#boxes for sale near me

[pictureworthcustomframing]

Elevate Your Art with a Stunning Koa Wood Picture Frame from Hawaii

Picture framing is more than just a practical necessity—it’s an art form. At Picture Worth Custom Framing, we take immense pride in framing specialty, one-of-a-kind, Hawaiian Koa wood picture frames.  Known for its exquisite grain and warm hues, Koa wood transforms any piece of art into a show-stopping centerpiece. More About Koa Wood Frames? 1. Rich History and Authenticity Koa wood is native to…

[corrugated-packaging-boxes]

Strong shipping Boxes for sale

Papers Gallery offers Strong Shipping – Mailing Corrugated Boxes that can be customized in size and are available in 3-ply, 5-ply, and 7-ply thickness. These boxes are designed for secure packaging, mailing, and shipping.

[gearboxmanufacturerahmedabad]

What Are The Key Stages In Manufacturing An Industrial Gearbox

When you hear about gears and gearboxes, you usually think about cars, right? However, these are much more numerous. Gearboxes are used in many important industries. Those include cement, paper, sugar, steel manufacturing, automotive, aerospace, and more.

Gears are perhaps one of the most important pieces of equipment and also one of the oldest elements used in the construction industry. However, you must know that the manufacturing procedure of these gearboxes is not so easy. It requires precision and the effort of reliable professionals who are skilled in gearbox repair.

So, let’s take a look at some vital steps that can complete the entire task of manufacturing gearboxes.

The Key Stages In Industrial Gearbox Manufacturing Procedure

To manufacture an efficient and durable gearbox, professional gearbox manufacturer Ahmedabad needs to perform a few vital stages. Those usually are as follows:

Selecting The Right Material

The entire procedure starts with selecting only the right materials. To choose the right options, professionals need to check out a few factors, such as:

Friction

Gears must be capable of contacting each other to work properly. Thus, you should choose only those materials that have a considerable coefficient of friction. Moreover, you can easily improve the amount of friction by using the correct mechanism for post-processing.

MechanicalProperties

The material that you want to use must have some important mechanical properties. Those are fatigue, tensile strength, endurance, durability, etc. However, all of these actually depend on the product that you are working on. For instance, if you are working on plastics, then, you won’t need extreme mechanical properties to create the right product.

Manufacturability

The material that you want to use has to be highly manufacturable that you can use in the next section. In this way, you will successfully reduce the production cost and make the entire procedure quite efficient. Moreover, it will surely improve accuracy and precision.

Moreover, you must not forget that each material has its own unique properties. For instance, plastics can be machined easily, while cast iron has notable tensile strength. So, to get the right material, you can rely on a professional team for some of the best suggestions.

Heat Treatment

It is the second vital stage of the gear manufacturing procedure. As per the application of an industrial gearbox, designers have to choose procedures like Gas Carburising and Hardening, Induction hardening, Nitriding, etc.

During these procedures, they have to check the right potential of carbon on the alloy steels. The case depth has to be verified after carburizing. Lastly, during this heat treatment procedure, the hardness of the product has to be carefully checked.

Gear Profile Grinding

This is the third important stage. It helps to get a better contact pattern between the mating gear and pinion. Hence, it ensures the smooth rotation as well as noise free performances during operations.

So, if you need to create efficient gearboxes, never skip these vital stages. However, if you are hesitant, just rely on a professional worm gearbox manufacturer.

[kalpanahandmadepaper]

Diwali, the festival of lights, is a time of joy, celebration, and the sharing of love and happiness with friends and family. One of the most delightful ways to express this affection is through thoughtful gifting. This year, why not elevate your Diwali gifting experience by opting for handmade paper Diwali gift boxes? These beautifully crafted boxes not only enhance the aesthetic of your gifts but also add a personal touch that mass-produced packaging simply cannot achieve.

[differenteagletragedy]

Simon has been in some truly miserable conditions. He's been under fire while the hot desert sun beat down on him, he's been pushed, bloody and broken, through boot camp. But, in this moment, he can't think of anything more soul-crushing than the mall on a Sunday afternoon.

But he needs new jeans. So here he is.

It's just a quick mission, he tells himself as he slips through the doors of a department store. In and out. He could always order them online, but then he'd have to put his name and address on some little internet form, and he doesn't trust it. This, torturous though it is, feels safer.

It's too bright, too crowded, too loud. But he knows where he's going, so he keeps his head down and pushes through.

"Excuse me, sir!"

Seemingly out of nowhere, there you are, stepping away from your spot near the cosmetics section and directly into his path.

He stares down at you, studying you quickly. He sees your eyes, wide and bright, and a nametag pinned to your blouse. You look a little sheepish at approaching him so directly, but you don't back down.

"I was wondering if I could interest you in purchasing a new fragrance?"

To Simon, it's a bizarre question -- he doesn't wear "a fragrance," he wears deodorant and aftershave at best. He's already not having a good time, so he scoffs a little and says, "Don't need one."

"Are you sure? I could show you some of the trendiest colognes for men, or if you have a wife or a girlfriend, perhaps a nice new perfume for her?"

He glances around the area, seeing a number of counters, some with makeup, others with skincare, then yours with all the fancy glass bottles of perfume. When he looks back at you, you're still gazing up at him, wearing a smile that doesn't fully reach your eyes.

"They forcing you to sell this shit?" he asks.

"What? No? This is my job," you tell him, a bit of your smile fading.

"Yeah, well, you look like you're doing it at gunpoint."

You hesitate, do a quick glance around, then lower your voice to say, "I've got to meet my quota is all."

He smirks, and asks, "That so?"

"Yeah. I haven't been meeting my sales goals, and I need the commission, you know? I'm not trying to be pushy, I just ... I've got the quota."

He's not sure exactly what possesses him to continue the conversation. All he wanted to do was buy a few pairs of jeans and go back home, but now here you are, looking all hopeful, and something in him tells him that he shouldn't just walk away.

"What do you wear then?" he asks.

He doesn't know where the question comes from, but you're already smiling again, more genuinely this time, and you move to the counter. You pull out a sample bottle, plain glass with a simple white label, and slide it over to him.

"For your wife?"

He doesn't answer, instead watching as you spray the perfume on a strip of paper and hand it out to him. When he takes it and lifts it to his nose, it's almost overwhelming -- he'd noticed the scent on you when you stepped in front of him, something warm and sweet, but smelling it like this ... it's like you, concentrated.

