the office by tby complete art after 5 by sleepyvalentina original. * raudone.info ( kB - downloaded times.). Because The Office, the fanfic that's gotten snatched up by Gallery pdf; File the office twilight fanfiction tby twilight pdf online free twilight. So my question is ~ What are your fave pulled fanfics that are on pdf? . The Office by tby A/H A very smutty story with Edward as Bella's.
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Please would you be able to send me the pdf for the office as well my email is Could you email me a copy of the office by tby, I have been. the office twilight fanfic, the office fanfiction tby pdf, twilight fanfiction the office pdf. The Office by tby Lemony Lemony Goodness The Office, the original beautiful bastard! Fanfiction StoriesTwilight .. Angela Carland · stories fanfiction pdf.
No freaking idea. And I'm on page 8 of twilght fanfics on Share Term Papers. During my time on the website I've downloaded 20 fanfics that only 5 of i know anything about. The rest i downloaded becuase I've either heard of them being mentioned or just liked the title.
I beg you to give a summary as well! Quickie Marts, flat tires, expensive suits, gangster rap, g-strings and velvet roses. Valentines' Day wasn't going as planned. Twilight - Rated: What are Share Term Papers? I've never heard of that before. But, it sounds like something that I would like to learn more about. I do have quite a few fics that I saved or received from loving and giving forest dwellers.
If you pm me, perhaps we can share stories and notes via e-mail. I can only remember these: I have others, but I don't remember the names. I don't have very many fics saved on PDF. I have pretty much everything written by americnxidiot. I probably won't reread any of them, but I like knowing that I have them just in case. I've heard of it so many times! Is it when Edward stumbles upon a women praying or something? I download every single fic that I am interested in possibly reading.
For years before, I used www. I know it's somewhat controversial, but I'm dl and saving for my own interest and not sharing to make a profit, so I don't see an issue, but that's just my opinion. Good luck! I dl things daily because I never know if it's something I may want to read eventually as people rec or talk about a specific story.
Oh, I also forgot to mention that there is a 'community' on FFN that has completed only fics that sends out notification when a story is marked completed. I'm the same way. I download everything that looks interesting to me and DL when a story I have on alert updates.
I have over 3K stories saved. This number includes stories that I've started but flounced on for one reason or another. But I like having them just in case. Thanks for the advice! And I have to start using flagfic! Haha, I download published books too! Most of the time it's just to check them out though.. I got a shock seeing my name on the main page there.
I kinda wondered what I'd done wrong;. I'm glad you are finding stuff on Share term papers but it's true what you say: They hate each other with a passion;. I was really happy to find this story on that site a couple of weeks ago. The story was pulled a while back.
I think it only had a chapter or 2 left but the author didn't finish it. Even though it's not finished I still think it's worth a read. Men without Eyes by Danieller is there and it's really worth a read and also Under The Apple Tree by the same author. It's one of my all time favorites. I love that Edward: As mentioned by the other guys Edward Wallbanger is very good as well as Trust in advertising by vgjm. Haha, you did nothing wrong, everything right in fact! And thanks for the recs! I'm gonna go download now!
Bella gets selected to attend an artists retreat in a contest Jacob entered her for, run by Edward. Enormous egos, Jasper on a Harley I think a meadow, a waterfall, a hospital and mickey mouse not necessarily in that order.
Like others, i grab anything that interests me. I don't rely on chance, anymore. I opened the refrigerator and began mechanically removing items to make dinner, pausing with a smile as the lawn mower started across the street. An hour later I had a piping hot pan of lasagna in my oven mit-covered hands, and it occured to me what I was doing. Without realizing it, I had prepared two pans and was in the process of crossing the street to place one on his porch.
Before I could second-guess my actions, I secured the foil over the glass dish and stepped out into the waning sun. The sound of children playing bounced off the hot pavement. The air was thick and cooler now, ripe with the smell of freshly cut grass and family barbeques. I was surprised by the noticeable difference in the old blue house.
Gone were the waist high weeds that spiraled around the weathered mailbox and the long overgrown lawn that I used to watch sway in the breeze from the window seat in my bedroom. The grass was now short and covered in a criss-cross pattern. The flower beds were now bare but weedless and the once desolate looking windows were liberated from their broken blinds, proudly streak-free and framed by the freshly-sanded blue paint. Silence greeted me as I hopped up the warm sidewalk, balancing the hot pan in my arms.
I put the dish down and turned, quickly scurrying back to my house. A lone purple flower, saved from the twisted mass of overgrown weeds caught my eye as I passed. It struck me how that defiant little flower seemed to belong. Strong, unusual and truly beautiful.
