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[custompackagingsupplies]

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[juliahope]

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐒𝐭��𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐎𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐮𝐦 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐱𝐞𝐬

Custom hanger display boxes offer numerous benefits for product packaging. They are versatile, durable, and customizable in various sizes, shapes, and designs. These boxes enhance product visibility and appeal, making them ideal for retail shelves. They attract customers ' attention with features like embossing, UV varnishing, and foil stamping. Additionally, they provide secure packaging, are cost-effective and eco-friendly, and help promote brand identity.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (1)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn't that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You rush off the bus, stumbling as your toe hits the curb. You stagger and right yourself, rushing by the other passengers as they shuffle along the pavement. You cut across the grass into the parking lot and hurry towards the front doors of the box store. You're just on time to punch in. 

You sweep in through the front door and wave at Claudia as she stands at the front door welcoming in customers. You flit around the displays of seasonal candy and dip in between customers and aisles until you get to the back of the store. Before you can key in the code, the lounge door opens. You back up as Drew, the store manager, steps out. 

He stops and checks his watch. He curls his lip. You're not late. Not yet. Not unless he doesn't let you through. 

"On the floor in the next minute," he demands. 

"Yes, sir," you agree. 

He steps out and lets the door fall behind him. You barely catch it as you spin through and keep the door open with your foot. You punch in your employee code. The screen blinks green. It's right on the hour. 

You toss your bag on the shelf above and hang your jacket from one of the many bent hangers. Lilian pull the door back from against your toe and huffs as she steps out. You follow her. She's worked there about two decades too long. 

You go out to your zone; with the vases, candlesticks, and lamps.  

You wander around, waiting on any customer to come by and distract you from the slow grind of time. You rove around for the fifth time and relent to your mindless urges. You take out your phone and check your notifications. A couple of hearts and shares. You smile. You don't have too much time for more than work and everything else piling up around you. Your little corner of social media is your one escape. 

A shadow steps into the same aisle as you. You hide your phone, slipping it into your back pocket, and smile at Drew doing his rounds. He marches toward you. You turn to tidy the shelf. 

"Name tag." 

You look down. "I got it..." your voice fizzles as you see the logo. It's the wrong one. "I'm so sorry--" 

"You're more than entitled to have another job but once it starts interfering with his one..." 

"It's not, sir, I'm sorry." You reach into your pocket and find your other name tag. You switch them out. "It was a long night." 

He doesn't smile. He doesn't care and you know it. You don't make excuses a lot but some things you just can't control, no matter how much you wish you could. 

"This is work." He sniffs and saunters away. 

You stare after him. Yeah, it sure is. You prefer your other job. It's always quiet in the small boutique. That's probably not a great omen for your employment but the vintage re-seller is much calmer than the corporate discount depot. Some days, you can't handle all the people. 

When you're sure the coast is clear, you take out your cell again. You hide in the corner with the decorative bowls. You rewatch your reel of the chrysalis moving ever so slightly. You're really excited for that one. You hope you didn't leave your window closed. The air gets too hot in your room. 

You flip over to your messages. You key in a quick 'how's it going?' and hit send as you hear voices. You tuck away your phone and push your shoulders back. You strut up the aisle and greet the pair of older ladies with a smile. 

"Hi, how are you today? Can I help you find something?" You ask. 

"I think we can find the discount shelf, thank you," the red-haired woman retorts flippantly and rolls her eyes at her companion. "As I was saying, Gia is coming back next month..." 

"Let me know if you need anything," you call after them softly and retreat to the next aisle. 

You give it a couple minutes before you go back to scrolling. The women chatter about their children and their husbands. They have so much going on. Happy things they couldn't be more miserable about. 

A message blips up, a small envelope in the margin. You pull down the menu and click on it. It's your mom. 

'Just woke up. Can't find my water bottle.' 

You type; 'I left a note by your bed. It's in the fridge with your dinner. Sorry if I worried you. Love you.' 

She replies with only a heart. If she just woke up, it's likely all she can manage. You return a heart of your own and put your phone away. It's no longer a doorway to distraction; it's a reminder. 

You stop just at the edge of the clothing section. If Drew catches you, he'll write you up again. You look at the pink paisley scarves hanging beside the tan purses on sale. That would look nice on mom. She needs a new one. Her cap is getting ratty. 

Well, only seven and a half more hours, a bus ride home, and you can check on her. 

🦋

The apartment is quiet as you enter. It usually is regardless of the time of day. It wasn’t always like that, but you understand why it is now. 

You sanitize your hands and turn on the living room light. Your mom is on the couch, hugging a pillow, eyes closed. She looks peaceful. Despite that, you can’t let her stay there. 

You drop your bag on the chair and near her. You gently touch her shoulder. “Mom, hey, you gotta go to bed.” 

She grumbles, “I’m fine...” 

“Mom,” you squeeze her, feeling the bone through her skin. She feels fragile. 

She hums and bats your hand away lazily. She yawns and sits up. As she does, she blinks and touches her bald head. Her eyes round and she feels around the cushions. She pulls on the floral skullcap. 

“How was work?” She asks as he keeps the pillow in her lap. The shirt that once fit her snugly, hangs over her chest loosely. 

“It was work, that’s for sure,” you say chipperly. “But I got through it.” 

“Did you eat?” She asks. 

“Did you?” You counter. 

“Some,” she shrugs. 

You nod. She’s always nauseous. The doctor said she would be. 

“Finish it,” she says. “Please, I don’t want it to go to waste.” 

“Sure,” you agree and turn to the chair. You flip open your bag and dig inside. You pull out the pink scarf, the fabric cool and sleek. “Here. It’s getting hotter out.” 

You hand her the scarf. She admires the fabric between her fingers. “It’s pretty.” 

“It’ll look great on you,” you assure her. 

“You’re too sweet, pie.” 

You smile at the nickname. She always calls you that. Ever since you stole that slice of pie in grade one after bed time. You’ll never forget your first crime. 

“I need to eat and sleep. Somewhere in there, I need to shower. Tomorrow morning, right?” 

“I can go alone.” She says. 

“No, you won’t,” you insist as you go to the kitchen. 

You go to the fridge and take out the container of grilled chicken, rice, and green beans. She had a little rice and veg but none of the chicken. You put it in the microwave. 

You go to the doorway and peer into the living room. She wraps the scarf around her naked head and ties it. She peeks over her shoulder. 

“Well? Is it a good colour for me?” 

“You always look good in pink,” you assure her. “You need anything?” 

“Yes, I need my daughter to take care of herself.” She grunts as she pushes herself up. She throws the pillow on the couch and stiffly waddles around. “I’m going to bed, okay?” 

“I’m not coddling you,” you cross your arms. “I just don’t want to hear you whining when you’re all out of joint tomorrow.” 

She sticks her tongue out at you and kisses her palm, opening it to you as she shuffles by. 

“Get some sleep. I mean it.” 

“Take your own advice,” you throw back and grin crookedly. 

She waves you off and heads for her bedroom. You watch until her door snaps shut. You look down at the floor. The silence slowly rises around you, like water it getting deeper and deeper, until you could drown in it. 

You jerk out of your trance as the microwave beeps. You spin and hurry across the small kitchen. You take a fork from the drawer and grab the container as it steams. You drop it on the counter to cool. 

You hurry into the living room and grab your phone from your bag. You return to the kitchen as you twirl the fork in your hand. That notification remains; the one that blipped in an hour from close. A familiar subject line: OVERDUE. 

In the morning. You continue to ignore it as you open up your Insta. You put the phone on your counter, leaning on the edge, and eat bite by bite as your scroll. Someone liked a few older posts from last year. That beautiful monarch you hatched and the green caterpillar on the log in the park. 

You have a red admiral. Or so you hope. It’s a particular sort of patience you need to have for the hobby. If you can call it that. 

Waiting and waiting to watch the chrysalis crack and bloom with large wings. A butterfly born and released off to flutter. It’s so beautiful but sombre at the same time. The small changes, the subtle twitch of the cocoon, it reminds you of the passing of time. Of the inevitable. 

You rinse out the container and wash the fork. You set it all away and shut off the kitchen and front room lights. You scoop up your bag in the shadows and slink to your bedroom. 

The light in there is duller. Softened to keep from affecting metamorphosis. You stretch out your neck as you drop your bag and phone. You go to the mesh hamper in the corner, covered with a dish towel on top. Through the holes you can see the sticks you set up on and angle and the cocoons hanging within. 

The curtains stir and draw you back. It’s getting cooler. You close the window and bounce onto your bed. Half of it is covered in your clutter. The crinkle of paper has you straining to fish out the envelopes. Bill, bill, bill. You’re trying. So hard. 

You toss them to the corner of the bed and fall onto your back. What if it’s not enough. You don’t think it is. The invoices outpace your checks. Your hours at work can’t measure up to those at the clinic. The chemo is draining your bank account as quickly as your mother’s body. 

You put your hands over your forehead and sigh. Your eyes sting and a wobble of tears brim along the edges. You inhale deeply and wipe away the moisture. 

No. You're not giving up. It’s too early to grieve. You won’t be doing that any time soon. You promised your mom that. 

You sit up and grab your phone. You swipe around and open the app. You have a camera inside the hamper, recording in the chrysalises. It’s tedious and dull. One of your followers suggested a stream but you worried about the cameras picking up conversations or even just running up the internet bill. Besides, what’s there to watch? 

You scan through to find the most interesting bits when you can. If there are any. You edit them into shorts and put them up on your page. People love it, much to your surprise. And you like answering questions. Sometimes, they even teach you something. 

Ten new followers that day. It’s nothing compared to the beauty influencers or the fashion bloggers; or those gamers and their cult-like fans. It’s your own little space where nothing else can touch you. Where all you have to worry about is misting the cocoons so they don’t dry out. 

There’s nothing bad there. No managers, no crowded bus rides, no doctor’s appointments, or red numbers. It’s where you can forget. It’s where you can fly. Reborn just like the butterflies. 

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Princess Worth Saving

Part 4 of Bradford's Princess

Pairing: Tim Bradford x younger(24-26y/o)!fem!reader

Summary: Tim misses a call from you in your time of need, and after he saves you, he promises never to leave his princess alone again.

Warnings: angst, robbery, r is held at gunpoint, comfort and fluff, domestically dominant Tim, softie!Tim

Word Count: 4.1k+ words

A/N: Thank you yet again to @nevereclipse for sharing this idea and letting me have so much fun with it. You're a genius and I hope you like this!

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

Tim pushes your front door open, stepping inside with a large gift box in his arms.

“Hi,” you greet, tipping your head to the side. “Do you need help with that?”

“I got it,” he assures you, kicking the door closed. “You look beautiful.”

You roll your eyes even as you smile. As usual, you stand on the couch cushion and wait for Tim to set the box down and approach you. His hands are warm and steady on your hips as you lean forward to hug him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he says while he pulls you over the back of the couch and into his arms.

“For what?”

You loop your arms around his shoulders, leaning your head against his shoulder as you breathe in his cologne.

“I know I said I would go shopping with you tomorrow, but Lopez and Harper caught a case and need all the help they can get,” he explains, rubbing his hand along your back as he circles the couch and sits. “I offered to work with them.”

“That’s fine, Tim,” you say against his neck. You interrupt yourself to plant a kiss below his ear, then pull back to look at him. “It’s your job. I get it.”

“It shouldn’t come between us.”

“It’s not.” You chuckle at the disappointed look on his face, bringing your hands forward to squish his cheeks until he grunts. “It’s a day of shopping, not our wedding. I’ll be fine.”

“Take my credit card,” he offers, dragging his hands along your waist. “Get whatever you want.”

You lean forward, brush your lips against Tim’s, then remind him, “I already have what I want.”

The mall is just opening as you arrive. The stores are turning on their different music, overlapping in the main walkways as gated doors are opened and lights buzz above you. You’d been looking forward to walking through the stores with your hand in Tim’s, getting his feedback about what you wanted to buy, and enjoying the day with him. You didn’t want him to see how disappointed you were, so you maintained a brave face last night and distracted yourself by kissing him. Now, you try to distract yourself from how empty your hand feels and how strange it seems to not have Tim stationed at your side as a guardian, a lover, and a friend.

Your favorite store is your first stop, and you have a short list saved to your phone of everything you want to look at, try on, and buy. Tim usually looks over your shoulder when you scroll through Pinterest or online sales, pointing out what would look good on you or be a good addition to your home, until he distracts himself by playing with your hair or kissing you until you set your phone aside.

After greeting the college-aged girl working behind the counter, you walk to the back of the store and begin looking through hangers and at displays, practically hearing Tim’s voice in your head as you consider what you like.

Lucy tips her chin up when Tim returns from Angela’s desk. They’ve been looking through witness statements and evidence photos in hopes of finding something they can use to identify the robbery and homicide suspect. He’s robbed several stores in a few short weeks, and during the last theft, he shot and killed an innocent bystander. With the full attention of the LAPD, they suspect he’ll either lay low or keep progressing in violence.

“Is that you?” Lucy inquires.

“What?” Tim sighs as he returns to his previous seat.

“That smell. What is it… rose?”

“Oh. It’s some elixir or something,” Tim murmurs, pushing a case file into his designated ‘unhelpful’ pile.

Lucy smiles, leaning over her keyboard. “Did you buy it for a special someone?”

“She does have her own money and free will, you know,” Tim deadpans. “I don’t just buy her things, contrary to station belief.”

“No, you also get all soft and gooey inside when we bring her up. I can see that you want to smile.”