"I'll take it."

You let out a sigh of relief, getting a new box of the perfume out and packaging it up for him before ringing him up. When you give him back his change, he lets his fingers ghost over your palm as he picks it up -- not enough for you to notice, but enough that he certainly does.

Back home, he takes the perfume out of its box and sets it on his dresser. He doesn't know what to do with it, and he doesn't have anyone to give it to. And when he sprays just a little bit on his pillow, he tells himself that it's only because he doesn't want it to go to waste.

[plasticpalletsltdsblog]

Get the Best Deal on Plastic Pallets and Insulated Fish Boxes Sale in This Winter Season

The selection of pallets is crucial in the dynamic realm of supply chain management and logistics to guarantee the effective and seamless movement of goods. Although conventional wooden pallets have been a mainstay in the industry for a while, more and more companies are seeing the benefits of plastic pallets. So if you are looking for Plastic Pallets for Sale near Me, then choose a reputable Dealer like Beercrafts. Their plastic pallets have become more and more popular as a practical substitute for their wooden counterparts over time. This change is ascribed to the numerous persuasive benefits that plastic pallets offer. 

Compliance is necessary in businesses with strict standards, such food and medicines. Plastic pallets provide an answer that satisfies legal criteria and may be customized to satisfy industry-specific specifications. Purchasing compliant pallets guarantees that companies follow the guidelines. While traditional wooden pallets have long been the standard in the industry, an increasing number of businesses are realizing the advantages of plastic pallets. 

Over time, plastic pallets have gained popularity as a useful alternative to their wooden counterparts. This shift is attributed to the many compelling advantages that plastic pallets provide. Businesses that handle food and medications, for example, have stringent requirements and need compliance. Plastic pallets offer a solution that meets regulatory requirements and may be tailored to meet industry-specific requirements. Acquiring compliant pallets ensures that businesses adhere to the regulations.

Why Choose Plastic Pallets?

Strength and Lifespan

Plastic pallets are notable for their exceptional durability. Plastic pallets are immune to fungus, insects, and wetness in contrast to timber pallets. Because of its durability, there will be fewer replacements needed over time. Companies that use plastic pallets can benefit from a more durable and affordable alternative, which eventually improves operational effectiveness.

Pleasant and Simple to Clean

Because plastic pallets are non-porous, they are naturally sanitary. In contrast to wooden pallets, they do not retain moisture or a germ, which makes them the perfect option for sectors like food processing and pharmaceuticals that have strict hygienic regulations. Cleaning plastic pallets is a simple procedure that helps to create a safer and cleaner workplace.

Same Dimensions and Weight

Choosing a best dealer to get Plastic Pallets for Sale near Me is a beneficial for you. Because of Plastic pallets provide uniformity in load distribution and storage due to their constant weight and size. Better warehouse management and efficient utilization of available storage space are facilitated by this uniformity. Plastic pallets are homogenous, which makes material handling activities easier and lowers the possibility of product damage while optimizing operations.

Sustainability of the Environment

The adoption of sustainable practices by businesses has led to a growing emphasis on the environmental effect of their operations. Pallets constructed of plastic, which is frequently composed of recycled materials, may be entirely recycled when their useful life is up. Businesses may show their support for sustainability and conformity to eco-friendly standards by opting to sell plastic pallets.

The Last Ice Melt: Unbreakable Quality in Insulated Fish Boxes

Fish coolers and fish bins, often referred to as Insulated Fish Boxes, are storage and transportation units made to maintain regulated temperatures for fish, shellfish, and other perishable goods. These specialized crates are designed to insulate against temperature changes, preserving the catch's freshness and quality. In order to maintain the ideal temperature of fish and seafood products during storage, shipping, and distribution, insulated fish boxes are essential to the fishing and seafood industries. 

To provide a barrier against temperature fluctuations outside, insulating materials are used in the construction of the boxes. Foam, polyurethane, and other thermally insulating materials are examples of common insulation materials. Fish boxes with insulation assist keep the interior of the container at a constant temperature, keeping the catch from rotting from too much heat or warmth. These crates can survive the rigors of handling during fishing operations and transit since they are usually strong and damage-resistant. From the time of catch to the point of consumption, they offer a dependable means of keeping the cold chain, which is crucial for retaining the freshness and quality of fish and shellfish. Thus, if you're trying to find the greatest site to get and utilize Insulated Fish Boxes, go with Beercraft or another reliable source. They provide a large selection of pallets and boxes at the most competitive prices

[lollykingdomicecreamery]

Top Schools in Sale, VIC: Nurturing Minds, Shaping Futures

Education is the cornerstone of a thriving community, and in Sale, Victoria, parents are fortunate to have access to a range of outstanding schools. Choosing the right educational institution for your child is a crucial decision that can significantly impact their academic and personal development. In this blog post, we will explore the top seven schools in Sale, VIC, highlighting their unique features, academic excellence, and commitment to fostering a positive learning environment.

Guthridge Primary School: Where Foundations are Strongly Laid

Guthridge Primary School stands out as one of Sale's premier institutions for primary education. With a focus on building strong foundations, the school emphasizes academic excellence while also nurturing creativity and critical thinking. The dedicated teaching staff at Guthridge Primary ensures that each child receives personalized attention, helping them develop a love for learning from an early age.

St. Patrick's Primary School: Nurturing Hearts and Minds

St. Patrick's Primary School is a beacon of quality primary education in Sale. With a focus on nurturing both hearts and minds, the school provides a supportive environment for students to explore their potential. The school's commitment to fostering a strong sense of community and values-based education sets St. Patrick's apart, making it a top choice for parents seeking a well-rounded educational experience for their children.

St. Mary's Primary School: Small School, Big Opportunities

In the heart of Sale, St. Mary's Primary School offers a unique educational experience characterized by its intimate class sizes and a close-knit community. The school's small size allows for a personalized approach to learning, ensuring that each student receives the attention they need to thrive academically and personally. St. Mary's focuses on creating a supportive and inclusive environment, fostering a love for learning in every child.

