“I’ll be back at half past, then.” Alix paused in the process of closing the front door. For a moment she watched as their expression turned thoughtful before they looked back at her. “Hopefully the next time you find yourself soaked like this, it’ll be from dancing in the rain rather than whatever it was you went through; that it was by choice, rather than bad timing.”

She chuckled softly at that. “I don’t really dance.”

“What if I was dancing with you?” Surprise filled her. She wondered if Alix noticed as they added, “Could make it a bonding moment with new friends.”

“Friends?”

Alix grinned again and despite all the stress and apprehension, she found herself mimicking it. “I will bet you that if either Derrek or Lent let you out of here without gaining your name, number, and a few tidbits about you at minimum, I will call you a limo to take you home. The fanciest limo I can find on such short notice.”

She laughed at that. “Seriously?”

“Absolutely.”

“What an absurd thing to bet,” she commented around giggles. “And what if you are right?”

“I teach you to dance.” She blinked, taken aback by that. Alix’s smile was soft, endearing. “That way you have no excuse to keep you from dancing in the rain.”

With a waterlogged phone in her bag in some stranger’s home over a shop she’d never dreamed of visiting conversing with the strangest of people, she found herself relaxing in this stranger’s presence and taking the bet. “Only if you agree to dance with me.”

Alix beamed at her. “Always.”

[newstfionline]

12 Strategies for Maintaining Focus While Working at Home

The Simple Dollar, 25 Feb 2017

I’ve been working from home on at least a regular basis for more than a decade, and on a full-time basis for nearly a decade. Over the years, I’ve come to learn quite a lot about what it takes to effectively telecommute for your work.

The number one thing? It absolutely requires the ability to focus.

Our homes are gigantic pits of distraction. There are always chores to be done. There are always sources of entertainment to distract you. Even worse, you don’t have any sort of threat of your boss looking over your shoulder to see if you’re still working. Either your boss is remote or you don’t have a boss at all.

Generally, the expectation of a person working from home is that they are delivering certain products on a certain schedule and that they’re available for some meetings. Outside of that, your boss and/or your clients generally don’t care when you do the work, just that it gets done and that it arrives on their desk when expected.

That encourages procrastination. That encourages a lack of focus. That encourages you to say, “Well, I need to get the laundry done and the dishes done and there’s nothing too urgent right now, so I’ll do those chores… and look, there’s an interesting segment on SportsCenter… and gee, this book sitting here looks pretty interesting…” and four hours pass.

If you do that too much, you’re going to be caught in a deadline crunch. If you get caught in too many deadline crunches, you’re going to start missing deadlines. If you do that very often at all, you’re probably going to lose clients, lose the perk of telecommuting, or even lose your job.

The key to solving that problem is focus. Being able to sit down at home and bear down on your work and get things done is absolutely vital to success when you’re working from home. It’s the ingredient that matters.

Over the years, I’ve managed to figure out a ton of effective strategies for focusing while working at home. Here are some of the best strategies I’ve learned.

Strategy #1: Set and keep a daily schedule. A daily schedule that you stick to day-in and day-out is absolutely vital for keeping a steady forward progress on all of the tasks you have on the table (or digging for more tasks if you happen to have an empty slate at the moment). Walling off certain hours exclusively for work purposes is absolutely vital if you’re working from home or else you’ll find that distractions and other things keep interfering.

Personally, most days, I get up quite early--around 5:30 AM or so--and start writing, researching, and brainstorming almost immediately. Other than a break from around 7:00 to 7:30 to see my kids off to school and do one or two minor tasks around the house (which I’ll mention again in a bit) and a break to stretch in the mid-morning, I generally work right on until noon. I do a bit more in the early afternoon sometimes, but that’s usually the end of my workday. I do this about six days a week, so if you do the math, that’s about a 40-hour workweek, give or take a bit (6.5 hours a day, six days a week).

I make that schedule almost sacrosanct. Nothing interferes with it if I can possibly help it. Before noon, Monday through Saturday, I’m working.

Because of that, I have a strong mindset that the morning hours are when I am working. I work before lunch, and anything else I’m doing then is something I shouldn’t be doing. That ensures that I always have a block of time within which to get my work done and that things won’t dig into that block of time unless it’s an absolute crisis.

That mindset--that you still have “working hours” and that time is devoted to work--is incredibly valuable. It can create something of a “mental switch” in your head, just like a normal workday at a different place of employment can do. At certain times of the day, you’re working, and it’s as simple as that.

Strategy #2: End each workday with a period of reflection on successes and failures. The reality is that as you begin to adjust to working at home, you’re going to find some aspects of it very different and likely very difficult. It’s not easy to maintain focus and be productive when you suddenly don’t have a supervisor over your shoulder. It’s a real change to be at home alone working when you’re used to coworkers. It’s a different environment, too.