“What I want is to get back to work so I can go home on time. I was supposed to have today off, Chen.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re grumpy. You’re here with me instead of your pretty princess.”

“Are you done?”

Lucy’s smile droops as she admits, “Yeah, I’m done.”

Less than a minute later, she looks away from an evidence log to inquire, “Why do you smell like her elixir or something?”

“Chen,” Tim warns.

She raises her hands and returns to work, assuming she knows why the scent of your skincare lingers on Tim. If he were slightly less grumpy, she’d ask him how long he’s been assisting you in getting ready.

“Does he always target places that have more than one store?” Tim asks. “Malls, strip malls, outlets?”

“Yes!” Nyla calls from her desk.

“Interesting,” he murmurs, turning to his computer to load a map of Los Angeles.

“Ooh, that color would look so good on you,” you tell a woman staring longingly at a sundress.

“You really think so?” she inquires softly.

“Absolutely! It compliments your hair and skin, and I think your eyes would pop against it.”

“It’s a little… bolder than what I usually wear,” she admits.

You run your fingers along the dress, nodding appreciatively at how it feels. “Try it on. Never too late to wear something new.”

She steps forward and finds her size, smiling at you as she asks a nearby employee to unlock the fitting room. You continue browsing, looking for a sweater Tim sent you a screenshot of last week.

“Are you searching for something specific?” the employee whose nametag says Jenna inquires kindly.

You unlock your phone and find the image as you answer, “This sweater. I saw it online, but I wanted to check in store before I ordered it.”

“Oh, yes,” she murmurs, looking over her shoulder. “I think we moved them to one of the racks over by the register. Let me check for you.”

“Thank you so much,” you call after her, glancing toward the fitting room.

The woman you spoke to before steps out, smiling with the dress draped over her arm.

“And?” you ask.

“I love it,” she admits. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Everyone deserves to wear what they love and feel beautiful.”

She thanks you again before approaching the checkout area, and you text Tim to let him know you’re thinking of him. He had a little longer before work this morning than he does most days, so you enjoyed the extra time together. You sat on the bathroom counter as he did your skincare, and you’ve already decided to surprise him with a homemade dinner tonight, making the most of what was supposed to be an entire day together.

“I found them!” Jenna calls, stepping back into your eyeline. “We have more colors here than that online listing, too.”

“Perfect,” you reply, following her through the store as the mall gets busier.

“Are you sure that’s the same guy?” Lucy asks, leaning closer to the monitor.

“We might be able to answer that if we could see him,” Nyla points out.

Lucy pulls back with a mumbled apology, allowing the others to see what they suspect could be security footage from the first robbery. The jewelry store on the other side of the mall captured nearly a minute of footage facing the targeted store before it moved. In the video, a man wearing a black sweatshirt speaks to the man behind the clothing store counter, then runs out with his arms full of clothes and small items.

“He didn’t look like he had a gun,” Angela muses.

“Progression,” Tim says simply as he clicks the mouse to play another video. “This is from this week.”

This video is blurrier, but it shows the gun pulled from his pants, aimed at the store clerk, and then jerked toward the murder victim now lying in the morgue.

“For a few hundred dollars,” Nyla sighs. “Okay, what else did you get?”

“Possible name,” Tim says, passing a police record over his shoulder.

“We’ll get a warrant,” Angela responds. “Keep looking. And thank you.”

Tim lifts his phone from the desk, smiles, and sets it aside again. Lucy decides not to comment, but she briefly wonders if you have any idea how far gone Tim Bradford is for you.

You open your wallet to pay at the third store you visit, shaking your head when you see Tim’s credit card tucked in front of your ID. Last night, you told him you didn’t need him to buy you anything, though you appreciated the offer. It’s one of the ways Tim shows he loves you, you know, but it’s not necessary. Maybe you’ll use it on one little thing you can both enjoy, like a book or something for dessert.

With another bag hooked on your arm, you enter a store marketing the newest pop culture merchandise and vinyl records. You don’t need anything, and it isn’t on your list, but you’re sure you’ll find something you like or that Tim might enjoy.

“Welcome,” the store attendant calls over the music. “Let me know if you need help or a fitting room.”

“Thank you,” you reply, walking toward the large clearance sign at the back of the store.

As you look through the hangers of graphic tees and patterned hoodies, your gut tells you something is wrong. Since dating Tim Bradford, your instincts have sharpened and begun to sound like him. You move toward the door but hesitate when you see a limited-edition Dodgers jersey. No one enters the store, and the clerk is more than happy to help you get Tim’s size from the wall and even gives you 10% off. Shaking your head as you exit the store, you check your phone before you head to the next store. Now, when you think about missing Tim, you wonder how you managed to go shopping without him carrying your bags before. The thought makes you smile, and you text Tim another short update and reminder that you love him, for more than carrying your bags… and you, when the occasion calls for it.

“Bradford, you got anything?” Nyla asks over the radio.

“Negative,” Tim replies. “Boss said he didn’t show up today and he’s on his third strike. We’ll drive by the house again, check a few stores along the way.”

“Okay. Keep us updated.”

Tim sets the radio in the console, slowing as he nears a strip mall less than three blocks from the suspect’s job. It looks normal, people come and go freely, so he continues driving.

“Where do you think he is?” Lucy asks.

“Laying low,” he replies. “He isn’t a cold-blooded killer; he shot someone, so he’s probably letting that cool off before he pulls another job.”

“Isn’t it weird that he doesn’t take much? That he hits stores and malls with lower-end prices?”

“He’s targeting places he’s more likely to get away with robbing,” Tim says. “They’re not as likely as say a jewelry store to have cameras or to prosecute. Insurance pays out, they write it off. That’s why a shooting throws such a major wrench in his plan.”

“Interesting,” Lucy hums. “Hey, there’s another mall a block east of here, if you want to check it out.”

Tim nods, hitting his blinker to turn off before they check his house.

“Good morning,” you greet as you enter a men’s clothing store.

“Morning,” the teenage boy behind the counter replies. “Everything is 25% off today, and clearance is buy one get one for a dollar.”

“Awesome. Thank you!”

“Sure. My name’s Dustin, let me know if you need anything.”

You nod, moving slowly along the right wall, looking for something Tim would wear. He spoils you with gifts, and though it isn’t your preferred love language (not like it is for him, at least), you like getting him small things and spending time with him while he enjoys it.

This is the busiest store you’ve been in today, but you attribute that to the sale and the fact that it’s nearing lunchtime. Four men browse the clearance racks while two more talk about colors and debate which items to try on. You smile at the only other woman in the store, who taps her finger back and forth between two different sizes, like she’s trying to remember what size she needs to buy.

“Sir, that door needs to stay open,” Dustin calls. “Mall policy.”

The door clicks closed, and you turn just as the hoodie-wearing man slides the lock into place. “Everybody stay calm, and this will go a lot smoother and faster,” he says.

You step backward, your eyes widening as you drop your bags and fumble for your phone. The woman beside you ducks behind the closest rack, whispering to whom you assume is a 911 dispatcher. One of the men makes a discreet call, holding his phone against his leg. Your first idea isn’t 911, however. After you tap Tim’s name, you pull a shirt off a display table to drape over your wrist and hide your ringing phone.

“Nobody move!” the man demands, raising a gun above his head. “Empty the register.”

Dustin nods as he fumbles with the control on the tablet beside him. The woman beside you ends her call abruptly when the intruder walks toward the back of the store. Tim’s voicemail plays, muffled beneath the shirt as you attempt to end the call. Before you can move your other hand, the man rips the shirt away. His fingers wrap cruelly around your wrist, tugging you closer as he displays your phone to the other shoppers-turned-hostages.

“You see this?” he yells. “Stupid! I said stay calm and stay where you are.”

You turn your head away from him, his voice too loud in your ear, and his touch painful. He twists your arm sharply, causing you to drop your phone onto the table your thighs are pressed against. You quickly forget that your arm is suspended over your head and pulled back painfully when the cold barrel of a gun is pressed against your temple.

“Don’t do what she did,” the man says, quieter now, as his chest heaves against your side. “How���s that register coming?”

“It’s open, but we haven’t been to the bank yet this week or anything, so there isn’t much,” Dustin rambles.

“Well, that won’t do. What should we do about that?” he asks, leaning too close to you as his hand twitches on the gun.

“If he moved out yesterday, he was probably upset about the shooting, right?” Lucy asks, returning to the shop after an unhelpful conversation with the suspect’s former roommate.

“That’s one possibility,” Tim replies, closing the door too hard. His phone lights up, and he furrows his brows when he sees a missed call from you. He wasn’t gone long, and you rarely call when he’s at work. As he prepares to call you back, dispatch radios an alert of a robbery in progress.

“The mall,” Lucy sighs. “Think it’s our guy?”

Tim is no longer concerned about that. He hits the lights and sirens, yanks the gear shift into Drive, and steers the shop into a tight U-turn to speed toward the scene. It’s not just any mall, it’s the mall you are in. Tim decides not to call you back, his adrenaline pumping as his mind threatens to show him the worst-case scenarios.

“Tim,” Lucy grunts. “Easy.”

He doesn’t reply, blowing through a red light as he nears the mall.

“What store?” he asks.

Lucy opts not to argue. She raises the radio to ask where exactly the armed suspect is, then tells Tim. He follows the signs toward the entrance closest to that store, pulling up onto the curb before he pulls his gun from his side and leads Lucy inside.

The mall is evacuating, so people are running out toward their cars, some screaming while others shove people and displays aside carelessly.

“Where?” Tim barks at a security guard cowering behind a table in the food court.

“Straight through this archway, and then right,” the man answers, pointing weakly with his stun gun.

“Put that away before you hurt someone,” Lucy demands.

She follows Tim as they enter the archway. He clears the corner, then moves quickly but carefully toward the closed door separating him from you and a man with a gun.

“Tim, think about this first,” Lucy pleads.

“I am,” he assures, ducking to look through the windows covering the front of the store. “One armed at the back of the store,” he tells her. “One civilian behind the counter.”

“And the door is locked,” Lucy adds, nodding toward the heavy metal rod holding the door in place.

“Back up,” Tim requests.

He stays low and shoots through the glass panel beside the door. It shatters as his shot echoes, but he doesn’t care about the noise as he climbs through the opening, his gun aimed at the thief.

Tim swallows and moves his gun an inch to the left when he sees that the man has a hostage. He reminds himself that he can’t remember it’s you, not if he wants to ensure you go home safely with him. For now, he’s Tim Bradford, the cop, not Tim Bradford, the man with a princess in need of saving. A cruel voice in his head points out that you might not be in this situation if he’d answered your call, but it’s too late to think like that.

“LAPD,” Lucy yells, taking her position beside Tim. “Put the weapon down and let me see your hands."

The man shakes his head and moves behind you, his gun at your temple and his other arm around your neck. You keep your eyes on Tim, your teeth grinding together painfully as you dig your fingers into your palms.

“Out,” Tim demands. Dustin rushes out through the broken window, disappearing around the corner as the two men closest to the entrance follow after him.

“Let the other hostages go,” Lucy encourages. “Then we can talk.”

“Sure,” the man says. “Everyone behind me can go.”

The rest of the customers take that invitation, running as fast as they can out of the store. Then, you’re left alone with a crazed gunman who didn’t get what he wanted, and two cops who don’t have a clear shot. Tim nods to you, nearly imperceptibly, but you don’t know what it means. Is it a promise he’ll save you, a command to do something?

“It’s over,” Tim says. “Let her go, and this goes much smoother for you.”

“I lost everything,” the man behind you replies. “It’s been over.”

You look at Lucy, then quickly turn your eyes to the left. She narrows her eyes slightly, so you move your fingers away from your palm. She tips her head quickly, then adjusts her grip on her gun.

“Bradford,” she murmurs softly. “Derecha.”

At that, you pull to your left, gaining less than a foot of freedom before the man tightens his grip on your neck. Or tries to. Tim takes the opening, firing at his chest. His arm falls away as you stumble back toward Lucy, who holsters her gun and steps toward you.

“Cuff him, Chen,” Tim says, taking her place. He pulls you into his arms, tucking your face against his chest as you cling to his uniform. You hear Lucy talking into her radio, but you’re so relieved to be with Tim that you don’t listen. Within a few minutes, you’re being led away from your boyfriend and escorted into an ambulance. The paramedics tell you it’s just a quick check of your vitals, but you watch the mall parking lot outside as they work, ignorant of what they do as you wait until you can return to Tim.

“I understand,” Tim tells Wade. “Can I go now?”

Wade sighs as he signs off on Tim’s statement. He nods, then walks toward the sergeant interviewing Lucy. Tim turns toward the line of ambulances parked in the handicap spaces, but he doesn’t know which one you’re in.

You’ve been waiting beside a police car for the last minute and a half, watching Tim's back. So, when he turns away from his watch commander and is alone, you don’t hesitate to run toward him. He doesn’t see you coming, yet still manages to catch you in his arms. Relief floods into him, seeping into you where you’re pressed against him.

Tim clings to you, one arm secure around your waist, while the other hand raises to your shoulder to brush your hair away from your face.

“Get out of here, Bradford!” Angela yells when she sees you in his arms. “Take her home!”

Tim takes you to his home, though you spend enough time at each other’s places that the lines are beginning to blur. He pats your hip after helping you change, a silent instruction to sit on his bed. You obey, watching his back as he disappears into the bathroom. You haven’t spoken yet, aren’t sure where to start, but being this close to Tim is the only way you think you’ll be able to deal with what you’ve been through.