Welcome to Lolly Kingdom & Ice Creamery, where sweet dreams come to life! Nestled in the heart of Ulladulla, our candy haven beckons with an irresistible charm, inviting you to explore a world of sugary delights. As the premier lollies shop near me we redefine the art of confectionery, boasting an extensive array of candies that will transport you to a whimsical realm of flavor. Picture shelves adorned with vibrant hues and jars brimming with nostalgia-inducing classics. At Lolly Kingdom, we curate an enchanting experience for candy enthusiasts, whether you're seeking the latest treats or yearning for timeless favorites. Step into our virtual wonderland at lolly-kingdom.com.au, where every click unveils a cornucopia of sweetness. Indulge your senses, satisfy your cravings, and let Lolly Kingdom Ulladulla be your go-to destination for all things delightful.

Lolly Kingdom & Ice Creamery 377 Raymond St, Sale Victoria 3850, Australia +6 14 3128 0904 https://lolly-kingdom.com.au/https://www.google.com/maps?cid=14722877019206535498

[mcminnvilleantiquesmall]

Website: https://www.mcminnvilleantiquesmall.com/

Address: McMinnville, Oregon, USA

McMinnville Antiques Mall is located in the heart of Oregon wine country on Third Street, Historic Downtown McMinnville. Our antiques mall offers a unique shopping experience under one roof, with over 50 local vendors showcasing carefully curated booths filled with antique, vintage, collectible, and handcrafted items, as well as furniture, art, jewelry, and repurposed treasures. Experience our relaxed atmosphere and friendly staff who are ready to assist you or let you browse at your leisure. Discover why we stand out in this award-winning downtown, surrounded by restaurants, wine tasting rooms, and other shopping opportunities. Join us and be a part of our vibrant vendor community in McMinnville, Oregon.

Established in 2010, McMinnville Antiques Mall has grown into a thriving hub for customers and vendors alike. We're more than just a retail space; we're a vendor family dedicated to providing a haven for all. With the distinction of being located on Third Street, recognized as ""Best Main Street of the West,"" our store showcases an eclectic collection of items. From retro and vintage finds to antiques, collectibles, furniture, art, jewelry, and handcrafted pieces, McMinnville Antiques Mall offers a truly unique shopping experience. Immerse yourself in the charm and allure of McMinnville as you explore our diverse selection.

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mcminnvilleantiquesmalloregon/

Yelp: https://www.yelp.com/biz/mcminnville-antiques-mall-mcminnville-2

Nextdoor: https://nextdoor.com/pages/mcminnville-antiques-mall-llc-mcminnville-or/

Newsregister: https://newsregister.com/directory?directoryTitle=mcminnville-antiques-mall--11376

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[pictureworthcustomframing]

Design That Heals: Hospitality Framing with Heart

Design That Heals: Hospitality Framing with Heart In the world of healthcare, first impressions matter. The right art—framed with precision—can calm nerves, lift moods, and even foster healing. That’s why several hospitals across Houston chose Picture Worth Custom Framing to transform their lobbies and waiting areas into visual sanctuaries of comfort and professionalism. Bringing Beauty to the…

[tropes-and-tales]

Friends and Lovers, Part I

(Robert "Bob" Floyd x F!Reader)

CW:  Angst. Unrequited love. Bob is stupid.

Word Count: 1121

AN:  This was requested by the lovely @callsign-frostbite for the April Showers event!

AN2: There is a sequel here!

It’s the mark of a true friend who will pick you up from the airport when you need a ride. 

It’s the mark of the truest friend who will pick you up from the airport at three in the morning, drive you through a rainstorm to an all-night Taco Bell for sustenance, hustle you home to your apartment, and crash on your couch while you shower and sleep in your own bed.

In this way, you are Bob Floyd’s truest friend, because that’s exactly what you do for him.  He was on leave and went back home for it, and you’re the one who picks him up from the San Diego Airport.  You meet him in baggage claim, you feed him, you get him home.  And because it’s so late—or early, depending on one’s view of it—you crash on his couch.

You’re Bob Floyd’s truest, best friend, but you aren’t his girlfriend.  That role is currently held by a woman named Kenzie.  She’s been his girlfriend for nearly a year now, but for some reason, Bob never even considered calling her for his late night (early morning) airport ride.

He only ever considered calling you…but Bob Floyd doesn’t really contemplate why that is.  He is analytical to a fault, an excellent compartmentalizer, and anything that veers to near to feelings, matters of the heart…well, all he needs to know is that you’re his best friend, Kenzie is his girlfriend, and that is that.

-----

He sleeps in for only an extra hour, but when he wakes, it is to the heavenly scents of freshly brewed coffee and something delicious baking.  When he makes his way to his kitchen, he finds you pulling out a pan of cinnamon rolls from the oven.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, because that’s what he always says when you do any of the hundreds of things to take care of him.

“I didn’t have to.  I wanted to,” you reply, because that’s what you always say back to him.  Because you care for the people in your life like it’s second nature, like it’s no big deal.

You gesture for him to sit, and you bring him a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll so fresh from the oven that the icing you drizzle over it melts into the warm pastry.  You make another circuit from kitchen to dinette, your hands full with your own coffee and roll, and you settle across from him.

“Good trip?” you ask. 

He nods, and he fills you in on everything.  The old high school friends he met up with.  The family dinners, going out with his father and sisters to shoot trap.  His mother fussing over him, his sisters tormenting him.

“Helped my grandma clean out her house a little,” Bob adds as he starts on his third cinnamon roll.  “She’s going to downsize this year, so she’s getting rid of nearly everything.”

That piques your interest; you’re a champion of the vintage haul, haunting estate sales and garage sales and swap meets for old, interesting pieces of anything.  Clothes, jewelry, bric-a-brac for your apartment.  Bob almost wishes he’d taken you along to help his grandma—the two of you would have gotten along famously, he thinks.

“She sent me home with some stuff,” he continues.  “Here, wait.  I’ll show you.”

He gets up and goes into his living room where most of his luggage still sits, waiting to be unpacked.  He digs into the largest suitcase and pulls out a shoe box, then brings it over to the kitchen table.  When he sits, he takes the chair beside yours instead of across from you so he can pass you all the things his grandma gave him.

Later, he’ll blame the setting of the moment.  Maybe he was more tired than he thought.  Sometimes he got goofy when he was tired, playful in an almost drunk way.  Or maybe it was just the perfection of the moment:  California sun slanting in bright and yellow from the windows, the warm scent of the cinnamon rolls.

The show-and-tell starts out great:  Bob passes you old photos, his grandfather’s Silver Star, a scattering of old, interesting coins.  He shows you his grandfather’s old watch—broken, but possible to repair, perhaps.