The next morning, I stepped out onto the porch to retrieve the paper, once again surprised to find something there waiting for me. My clean dish held another folded piece of white stationary. I bent to retrieve it and laughed out loud, my hand moving to cover my mouth as the sound echoed in the quiet morning.
The paper displayed a simple sketch of two stick figures eating together. I glanced up then, meeting his wide smile from the front window. I looked down momentarily, blushing, and was greeted by his smile and wave when I lifted my gaze back to his. I quickly returned his wave and turned back to the house, already planning our dinner.
My body moved without any voluntary action from my brain. My knock on the door sounded louder than usual even though my arm felt weak with anticipation. The sound of bare feet padding to the door spiked my nerves and I took a stumbling step backwards as the door flung open and he stood before me, gorgeous and grinning.
Are you okay? Did I scare you? I never know the rules. He had started to unpack and the house looked like mayhem. There was little furniture, a couch in the living room, a small coffee table, and a few crates of books. Most of the floor was covered with drums. Scores and scores of drums. I hope it's not too loud for the neighbors, but man, I have missed these. Some had bells, strings, and keys.
Some were covered in hide, others in fibers. He came back from the kitchen and watched me pick up a goblet-shaped drum and run my fingers over the stitching. He scratched the back of his head, thinking. They're used in all sorts of music. But I got these in Africa.
If I had to guess, I would say he had been lots of places. He nodded into his own wine glass. This one," he ran his hand over the longer of the two, "is a nagado-daiko. The other one is a sanchou shime-daiko. A colorful, neighbor Edward.
He didn't have an obvious accent, but he didn't sound American, either. His words almost had a faint lilt, all smooth edges and soft vowels. He leaned forward and gave me a playfully stern look. I'm happy to keep calling you a-little-crazy neighbor girl if you like. I am a Bella. He seemed to be thrilled that I was so interested and I couldn't get enough of his voice, his quiet, easy laughter, and his infectious enthusiasm. We finished our three-walled circuit and I looked at the door to the kitchen.
Had I misunderstood his drawing? I invited you over and didn't even think to cook for you. This would appear to be a win-win partnership. Having no idea what kind of kitchen equipment I could expect, I had planned a no-cook meal of chicken salad sandwiches and cucumber salad. I could probably burn water. I'm sorry I haven't really unpacked much kitchen stuff yet.
Is there anything I can do to help? You can't have obtained that many drums without getting a few stories in the process. He took our plates and walked to the living room putting the food on the coffee table. He sat down on the floor and looked up at me, wincing. I don't really have much furniture. He watched me looking at him and smiled. And with that, our dinners began. Quietly, comfortably, and with our eyes on each other nearly constantly.
The first story Edward ever told me was of his trip to Ghana when he was twenty and traveling with an African music ensemble from college.
He'd gone shopping with his best friend for some light-weight clothing, not bothering to research clothing customs in the region. When he arrived with his suitcase full of shorts, his host family teased him that he would be shunned from the mens' table and should sit with the boys. I told my host Father that next time, even if I came back when I was fifty, I was bringing nothing but shorts.
My body suddenly felt leaden, as if I was having one of those moments that I would remember for the rest of my life, exactly like this. I felt calmed by the wine, but charged by the way he was looking at me. I started to stand. He eyed me carefully. The people who live here are always so nice and no one notices the tenants because they aren't in the PTA or coaching the kids' teams. I know how attached you two are to each other. You're welcome over any night.
I mean, you'll probably be pretty wiped I couldn't keep from smiling. He wiped his mouth, placing his napkin on the table before leaning back on his hands, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.
I asked, watching him through narrowed eyes. His smile broadened.
He nodded. I mean If there is a humanitarian crisis in Thailand, I go to Thailand. After the Wenchuan earthquake in China I went to China for several months. And whenever I can, I go to Africa.
Because there is more work there for me than I can possible handle, and I never feel finished. I shook my head distractedly. Across the street, three years. Don't you ever get the urge to just leave?
To see new things? I considered this as my eyes followed the vivid blue ink that wound up his forearm and disappeared under the sleeve of his t-shirt. A river perhaps. From what I'd seen, his tattoos were all that way.
Not shapes or drawings from a book, but his memories. Scenes of mountains and rivers, lush trees and thick vines. They told a story. I met his eyes again.
Or is your life made up of the few important things you can carry with you?
To me, I suppose, my world has consisted of what I've known - this town, my home. I've never ventured beyond it. I miss it. I" he looked around the house as if to understand why I would be here and not at home. He winced at me and smiled. I put my glass down and smiled back. We weren't a good fit. First love isn't always best love. He grinned and then pursed his lips as he watched me. I smiled. He liked predictable sex. I saw his arm twitch.