Those changes can really cloud your judgment and make for all kinds of challenges. As you adjust, you’re going to try things, some of them will work, and some of them will not.

That’s where a period of daily reflection comes in. It’s simply a period of time that you set aside for intentionally reflecting on what’s working and what isn’t in terms of working at home, and why those things are succeeding or failing. The purpose is to figure out ways to minimize or eliminate the problems and maximize the successes.

I personally use journaling as a tool for this. At some point each day, often during the early afternoon, I stop for a few minutes and think about the things that are going well and the things that aren’t going well in my professional life (and other aspects of my life). I then try to tease through those issues by figuring out why something is succeeding and, more often, why something is failing. What’s really happening here? How can I fix it? Can I even fix it?

By making this kind of thinking a regular part of your day, you’ll remain vigilant against many of the traps that working from home can lead you into, such as wasting more time than you think.

Strategy #3: Have a specific place in your home where you work. For some people, a home office--a small room that’s intended for working--might be the right place to work. For others, particularly in a smaller home or apartment, an office might not be realistic, so a “working nook” or even a “working chair” might be more appropriate.

Whatever it is, identify a place that you primarily use only for work. The reason for this is twofold. One, it gives you a clear place to keep all of your work-related items, like your computers or your chargers or your “everyday carry bag.” Two, it provides a place where you can execute a mental switch into “work mode.”

This mental switch is surprisingly important. The simple move of having a specific place that means “work” in your head gives you a ton of little visual and environmental cues that it’s time to get down to business and stop doing personal things.

Strategy #4: Find an ‘alternative workplace’ or two outside of your home, and maintain a ‘portable office’ bag. Sometimes, however, you can’t work from home. Perhaps there’s construction going on nearby or maybe your spouse is home and is distracting you. It might even be something where you just need a change in environment.

For those situations, having an “alternate workplace” is a good idea. It’s a place you can go that also signifies “work” in your head, but you are in a somewhat different environment. That change in environment can often spur on creative thought.

I personally use a study room at the local library as my “alternate workplace.” I tend to use it when I need to brainstorm, so I’ll go through the shelves at the library, grab a bunch of personal finance books and magazines, head into a study room, close the door, and get down to work. I take tons of notes and come up with article ideas and article outlines. The change in environment is really conducive to changing my thinking.

To make this easy, it’s well worth spending the time to have a “portable office” bag or an “everyday carry” bag if at all possible. The contents of that bag are simply all of the things you need to work effectively somewhere else.

My “everyday carry” bag is a North Face backpack that holds my laptop, a bunch of chargers and charging cables and backup batteries, a bunch of pens and notebooks, and a few reference materials, along with a few basic toiletry items. I know that whenever I need to change environments, I can just grab that bag and I have everything I need for work.

Strategy #5: At the beginning of your day, start loads of dishes and laundry. This seems like a bizarre suggestion, but it is incredibly helpful for me personally in terms of keeping household distractions at bay. During my first break in the morning, when I’m getting the children ready for school, I also spend some of that time unloading and loading the dishwasher, putting clothes from the washing machine into the dryer, and putting a new load in the washing machine.

If things go well, I can start a load of clothes washing, a load of clothes drying, and a load of dishes washing all at the same time right after the kids leave for school and just before I get back to work.

When I do that, and I return to my workspace, I feel really productive that morning. It’s because in the back of my mind, I know that dishes are being cleaned and clothes are being cleaned and dried as I type. It provides a strong sense of multitasking without any need to break my focus.

Try it. If you have tasks around your house that are more passive in nature, like washing clothes or washing dishes or cooking a meal in the slow cooker, start those things before you settle in for work. You’ll find that the simple passive sense that personal tasks are being completed in the background makes you feel a lot more productive about your day and a lot less drawn to pull yourself away for personal tasks.

Strategy #6: Figure out which times of the day are most conducive to your focus, and work during those periods. Some of us are morning people--I’m raising my own hand here. Other people work better in the afternoon. My sister-in-law is a complete night owl and seems to do her best work at three in the morning when her house is absolutely quiet. We’re all different. The key is to figure out what makes you really tick and take advantage of it.

What time of the day do you work most effectively? Are you like a zombie in the morning but start clicking in the afternoon? If that’s true, don’t be afraid to sleep in more and spend the morning doing mindless tasks and then settle in for a full afternoon of work. Are you someone who hits peak thinking right after arising from bed? Then start your workday as soon as possible, even when you’re still in your pajamas.

Pay attention to your own body and your own mind and figure out when the best time for you to work really is, then use that freedom that telecommuting gives you to work during those times. Save the more mindless personal tasks for periods outside of those times.

Strategy #7: Turn off digital distractions during those key focus periods. So, you’ve identified your peak period for focus and you have a distinct place to work that’s got all of your stuff in place that you need. What else is important? The next step is simply eliminating as many digital distractions as you can.