It goes wrong when he passes you the old jewelry box, the velvet rubbed away from the corners.  He opens it to show you his grandmother’s mother’s engagement ring, a modest diamond set in a beautiful filigree setting.  His grandma had handed it to him, hinted heavily at him using it sooner rather than later.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!”  You take the open box from him and peer at the ring.  “It looks like an Old European Cut on the diamond.  So, like, Art Deco, maybe?”

This is the precise moment it goes wrong.  Bob watches your face as you study the ring, and something—he can’t say what—makes him ease the box out of your hands.  He takes the ring from its cushioning, and he takes your left hand in his.

He slides the ring on your ring finger, and he says “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you” in a mock-serious tone, a joking-adjacent tone, but the second his eyes slide up to your face to take in your expression, he realizes how badly he’s just fucked up.

Because you aren’t smiling.  You don’ t have that wry grin on your face to let him know that you’re in on the joke.  You’re gazing back at him, serious as a heart attack, but there’s hope in your eyes, a glimmer of something fragile and hopeful, and when he sees it, his own smile falters.

When his smile falters, it kills that fragile glimmer in your eye, and Bob’s stomach sinks, turns in his gut, and he thinks he might puke right here.

“I mean…” he stammers.  “I was just kidding…”

You stare at him for a long beat, then blink rapidly, like you’re clearing your vision from whatever hopeful future he just built up and dashed in under twenty seconds.  You pull your hand from his, yank the ring off your finger so hard that you scrape the knuckle and hiss at the sting of pain.  You set it down on the tabletop with a quiet click, and then you’re on your feet and moving towards the door.

“Hey, wait.”  He stands too, manages to catch you right as you’re opening his door.  He gets his hand on your wrist and stills you enough that you turn and face him.

“You – you’re my best friend,” he says, like that explains anything at all, but you only answer him by shaking your head, pulling yourself from his grasp, and leaving.

[mandoalorian]

meet cute [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Congress & Carnality Prologue

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: Moving to New York was supposed to be a fresh start. You didn’t expect to cross paths with a stranger who offered a helping hand—or that fate would throw him back into your life in the most unexpected way. Now, navigating a new job and an enigmatic boss, you start to wonder if this city has more surprises in store than you bargained for.

Word Count: 3100

Tags/warnings: 18+ fic series. employer x employee.

Masterlist

congress & carnality masterlist

Brooklyn was alive with the hum of the city—horns blaring, distant laughter floating through the air, the occasional shout of a street vendor trying to make a sale. The summer heat had begun to cool with the setting sun, but your skin still stuck to the fabric of your shirt as you strained to lift the last of the boxes from the moving van.

It wasn’t going well.

You gritted your teeth, adjusting your grip on the heavy cardboard box labeled BOOKS – HEAVY AS HELL in thick marker. You had been ambitious, thinking you could handle moving all your things alone. Your new apartment was on the third floor, the elevator was out of service, and your arms were already aching.

"Come on, come on," you muttered under your breath, trying to shift the weight in your hands. Just a few more steps to the front door—

"You need a hand with that?"

The deep voice startled you, making you jump. You turned too quickly, and the box wobbled dangerously in your arms, your grip slipping. Before you could react, strong hands reached out, steadying it with ease.

"Whoa—got it," the man said smoothly, catching the box before it could meet the pavement.

Your heart pounded, both from the near disaster and the sudden presence of him.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark t-shirt that stretched across his chest in a way that made your stomach flip. His dark hair was a little longer, pushed back like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. But it was his eyes that caught you—steel blue, sharp and assessing, yet softened by something unreadable.

He was handsome. Like, ridiculously handsome. And familiar.

“I saw you from across the street,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck. “Looked like you needed a hand. Forgive me for overstepping, ma’am.”

Ma’am? Was this man trapped in the 40s? “No you’re all good,” You swallowed, clearing your throat. "Uh—thanks."

"You sure you got this?" he asked, glancing at you with a teasing smirk as he easily lifted the box like it weighed nothing. "Looked like you were about to start a wrestling match with it."

You narrowed your eyes. "I had it under control."

"Right," he drawled, clearly unconvinced. "That's why you were losing?"

Your lips pressed together, but despite yourself, you let out a small huff of laughter. "Fine. Maybe I was struggling a little."

"Kinda figured," he said, shifting the box effortlessly under one arm. "Where to?"

You hesitated. "You really don’t have to—"

"Third floor?"

You sighed in defeat. "…Yes."

"Then I’m helping."

You knew better than to argue with someone who looked like they could carry your entire bookshelf up the stairs without breaking a sweat. You grabbed a smaller box to at least pretend you were contributing and led him toward the building.

"You new to the area?" he asked as you climbed the stairs, barely winded. Meanwhile, your legs were already burning.

"Yeah," you panted. "Just moved here for work."

"Work, huh?" His voice held a note of interest.

"Technically nowhere yet," you admitted with a dry laugh. "I have an interview tomorrow."

"Big deal?"

"Could be. It’s for a political assistant position."

His steps faltered just for a second, so brief you almost missed it.

"Politics, huh?"

"Yeah. Not my first choice, but… I need the money. And I figure it’s a good stepping stone."

He hummed, unreadable. "Well, if it’s meant to be, you’ll get it.”

You raised a brow at that, watching him effortlessly balance the heavy box in one hand. His other hand, clad in a single dark leather glove, flexed as he adjusted his grip.

Your curiosity got the better of you. "What’s with the glove?” 

His expression didn’t change, but there was the slightest pause before he shrugged. "Fashion statement."

You smirked. "Oh, sure. You just had to be the guy who wears one leather glove in the middle of summer."

"Exactly," he said smoothly. "Real trendsetter."

You laughed, eyeing his physique. "Are you a bodybuilder or something?"

He grinned, a soft blush kissing his cheeks when he realised you were checking him out. "Something like that."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "You’re being very mysterious."

"Am I?" His smirk widened.

"Yes. And it’s suspicious."

"You think I’m suspicious?"

"A little."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe I just enjoy keeping you on your toes."

Your stomach did an unexpected flip at that, and you quickly looked away, pretending to focus on not tripping over the stairs.

When you reached your apartment, he set the box down effortlessly while you huffed and wiped sweat from your brow. He turned to you, rubbing his palms together as if dusting them off.

"There you go. Least I could do.”