When Tim returns, he has a wet cloth and a bottle of lotion. Your bags from the mall are still in Tim’s trunk, but he placed a book, a drink, and your favorite snack on the nightstand for you, so you have more than everything you need.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Tim says, standing between your legs. He sets the lotion beside you, then hooks his finger beneath your chin to lift your face.

“I was scared,” you whisper. “But when you got there, I knew everything would be okay.”

Tim nods, frowning as he observes the bruise on your forehead and the redness of your neck. He dabs the cool washcloth against your injuries, then gently wipes the rest of your face. When he’s content and convinced that you're comfortable, he steps away to put the cloth in the sink, but he’s back at your side in mere seconds.

Tim helps you get comfortable in his bed, reclined against pillows with everything you need in reach. He picks up the lotion as he joins you in bed, passing you the remote. After you turn on your favorite movie, Tim takes your hand. He squeezes a drop of your favorite lotion into your palm, closes the tube against his leg, and rubs his thumb over your palm, spreading the lotion with a relaxing pressure and his usual reverence. He uses both hands to massage you, moving the lotion down your fingers as you relax beside him. Every second he touches you is calming, and you’d be content to stay here forever, you think.

“Thank you,” you say as he finishes with your other hand.

“I should have answered the phone,” he replies. “I’ll answer next time.”

“It’s not your fault, Tim. You saved me. That’s more than I’d ever ask for.”

“You’re going to be okay?”

“I am,” you assure him. “Mostly because you’re here, and I’m not alone.”

Tim smiles, kisses your hand, and invites you to recline against his side. Comfortable under his arm, you can feel his heart beating as he drags his fingers up and down your arm.

“You’ll never be alone,” he promises. “Everything and everyone that you face… your enemies have to contend with me, and I’ll never be far. I won’t miss another call.”

“I love you,” you say, turning your face toward his. “I love you so much, Tim.”

“I love you,” he promises, kissing you gently as he tugs you impossibly closer.

You might be Tim’s princess, but he will always be more than a prince. He’s a knight, a protecter, a pamperer, and that's just the surface of who he is. He’s yours, he’s the love of your life, he’s a constant, and you will be by his side no matter what.

“I was going to buy you a gift,” you murmur, “but something came up.”

“Gifts are my job,” Tim argues. “Besides, this is more than enough for me.”

You chuckle, then pull Tim’s shoulder. He understands what you’re inviting him to do, and he slides down in the bed to hook his arm around your waist and rest his head on your chest.

“Angela wants to know when you’re up to meeting everyone,” Tim says against your sternum, growing heavier against you as you run your nails along his back.

“I was always ready,” you remind him.

“You met Lucy today, that’s enough for now.”

“Whatever you say.”

Tim slides his hands along your waist as he reaches up to kiss your jaw, then he relaxes again, and your memories of being scared disappear as you find comfort in Tim Bradford, growing happier each day you are lucky enough to be his princess.

[j2hoes]

Intimate Treasures. (Steve Harrington x Adult Store Worker!Reader)

Word Count: 4.5K

Y/N works in an adult store and Steve can't seem to stay away.

Warning: Smut, p in v sex, cunnilingus (m and f receiving), dirty talk, knife kink, sex toys, mature language

Weekdays were always slow at Intimate Treasures, most people either working their regular 9-5’s or simply too embarrassed to be caught in an adult store mid week. Opting to discreetly shop on a Friday or Saturday night, hoping nobody will catch them. I often find myself amused by the actions of our customers, ninety percent of which seem to be ashamed of themselves for purchasing such ‘dirty’ products, as they like to call them.

Upon the opening of the store, many citizens of Hawkins were vocal of their displeasure at the presence of such a place. Believing that there was no place in the town for us. They argued that by opening within the Starcourt Mall, we would be indoctrinating their children into believing that sex is something that should be enjoyed and explored freely. Rather than an act of love that should only be taking place once married for the sole purpose of reproduction. There have been numerous occasions when I’ve argued with people about this, lecturing them on the importance of sexual liberation and safety rather than shaming people for their choices.

It was during one of these arguments that I met him for the first time. Wrapped up in a heated debate with none other than the local priest who was offering to save me from hell, I almost missed the mop of fluffy brown hair that hesitantly crossed the threshold of the store. He was trying to act casual, as though being here was no big deal, but I could tell he was nervous. Fumbled movements causing him to almost knock over a display of free condoms. To which he pocketed a few in the shorts of his little sailor outfit.

“What you are doing here in this store is sinful, I am only looking out for you young lady.” My eyes snap back to the priest who is glancing around the place in utter disgust, one hand gripping the cross around his neck, the other clutching a Bible.

“If you think this is sinful, you should see what I do in bed, old man.”

Despite losing sight of the sailor, I hear a muffled laugh coming from down one of the aisles and I can’t help but feel pleased that I’m not necessarily alone in this argument.

“You could be doing so much more with your life! You don’t need this filth, the Lord can set you on the right path if you would just let me cleanse you of your impurity.” The man pleads, his words failing to provide the impact he is hoping for.

Resting my elbows on the countertop, I lean towards the priest, hoping he pays attention to me. “Listen, I know for a fact that the Bible doesn’t specifically mention anything about sex toys or masturbation and not all of us are lucky enough to be in a relationship. Though I’m sure your wife isn’t exactly thrilled with her sex life.” 

He gasps at my words, shuffling towards the door whilst muttering about ‘young dirty girls of today’. 

“Be sure to send your wife in, her first vibrator is on me!”

As the door swings closed behind him, I let out a sigh of relief. Completely fed up of having the same arguments over and over again. My eyes fall back down to the stack of boxes by my feet, filled to the brim with new lingerie sets that need putting out on the shop floor. 

Not wanting to waste any time, I quickly add the inventory to the system before hanging the black latex to the hangers. I won’t deny, it’s a gorgeous set. Shiny black bralette, so thin that the strap of fabric is only big enough to cover the nipple, with a matching thong, which also happens to be just as small. It leaves very little to the imagination, and I would be tempted to spend my paycheck on it, had I anybody to wear it for.

Finding a spot in one of the aisles, I begin to hang the various sizes on the wall. Careful to make sure that they’re all in size order so that they’re easy to find. A shuffle of feet towards the end of the aisle pulls me from my thoughts, the sailor intently staring at different wand vibrators. Every few seconds picking one up before putting it back with a shake of his head.

“Need some help?” I ask, hanging the last of the lingerie up and strolling towards him.

His eyes widen as I stand next to him, a deep red blush rising on his cheeks and I can’t help but smile softly at his awkwardness. I’m never one to assume, though I’m fairly certain this may be his first time in any adult stores. If his blush is anything to go by.

“Sorry, I just don’t really know what I’m supposed to be looking for.”

“Something for your girlfriend?” I push, the question slips off my tongue easily, one I generally ask all the male customers that look in need of assistance, yet something in me is praying that he answers with a no.

I won’t deny that he’s attractive, even with the unfortunate attire that he appears to be sporting. He has a boyish look about him due to the costume, it’s cute and soft. However, his chestnut brown eyes are dark and I can tell that he is very much a man. 

“No, no girlfriend.” He admits, shoving his hands in his pockets, as he does so I’m able to catch a quick glimpse and notice the large size, backs of his palms displaying very prominent veins and I can’t help but squeeze my legs at the sight.

I’m not entirely sure what’s wrong with me. Never usually finding someone so attractive upon meeting for the first time, yet I’m practically drooling over the man in front of me. Even if I am putting on a very cool front.

“This is kind of awkward to admit but I wanted a vibrator you know for when I do have girls over. Just for something different I guess, in case my performance doesn’t cut it.”

I’m taken aback by his admission, most men refusing to believe they couldn’t be absolutely incredible in bed and insisting they’re only getting a toy because their wife wouldn’t stop pestering. To have a man so open about possibly not being perfect is refreshing and I realize I’m most definitely going to need some ice cold water then this customer leaves.

“Oh wow, that’s so thoughtful of you.” I tell him, moving slightly closer to the wall of products in order to assist him as best I can. Carefully, I grab a hot pink box, offering it to him. “So this is the newest wand vibrator we have, it has three different settings and a very long battery life. Trust me any girl would love it, it only took me about five minutes to cum when I used it for the first time.”

His eyes are focused on the box, teeth catching his bottom lip as he reads the information on the back. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, truly reading everything about the product in his hands. Something about him intrigues me, whether it be the sailor outfit or the fact that he truly cares about his sexual partners, I’m not sure.

“I’ll take it, thank you.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The second time that the interesting sailor entered the store was only two days later. A Thursday evening, most of the stores in the mall were closing for the day, not us however. Opting to stay open later for more of a sense of privacy.

I’m idly flipping through one of the latest editions of Playboy magazine, staring down at the women sprawled out on the pages. They ooze confidence and sex appeal, something I could only dream of. Whilst I wouldn’t say I necessarily lack confidence, I most certainly do not have a string of guys desperate for my attention like the women in the magazine.

Completely wrapped up in my own thoughts as I turn the page, it’s only when a handful of products are placed on the countertop that I glance up. Boredom evident on my face, I’m counting down the minutes until I can close the store and head home for the night. That is, until I realize who the customer is.

“I didn’t think girls were into Playboy.”

Running a hand through his perfectly styled brown mane, he smiles at me as he speaks and I struggle to hide my excitement at his return. Though there is still a hint of red on his cheeks, he seems calmer this time, clearly less embarrassed by his visit.

“I don’t know if you can tell, but we don’t exactly stock academic reading material.” I joke, beginning to ring the items through the till.

Bottle of lube, metal handcuffs and black bondage tape. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no stranger to the kinky items that I ring out on a daily basis. Yet, something about the handsome sailor buying them has me weak at the knees and I have to look anywhere other than his face as I bag everything for him.

“Hey, I just wanted to thank you by the way.” Finally making eye contact with the man, I can’t hide my confusion at his words. “For your help last time, the vibrator was a big hit.”

“Oh right yeah. No problem at all, I’m glad I could offer my assistance.”

My smile falters, why am I jealous? I shouldn’t be jealous, I should be pleased that I could help another customer. Pleased that I’m allowing others to enjoy their wants and desires. However, something about knowing the stranger has already used my suggestion on another woman hurts. I sound desperate, it’s not like me to get hung up on a man I have only briefly interacted with twice and yet here I am.

“No seriously, it was the most intense hook up I’ve ever had and it’s all thanks to you.” He rummages through his pockets as he speaks, before sliding a piece of paper across the countertop.

Free ice cream on me - Steve.

“I work at Scoops Ahoy, figured I owed you one.”

“Now the sailor outfit makes sense.” I laugh softly, carefully folding the piece of paper and slipping it into my pocket.

“I know. It sucks, does not help me woo the ladies at all.” He smiles bashfully, handing me the cash to pay for the products.

“I think it’s cute.” The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop myself and my head drops to the floor, shaking it lightly, humiliated by what I just said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, it’s just-”

“Good to know, I’ll see you later.” He looks at me expectantly, awaiting my name, as he makes his way towards the exit.”

“Y/N.”

“I’ll see you later Y/N.”

The moment the door closes behind him, I slide to the carpeted floor, head in my hands, afraid I may have just completely made a fool of myself in front of Steve. Doing my best to get over how mortified I feel, I quickly stride to the door and flip the sign to closed, not wanting to humiliate myself further in front of any more customers tonight, even if I am technically supposed to be open for another hour and a half.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I swear to God John, if you take these home and add them to your wank bank, I am going to kill you with my bare hands.”

This week seems to be one embarrassing event after the next, standing in nothing but the new micro black latex lingerie, I pose awkwardly in front of the only blank wall in the building, allowing the store owner to take photos of me on the polaroid. 

“Listen, we need to advertise what we have on offer, putting these pictures in the window is bound to gain more customers. Not to mention the added benefit of being served by the hot girl plastered in the window.” He states as though it's obvious, shoving a large kitchen knife into my hand which I take reluctantly. “Now spread those legs and lick the knife.”

Dropping to a squat, I spread my legs wide open, raising the knife to my mouth and seductively licking a stripe down the edge, careful not to cut myself. I may as well be completely naked with how little the lingerie covers, moving the knife to cover my vagina, I feign a gasp as he snaps another photo.

“You’re a natural, I’ll put these in the window and then I’m off for the night.”

I throw the knife on to the counter as I watch with folded arms how John sticks up the photos by the door. No doubt we’ll have complaints as each photo has me in increasingly compromised positions. It’s borderline pornographic.

Catching glimpses of the photos every couple of seconds, I can admit that I do look good. Incredibly good. They’re sexy and I feel empowered, it’s just a shame that they have to be on display for everybody to see. I’m all for being sexually liberated, I’m just not sure I believe everybody should be allowed to see me in such a vulnerable environment.

John leaves with a quick wave in my direction, flipping the sign on his way out so that I can finish my closing tasks in peace. Throwing myself down on the couch beside the window, I feel the shame start to flood my body. I begin to feel dirty and used, allowing my boss to take advantage of the fact that I have to follow his orders. 

Is this how the women in Playboy feel? Never once have I questioned if selling dirty magazines is unethical, believing that the woman in them felt free and proud that they can be so open and sexual. Now I’m starting to think that perhaps that isn’t the case.

With my head resting against the back of the couch and my eyes fixated on the uneven tiles on the ceiling, I hear the door click open beside me. Internally sighing, I don’t avert my gaze as I speak.

