#perfume-filling machine

[manufacturerfillingmachine]

Perfume Filling Machines: Enhancing Efficiency and Precision in Production

Have you ever wondered why perfumes are labeled as highly expensive products? Some of the most luxurious brands make perfumes with a blend of art, science, and craftsmanship. Perfumes are sold in milliliters, and why shouldn’t they be? With a mixture of aromatic compounds, solvents, and fixatives, extracting fragrance from natural sources can be labor-intensive. Besides, the aromatic compounds are sourced from natural components like flowers, fruits, woods, and spices.

Although some perfumers have started using synthetic elements as well, natural ingredients like essential oils are often more expensive due to factors such as rarity, cultivation difficulties, or extraction methods. When every drop and spray of perfumes is so valuable, why should an ounce be lost during the manufacturing or production phase? That’s where perfume-filling machines come into the big picture. 

In fact, the FILLOGY® Neo is quite possibly one of the most flexible perfume filling machines globally. Made with a modular design, the machine allows for the replacement of individual components in case of any malfunction, hence promoting sustainability and cost-effectiveness, instead of replacing the entire machine.

#1 Better Efficiency

For one, perfume-filling machines automate the filling process, hence reducing the time and labor necessary for production. With high-speed operation and the ability to fill multiple bottles simultaneously, these machines can substantially accelerate throughput and allow producers to meet demand more efficiently. Besides, these machines also minimize natural intervention and streamline workflow, so manufacturers can improve productivity. 

#2 Precise Management

Perfume-filling machines excel in delivering precise measurements, ensuring consistency across batches. Utilizing advanced technologies, these machines dispense exact volumes of liquid with minimal margin for error. This precision does not just enhance product quality; it also boosts consumer confidence in the brand's reliability. The FILLOGY® Neo unit can also be paired with different drive units, pumps and filing sets that allow manufacturers to fill a wide range of products using just one machine using great precision.

#3 Reduced Waste and Cost Savings

Perfume-filling machines can eliminate overfills and spills associated with manual filling methods, hence reducing product waste and minimizing material costs. These machines are engineered to dispense precise amounts of liquid, ensuring optimal utilization of resources and minimizing product loss. In addition, their efficient operation and streamlined workflow contribute to overall cost savings by optimizing labor, energy, and maintenance expenses. The FillLogic feature in FILLOGY® Neo offers the integrated intelligence feature to ensure automatic compensation for fill level fluctuations in large batch sizes for less waste.

#4 Versatility and Quality Control

The best part about using a perfume-filling machine is whether you want to fill small vials for samples or larger bottles for retail distribution, these machines can adapt to your diverse manufacturing needs. Besides, these devices also have integrated quality control systems that monitor various parameters such as fill volume, sealing integrity, and bottle alignment. By maintaining stringent quality control throughout the production process, these machines help uphold product consistency, minimize defects, and safeguard brand reputation.

The Bottom Line

Some perfumes are like wines. They need aging or maturation, so the fragrance notes can blend and develop throughout a certain period. Aging can take weeks, months, or even years, based on the complexity of scent, which is why preserving the integrity and quantity of perfumes during the packaging and production stage is imperative.

Do you want to enhance efficiency and precision during your perfume production cycles? Opt for the FILLOGY® Neo and get more flexibility with modular, automated machines that can regulate the filling process seamlessly. Equipped with drip protection and ensuring flawless filling even with foaming products, FILLOGY® Neo is a perfume-filling machine tailored for businesses of all sizes as well as artisanal producers.

[deus-ex-mona]

it started as a simple song-inspired fic, how did it end up like this

[businessminddubai]

Phoenix Dison Tec LLC, a leading manufacturer, specializes in fully automatic perfume filling machines. With precision engineering, they deliver cutting-edge solutions for seamless perfume production, ensuring efficiency and accuracy in every fill.

[cafterdark]

I don't think y'all truly grasp what fucking a god would be like.

Not only are they beings who can shape reality like clay, but they have such a massively different conception of time, morality, and existence that they become alien to you

For example, let's say you are a normal guy:

One moment you're looking at yourself in the mirror, the next in a quiet field. Before you even have a chance to react, a voice rips through your tissue paper body. It is multilayered, unable to stick to one voice, but is it smooth and alluring and almost feminine.