You hesitated. "Thanks… I uh— I appreciate your help,” You said awkwardly, extending your arm to shake the man’s gloved hand. You registered the weight of it, a strong and firm grip. “Do you live round here?”

“Ah, no,” The man replied. “Used to. Was born here, actually. But that was a while ago and everything looks so different now. I hardly recognise it,” You quirked an eyebrow. The man appeared no older than 40 and you could’ve sworn the neighbourhood hadn’t changed that much.  “I live in uptown Manhattan.”

You laughed. “Wow, fancy,” you tutted, jokingly rolling your eyes. “How come you’re here in Brooklyn?”

“Promised I’d meet with Sam for a drink later, he’s a friend, I mean, he’s actually more of a headache,” he replied, clearly unimpressed with himself.

“You know I didn’t catch your name.” You laughed. In the past five minutes you’d learned the name of this Brooklyn-born body builder’s friend and discussed his keen eye for fashion trends, and yet, you didn’t even know his name. 

Something flickered across his face, a split-second hesitation. Then, smoothly, he said, "Bucky."

Bucky.

The name stirred something in your mind. But before you could dwell on it, he was already backing up, a small smirk on his lips.

"Good luck tomorrow," he said. "Hope you get the job."

You wanted to say something else—to ask if you’d see him again. But the words caught in your throat, and before you could untangle them, he was already turning down the hallway, disappearing into the stairwell.

You sighed, shaking your head. If it’s meant to be…

Yeah, right. What were the chances you'd ever run into him again?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Late. You were so late.

When your eyes fluttered open that morning, it was already too bright outside. Too bright meant one thing—you had overslept.

The moment you turned your head to check the time on your phone, panic set in like ice in your veins.

8:43 AM.

Your interview was at 9:30 AM.

In Manhattan.

Your stomach dropped.

"Shit—!"

You flew out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets as you scrambled to the bathroom, fumbling to brush your teeth while simultaneously yanking a hairbrush through your tangled strands. Your carefully planned, professional morning routine? Completely out the window.

By the time you threw on your blouse and blazer—both slightly wrinkled—and snatched up your bag, it was already 8:57.You bolted down the stairs of your apartment building, the adrenaline in your veins the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

The subway was packed. Of course it was—rush hour in New York.

You squeezed yourself into the train, clutching onto the pole with one hand while you rifled through your bag with the other, checking for your resume.

Crumpled.

Great.

The train lurched forward, and you stumbled, mumbling a curse. Your reflection in the dirty subway window revealed wide, stressed-out eyes, flushed cheeks, and a shirt that looked like it had been rolled into a ball before you put it on. Fantastic first impression.

The train ride felt eternal, every stop stretching time like torture.

By the time you finally made it to Uptown Manhattan, you were sweating. You raced up the steps to street level, nearly twisting your ankle in your heels as you sprinted down the crowded sidewalk.

The office building came into view, towering over you with its sleek glass facade. You skidded to a stop inside, gasping for breath as you approached the receptionist.

"I'm—I'm here for the—interview," you panted, pushing hair from your face.

She barely glanced up. "Mr. Barnes is expecting you."

You straightened, trying to regain a semblance of dignity. Mr. Barnes? The name meant nothing to you. You nodded, smoothing your clothes before pushing through the doors.

And then—you froze.

Because sitting behind the massive mahogany desk, was Bucky.

Your Bucky.

Except… not your Bucky.

Congressman James Buchanan Barnes.

Oh. Oh.

His smirk was slow and smug, his eyes filled with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.

"Surprise," he murmured, a coy smile playing on his lips.

Your stomach plummeted.

Oh, shit.

The straight navy blue suit was very different to the black tec-top he was wearing when you had met him yesterday. His hair had been combed back with a little product placed in it to keep it from falling out of his face. You stood there, still, like a tin of milk, blinking in disbelief at the Congressman you were stood before. 

“Well, you could at least take a seat, sweetheart,” Bucky chuckled, pulling your seat out like a gentleman. 

Your legs moved on autopilot, your mind still reeling as you sank down into the chair. You tried to steady your breathing, smoothing your clammy hands over your skirt as you forced yourself to focus.

He walked over to the drinks trolley, picking out a crystal glass. “Want a drink?”

“Wa-water would be good,” you swallowed, stiffly sitting into the chair and taking your crumpled resume out of your purse, doing your best to straighten it out the best you could. 

“You’re thirty minutes late,” Bucky acknowledged. “But your shirt is inside out so I won’t be too harsh on you.”

You gasped looking down at yourself. He was right. How had that even happened? 

Bucky handed you the glass of ice water and slid into the chair, opposite you, behind the obnoxiously large mahogany wood desk. 

“You're staring.” His voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

You blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing as you tried to form words. Any words.

"You—You're him!" you finally sputtered. “Congressman James Buchanan Barnes!"

“Just Bucky is fine," he corrected, his lips twitching. "But yeah. Still me."

Your pulse thundered in your ears. "You're—You're a Congressman?"

His smirk widened. "Something like that."

You shot him a glare. "That’s the same thing you said when I asked if you were a bodybuilder."

"I was being vague for a reason."

"You—!" You exhaled sharply, gripping the folder in your hands so tightly the edges crumpled. Your eyes scanned your resume one last time before handing it over to him. ”This is the political assistant job?"

"That would be correct."

"And you’re the one hiring for it?"

Another nod.

You could kill him.

Bucky only watched you with a maddeningly calm expression, clearly enjoying your struggle to process reality. This was still an interview. Your interview. And you were going to nail it—whether or not the man across from you was someone who had once carried your heavy-ass book box like it weighed nothing.

Bucky leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "So," he said, voice settling into something more businesslike. "Tell me why you want to work for me."

You straightened, lifting your chin. "I'm interested in politics, and I think working as a congressional assistant would be a valuable step in gaining experience."

He arched a brow. "But not your dream job?"

You hesitated. "No," you admitted. "But I want to learn. I want to understand how things work from the inside."

His sharp blue gaze studied you for a long moment. "And you’re okay working in a… morally gray environment?"

Your brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Bucky sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Politics isn't exactly clean. There's a lot of… persuasion, deal-making, bending the truth."

You swallowed. "I can handle it."

That made him smile. It was small, approving.

"Alright, then," he said, leaning back. "You’re hired."

Your eyes widened. "What?"