“We’re closed!” Voice snappier than I intended it to be, however, I make no effort to apologize.

“I know, I’m sorry. I was just hoping you’d be here.”

Swinging my head to face the direction of the door, I match the voice to the speaker. Steve stands awkwardly in the entryway, eyes trailing over my body as I stand to greet him. His mouth drops open slightly, rubbing a hand over his plump cherry lips. Glancing down, I remember that I’m still only wearing the lingerie and heat floods my body.

“Shit, sorry. One second.” 

I awkwardly jog to the back of the store as best I can in the heels strapped to my feet, I’m careful to wrap the long satin robe tightly around myself before making my way back over to Steve. Who stands in the same spot, unmoving. Eyes focused on me as I lean against the counter, arms crossed over my body in an effort to keep the robe covering me.

“So what can I help you with?” I ask, voice shaking every so slightly due to the interaction only moments ago.

“You look incredible in that.”

Although my eyes are firmly fixated on the ground, I smile nervously at his words. Hearing the shuffle of his feet, I look up only to see him standing just a couple of feet away from me. Clad in his sailor uniform once again, I allow myself to gaze over his physique. Thick legs that wear the shorts well, tight in all the right places. Arms defined showing off the muscles he has built. Pulling myself from my thoughts, I round the counter, hoping that the distance between us will ease the ache between my thighs.

“Steve I really should be closing, did you need help with something?”

I notice his eyes fall to his shorts, an impressive tent having formed and I have to hold my breath so as not to drop straight to my knees. Without a word, he slowly reaches across the counter, gently knocking the robe from my shoulders, exposing me to him once again.

“Just tell me to stop and I will.” He speaks quietly, so quiet I almost don’t catch it.

There’s a look of animalistic hunger on his face, one that is new to me. A stark contrast to the boyish smile he usually sports. Within seconds he’s leaning across the counter, capturing his lips with mine, one hand tightly grasping the back of my neck for support, whilst I grip at his shirt. His kiss is fuelled by passion and while it’s rough there’s a feeling of comfort that I can’t describe.

Without thinking, I’m striding back around the counter, pushing him backwards so that he flops down on the couch. Allowing me to take a seat on his lap, his erection firmly pressed in between my thighs, if I weren’t so focused on the moment, I’d most certainly be embarrassed by the wetness that begins to drip down my thighs.

Grinding myself slightly, I tug at his top, pulling it over his head quickly before throwing it behind me. His lips attach to my neck and I can feel him sucking gently, determined to leave a mark. A moan escapes my lips before I can stop myself, sparking a fire in his eyes as he grips my hips, guiding them to roll over his clothed length even harder.

His fingers move with haste as he works at the knot holding the flimsy bralette together, prying it off my body the moment the ties become loose. Grabbing his jaw, I pull his face back to mine, kissing him with burning desire as his hands move to palm my breasts. Our tongues entwine as his fingers brush over my nipple, releasing a soft gasp from me, to which he takes advantage. Dipping his head to suck and bite marks into my chest, I grab his hair tugging softly with every moan that he extracts from my body.

I can hear a groan escape his mouth, to which he covers it up quickly by dragging his tongue over my nipple. His hands playing with the other so as not to focus all his attention solely on one. Steve sucks gently, drawing unholy moan after moan from my body as I continue to feel the heat between our bodies.

Tipping my head back and pushing my breasts further into him, I find myself pushing a hand between our bodies. Slipping under his shorts and offering a short squeeze, causing the man to murmur a soft fuck as he continues to play with my nipples. From feeling his length in my hand, I can tell he’s big, bigger than I anticipated and much bigger than I’ve ever had. It scares me equally as much as it excites me.

It’s only when I begin to start delicately stroking up and down, that he pushes me to the side. Throwing me onto the couch gently so that I am laid on my back with him standing over me. As he smiles down at me, I can’t help but find the contrast between his soft smile and the dominance he has just been displaying amusing. A cheeky grin evident on my face.

“Where’s that knife?” He asks, fingers brushing over my throat as he stares down at me.

“Knife?” 

“From the pictures.”

Nodding my head towards the countertop, I watch eagerly as he grabs it, clenching my thighs together as my mind drifts to what he is going to do with it. Much to my surprise, he gently pulls my body up so that I’m sat upright, before settling on his knees between my thighs. Pushing the thong to the side, he presses the blunt side of the knife to my heat, trailing it between my folds. When he removes it, it glimmers with the slick that is now definitely dripping onto the couch.

“Lick it.” He raises the knife to my mouth and I brush my tongue against it as directed, immensely turned on by the entire situation. “You’re such a good girl.”

If his words didn’t make me moan, I do when his tongue makes contact with my clit. Head falling back as I close my eyes, focused only on the pleasure he is giving me. Despite not having my eyes open, I am acutely aware of Steve reaching up to my throat and holding the sharp side of the knife directly on my neck. Pushing it gently, though not so much to draw blood.

“God, you’re such a good girl.”

He switches between sucking and licking my clit, his free hand moving to push two fingers into me ever so slowly. The sounds are inherently sinful, the way he’s lapping up everything I can offer him is downright filthy and yet I feel like I’m in heaven. He devours me as though I’m his last meal, moaning against me, vibrations adding to the already exhilarating pleasure I’m experiencing. God, if this is what he can do with his tongue, there was no reason for him to buy a vibrator.

As he continues to push his fingers into me at an unruly pace, his tongue swirls circles against my clit, pushing me further and further to the edge. My stomach feels tighter and I try to close my thighs, though he reacts by pushing the knife closer to my throat, reminding me of its presence.

“Holy fuck.” I whisper, coil within me snapping and my legs twitching as he continues to lick up anything I have left.

With a pleased grin, he pulls himself away from me, rising to his feet and even in my post orgasm daze, I drop to my knees. Hurriedly pulling his shorts down to his ankles, I grab his erection with both hands. Mouth falling open in shock as I wrap both my hands around him.

“Jesus Christ.” My voice is almost silent yet Steve still hears me, chuckling at my words.

“You gonna be able to handle it?” He asks and I waste no time in nodding, gazing up at him, eyes filled with lust. “Yeah you are.”

In an attempt to calm my nerves, I hesitantly lick from the tip to the base, mouth watering as I hear Steve’s breaths become shakier. Wrapping my lips around the tip, I slowly begin to bob my head up and down, unable to take the whole thing but trying my hardest. I allow myself to coat his member with my spit, using my hands to stroke whatever I can’t fit in my mouth. He bucks his hips involuntarily with a deep guttural moan and I can’t help but gag, eyes watering as he hits the back of my throat. 

Pulling back with a gasp for air, I continue to stroke him with one hand, the other reaching for his balls. As I lean in to go for round two with my mouth, he grabs my hair softly, pulling me to look up at him. With mascara streaks running down my and saliva falling from one corner of my mouth, Steve smirks.

“I’d let you do that forever if I wasn’t so desperate to feel you.”

He helps me up, pushing my body over the countertop, before pulling the thong off me completely. I spread my legs for him, allowing him to see the effect he has on me, he circles my clit with one finger as his other hand grips his length. The tip smacking against me as he nervously rubs it over my hole. 

“Steve please, I want you so bad.” I beg, feeling myself clenching around nothing as he teases me.

“Fuck you’re perfect.” He cautiously pushes the tip into me, my hands gripping the wood of the countertop at the stretch and I squeal slightly, from a mixture of pleasure and pain. “My perfect girl.”

He continues to push himself inside of me for what feels like an eternity, just when I think I’ve taken him all, he pushes further. I’ll admit it has been a while and with Steve’s size, the stretch burns and yet I want nothing more than to feel him inside of me forever.

The gentleman he is, he stills once completely sheathed within me, awaiting confirmation from me that he is able to move.

“Steve please fuck me now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice and instantly pulls himself out, almost completely before slamming back into me. Balls slapping against my clit in a way that teases me as he practically rips me in half. One hand pushes on my back, firmly holding me down against the counter as he continues to pound into me. The other grips my hip, knife still in hand though neither of us seem to pay any attention to it. 

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I saw you.” He states between moans, slamming into me at an almost brutal pace.

I’m able to slip one of my hands between the wooden surface and my body, bringing it to the space between my legs and gently teasing my clit, resulting in a string of profanities falling from my lips. Steve notices this and bats my hand away, taking over himself. His fingers are like magic and combined with the way he is ramming himself into me, I can feel myself on the brink of cumming once again.

“Oh my god, Steve I’m so close.” 

Upon hearing this, he pulls my body upright, peppering kisses along my shoulders and the nape of my neck as he continues to drill into me at the same rough pace. Within a matter of seconds, I find vision spotting as I fall over the edge. Thighs sticky and wet with the remnants of my second orgasm. Steve allows me to fall back onto the countertop, continuing his assault on my vagina and the overstimulation drives me crazy. I’m a complete moaning mess and by the time he stills with a soft grunt, I have even more tears in my eyes.

“You’re so fucking perfect.” He murmurs, pulling out of me gently and pressing yet another kiss to my neck.

Turning around to face him, he has a lazy fucked out grin on his face and I can’t help but feel proud that I’m the reason for that smile. I smile at the thought, and at the feeling of his cum beginning to spill out of me and down my legs. Steve takes my hands in his and flops back onto the couch, wrapping his arms around me as I rest my head on his chest.

“You know I actually came here hoping I would work up the courage to ask you on a date but this was so much better.” He admits, nuzzling his nose into my hair.

“Wow so I missed out on a date?” I tease, hugging into him even tighter.

“I mean, we can always break into Scoops and go have that date now.” He suggests, voice soft as though he’s afraid I will reject him.

“That sounds perfect.”

[barcapix]

Hey can u do a Pablo Gavi fic angst please thank you>>>

✮ Always On My Mind - Pablo Gavi

Pablo Gavira x Fem!Reader

SY: days since your breakup, you can only still reminisce what was.

A/N: the downfall he’s had in popularity isn’t talked about enough like there’s barely any fics for him now

Warnings: some spanish but none really!

PART1 || PART2

It’s been one week since you broke up with your boyfriend, Pablo. One long, crueling week that seemed to drag on for eternity.

The morning sun shone in your face, stirring you awake no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. You subconsciously lean over to the opposite side of your bed, reaching your arm out, hoping to find him there.

All you could feel was the crumpled duvet, which was lacking conviction. The absence instantly pulls you conscious, although your mind still hazy.

“Pablo?” you call out, sleep still consuming your thoughts. It’s silent, with no response back. You glance over at the clock reading 1:09pm.

“Pablo? Where are you it’s only 1–”

It hits you suddenly, why the other side of the bed was so cold, unlike a usual warm, comforting presence.

1:09pm. He’s not at training, he’s just not here.

Another day.

Another day without him—without his soft little snores that would be your desired alarm, without waking up without his arm draped lazily across your waist, edging you closer to him whilst he was still asleep—without him and the peace he brought.

“Bebé no, don’t go just yet,” he whined, dragging you closer. “Just a couple more minutes…”

You sigh, smiling at his drowsy state. His hair was messy from the pillows, his lips plump, and the faint red sheet marks that etched onto his tanned face.

“Pablo honey, I’m not leaving the room, I’ll still be here.” you tried to reason, but his grasp never loosened. “In my arms?” he swiftly replied.

“Well n—”, he cut you off. “Then no you can’t leave.”

A wrenching heartache settled in, and there was no use laying in bed for the rest of the day, dwindling on your emotions. Therefore, you swung your legs over your side of the bed and slowly rose.

Your legs felt stiff, heavy to move as if your body didn’t appreciate the sudden movement. After drinking away your pain last night, a dull pain started to crash through your forehead, a sharp reminder of just how ridiculous your life was right now.

Drinking your pain away had become your new hobby.

As far as you were concerned, he was happy. Happy with his new girlfriend, happy with his family, and most importantly: happy without you.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t shake him away from your brain.

You aimlessly head for your wardrobe, opening the doors. You flicker through the hangers, deciding on what to wear for the day.

Nothing caught your attention, the waves of baby pink and pale purple clothing material stringing through the field of your clothes.

Until something did, his jersey.

The Blaugruna kit, displayed in a beautiful ray of burgundy and navy, an adtriquite golden Spotify logo planted in the centre.

You subconsciously tear it from the hanger, holding it up to your level. Studying it carefully, you notice the dried grease stain from that one night in—you two bundled up in the cosy sheets of your bed, indulging in a weekly movie-might session.

The very same bed you still sleep in.

You, the germaphobe. Him, who doesn’t care.

“Can’t we do this every night?” Pablo said, with his mouth stuffed, discarding a pizza crust back into the box.

He lay into your shoulder, his right hand circling your stomach through his jersey. You immediately noticed, pulling your attention away from the movie.

“Ew, Pablo your hands!” you exclaimed, pushing his arms away. They’re greasy!”

“Huh?” he asked, startled. “I only ate pizza?”

“Yes, pizza is greasy!” you shrill, a disgusted look on your face. Gavi laughed, digging his head back into your neck again. A suspicious glimpse in his eye, with his lips curled up.

“Te amo princesa.” he yawns, tapping your nose with his index finger, still coated in pizza grease.

“Pablooo!”

All sweet memories come rushing back, now reminiscing on the first time he wanted you to represent him in a Barça Champions League match.

“So you’ll wear it tonight? For me?” he squealed, bouncing on the heels on his feet. A true baby at heart.

He held it up close to your chest, envisioning how you would look in it. “See? Already looks perfect on you amor,” his tone soft and friendly. “”

“But what would people think? You know how they are—” Gavi pulled his finger to your lips, sealing your voice. “No, I don’t care what people think, you’re mine and everyone needs to know that.”