I didn't. I also love to incorporate something new into routine. You started with blueberries and apricots, and worked up to habaneros," he smiled, reaching for his glass.
We were quiet for a moment. He stared at his glass and his eyes shot up to meet mine. A flash of desire was immediately replaced with a warm smile. He dragged his tongue ring along his upper lip unconsciously. His eyes were slow to relax. Did I want to know this? Even in college? I've been with women, Bella. I dated, but not much more.
And now that I travel so much It's also hard to open myself up over and over again. It gets exhausting. I like what I do, even though sometimes it's lonely. Unfortunately I'm averse to constancy, so I need to move around. I watched him chew, watched him enjoy the dinner I had made us, watched him relax into the familiar moment here, with me.
My aversion is about geography, not romance. I was unable to look away. I finally managed to break his gaze and sat forward, grabbing my wine glass and smiling. He bit his lip, watching my mouth.
He always hummed and closed his eyes when he chewed something that tasted good. I wondered if he knew he did that. They're so colorful, they have to have some crazy fruit names like Wild Woman and Big Bird. The yellow ones are Banana Legs. The green ones - my favorites - are Green Zebra. I watched him eat and he looked up at me and smiled before leaning to take another bite. I felt a twist of anxiety and excitement mingling in my chest.
I didn't know how I could feel this way for someone I had only just met. He seemed to be taking everything in stride so easily.
His desire to see me every night was a simple fact to him, uncomplicated. He loved our time together as he loved this dinner: something to be enjoyed while he had it in front of him. He looked up at me again and saw me watching his lips. He licked his lips slowly. I let my eyes drop to my hands and I laughed, but it sounded forced. I wanted to let the tension out of the space between us.
I wanted a bare admission that we both felt this pull, this inexplicable draw, but I was terrified to know whether it meant something different to him. I wondered how many women he left behind who felt like I did.
I blinked to clear my head. He lifted his arm and inspected it. I like keeping some of it with me. I felt like I needed decoration. It's not about disliking my skin, it's about loving it. The tattoo on the inside of his forearm was a man's face, old, wrinkled, and patient.
Instead of flinching or moving away, he leaned into my hand, his eyes closing. He exhaled as if he had been waiting for something for a long time and had finally found it. Warmth spread from my fingertips and radiated down my arm. My heart hammered like one of his drums underneath his hands and I held my breath, resisting the urge to run my fingers down his face and down his neck to his bare shoulder.
I watched his face relax under my touch and slowly moved my hand away. I think it suits me.
The tension between us was laid bare and I ached to touch him again. Perhaps because I knew he would leave and it felt safe, or perhaps because I knew I was falling in love with him, I wanted him to know me, to really see me in a way no one had. His eyes moved down my neck to my shoulder and back up.
I took the napkin from his hand and pulled his fingers to me, pressing his index and middle fingers against my nipple, letting him feel the metal there. He hissed in a breath, letting his hand spread over my breast and pressing his palm against my piercing. His thumb swept back and forth over the side of my breast.
A Little Crazy: By Tby789 & Lolashoes
I held my hand over his, watching his face freeze in an expression of need. I pulled his hand away and gently replaced it with the paper napkin. He dropped the napkin, his hand still molded in a curve. He stared at it before meeting my gaze.
I imagined I saw his pulse racing below a tattoo of a mountain across his neck, a small crack in our fault line had been carved. I wanted to crawl into his lap and press my lips to that pulse. I meanI just wasn't paying attention. The heat from his palms filtered through the thin cotton of my skirt and my eyes closed as his thumbs drew small circles on my lower back. He smiled a cute half smile, his eyes meeting mine briefly as he closed the cupboard door. My stomach always fluttered at that smile.
Still standing closer than necessary, he peered over my shoulder. He was so close. My nose brushed his jaw, the rough texture of his unshaven face abrasive against my skin. I leaned into him slightly, my lips mere inches from his neck. He swallowed and I was unable to look away, hypnotized by the way his Adam's apple moved and the muscles flexed along his throat.
My breath caught as he pressed into me, my body now trapped between his and the counter. I felt his lips move to my hair, that simple chaste gesture more intimate than any heated kiss I'd ever experienced. I tilted my chin towards him, the movement bringing my mouth to his jaw. I brushed my lips from side to side, enjoying the coarse texture against my skin, and pressed the softest kiss there.
The persistent beep of the kitchen timer filled the air, pulling me from my haze. He exhaled deeply and pushed away from the counter, my body feeling the loss instantly. He stepped in front of me and stilled my hand.