"Congratulations, sweetheart." His grin was teasing. "You just became my new assistant.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Bucky led you through the winding halls of the congressional office, his presence steady beside you. The space was sleek—wood-paneled walls, modern glass partitions, the faint hum of ringing phones and muted conversations filling the air. You tried to take it all in, the sheer gravity of where you were now working.

You had just started feeling like you could breathe again when Bucky turned a corner and led you into an open office space filled with desks, most of them occupied by young, fast-talking, coffee-fueled staffers who barely spared you a glance.

But one person did notice you immediately.

She was perched against the edge of a desk, legs crossed, her deep red dress fitted to perfection. She had long honey blonde hair, pristine makeup, and an air of effortless authority that made it clear she was used to being in charge.

Her gaze swept over you in an instant—assessing, calculating. And then she smirked.

"So, this is the new girl?"

You forced a polite smile, ignoring the sharp prickle of discomfort that ran down your spine. "That’s me."

Tara’s eyes flicked over to Bucky, amusement dancing in her gaze. "I see why you hired her."

Your stomach clenched at the implication.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Bucky cut in smoothly, his tone firm. "Tara."

She glanced at him, feigning innocence. "What? It’s just an observation."

"You promised to play nice," he reminded her.

She hummed, tilting her head at you. "I am being nice."

You arched a brow. "I'd hate to see what not nice looks like."

That seemed to amuse her. "Oh, you’ll find out," she said lightly before pushing off the desk. "Welcome to the team, sweetheart." With that, she strode past you, the scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air.

You exhaled, finally turning back to Bucky. "Well. She seems charming."

Bucky chuckled. "You’ll get used to her."

"I doubt that."

His smirk grew. "Tara’s tough, but she’s good at her job."

You folded your arms. "Is she always like that?"

"Like what?"

You shot him a flat look. "You know what."

He sighed, rubbing his jaw. "She’s protective. She likes to test people."

"Test people? Or test me?"

Bucky’s lips twitched. "A little of both."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push further.

"Come on," he said, nodding towards the exit. "You survived your first day. That means you deserve a reward."

You frowned. "A reward?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "Coffee. On me."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The café Bucky led you to was small, nestled into a quiet corner of Manhattan. It had warm lighting, the scent of roasted espresso beans filling the air, and a cozy charm that made you instantly feel at ease.

You stepped inside, grateful for the slower pace compared to the chaos of the office. Bucky guided you to a table near the window, and as you sat, you let out a long breath.

"Better?" he asked, watching you.

You nodded. "Much."

A barista came by to take your orders—Bucky got a simple black coffee, while you opted for something with far too much sugar and whipped cream.

As soon as the barista left, you looked at him, narrowing your eyes playfully. "So. Congressman Barnes."

Bucky groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You can just call me Bucky, y'know."

You smirked. "Oh, I know. But I’m still reeling from the fact that you didn’t tell me you were a politician when I met you."

"I didn’t lie to you," he said innocently. "I just… didn’t offer unnecessary details."

You scoffed. "Not unnecessary! You made me think you were some guy who just walked around offering free labour to people moving into their apartments."

He shrugged. "Maybe I am that guy."

"Yeah, and maybe I’m the Queen of England."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. I’ll admit it—I should’ve told you."

You leaned forward, propping your elbows on the table. "Why didn’t you?"

His smirk faded just slightly, his eyes darkening.

"Would you have acted differently?" he asked. "If you knew who I was?"

You opened your mouth to respond but hesitated. Would you have?

You weren’t sure.

He saw the conflict on your face and smiled knowingly. "Exactly."

You huffed. "Still. You let me ramble on about my job search when you knew you were the one I was applying to work for!"

He grinned. "That was my favorite part."

You kicked him lightly under the table.

He chuckled, reaching for his coffee as the barista returned with your drinks. You took a slow sip of yours, savoring the warmth, before glancing at him again.

"So, tell me," you said. "What exactly does being your assistant entail?"

Bucky smirked. "Keeping me in line."

You snorted. "That sounds like a full-time job and overtime."

"You’re not wrong," he admitted. "You’ll help with scheduling, policy briefings, liaising with the press. And, sometimes…" He hesitated. "You’ll deal with people like Tara."

You made a face. "Ah. So ‘babysitter’ should be in the job description."

He chuckled. "Something like that."

There was a moment of quiet between you two, the soft hum of café chatter around you.

Then Bucky spoke again, his voice softer this time.

"I wanted to ask you out for coffee the other day," he admitted. "When I helped you move."

Your breath caught.

"But I chickened out," he continued, looking down at his cup. "Figured I missed my chance."

You tilted your head. "And now?"

"Now?" He looked up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. "Now, I finally have an excuse."

Your pulse stuttered.

Fate.

You had told yourself that if it was meant to be, you’d cross paths again.

And here you were.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

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[cherrrydior]

"and i got eyes on the back of my head, i got eyes everywhere so i know where you go"

after snorting a line, rafe threw his head back, his pupils blown, a lazy smile on his face. he chuckles at the high taking over him as he closes his eyes and rests his head on the back of the couch. as the music faded away, he heard the sweet sound of laughter, a sound he had never heard before. his eyes shot open only a moment later, feeling a strong urge. he lifted his head up with a jerk and his eyes immediately zeroed in on you.

your hair was blown out prettily, falling to rest just around your midsection. you were adorned from head to toe in the finest gold jewellery you could owned, from necklaces to diamond rings. you were kook princess after all. your body was clad in a silky, pink, flowy dress, the hem ending at the tips of your fingertips. your fingers were manicured in almond-shaped acrylics glazed with pearl iridescent polish.

everyone else faded around you. he could only hear your soft laughter, watching your head get thrown back by whatever your friend says. watches you gracefully walk around greeting everyone you knew. rafe was in awe. no one knew that, not at the way his eyes were intently looking at you. he seemed more agitated than anything.

"what y'looking at, country club?" barry nudges rafe with a smirk, eyes trying to focus in on what rafe was glaring at. rafe's head ticks in annoyance."nothin' " he doesn't even look towards barry's direction.