You force your eyes to peel away from it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of it just yet. Bringing it closer to your face—the Barça crest hovering under your nose—you inhale the scent.

Gosh, it even still smells like him.

The fresh, citrusy smell that you adored. The same one that would have you pleading for his jerseys, his hoodies, anything of his.

“Pleasee can I just have one more of your hoodies? One more.” you insist, using your best puppy eyes. “You already have half of them.” Pablo replies, secretly adoring the way you always wanted him close.

“But this one,” you inhale into the orange jumper, “smells like you.. it’s special to me, comforting.”

“Comforting huh?” he turned around to you. “So it’s not about stealing my wardrobe?”

“No! Not at all.” you shook your head, the blush on your cheeks saying otherwise. “Alright,” Gavi puts his hands up in surrender, smirking.

“But you’re gonna have to trade cuddles with it later.”

With a heavy heart, you sadly shuffle into your joint bathroom, your eyes immediately pinning at the aqua blue toothbrush still sitting inside a marble pot.

You take your own toothbrush to your mouth, gently cleaning the back of your teeth, staring beyond into the mirror infront of you.

The same mirror Pablo and you would brush your teeth together, every single morning. Normally with ‘Ojitos Lindos’ by Bad Bunny playing; he’d twirl you around on the steel bathroom tiles, waltzing and laughing with you before he had to leave for work.

“Y sólo mírame con esos ojitos lindos,” Gavi sung along, taking you by your hands and twirling you around.

“Que con eso yo estoy bien—” you continued, intertwining your fingers with his. “—hoy he vuelto a nacer.”

“Tú y yo.” he’d finish, holding you in his arms.

The nostalgia stings at your throat, hot floods of tears pricking at your eyes.

In the same bathroom where he cradled you to sleep in his arms, after a particularly vigorous vomit breakout.

“Shh, I’ve got you mi vida,” he murmured into your hair and delicately rubbing your back. You were lay near the toilet, crouching and trembling over the violent throw-over you just endured.

Gavi cradled you between his toned arms, the steady lull of his breathing calming you down. His hands threaded through the silk of your hair, comforting you as you were gravitated to sleep.

“It’s all out now, okay?” he whispered ever so gently. “I’m right here baby, just follow my breathing.”

In the same bathroom where he’d help rub your cleanser onto your face, mocking how silly you looked—coated in a bubbly paste.

“How do you enjoy this stuff?” he grimaced, the thick paste melting on his fingertips. “It feels disgusting!”

You laughed, breaking away from his touch. “You offered baby, blame yourself.”

Pablo tried to disguise the lovesick smile creeping upon his lips, but he couldn’t hold back at the sound of your warm laughter.

“Yeah well… I kinda regret it now.” he pouted, pulling you back closer to him so he could continue.

Your tears finally fall at the heartbreaking moments you created with him, now faded into a distant memory. Your heart clenched in a tortuous way, your mind and body clawing at the only stable parts of yourself you had left.

Not that you were sure you had any stability left.

Passing minutes later, you find yourself in a heap of duvets and cushions, trying to mask your sobs with them over your mouth.

You missed him so much, but there was nothing left of him anymore. Knowing that he had another girl wearing his jersey, another girl he cared for…loved for.

It broke. It really did.

Felicia, your persian cat, hopped onto your knees, immediately trouncing her way to the opposing side of the bed, onto the right sided pillow: his pillow.

You coerced yourself into a subdued mood, quipping your head around to notice what she was doing.

Feli, was almost like a promise ring to you, bought from Pablo as he found that you had been wanted a kitten since you were a child—one of the most admiring features about him.

She was raised by the both of you, day and night then one afternoon he was gone, just with a snap of his fingers.

No trace of him left, at all.

“I know Feli,” you sniffled, brushing away a stray tear, “I miss him too.”

You coax Felicia into your lap, mellowly stroking your fingers through her ivory, cotton fur. The need to sleep was daunting heavily upon your eyelids, as they slowly started to close until your vision went dark.

Even when you slept, you could still almost, hear his words. Almost if they were on a repeat, a neverending cycle that your mind just wanted to excruciate you until you crumbled—to constantly remind you of the things you could have kept.

That you could have still had.

The simple, “Te amo,” or the more complicated, “Eres mi todo, cariño, nunca te dejaré ir.” that he would shower you with.

You missed it all, but your heart only ached for him.

You clearly fall into a slumber, the relentless crying making your brain foggy. Igniting awake, your phone buzzes unapologetically—vibrating against your calves as the constant messages ping through.

Frantically, you scramble to reach it and waking Feli up in the progress.

Your hands begin to uncontrollably tremble, your pulse heightened, and your head spinning so fast that it begins to ache.

A message from your ex, it read:

“Hey, can we talk?”

[twistmusings]

Character Analysis of the Twisted Wonderland Dorm Rooms - Octavinelle

Dorm Room Character Analysis Series

Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul actually has a lot of little touches in his room that are very cute. For one thing, his general decor lends itself to the idea that Azul likes the finer things in life. Truthfully, all of the dorm rooms are have shown a lot of attention to the character's actual stylistic preferences in the Guest room and Azul is no exception.

Rather than having a bedside table, Azul has a second safe in his room in addition to the large one he has in his office. This is interesting because, well, that means that there's things that are likely more important to him than the contracts he kept in his vault in his office. I'm certainly curious about what sort of thing Azul would choose to keep in a personal vault - are they especially important contracts to him? Money? Or, perhaps, just other things that are especially special to him. I know the kneejerk reaction for a lot of folks is to be that it's where he stores his coin collection, however...

Azul actually displays his coin collection in a frame! He has them mounted in velvet.

Several of the other characters have featured a feather pen and ink bottles in their room, however a cute touch is that Azul's pen is actually fish bones. This is a cute little insight into what they may use for pens underneath the Coral Sea. Or, perhaps, Azul just has a flare for the dramatic.

Azul has a trunk and several potion bottles on top of his wardrobe. The fact that Azul has these out in the open on top of the trunk likely means that all of the items in the trunk were potion bottles, and then because they were stored up so high, he placed the ones he commonly uses on top, rather than storing them back inside the trunk. Azul is otherwise very organized, so it would make logical sense that if he's not putting these away, they're likely out because he knows he's going to reach for them again.

This is honestly probably my favorite detail in Azul's room because these are terrariums. Azul never mentions having any interest in Terrariums, but Jade does, meaning that these are likely terrariums that Jade made for Azul and gave him as gifts. This is actually really cute, because though the Leech twins joke about leaving Azul as soon as he becomes boring in canon, this shows that Jade at the very least thinks of Azul in his free time when he's not at work or around Azul by obligation, enough to have given him gifts. it's also worth noting that Azul has these displayed, which means that they aren't a gift that's rotting away in a drawer or stowed away somewhere. It's also worth mentioning that the ones that have plants in them are alive, which requires at least some level of attention to them in order to maintain the environment inside. Little things like this show how much the characters actually care about each other.

Azul's hidden Mickey is next to his shelf of terrariums.

Jade Leech

Jade is an interesting case because he, like Ruggie and Trey, doesn't actually have much displayed in his room in terms of decoration. That being said, what he does have displayed are his terrariums. Jade being the sole member of the Mountain Lover's club, it seems like he probably spends a lot of his free time out and tending to either his plants in the greenhouse or actually hiking.

This isn't likely directly because of Jade, however it seems like Octavinelle as a whole have coat hangers and hat racks that are themed around octopi, which is possibly the cutest thing I've ever seen.

Jade is notably organized - he has his shoes on his shoe rack, his hat and scarf hung up, and his bed made. This will become more important when you see Floyd's half of the room.

There is also this object. While I'm not certain and it doesn't seem to be mentioned in any of Jade's vignettes outright, I suspect this may be a jewelry box. It's a little hard to tell in comparison to a lot of the items in the student rooms, though, so if anyone has any additional input, please let me know! Neither of the other two from Octavinelle have an object like this one in their rooms.

Jade's Hidden Mickey is on one of his terrariums.

Fun fact, Jade AND Floyd both have errors in their Night 2 versions of their backgrounds, as they are both missing the hidden Mickey.

Floyd Leech

Oh, Floyd, sweetheart, you live like this?

Jokes aside, Floyd actually has some things of note! While his side of his and Jade's room (canonically they share a room) is messy, he's messy in a different fashion than someone like Leona. Where Leona doesn't hang his clothes - Floyd does. Or at the very least, it seems like someone does it for him. (Given the haphazard hanging of his jacket, though, I would guess that he probably does it himself.) What does that tell us? Well, more than likely, Floyd gets small bursts of motivation to clean certain aspects of his room, and then grows bored and gives them up. To be quite honest, for those who know of or experience it, Floyd's organization style reminds me a lot of how ADHD folks tend to struggle with forming sustainable cleaning habits, as it's often easier to put something down rather than to put it away.

Snacks, literally everywhere. Floyd has snacks on his desk as well as on the shelf above his bed. It would seem that Floyd has a serious sweet-tooth, given the amount of sweets that we see in his room.

For the life of me, I could not tell you if this is a trash bin or not, but if it is, it looks like whatever Floyd put in there has teeth marks on it.

Another thing of note about Floyd's room, while there's a lot of things that are strewn around, there's not actually all that much trash around. He has a single empty container on his desk, but otherwise his floors are clean, and it seems like things that need to end up disposed are. Again, whether or not that's Jade intervening because they share a room, it's hard to say.

Floyd's hidden Mickey is on his pillow.

As was mentioned in Jade's section, both Floyd and Jade's Night 2 versions of their backgrounds are missing the hidden Mickey. Floyd's background has an additional error however!

Floyd's box of cookies is actually missing the box in his Night 2 artwork. If I had to guess, since I have experience with digital art, more than likely, the layer containing these details was accidentally deleted when making the edits for the Night 2 cards, resulting in these things disappearing when the background were published. It's a minor error, all things considered, and gave me a little giggle because now it just looks like Floyd has haunted cookies floating in his room.

Addendum

Excellent catch by @twistedminutia that Azul's fish bone pen is likely in reference to the pen Ariel signs her contract with in the original movie! (To be quite honest, and I know this is ironic given that this blog has such a heavy octavinelle theming, but the little mermaid was my least favorite Disney movie growing up, so I never would have caught this myself!)

[archivistrose]

@rosekillermicrofic | 1,122 words

based on an interaction i had while shopping today.

Three hours.

It had been three hours since Barty started his shift and not once had he been presented with the opportunity to just sit down.

His legs were sore, his arms were shaky, even his eyes ached at the bright fluorescent lights overhead. Why he had chosen to get unapologetically hammered the night before an early morning shift - should’ve been a question he could answer.

Yet, there he stood, cursing himself as he moved another box of heavy-weight hoodies from the cart to the floor.

On Friday nights, they received shipments - which meant the Saturday morning crew had the luxury of distributing it throughout the store. Although, if you were to ask Barty, he’d say it was the worst part about working at Pandora’s Box.

He could handle the nagging parents and the rambunctious teenagers, but the labor - it exhausted him.

I should workout more, he thought.

Of course, he had considered it multiple times - had even made a New Year’s resolution to hit the gym more, but by mid-January, he was already finding excuses to skip out.

“You okay there Bartemius?” a soft voice spoke, pulling his attention.

Across the counter stood a short girl with light blue eyes and a heart-shaped face. Her hair was pulled back and held in place with two gold butterfly clips. She tilted her head to the side and furrowed her eyebrows.

“Yeah, no, yeah,” Barty stuttered. He hadn’t realized the physical toll moving over twenty boxes of merchandise would have, and his voice came out strained. “Is there more in the back?”

She nodded, “I’ll have Mary pull it, can you take over at the register?”

Barty didn’t bother hiding his relief as he ran his hands down the sides of his pants and gave her a wide smile. “Of course,” he shot her a wink and slowly backed away from her towards the check-out counter. It barely came up to his waist, but it was solid enough to bear the brunt of his weight so, he bent over and rested his elbows on the glass.

Within the display case were a variety of items ranging from precious stones wrapped in silver wire to crystal ashtrays, body jewelry embedded with amber to silk scarfs, and mini mythological statues to incense holders. They were some of the most expensive pieces in the store.

Barty wasn’t allowed to have a key.

Something about protecting precious stock. The manager on duty was required to pull the it from the safe at the beginning of their shift and then return it once they clocked out.

“Hello?” someone said, and Barty had to yank his eyes away from a particularly alluring piece of green aventurine set in a silver ring, to find the origin of the strange voice.

“Hi,” Barty’s cadence hitched up an octave, as it usually did when speaking with a customer, and as soon as he made eye contact with the foreign subject, he had to bite back the cough that built up in the back of his throat.

To say the man ahead of him was beautiful, would’ve been an understatement. He looked ethereal, but not in a stereotypical way - more so in a biblically accurate way. His face was thin, making his cheekbones extremely pronounced, and his eyebrows were arched. He had wavy blonde hair that bent just above his eyes and curled inward at the base of his neck. His shoulders were broad, but he looked rather frail - even under the baggy brown jacket he wore.

“Is this register open?” He asked.

“Oh, um-” Barty looked around, as if he needed confirmation that no one else was working the counter. “Yeah - yes, yes it’s open,” he pushed himself off the display case and straightened up. “Is this all?”

“Mhm,” the stranger mumbled as he removed a green hoodie from its wooden hanger and set it folded up on the counter with the tag sticking out.