"I have chosen thee to be my temple." The voice says.

"W...who are you?" You stutter out.

The voice doesn't answer. For a moment you wonder if you've gone insane, then she begins. A thousand hands of light touch you, some delicate and precise, some wild and rough. They grab and grope and tear and claw and brush and pinch and slap all over, all at once. One hand grabs your short hair and forces you to look up in the air and she says:

"Let me show you your purpose."

You are launched in time to a temple, backwards or forwards, you don't know. It is lit by candles, showing that you're at the feet of a massive marble statue of a nude woman. The hands force you to your knees, all while feeling up your boiling body. You look up and only catch a glimpse of her beautiful thighs before you're unstuck in time again.

You feel yourself dragged back to reality. You're in a woman's body, being fucked by two other women in a dingy hotel. One hold the leash to a collar around your neck, the other holding your legs as she fucks you with her dick. The hands are still there and guide you, teasing each moans from your throat and buck of your hips. You've never felt this good ever as you start ascending the mountain of arousal. The collar chokes you enough for a momentary blackout

You're back in the temple, still looking up. You catch a glimpse of her hips, grabbable, with curves in just the right spots. You blink in awe and find yourself in another woman's body, actually no, a robot woman's body. You're connected to a machine made of tech so powerful you can't comprehend by series of wires and plugs throughout your body. A woman, dressed in lab wear smiles, kisses you, and starts the machine. You feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through you. The woman's smile widens, then a notification appears on your HUD

Sensitivity increased 150%

A soft glide teaches down your back and you feel your entire body kicks in response. You ascend further up, climbing step after step towards orgasm. Each touch the machine simulates makes you skip ten steps. The woman's laughs at you makes you skip more. The heat is unbearable, your fans spinning at Max speed, their noise filling the background. You get a warning notification about overheating and you're back at the temple.

The hands keep your arousal steady as the hand tilts your head further up still. You're enraptured by the most perfect pair of tits you have ever seen. The last bit of thought you we're holding onto is wiped away by their glory. But before you can properly worship them, you're thrown back in time.

You're in another temple, hazy and thick with the perfume of incense. You're in a priestess' body slick with oil, prepared to worship your goddess with your other priestesses. You look around and see the rest of your order staring at you and approach. After a long moment, you realize that you're the offering. The other women attack you with kisses and teeth and hands and nails in just the right spots. Each blow brings you closer to the peak. They pin you down and begin fucking you with their trained tongues and you blank out. You're so close now you can see the peak. You pray to just be allowed to reach it.

You're set back to the temple again and with one swift yank of your long hair, brings your eyes to the statues face.

It's you.

You don't know how you know. It looks nothing like you, but it's you. And you're gorgeous you can feel the orgasm coming, it's so so so so close now. The world stops, your body freezes.

You find yourself stuck one step before the peak, staring at your beautiful features and unable to do anything about it. You're stuck there for a long time. An hour? A year? A Millennia? A second? You don't know. But by the end, you're asking Her to let you cum. She responds:

"Do you know your purpose?"

"Yes... Goddess," you pant out. "As your temple... Where your followers... Worship you"

"Good Girl" She says.

Those two words bring you over the edge and you find yourself cumming harder than you've ever done before. Each convulsion rips away a part of your past life, what you ate for breakfast, your job, your hobbies, your name. If you could think through the tsunami of pleasure, you wouldn't care. Goddess will provide, she always will. But for now, you are drowning in devotional ecstasy.

After an eternity, you finally feel the afterglow bleed in. The hands let go and you collapse to the floor, letting the darkness consume you.

You wake up on the bathroom floor and groan. Was it really just a dream? You get up and look in the mirror and see you. Not the fake you that you wore before, but the you Goddess crafted, her masterpiece. You smile and dance in your body, that statue turned flesh, and laugh a beautiful laugh to celebrate and thank Her.

"You know your purpose and are trained in it," She says in the back of your mind. "Begin."

"Yes Goddess"

You leave the bathroom and begin your new life. After all, what's a god without her temple?