"kook princess, huh?" barry chuckles but rafe sees it as nothing but a threat. his hands come up to lock around barry's neck.

barry raises both his hands in surrender. "woah, there, country club. y'don't gotta worry about me ."

rafe wanted you and he would stop at nothing to have you.

you don't think much of it when the house next door that had been for sale for a while had been bought. you smiled in delight when you noticed a moving truck unloading boxes. you took it upon yourself to welcome your new neighbour by baking some brownies only to find out that rafe had moved in next door.

the moment he found out you had a car, he placed a tracker in such a hidden spot, even the mechanics wouldn't see it.

he befriended your older brother just to go to your house and watch you prance around in the skimpiest bikinis and pyjama sets.

he'd sneak into your room when your brother is busy in the bathroom and go through your underwear drawer or dirty laundry just to steal some of your panties. you think nothing of it when your underwear goes missing because everything goes missing on laundry day.

from staying over at your house so much, he'd come to learn your schedule. he'd even go as far to stage run-ins with you, wondering how you guys are coincidentally at the same place at the same time. one meeting that really irked you was how he was just walking past your nail place in the cut knowing damn well he'd never go near that place.

the more you guys ran into each other, the slitter your outfits would get. tighter tops and skirts. your tops would sometimes be lingerie especially at parties. you had caught onto his antics.

little did he know that you wanted him too.

[gearboxmanufacturerahmedabad]

How to Choose the Right Gearbox Size. Importance of Correct Sizing

In the realm of machinery, gearboxes play a vital role. They help in transferring energy from the motor or a driving device to the rest of the system. Thus, they can easily control speed to a great extent. However, buying only the right gearboxes from a reliable manufacturer is crucial.

Now, you may wonder how to choose the right size of a gearbox, right? Hence, here are some important things that you should know before buying a gearbox.

What is a Worm Gearbox?

A worm gearbox is also known as a worm drive or a worm gear reducer. Here, the worm is like a ball and may have just one start or multiple starts. This means that this worm has multiple threads or helices.

It has the power to enable the transfer of rotational motion. The worm relates to a screw and this screw mates with a worm wheel.

Next, when the input power is applied to the worm, it will turn against the wheel and then can transmit power to the worm wheel. In this way, the worm can easily turn the gear. However, because of self-locking, the gear won’t be able to turn the worm.

Advantages of Worm Gears

The most important benefit of a worm gear is that it can generate high reduction ratios, and eventually, high torque multiplication. Moreover, in applications related to low to medium speed, they can be used as speed reducers.

Moreover, these worm gears are more compact than other gears as their reduction ratio depends on the gear teeth numbers. Thus, some self-locking worm gears, such as fine-pitch lead screws can become a perfect option for hoisting and lifting applications.

Why Is It Crucial to Choose the Right Size of a Worm Gearbox?

Longevity: Only the correct size of a worm gearbox can successfully reduce the risk of overloading, which can result in early wear and tear. Thus, the right-sized worm gearboxes can extend the lifespan of the machinery to a great extent.

Efficiency: The right size of a worm gearbox can make sure that the power is transmitted correctly. Thus, it can avoid energy loss and optimize the performance of your device.

Cost–Cost-Effectiveness: Just by using the right-sized worm gearbox, you can save your expenses, as incorrect sizing of these gearboxes may lead to potential damages and increased maintenance costs.

How to Choose the Right Gearbox Size

Consider the Type of Application

Various types of applications need different types of gearboxes. For example, an application with high torque usually requires a heavy-duty gearbox. In contrast, a precision application might need a gearbox that has some fine adjustment abilities.

Find Out Load Requirements

It is quite vital to assess the load that a worm gearbox needs to handle. To find out this, you must have a clear idea regarding the maximum torque and speed your application will require. Using a small or a large gearbox instead of the right one may result in inefficiencies and damage.

Consult reliable worm gearbox manufacturers

If you are confused about what kind of gearbox you must choose, you may contact a reliable gearbox manufacturer for further advice.

So, choosing the right size of a worm gearbox is a vital task that you should never ignore. For the best ideas, you can contact a reliable Gearbox manufacturer in Ahmedabad, Vraj Gears.

[smutmind]

Are you taking requests for the "How She Pays" series? Because I think that Twice´s Chaeyeong would be a great fit

Something like paying for an expensive modern art piece with sex because it way more expensive than what she thought it would be and she´s not carrying enough money, or something like that connects with her artsy style

Appraised and Claimed

Twice Chaeyoung X Male OC The pawnshop smelled of tobacco wood and forgotten time.

Chaeyoung stepped inside like she owned it, boots clicking over mosaic tiles, black hair spilling down her back like ink. The air clung to her skin—thick with heat and history. Every shelf brimmed with character: brass compasses, pocket watches, velvet boxes hiding tarnished secrets. This place wasn’t just old; it had teeth.

She moved like music, hips rocking with subtle intent. The denim on her thighs clung desperately, paint-streaked and threadbare. Tattoos licked out from under her crop top, curling up her ribs, over collarbones, blooming into a garden of rebellion.

"You sell stories, or just the leftovers?" Her voice came out dusky, flirtatious.

Terrance looked up from behind a mahogany counter. Broad-shouldered, skin deep cocoa, a salt-and-pepper beard that framed lips like a carved secret. He wore a simple black tee, sleeves rolled tight against biceps. Late 30s, maybe 40, with eyes that'd seen too much but judged nothing.

"Depends what kind of story you're chasing."

She lifted a rusted music box from a shelf. Delicate engravings. Tiny ballerina, faded pink.

"This one," she said. "It’s mine now."

Terrance shook his head slowly. "That piece isn’t for sale."

Her brow lifted. "Everything has a price."

"Not this."

Her smile faltered for a blink. "Seriously? Do you know who I am?"

"I know what you think that means."

"It means I can pay ten times what it's worth. Hell, I could buy this whole shop."

He nodded slowly. "And still not enough."

The air went taut. She stepped in close, her chin tilting up, challenge sharp in her gaze. "You must really like old junk."

"It's not junk," he snapped, voice like gravel. "It was my sister's. She played it every night until cancer stole her voice. It's the last sound I have of her."

Her mouth parted, expression softening. "That... okay. That's something."

He turned back to his ledger, the dismissal clear.

Chaeyoung didn't move. Then: "What if I gave you a memory worth more than the past? Something unforgettable."

"Flirting won’t work."

"Who said anything about flirting?" Her smile turned wicked. "I’m offering you a trade. Body for a box."

He exhaled, slow. "You're really not used to hearing 'no,' are you?"

She stepped even closer, so near their breath mingled. "You’re kind of turning me on with it."

He hesitated. Her bravado was fraying now—a hint of fire licking at her ego. Her eyes searched his face. "You don’t want me?"

"Wanting’s not the problem. It's what happens after."