How polite, Barty smiled to himself.

“What’s a good email?” he wanted to ask for a phone number or a name, but something in his throat pulled back like a fishing rod.

“E Rosier,” it sounded French, or at the very least Italian. Something romantic and divine, and Barty had to physically bend his neck to pop the tension that suddenly built up in his vertebrae.

Barty typed the letters into the keypad, but no results came up. “E Rosier?” he asked.

“Yeah, E R-O-S-I-E-R,” he leaned forward to get a look at the screen, as if realizing the pronunciation of his name was contradictory to how it was actually spelt.

Barty followed the directions seamlessly but seemed to mistype - so when he read it back again, the stranger just smiled softly.

“No, E-R, not A-R.”

“Right,” Barty nodded, trying to keep his focus on the computer. “I was testing you.”

“To see if I could spell my own name?”

Barty huffed out, entirely unaware that he had been staring straight at the customer instead of his screen.

“Yeah, yeah that,” and he sounded like a stuttering child asking for candy right before bedtime.

He probably tastes just as sweet, and the flush of heat Barty felt running up his neck and over his face had to be noticeable.

“Uhm, here we go. Got it,” once the account was linked, it had only been a matter of seconds before they finished checking out and were walking away from the counter.

Barty looked back down at the display case, the palms of his hands resting lightly against the glass. He was sweating, actually sweating, and he had to peel his fingers off the class carefully, leaving behind a few smudges of condensation.

He looked at the marks closely, hoping for a distraction, but when he noticed the shadow of his index finger was pointing at the green aventurine he had been so intently looking at earlier, he stumbled back.

Barty didn’t believe in signs. He didn’t believe in destiny or fate, but he could’ve sworn that stone was the same color as Rosier’s eyes.

Rosier, he repeated, Rosie, and before Barty could fully realize what he was doing, he launched at the keyboard and started anxiously pulling up a list of recent transactions.

At the top was one sale for a large green hoodie with the reward email typed out at the bottom.

I mean… Barty shrugged to no one in particular as he frantically copied down the letters.

Whether or not it was against company policy, he didn’t know - but he did know that he was going to email the pretty boy with the blonde curls.

[glowettee]

⊹♡the ultimate coquette girl's guide to organizing your closet⊹♡

hello lovelies! today i wanna help you transform your closet into a magical wonderland of perfectly arranged clothes and accessories. if you love coquette, this guide will literally be perfect for you. a perfect start for your coquette style/fashion inspo.

essential organization categories:

dresses (sorted by length and color)

blouses (organized by sleeve type)

skirts (mini to maxi)

accessories (bows, ribbons, hair clips)

shoes (mary janes first!)

color coordination rules:

pastels together (pink, mint, lavender)

whites and creams in their own section

darker colors at the back

prints and patterns grouped by theme

must-have storage items:

pearl-handled hangers

vintage hat boxes

clear acrylic organizers

ribbon-tied storage baskets

lace drawer liners

maintenance schedule: monday: dust and reorganize shoes wednesday: refresh sachets and reorganize accessories friday: rotate seasonal items sunday: plan outfits for the week

remember to make your closet aesthetic:

install fairy lights

add a vintage mirror

place dried flowers in corners

use matching hangers

display your favorite pieces

keeping your closet organized isn't just practical - it's a form of self-care! 🎀 hopefully this can help you with organizing your wardrobe, and give you inspo

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: I'm a Mouse, Duh [Yandere TPOF!Ren (Fox) x Reader]

Title: I'm a Mouse, Duh [Yandere TPOF!Ren (Fox) x Reader]

Synopsis: Fox wants you in just the right costume for his party.

For Horrorfest request:

Fox making his darling try on different "sexy" Halloween costumes

Word Count: 1291

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, a bit of humiliation/degradation, descriptions of previous injuries including eye gouging, questionable taste in Halloween costumes

You didn’t know you could feel anything like shame anymore, but there it was, red-hot, covering your cheeks, not unlike a thin, sticky layer of latex that you couldn’t peel off yourself. 

Speaking of--

“Turn around,” Fox murmurs, idly swirling his glass of champagne while you swiftly obey his words. 

You turn ever so slowly, because you know what’s what he wants to see. You imagine you’re a doll in a music box, sans music and static ballerina pose, spinning slowly enough to let him get a look at his newest handiwork. 

The skin-tight latex cat costume does wonders in keeping your movements slow as well, but you try to ignore that part and stay in the music box metaphorical fantasy. 

He sighs lowly--your stomach roils--and shakes his head. 

“No, not quite right.”

He gives you another once-over, and you must be frowning, because he continues in a casually reassuring tone. “Not that you don’t look lovely, but it’s not what I want for tonight.” What he wants, in this case, is unclear. You’ve already tried on 3 different costumes, and he didn’t care for any of them. 

He gestures with his free hand at your hand, and you dutifully remove the latex cat ears (that matched your outfit, of course) and hand them over. 

He sets them on the table and beckons you over.You eagerly scamper over, turning away from him; you really did need help removing the thin layer of latex. At least he does it swiftly, though you feel a veneer of sweat on your back when he begins to peel it away. He continues pulling it down until you lift each of your legs, stepping out of the tight concoction with a visible sigh of relief. 

There’s a warm chuckle behind you, and you shiver when you feel his nails lightly raking down your back. 

When he stands and makes his way over to the long costume rack that one of his employees brought in, you follow. He thumbs through them, humming, pulling a few out now and then.

He pulls out a black and white lacy concoction, something that looks like the type of clothing people world in olden days. A big felt sword hangs off the flimsy top and there’s a large tricorn hat attached to the hanger, and it takes you a moment to realize what the costume is meant to be. 

A pirate.

He smiles, but you don’t. Your empty eye socket suddenly aches and your lip trembles. Which just makes him grin a little.

“Too on the nose, huh?” He taps his finger above your eye patch, a neutral black cloth for now. Fox said he wanted to pick your costume before they went about choosing what prosthetic or patch to give you. 

You suppose he wants you to care that he’s taking the time to find you the right costume, that he wants you to be appreciative that he’s putting so much effort into it. And when you suppose what he wants,  you do your best to fulfill it. That’s how you’ve made it this far.

So you look closer every time you think he might be choosing a costume and you try (pirate mistake notwithstanding) to mimic his reactions. This one is cute, mm-hmm. That one won’t do, nuh-uh. 

Maybe you would be appreciative, maybe even a bit excited about the idea of getting to dress up on Halloween, if you weren’t dreading tonight. You were going to attend a Halloween party with him. Thrown by him. Populated by the guests he chose. 

You weren’t putting on a show (that fear had already been cooingly whisked away, the moment you broke down into seizure-like sobs at the thought) but you would be… on display. 

Like a pet. No, no, that’s not entirely right, is it? You are a pet. You’ve got the collar to prove it. 

What would the people at the party be like? As bad as the ones who watched the show? Worse, because they were there in person and not just through a screen? Maybe some of them would be the same… would any of them recognize you? Would they hurt you? Would Fox let them hurt you? What if--

“Ah! This one!” He says, pulling you out of your heavy thoughts. There’s a glint of excitement in his voice that makes the tension in your stomach ease off. 

When he gets excited like this, it’s a good sign. Usually it’s related to finding out that you like some of the same things as him (you genuinely enjoyed, at least as much as you could, curling up on a sofa and watching anime with him) or you surprising him in a way that pleases him.

Sometimes he seems younger when he gets like this, more carefree. There’s a pang of envy when that happens, but you never let it last too long. 

He pulls out the costume he’s chosen and shoves it into your waiting, slightly trembling, arms. You don’t even have time to really see what he chose. 

“Quick now.” He flashes a muted grin. “The guests will arrive soon enough. Don’t want to be late for your first party.” 

You don’t waste time getting dressed. The end result, when you stand up and let him zip up the back of the costume, is cuter than you expected. It’s a mouse costume, a short little gray number with a black tail hanging off the edge. The costume covers your ass enough that as long as you don’t bend over, you should be fine.

 (You try not to think of ways that Fox might make you bend over in front of others. But then, he didn’t like it much when others were around you, so maybe he didn’t want you to show off more than necessary? The questions are really too difficult to consider for long.)

The finishing touch is a big pair of cutesy gray mouse ears that he tenderly places on your head. It’s the type of costume that you might have worn on a night out with friends, before. Though you’d have worn something else underneath, and you’d definitely still have two eyes. 

Still. It’s better than the tight catsuit. 

And you look... cute. If you ignore the missing eye, and the scars on your face. And the cauterized nail wounds dotting your body. And the cross-cross of scars, old and new, lining your arms and legs.

These are all things you have gradually forced yourself to ignore, so yes, you can put them aside and appreciate the way that the mouse ears frame your face or the way that the costume is made from nice materials.

You can ignore the hungry gaze of Fox standing behind you, keeping his eyes on your own as you stare at your reflection.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, standing behind you and looking at the finished product through your reflection. In the mirror, you see him place a kiss on your neck. Your body recognizes what will happen before your brain does, because your shoulder tenses even before he bites your skin harshly, lapping at the blood he leaves behind. 

“We can leave the patch as-is,” he says. You’re too busy staring at your reflection to answer. Maybe he takes it for being pouty, because he continues.  “Unless you want one of your prosthetics tonight?” 

How nice of him to ask, you think, and your heart feels sick when you realize the thought came without a trace of sarcasm. You’re really fucked up, huh?

You shake your head and give a little smile, looking at him in the mirror.

“No,” you say, voice meeker than you meant it to be. “Whatever you think looks best, sir.” 

He smiles, just a little. An intimate smile, a you’re-being-good smile, the kind you think (you hope) he reserves just for moments like this. And then he places a tender kiss on your bite wound. Bits of red stick to his lips and he licks them away, sighing low and almost husky. 

You know this sound, these gestures, the way his breath quickens and comes out of his nose. You feel two hands grope your ass and you squeak, like the mouse you might as well be. 

“I suppose it won’t hurt if we’re a little late… it is my party after all.”

[egg-emperor]

EGGMAN MERCH SIGHTINGS AT THE TOY FAIR 2025 LET'S GOOO

Modern Eggman bag clip hanger! I have the classic from the first series and I was sad to see they didn't include him in the modern series. He's finally here!

I love his pose, he looks ready to fight 💜 vaguely reminiscent of the two Uekawa official art pieces with his fists up

Judging by the figures he's surrounded by and the way he has no arms, they're making a buildable/arm changing Eggman!!!

I was also sad when they didn't make a classic or modern Eggman one of these so here we go, looking forward to seeing his hand options and accessory

And a little buildable figure you get in one of the mystery boxes that you can slot together to create a little diorama. which I was ALSO sad that they didn't make an Eggman of those, so they're finally giving me everything I want XD

And some kind of Sega Genesis Console Heroes display diorama thing with Eggman, Death Egg Robot and Mecha Sonic Mk II that goes so hard

And some kind of small plasticy squishy version of the ever so rare and expensive standard squishmallow Eggman plush. Maybe with this I'll finally have at least one version :P

I'm really happy 4/5 of these are so on model or at least full body/regularly proportioned over stylized and gimmicky. These are the type of things I always want to add to my Eggman collection the most

I can make an exception for the squishmallow Eggman too because he's literally Become Egg. Nobody fits that mold better than him and of course it's Eggman, I'll get everything of him no matter how stylized it is but I have a big preference for him being on model lol

[juliahope]

Hanger Display Boxes are cardboard boxes designed to showcase products directly on retail hooks or slotted walls. Custom hanger boxes typically have a built-in hanger attachment on the top and a clear window on one side, allowing customers to see the #product without needing to take it down. These wall display boxes are ideal for small, lightweight items that benefit from hanging displays, like jewelry, accessories, toys, or bath products.

[bellesdomain]

Would you be able to do a Buffy Broadway/Bochum costume breakdown?

Buffy! Yes! I think I've got quite a few refs for her, let's see... while photography has developed a lot, her costume really hardly changed at all from 1988 - 2018! Other than her wig, obviously.

Starting with her base layer - hand painted, of course. Her base is sewn into a single piece, despite looking like a leotard over leggings - nothing's gonna slip or move uncomfortably onstage! As a make though, it's pretty heavy on the spandex sewing skills.

I *think* her bodice is a heavier weight stretch satin than the rest of her costume, and her stockings are a stretch lurex, the rest seems to be standard spandex. Every inch of her is painted or dyed - even her lower sleeves which seem to have been handy paint samples while painting the rest of her bodice! This is, I think, the same technique used for the "Cats" costumes, that acid dye is mixed to a paintable texture, then set with steam. Even the lurex stockings are painted! The lurex bands on the edge of the leotard have padding, obviously, this has got to be something that will dry out super fast and hold its shape well - unless they have a better option, I've used filter foam for this in the past. like literally, sold for pond filters!

We can see she has a big patch of white velcro on her chest, that's gonna connect to her display case chest box.

Her chest box is a neat little vest, the back painted the same as her arms. We can see it zips up the centre back, and the shoulders connect at the front - very discreet fastenings, but still visible in hi-res photos! On this photo of the chest box on a hanger, I think we can see there's similar fastenings on the back. The other thing I think we're seeing here is that the fabric portion is attached by velcro and snaps to the metallic band and the display case panel - allowing the fabric to be washed! sounds wise!