I could feel him watching me as I diced the tomatoes. Too unobtrusive and too calm. I was a tornado inside, full of too many things I couldn't keep together. I felt like everything I knew was being uprooted and thrown. My eyes gave it all away. I hear you.
Hesitation was rare for him and it made me nervous that he had something to say that he was anxious to bring up. Dentist and blood are done. Family is in Australia this time. Mostly this trip I wanted to come here and work on the house.
I've neglected it way too long, as you have surely noticed. He pulled at his eyebrow ring absently. I painted it, fixed the windows, did some work inside So I figured you would know it was mine. I was embarrassed for not putting it together, and frustrated that I had to ask him everything, that nothing personal was ever offered. You offer nothing voluntarily.
I feel like it doesn't occur to you to help me get to know you. But Bella, I feel something and I don't know what to do with it. I'm not perfect. I had believed that since he was well-traveled and educated and always seemed so comfortable in his own skin that he would know how to do this. I trusted him to guide me until he was gone, assuming that he came up against this often: starting to get close to someone and then having to leave. I believed - despite what he'd told me - that wherever he went there was a Bella, and dinners, and tension, and then, ultimately My heart froze in my chest but somehow my hands continued to move, robotically forming the falafel into balls.
Instead I sounded anxious and shaken. I'm surprised the sound made it to my ears. I couldn't see him in the reflection; he had stepped to the side so I couldn't see his face. He was silent. He stepped closer and pushed my hair to the side, letting his lips rest against the curve of my ear.
It's what I expect to hear," I admitted, watching us in the window. I let the most selfish words out: "You can be a doctor anywhere. I felt tiny in his hands. I was sure he would break all of me. I travel. I heal. He wasn't leaving me. He was leaving to go help others. I hated the tight curl of resentment than pulled at my stomach. I was scared to be apart. I was scared he wouldn't come back.
I was scared he would come back, but different. Without words to explain, it felt too casual. It was not at all the reaction I was having and it made me feel even more defeated.
I had no more strength if he touched me again. He pressed his lips to my neck and I felt the cool air between us as he stepped away just as I began to lean back into him. His hand was the last part of his body to leave me as it lost contact with my hip. I finished cooking dinner and we ate in silence for the first time, staring at our plates and pushing our food around.
I could hear the question in his voice.
He wanted me to stay. I broke my own heart: "Good night. I spent the night in my room, not eating, not sitting on the floor, and trying not to think about him. The soft drumming that blew across the street distracted me all night. I didn't want to cover the sound with music or television or even my hands over my ears, but it made my chest hurt, made me remember his stories, his fingers, the lilting rhythm of his speech.
Probably no one else on the block heard the music over the crickets and cracking wind. Maybe the sound was like the house itself - only noticed and appreciated by me, something that had to be attended to actively to be seen or heard.
He was a magnet to me; anything he did I would notice. It only made sense that the house was his. I had always belonged to him and had never known it. I cooked the next day. I cooked for us, maybe out of habit but more out of a naked, conscious need to imagine that he would be in that house tonight, and the next night, and every night after that. I layered phyllo dough over kale, squash, and various Spanish cheeses.
I made it delicate and hearty and colorful.
I made it something we would both want, something that would bring us together with comfort and spice, novelty and familiarity. I knew he wouldn't get to eat it if I didn't take it to him, but I was nothing if not constant. I wondered idly if I would cook for him every night of forever, even when he was being inconstant elsewhere.
It came out of the oven bubbling hot, steaming, golden, and beautiful. The door rumbled with the movement of feet up the front steps. I didn't need him to knock, and he knew it. I felt him on the porch. I dropped my dishtowel and went to the door, opening it and letting in the humid night air, the dry wind, the smell of him. He stood on the doorstep, scruffy and distraught. He pressed me against the closet door, his hands planted next to my head. I felt my brow furrow, felt my eyes sting with tears.
I was so naked for him; I felt like there was no floor underneath my feet. His gaze lingered on mine for a moment before his eyes dropped to watch both of his hands move to anchor my wrists to the door with his thumb and index finger.
He had a small bandage on his wrist and I started to ask if he was okay, but he looked up at me and leaned forward, letting his lips hover in front of mine, mere millimeters from touching my skin.
The way I am?His hair was damp from sweat and his shorts were drenched with water from the bucket on the ground. I felt his gaze on me the entire way back across the street.
I dropped my dishtowel and went to the door, opening it and letting in the humid night air, the dry wind, the smell of him. They've set up a heavy ion cancer center for the area, but are still not able to take everyone here. The muscles of his back flexed and twisted as he finally forced the old window open. Retrieved 17 November I nodded, looking at the blue and red ink spanning his neck.
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