"Then stop thinking. Just want."

The clock behind them ticked. Her knee brushed his arm. Electricity.

"Lock the door," she whispered.

He moved.

Click.

The sign flipped. CLOSED.

Her smile returned, sharp and dangerous. "Good boy."

She slid from the counter and circled him, fingers trailing down his spine.

"So what happens now, Mr. Sentimental?"

He crossed the floor slowly, each step grounding. Controlled. Watching her. "Now? Now you try to make yourself unforgettable."

She kicked off her boots, one foot bare on polished wood, the other on hand-woven Persian. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her crop top. "You think I'm bluffing?"

"I think you're dangerous."

"Good. Because I bite."

He pulled her close, his grip bruising. She gasped, her fingers curling into his shirt.

"Then show me."

She dropped to her knees, slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact. Hands moved with purpose, unfastening his jeans. Her lips parted.

"You going to remember this?"

"Every goddamn second."

She wrapped her fingers around him, breath catching. "You're huge."

"You can back out."

She smirked. "I don’t run."

Her mouth closed over him, tongue working, slow and wet. She took him deeper, inch by inch, until he groaned and his hand tangled in her hair.

"Fuck, Chaeyoung. Just like that."

She moaned around him, the vibration sending him spiraling. She gagged, adjusted, then went back down. He hissed, voice rough.

"Goddamn, you're going to make me come just like this."

She pulled back, eyes shining. "Not yet. I want all of you when you do."

He lifted her effortlessly, laid her back across the velvet-lined display case. Her legs parted, eager. He slid fingers down, teasing her through soaked lace.

"You're dripping."

"For you. Only you."

He slid inside in one thrust. She cried out, head thrown back.

"Jesus, you're thick. Stretching me so full."

He didn’t slow down. If anything, he thrust harder, driving her hips into the rattling counter, palms flat on the glass behind her for balance. Her breath hitched, a sharp gasp turning into a moan as his rhythm found something ruthless.

“Shit—okay—” Her voice broke around the words, torn between pleasure and overwhelm. “You’re… really not playing tonight.”

“Not when you sound like that.” His voice was gravel, his grip bruising. “So fucking wet for me.”

She tried to reply but another slam into her soaked center stole the air from her lungs. Her head tipped back, throat exposed. The sound she made was raw, guttural.

Then it happened—an uncoiling heat deep in her gut, rushing outward. Her body tensed, spine arching as a sudden wave gushed free from her, soaking them both. Her eyes flew open, shocked.

“Oh my god—I—fuck, I haven’t—” she stammered, trembling. “I haven’t done that in years—”

He stared down, soaked and grinning. “Look at you. Fucking perfect.”

Her legs were still shaking, her voice caught between breath and need. “Don’t stop,” she managed. “Don’t—”

He bent over her, dragging a kiss along her collarbone, and thrust again. She choked on a sob of pleasure, then bucked under him, her entire body tightening. Her nails found his back, digging deep.

“I’m cumming—fuck, I’m cumming again—”

Her orgasm tore through her, thighs locking around his waist as her body pulsed around him. She rode it with abandon, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, lips trembling.

When she came back down, blinking through the haze, her voice was hoarse but clear. “Your turn,” she whispered. “Come for me. Use me.”

He hesitated, just a moment.

She reached up, tugged his hair. “Please. Don’t hold back. I want it.”

That was all it took. He pulled out, breath ragged, and she shifted upright, guiding him back between her thighs even as her body still twitched. She straddled him again, his length stretching her too wide.

“Still too big,” she gasped, bouncing. “But I don’t fucking care—”

He grabbed her ass, lifting her with both hands as she bounced on him, their bodies slick, obscene sounds echoing in the tiny shop. Her breath hitched with every impact, arms looped around his neck, mouth open in a grin that bordered on madness.

“Fuck, you’re strong,” she gasped, voice shaking. “You like throwing me around, don’t you?”

“You like making a mess all over my dick,” he shot back, hoisting her higher before slamming her down again. “God, you’re tight even soaked.”

“Mmhm,” she moaned, biting her lip. “I’d rather sock this cock than take home that stupid antique anyway.”

He snorted, lips brushing her ear. “Is that so?”

“Dead serious,” she breathed. “That box? Might’ve been priceless before—but now it smells like sex and desperation.”

Laughing, he spun them and set her down on the glass counter with a clatter of trinkets. “Then let’s finish ruining it.”

She leaned back, breasts rising and falling, legs spread lazily. “What are you waiting for, Mr. Sentimental?” she teased. “Come on me. Mark your territory.”

He stared, jaw clenched, chest heaving. One hand worked his length, slick and furious, the other resting on her thigh. Her eyes locked on his, challenging.

“You wanna see what you do to me?” he growled.

“Every last drop,” she whispered.

And he gave it to her—hot spurts painting her collarbone, her chest, even her chin. She didn’t flinch. Just watched him, lips parted, loving every second.

When it slowed, she dragged her fingers through the mess across her stomach, then licked one clean. “Guess I am the treasure in this shop.”

He chuckled, breathless, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. “No fucking doubt.”

She grinned up at him, smug and glowing. “Think anyone’ll still want that box after this?”

“Only if they’re into scented antiques,” he said, brushing her hair back.

She laughed, breath still uneven, then reached for her bag. “Here,” she said, scribbling something onto a receipt with a swipe of her lipstick. “My number. In case you feel like appraising something else next time.”

He reached out to take it, still dazed, chest heaving.

But instead of heading for the door, she slid down to her knees in front of him, her smile slow and wicked.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Her fingers wrapped around him again, guiding him to her lips. “Saying goodbye like a proper girl should,” she murmured. “Don’t get sentimental on me now.”

Then she took him into her mouth—soft, wet, reverent. He groaned, hips twitching as she sucked him slow and deep, tongue circling, moaning softly like she missed the taste already.

“Damn…” he breathed, hand tangling in her hair. “You’re fucking unreal.”

She didn’t stop until he pulsed again, just enough for her to hum approval and swallow, licking him clean with practiced ease. When she stood, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking.

“Told you I’d rather suck cock than take home that box.”

He could only nod, spent and stunned, watching her walk to the door.

The bell jingled as she slipped out into the night, hips swaying, leaving behind a ruined counter, a destroyed antique—and him, cock twitching, still aching, her number in his hand like a promise.

-----

added a little spin to your idea.