So the "Chrome" band and the display case panel are foam, heavily worked with the glossy bands sewn down between the more matte fabric. I suspect the matte base fabric has some stretch to it, the super chromey shiny won't. It might be leather or leatherette to be that very, very shiny yet still machine stitched. I believe there's a thin plastic coating over her display case windows, so the frame is the top layer, then the plastic window, then the painted surface, then foam board for the shape. Then all the velcro! We can see the stitches that hold the display case panel to the ribbed chrome band. There's also some stitching on the left strap - I would guess that's mic related.

Shoulders - I realise I say "foam" a lot, but there's different types of foam, different densities, different uses. I don't know if I can really describe them properly... but the shoulders are not the same material is the padding in the leotard edge! But her shoulders would be the dense, easy to cut foam as used for yoga mats (but thicker) or interlocking floor tiles... I'd say it's covered in leatherette type material that's painted and trimmed, then hinges on the top, I think we can see connections between the ends and the middle at the back too, to stop the ends flipping up. There's also rivets on the back of the centre panel which line up with the reinforced spots on the jacket. And there's a padded fabric panel around the neck, for comfort!

Her belt is straightforward - apart from her napkins. At least, that's how I've always understood her pleated shiny butt flap! I think it's actually 8 panels - the top piece above the belt - then the wide centre, a two-stripe panel, then two single stripes. They're connected by a soft pleated fabric which is the colour contrast. Is it me or are her handles particularly wide-set? Staying clear of her napkin, I guess.

Her collar is just the simplest thing! Spandex, snap at the back, heat-set studs for decoration. Disconcertingly simple! She also sometimes has the same construction as stocking tops - but not always? I'm not sure why they're sometimes missing, but the extra 3D detail looks really good.

Gloves! How's this for a convenient reference? She has leather gloves, spandex "gauntlets" and matching, attached elbows - all with the added moulded latex decorations. On the pictures of the leotard hanging up, we can see metal bars on her sleeves - there's gotta be hooks inside the elbow pads to connect them. I suspect there's two bars for different fittings - longer or shorter arms - rather than two hooks to connect, but I might be wrong there.

I can NOT find a decent look at her kneepads! but Pearl and Dinah's are there, and the construction is gonna be the same. The heavy, dense foam bowl, a fixed middle strap and upper and lower adjustable straps all covered in the lurex, and the bowl covered in the decorative leather, then a hard plastic protective cover on top.

Her skate covers / springs / slinkies are painted ombre lurex - getting that effect might not be easy! - but it's sewn over triangular profile foam to get those sharp corners.

Finally, her hat! I'm not gonna cover her wig because she's had so many, but her hat remains much the same throughout. It's a curved base, covered in painted spandex like the rest of her main costume, and tucked in the top is some - err... delicious? looking fake food! Fabric lace represents the paper doily. There's mesh on the bottom edge to allow it to be pinned into the wig securely.

I think? that's everything? I've kinda glossed over some things I've described in more detail in other breakdowns, but if you have any more questions please ask!

[a-very-good-girl]

His Kitten

My hands tremble slightly when I pull the brand new dark grey tail from its box. I stroke the soft fur gently and admire the quality of my new toy. Our new toy I correct myself as I weigh the metal plug in my hand. It’s heavier than I expected. Sir asked me to really think it through before I made my choice. Like he didn’t know I would pick the large one. With a smile I reach for my brush. I’m determined to make the tail look as pretty as possible for our premiere. I can’t wait to see the look on my owner's face when he sees it.

I look at the time again. He should be home soon and my heart flutters at the thought of his intoxicating scent, his warm body, and his irresistible voice. That dark rumble of his, sometimes soft as a summer breeze against my naked skin, and sometimes just as hard as the stone floor I so often kneel on. He holds the key to my arousal in his voice, and he knows it all too well.

When the tail has the desired fluffy shape I put a small amount of lube on the tip of the plug and walk over to the end of my bed. If Sir was here he would have me suck the plug until it was dripping and then use it as my only lube. But without his direct orders I do as I want and I moan silently when I bend over the bed. The large mirror is right behind me and when I look over my shoulder I can see my naked body presented in an inviting pose. I spread my legs even further and catch a glimpse of my bare pussy—newly shaved in the shower—just for him. Then I hold the plug to my tight hole and add pressure. It starts its heavenly penetration but all I see is the grey tail. The plug is indeed large and I gasp as it makes it way deeper inside me. I’m always too eager and Sir’s calming words echo in my ears as I try to control the urge to just take a deep breath and bury it deep. Sir likes when I’m in pain but he doesn’t want me injured. The stretch when my little hole welcomes the plug feels amazing, and I moan loudly as the flare spreads me open. With a final push the plug sinks into place and I can for the first time see how cute I look wearing my new long tail. I arch my back and grab both my cheeks. Sir will be very pleased with me, I know he will. He always reminds me of how well he knows me, but he often seems to forget that I know him equally well. The sound from my phone pulls me from my thoughts and the display announces a text from the one I’m impatiently awaiting. Home in just a few min.

I can barely breathe normally, my excitement is making my heart race and with a stomach full of butterflies I kneel obediently in the middle of our living room. My dark hair spills over my shoulders and I run my hands up and down my thighs. I’m unable to stop my fingers from tracing the soft skin on my inner thighs all the way to the center of my body. I run the tip of my fingers over my most sensitive parts and a stream of heat travels from my core as I circle my clit. I allow my fingers to press on my little button and I wish for the thousandth time today that Sir would walk through the door. Beside me lies the tail, and when I tug it I’m instantly reminded of the large plug that keeps the tail in place.

Suddenly I finally hear him opening the door and I instantly place my hands on my thighs again. I feel so playful—yet obedient—and I’m even more excited to see his reaction than I could imagine. From the humming sounds he lets out as he puts his jacket on the hanger I can tell he’s in a good mood. Hard footsteps are soon replaced with softer footsteps as he takes off his shoes. I hold my breath as he enters the living room and he stops the second he sees me on the floor. I meet his gaze and my heart takes a leap in my chest. They say that your eyes are the mirror to your soul, yet I have never before met a man with such expressive eyes. Proudness and love shines in Sir’s dark eyes as he looks back at me. I can see how he takes in my naked body, and when his gaze falls on my new tail a grin spreads on his face. For a second I recognize the desire raging in him but then he regains control of himself and slowly walks up to me. His strong hand lands on my head and he caresses my hair. With just a small stroke he’s letting me know that my initiativ is highly appreciated. Then he walks over to the couch and I crawl behind him on all fours. My tail follows me and I feel it with every move I make. Sir sits down on his favorite spot and I take my place at his feet. With a smile he leans forward and catches my chin between his thumb and index finger. When he locks his gaze with mine I melt in his warm stare.

”Who is my favorite pet?”

”I am, Sir” I smile back at him.

He strokes my chin with the back of his hand and the loving gesture makes my heart flutter again.

”How did I get so lucky, kitten? You are all I ever dreamed of.”

A small blush spreads over my cheeks and I rest my head against his palm. I love his praise but sometimes he makes me speechless. Sir pats on the couch—a clear invitation for me that I’m allowed to sit next to him and I quickly advance. I struggle to control my need to touch him, to kiss him deeply and let my hunger for his touch consume me. The desire to pathetically beg for his touch must be tamed, yet I know how much he enjoys seeing me lose the battle against my needs. With no small amount of effort I manage to sit still beside him even if my whole body is screaming for attention. My pussy is so wet I’m afraid I will leave marks on the fabric under me. For a second I see a shadow of cruelty in my owner’s eyes, but then he reaches for my arm.

”Come here, kitten,” he then says as he pulls me up in his lap. ”I crave your kisses.”

Without blinking I straddle him, sink down on his noticeable bulge, and the satisfaction I feel when he lets out a quiet moan is enormous. I know I’m his greatest weakness but I admire his self control. The plug in my ass and the long tail makes me both needy and playful. I lean in as if I was going to kiss him but instead I let our noses touch. Very gently I rub the tip of my nose against his and when he places his hands on my waist I continue. With my nose I greet him; I rub my nose along the bridge of his nose, over his bearded cheeks, and around his lips. I stroke his face with mine, as a real cat would do, and breathe in the scent I love. His masculine scent mixed with the fresh scent of his cologne. It always makes me think of how he kissed me under the lemon tree in the botanical garden, and he smells so good I want to lick him.

”You really are my playful kitten today,” Sir murmurs approvingly. Then he tugs hard on my tail and I moan loudly as the plug presses at the opening. I reward him with licking his lips and he tugs again. A soft purr escapes me and I playfully bite his lower lip. I can feel his hard cock through his jeans and the thought of being filled in both holes makes me dizzy with need. I grind impatiently on his lap, silently telling him what I want. What I need.

”I was planning to ask you about your day but I think you have other plans, don’t you kitten?” Sir growls as he digs his fingers into the soft skin of my hips. I nod and he tugs again. My moans fill the room. ”Is this what makes my cute little pet behave like she’s in heat?” He can’t hide the grin on his face as I eagerly nod again. His fingers find their way to my clit and when he feels how swollen I already am he lets a finger glide over my wetness. I can’t stop myself from grinding hard at his hand and finally he lets one of his fingers slip inside me. I know how tight I must be with the large plug pressing in my ass, and when Sir withdraws his finger it’s coated in my needs. Without a word he puts his finger in my mouth and I suck it clean. The taste of my arousal is something he always wants to share and this time is no exception. His lips crash against mine and his tongue demands access to my mouth. Soon I have my arms around his neck and we get lost in the feeling of each other. When I finally gasp for air all I can think of is his cock buried in me.

”Tell me what you want, kitten. Use your words.” As if he can read my mind he reaches between my thighs again. My neediness hits an almost unbearable level as he teasingly strokes my clit and I whimper ”I want your cock, Sir,” before he pushes his fingers inside me again.

”I can feel that. Fuck! You’re so wet, kitten.” Sir continues to plunge his fingers deep into my pussy and I greedily clench around them. Then he suddenly lets out a raw growl and lifts me up on my knees so he can reach the zipper in his jeans. With a few quick moves he pulls his pants halfway down his thighs and his hard cock springs free from its denim prison. Then he grabs my face with both hands. ”Let me see your eyes when you take my cock. Show me exactly how good it feels.” His voice is hoarse and the storm raging in his eyes tells me he needs me just as much as I need him. Without using my hands I position myself over the top of his cock. The plug makes me very tight and when I sit down on him I instinctively hold my breath. Sir’s feral growl reveals he feels it too. His girth stretches me more than ever and I whimper against his lips. Then I feel his hands on my hips and with his superior strength he pushes me down, forcing his full length inside me, and I cry out as his cock fills me completely.

A hard bite on my lip pulls my focus to his eyes again. I stare into his almost black eyes and sense more than feel how he wraps the tail around his hand. Then he caresses my hips again and the plug follows his moves. Without his command I start moving my body and soon I find a pace that makes me see stars. He knows exactly when to tug at my tail and the change in pressure makes me dig my nails into his shoulders, and it draws dark curses from his throat. Deep in my core builds the fire I long to release. I have waited all day to unleash my desire together with my owner, and now we are finally burning together. Only our joined bodies and the sounds we make exist in this world.

I know he craves my pleasure just as much as he craves my pain, but today I don’t even have to beg for my climax. With a tight grip around my waist he demands an orgasm from me, and when I finally feel it exploding in my core, I hear the unmistakable growl of his approaching climax. He spills himself deep in me and I milk every drop from him as I clench around his cock over and over again. Then I collapse in his embrace, dizzy from my intense relief. Sir wraps his arms around my back, as he so often does, and holds me tight to his chest. I bury my nose at the crook of his neck and breathe in the scent of him. He alone has the power to push me far beyond what I thought was possible, but at the same time he is all I need to find peace in my soul. When my breathing slows down he kisses me gently. Then he looks me deep in the eyes and gives my cheek a tender caress.

”Now, will you tell me all about your day, kitten?”

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

[estellan0vella]

Inheritance of Love│Han Jisung

Chapter Two: A Man Should Know Fear Word Count: 2.6K Content Warnings: none?

Previous Next Masterlist

The boutique smells faintly of lavender and fabric softener, the air thick with the quiet hum of hangers sliding across racks and the occasional excited chatter of other shoppers.

Emma stands in front of a long row of dresses, her fingers running over the soft materials as her mother, Choi Bitna, browses nearby. Bitna is a picture of effortless elegance in her flowing brown-and-green patterned skirt and cream blouse, her dark hair swept neatly into a low bun.

Emma pulls a green dress off the rack, holding it up to examine it in the soft boutique lighting. It's simple but elegant, with a flowing skirt and subtle beading along the neckline. "What do you think?" she asks, turning to her mother with a hopeful smile.

Bitna looks up from a display of scarves, her sharp, assessing gaze landing on the dress. She shakes her head immediately. "No, no, no, you can't wear that to meet Jisung's halmeoni. You need something red, dear."

Emma raises an eyebrow, confused. "Red?"

"Red is considered a lucky colour in Korea," Bitna explains patiently, stepping closer. She smooths a wrinkle in her blouse as she speaks, her tone soft but insistent. "It symbolizes passion, energy, and good fortune. It's very common to wear to weddings. Green is nice, but it represents youth and vitality. Red is better."

Emma lets out a small sigh, glancing back at the green dress. "I like green."

"You can like green," Bitna says with a shrug, "but it won't impress his halmeoni. Trust me, dear. First impressions are everything."

With that, Bitna turns toward a nearby rack and plucks out a stunning red cocktail dress. The fabric is rich and vibrant, the cut flattering yet modest enough to suit any formal family occasion. She holds it up with a triumphant smile. "What about this?"