Turn off your cell phone. Close your web browser. Disconnect from Wi-Fi. Turn off as many digital distractions as you possibly can in order to help you focus in on the task at hand.

The more distractions you have, the more you’re going to find that it’s easy to step away from your task and get sucked into something else, and every time you do that, you’ll find that there’s a loss in focus and concentration when you return to your old task.

Some of the worst digital distractions include notifications from your cell phone that emit some kind of audio or vibration, a web browser or other live updating window in the background of your screen, or an app on your computer that provides social media updates constantly. Turn off all of those that you possibly can. It’s fine to have them running at other times, but when you need to bear down on a task, they’re not helpful at all.

Strategy #8: Use ‘focusing audio’ by playing it in the background. Unexpected noise can be a pretty significant distraction. I know I get distracted all the time by little noises of people going about normal activities in my neighborhood. I’ll hear a little clatter or the revving of an engine in the distance and I’m distracted.

What works for me in terms of solving that problem is to have some kind of background noise or simple music going at all times. An audio stream that’s conducive to focus can be incredibly helpful in terms of eliminating those audio distractions and helping you keep your attention where it should be.

For this purpose, I like to use the audio from the YouTube channel Relax Sleep ASMR. Almost any of their 10-hour videos will do the trick. Find one that seems to click with you. I particularly like their Arctic Ocean and icebreaker video and often have it playing in the background quietly as I work.

Such audio seems to effectively cancel out minor sounds in the area. It also seems to help some people--myself included--to focus better on the task in front of them.

Strategy #9: Try to get in the ‘flow’ as much as you can. The book Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi describes a mindset where people are so fully engaged with the task in front of them that they seemingly lose all track of the world around them. Every spare bit of their brainpower is sucked into successfully completing or progressing on the task at hand.

Wikipedia describes it like this:

In positive psychology, flow, also known as the zone, is the mental state of operation in which a person performing an activity is fully immersed in a feeling of energized focus, full involvement, and enjoyment in the process of the activity. In essence, flow is characterized by complete absorption in what one does.

Every time you can achieve a “flow state,” you’ll find yourself getting a large amount of very good work done very quickly. There isn’t a recipe for everyone getting into that flow state because everyone works differently, but there’s often a combination of factors--many of which are strategies in this article--that increase the chances of a person dropping into a flow state.

Experiment. See what things you do help you to drift into a state where you’re sucked into your work and lose track of time and space. Try to find the common factors that trigger such a mental state for you, and repeat them so that it becomes a common thing. The more time you spend in that state, the more you can get done, and thus the less time you have to spend in front of your desk and the more time you can spend doing other things at home.

Strategy #10: ‘Bank’ as much work as possible and use every droplet of focused time. Telecommuting--and especially self-employed work from home--often puts you in a situation where you don’t really have blocked-off vacation times or sick leave. If you get sick, then you’re probably missing deadlines unless you’ve prepared for that illness.

Your best strategy, if possible, is to simply “bank” as much work as you can in preparation for that downtime. If you’re a writer, have a few “timeless” pieces ready to go in case you’re sick or have a personal emergency. If you make videos, do the same.

Another useful strategy is to establish timelines for projects that bring you to completion well in advance of the actual due date. For example, if you have a month to complete a project, shoot to have it finished in three weeks and plan accordingly. That way, if an illness or an emergency interferes, it doesn’t derail your work and it doesn’t reflect poorly on your organizational skills.

Strategy #11: Block off times for professional development. When you work from home, it is incredibly easy to blow off professional development. It can often feel like the “unimportant” part of your day and when you’re at home, there are infinite things to distract you that seem important and enticing.

Don’t let that happen. Make professional development a regular part of your work schedule. You should set aside time at least once a week to sharpen your skills and learn new parallel skills.

For example, I intentionally set aside time to learn new things about personal finance, about topics parallel to the field like self-improvement, and about writing practices as well. I intentionally write things in completely different voices (think snarky, for example) just to practice and flesh out my writing chops.

Strategy #12: Find small rituals that signify the ‘start’ of a block of work and the ‘end’ of a block of work. This is another way to mentally signal yourself that your work day is starting. You simply do a certain number of things at the start of your workday and collectively they indicate that work is about to begin.

For me, that usually involves drinking a bunch of water, pouring a cup of black coffee, stretching a little, walking up the stairs, going into my office, turning on all the lights, and closing the door. Those steps, in order, signify a mental shift into work mode.

Just look for things to do that properly set the mood for working in your head and then make those steps into a “ritual” of sorts.

You can do the same thing at the end of your day, but I find the transition away from a work mindset to be much easier. Mine is usually just a block of journaling about my day, as mentioned above.

These 12 steps are a key part of how I’m able to work effectively from home and maintain focus no matter what’s going on around me. Hopefully, they can work effectively for you, too.