Emma takes one look and tilts her head. "It's nice, but-"

"I know you're young," Bitna interrupts with a pointed look, "but you're meeting his halmeoni. A little modesty won't kill you."

Emma snorts, unable to resist a grin. "Oh, no! You ruined my plan to wear a completely see-through dress. Damn."

Bitna laughs, the sound soft and warm. "You're impossible."

Emma takes the dress from her mother, running her fingers over the smooth fabric. "It's really pretty, though," she admits, her voice quieter now. "You've got a good eye."

"I've had years of practice," Bitna says, her smile turning a bit nostalgic. "Now go try it on. Let's see how it looks."

Emma rolls her eyes playfully but heads toward the fitting rooms, the dress draped over her arm. The boutique is quiet as she steps inside the small, brightly lit room and begins to change, carefully slipping out of her jeans and sweater and into the red dress. The fabric fits perfectly, hugging her figure in all the right places while still feeling comfortable.

Outside, Bitna sits on a cushioned bench, crossing her legs elegantly. She looks toward the fitting room door with a thoughtful expression. "You've been frowning a lot today, dearest," she calls out.

Emma pauses mid-zip, frowning even more. "I don't know," she says finally, her voice muffled. "I guess, I mean. I don't know anything about Jisung's family. Every time I ask, he changes the subject."

Bitna hums, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Maybe he's embarrassed. Maybe his parents are poor, and he sends them money. That's what all good children do."

Emma steps out of the fitting room just then, smoothing down the dress nervously. Bitna gasps, a smile spreading across her face as she rises to her feet. "Dearest," she says, her voice full of warmth, "you look beautiful. You're going to have a wonderful time."

Emma fidgets slightly under her mother's gaze, but she can't help smiling a little. "You think so?"

"I know so," Bitna says firmly. She reaches over to a small display stand and grabs a small velvet box, flipping it open to reveal a simple but elegant ring. "And who knows? If all goes well in Korea, you might just come back with a souvenir."

Emma's eyes widen as she laughs in disbelief. "Mom! Ji and I haven't even talked about that."

Bitna shrugs, her expression innocent but knowing. "I'm just saying. It's a possibility."

Emma shakes her head, though her smile lingers. She turns toward the mirror, examining the dress again. "Do you think his family will like me?"

Bitna steps closer, her expression softening. "You know, Emma, families like Jisung's might have certain expectations. Cultural ones. They'll see you as Korean, but in their eyes, you'll be different."

Emma frowns, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. "I'm Korean, though. I speak the language."

"Yes, but you grew up here. You're independent. Opinionated." Bitna smiles gently, brushing a strand of hair from Emma's face. "It's not bad. I'm proud of you. But it's different from what they might expect."

Emma exhales, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "So, wear red and smile a lot?"

Bitna chuckles, squeezing her shoulder. "It's a start. But just be yourself. You'll win them over."

Emma nods, turning back to the mirror. "Okay. The dress it is."

Bitna steps back, already eyeing the shoe section. "Good. Now, let's find you some heels that won't make you look like a baby giraffe."

Emma groans, laughing despite herself as she follows her mother.

The restaurant hums with the late-afternoon buzz of conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter from nearby tables. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches on the polished wooden surfaces, casting a warm glow.

Jisung sits by the window, scrolling lazily through his phone, dressed in a black sweater, that clings just enough to hint at his shoulders and sculpted chest, and dark jeans that are slightly frayed at the hems. His hair, messy in that perfectly intentional way, falls into his eyes until he looks up and spots Emma and Bitna entering.

A bright grin spreads across his face as he sets his phone down and stands. "There they are."

Bitna doesn't waste a second, striding forward with the confidence of a woman who owns every room she enters. "Oh, my boy!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around him and pressing kisses to both of his cheeks. Her hold lingers just enough to make Jisung chuckle.

"Eomeoni," he greets, his voice warm, his hands lightly resting on her shoulders. "You always make me feel like I just won an award."

"Sweetheart, you are an award," Bitna replies, stepping back just enough to examine him critically. Her eyes narrow slightly, though there's nothing but affection in her tone. "But you look tired. Do you sleep at all? Or are you like my daughter, staying up all night working?"

Jisung laughs, the sound soft and genuine. "Maybe it runs in the family. Workaholic vibes all around."

Emma lingers a few steps behind, watching the interaction with a fond smile. There's something about the way Jisung immediately folds into her mother's warmth, like he's always been part of their little circle, that makes her heart ache in the best way.

When the greetings end, the three of them slide into a cosy booth near the middle of the restaurant, Bitna taking the seat beside Emma while Jisung settles across from them.

"So," Jisung starts, leaning forward with his elbows propped on the table. His voice carries that playful lilt she knows so well. "How was the big shopping trip? Successful?"

Before Emma can open her mouth, Bitna jumps in, her words spilling out with animated energy. "I told Emma, red. You know how important first impressions are, and red is the colour for luck. It's traditional."

Jisung nods, his lips twitching as he fights back a grin. "Red's solid advice. Halmeoni loves red. It's basically a cheat code."

Emma shoots him a mock glare, setting her menu down with a sigh. "You two are so smug about this. Fine. Red it is. Happy now?"

Bitna reaches over to pat Emma's arm, her smile smug but fond. "Very. You're in good hands, my girl."

Emma mutters under her breath, "I feel like I've been outvoted in my own wardrobe choices."

"Democracy, baby," Jisung teases, tapping the edge of his menu. "One person, one vote. Except in this case, we had the better argument."

Emma shakes her head, but her lips twitch with amusement as she picks up her menu again.

After a moment of silence, Bitna lowers her menu slightly and fixes Jisung with an appraising look. Her voice softens, but there's a teasing edge to it. "Jisung-ah, you're going to look after my daughter in Korea, right? No getting distracted by your busy life, no running off to deal with work things?"

Jisung lowers his menu and meets her gaze without hesitation, his face unusually serious. "Eomeoni, I promise. She's my priority. Always."

Bitna's lips twitch like she's holding back a smile, but she still leans across the table to pinch both his cheeks firmly. "Such a good boy," she coos, though her tone carries just enough bite to make Jisung squirm in his seat. "So polite. So handsome. But don't think I'll let you off the hook. You fuck this up, and you'll answer to me."

"Eomeoni!" Jisung protests, his voice muffled by her grip. He raises his hands in surrender, his expression somewhere between amused and horrified. "You're gonna stretch my face out! This is my money-maker, you know!"

Bitna laughs, releasing him with a playful slap to his cheek. "Your money-maker, is it? Don't push your luck, sweetheart. You're lucky I like you."

Emma snorts into her water, watching Jisung rub his cheeks with mock indignation. "Mom, you're embarrassing him."

"Good," Bitna says lightly, sitting back and folding her hands on the table. "A man should know fear. Keeps him grounded."

Jisung glares at her playfully, his lips quirking into a reluctant grin. "You're ruthless, eomeoni. Absolutely ruthless."

"And you're too charming for your own good," Bitna fires back without missing a beat. "So we're even."

The waitress arrives then, offering a welcome distraction as they order. When she leaves, the conversation picks up again, the teasing giving way to lighter chatter about the trip and wedding plans. There's a rhythm to it, a natural flow that makes it feel like the three of them have been doing this for years.

As the waitress returns with their drinks, Emma glances between her mother and Jisung. Bitna is laughing softly at something Jisung has said, her shoulders relaxing in a way Emma doesn't see often. And Jisung, with his easy grin and sharp wit, matches her energy perfectly.

Emma leans back in her seat, her fingers curling around her glass. For the first time in weeks, the knots in her stomach loosen. Maybe this trip won't be a total disaster after all.

The dim glow of the TV flickers against the walls of Emma's bedroom, bathing the room in an ever-shifting mix of shadows and light as A Slap on Titan plays on the screen. The ridiculous parody keeps cutting through the quiet, eliciting soft snickers from both Emma and Jisung.

They're propped up against the headboard, a mountain of pillows cushioning their backs, laptops balanced precariously on their thighs. Around them is a mess of takeout containers, abandoned chopsticks, and red-marked essays sprawled in chaotic piles. The lingering scent of fried rice and soy sauce mingles with the faint smell of Emma's lavender candle burning on the nightstand.

Jisung groans loudly, pushing his laptop away slightly and scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm a fucking talent recruiter. Why the hell am I marking essays for econ freshmen? This feels illegal."

Emma adjusts her glasses, the faintest smile tugging at her lips as she types something into her laptop. "You offered to help. Don't act like I tied you to the bed and forced you."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd hand me this," Jisung says, gesturing dramatically at the paper in front of him. "I thought you meant, like, carrying your coffee or holding your bag while you lectured the undergrads about why capitalism's eating itself."

"That's cute," Emma says, glancing at him briefly over her laptop. "But grading essays is the real grunt work. Welcome to academia."

Jisung picks up one of the essays with exaggerated disdain, holding it like it's covered in something toxic. "This one wrote: 'Economics is about making choices. Sometimes people make bad choices, like pineapple on pizza.' That's literally their thesis statement, Emma."

Emma giggles, finally looking up from her screen. "Well, at least they understand the concept of trade-offs."

Jisung groans again, dropping the paper like it physically hurt him. "Pineapple on pizza. That's the hill they're dying on. I should be getting hazard pay for this."

Emma nudges his leg with her knee. "Stop being dramatic. It's not that bad."

"It's worse." He grabs another essay and skims it, his eyes narrowing as he mumbles, "Oh, great. This one's about why billionaires deserve tax breaks. I don't know whether to mark it or set it on fire."

"Definitely mark it," Emma says with a grin, pushing a container of dumplings toward him. "No fire hazards in my apartment."

Jisung shoves a dumpling into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before speaking around it. "I better be getting, like, an entire year's worth of boyfriend points for this. I could be watching something I picked right now."

Emma rolls her eyes, clicking on another essay. "You love this show. Don't even lie."

"Yeah, but I don't love grading essays," he grumbles, stabbing his chopsticks into a piece of chicken. "You owe me, Choi."

Emma's smirk deepens. "What do you want, a medal?"

"No," Jisung says, pointing a chopstick at her. "A free pass. Next time I fuck something up, you let it slide. No lectures, no passive-aggressive sighs. Deal?"

Emma tilts her head, pretending to think it over. "Depends on how well you mark these essays."

"You're evil," he mutters, his grin betraying him as he grabs the next paper. "Oh, wait, this one might actually be decent. Something about the gender pay gap and the compounding economic impact over time."

Emma leans over, glancing at his screen. "Not bad. Do they mention policy solutions?"

Jisung scrolls down, squinting. "Kind of. They're rambling about, uh, government subsidies for daycare and, like, women doing more STEM shit."

"That's promising," Emma says, grabbing a dumpling. "Mark it up. Add some feedback. You're doing great."

"Am I?" he deadpans. "Or am I slowly losing my will to live?"

"You're thriving," Emma teases, nudging his shoulder with hers. "And you're helping. Seriously."

Jisung pauses mid-scribble, glancing at her. "You're too fucking nice, you know that? If I had to deal with this kind of shit every day, I'd be in a padded room by now."

Emma shrugs, her smile softening. "I don't mind it. They're trying, even if it's rough. Everyone starts somewhere."

Jisung watches her for a moment, his gaze lingering on the curve of her jaw, the way her glasses slide slightly down her nose when she's concentrating. "You're insane," he says finally, but there's no heat in it, only admiration. "In the best possible way."

Emma looks at him, her brow quirking. "You're only saying that so I'll let you quit after this stack."

"Maybe," Jisung says, leaning over to steal one of her dumplings. "But it's still true."

Emma snorts, shaking her head as she marks another essay. "Fine. One more stack, and then you're free."

"Bless you," Jisung mutters, already pulling another essay into his lap. He pauses, glancing at the TV as another ridiculous scene from A Slap on Titan plays out. His lips twitch upward. "Okay, fine. This parody is pretty fucking funny."

Emma grins, adjusting her glasses. "Told you."

The room falls into a comfortable rhythm. The sound of typing, the occasional rustle of paper, and their shared laughter as the absurdity of the parody fills the room.

In the middle of the chaos, surrounded by half-eaten takeout and red ink, Jisung leans back, glancing at Emma again. For a brief moment, he forgets about essays, about work, about anything outside of this small, messy, perfect bubble they've created.

Taglist: @ot8girlfie @fackeraccount @sellomaybe @nightmarenyxx

@rhonnie23 @reimaybeidk

[pointelleprincess]

My bedroom is a sacred place now ♡

tips for a more coquette bedroom ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᡣ𐭩

𝜗𝜚 loads of tapered candles especially hand painted or decorated with ribbon ᡣ𐭩 ྀིྀ

𝜗𝜚 place doilies everywhere it adds so much character to the room

𝜗𝜚 add lace to shelves for that extra touch

𝜗𝜚 dainty floral sheets

𝜗𝜚 start a collection of vintage plush hangers for your wardrobe

𝜗𝜚 get a vanity preferably one with some vintage charm

𝜗𝜚 vintage floral or heart shaped picture frames with black and white photos of loved ones or aesthetic icons

𝜗𝜚 use vintage baskets or hat boxes for extra storage

𝜗𝜚 start a small collection of charming dolls and or stuffed animals

𝜗𝜚 adorn your windows with lace curtains

𝜗𝜚 tie ribbon and lace absolutely anywhere and everywhere you can

𝜗𝜚 display your favorite clothing pieces

𝜗𝜚 put lots of love into your space ₊˚⊹♡