[diejager]

Hello this would be the very first time id make a request if you still take them. Omegaverse taskforce 141 with an isekai reader who could pass as a bèta with a twist, if you heard about the pheromone perfume then yeah. Reader as a beta but snells like an omega🙂

🐼anon

Cw: pheromone perfume, omegaverse, spy, inaccurate facts, tell me if I missed any.

For something you’d once thought fictional, an imaginary creation to spend one’s time on and lose themselves when they wanted to escape the hardships of their world, it was scarily realistic. You were a fan, someone who’d followed the franchises from it’s earliest days to the most recent - and unsightingly disappointing - installment of a remake of a remastered version of a game you played as a kid. You’d even dreamed of it being a reality, living the lives and adventures besides the men and women in Modern Warfare and even Ghosts and Black Ops despite knowing that their universe was a mirror of your own, simply built and reconstructed differently than the one you were born in. 

It was a fantasy, even your strange interest in works tagged with omegaverse. To see a big man like Ghost shudder and kneel for another, to see Gaz being tenderly dominating and affectionate, to see Price reluctantly soft and grumpy, and to see Soap teasingly sly and mischievously headstrong. Sometimes, they would draw one as an omega and the other as an alpha, or as an beta and alpha couple. It was a whole roller coaster of emotions and intrigue, but a fantasy all the same.

And yet… and yet, here you were, in a body that was and wasn’t your own. It was a carbon copy of yours, but you weren’t you in it, like wearing a mask or another’s skin. That’s how you felt, especially with the scars that painted your skin like a stray sky and tense muscles that felt too hard to be fake. Perhaps it was the sudden sensitivity of your nose, the cloying in your mind and annoyance that suddenly filled you. Or perhaps it was the clean and elegant clothes you wore, a harsh dichotomy to the dark gear the others beside you wore, vests and padded body suits, weapons latched to their hips, chests, thighs and even in their hands, and the hard and cold gleam in their eyes, hidden under the darkness of the vehicle you rode. 

Any confusion you once had was washed away when time seemed to stall, the world blurring as clear and loud words were spoken in your mind. Instructions, you understood, guidance towards your goal and advice to complete it. It was a ball, you were sent to conclude a transaction under… Kate Laswell’s order, a favour you had agreed to do for her as someone who worked in intelligence and assasinations rather than brawn and breaches. She’d called you a silent killer, neither a mercenary nor an employee, you were a panther in stalk, an owl in flight, deathly silent and tenaciously lethal.

It seemed like an out-of-body experience. You were somehow a spectator to your body, and somehow the master of it. Every act was practiced, ever word spoken with a charming smile and every smile particularly persuasive. It was so simple —so easy. With their emotions flashing in your face through smell alone, your nose twitching at the scent of arousal and pleasure, the flattered and the excited. They were so - too - easy to read and control, to have them curled around your finger like fine silk. You chalked their attraction towards you to your charms and the smell that clung to your skin, a sweetness that made both men and women turn their heads to gaze at you for a lick f your scent. Pheromones. An omega’s pheromones mixed with sweet perfume. 

It helped, truly, making your work vastly easier than you’d once thought. It eased the nerve and anxiety that brewed inside of you, having done nothing but speak out loud the words that popped in your head and act out the motions that were advised to you. Your brain - mind or conscience - was a machine, a computer giving out orders and guiding you through this without any trouble. That, you were thankful for, you would have been a mess of tears and panic if not for it. It made you work quick and efficient.

And you were out within the hour, striding across the street and down the corner, walking as if you weren’t in a hurry or on a mission, nothing better than hiding in plain sight —the best of hiding spots. Within the minutes, down a few streets, turning left and right, walking circles to make sure you weren’t followed, you crossed the threshold of a textile shop, nodding at the lady working at the counter and headed to the back rooms, the employees only rooms. There, you met four men huddled around a table with Laswell at the head, all familiar figures you once fantasied about. 

“An omega?” Price sounded much deeper in person, his done low and somehow soft despite the rasp that smoking caused. 

“Beta,” you corrected, your name following as a greeting, a beast greeting another beast, head bowed in respect and acknowledgment that they returned. 

“You don’t smell it.”

It was curt and to the point, nothing you hadn’t expected from Ghost.

“Pheromone perfume,” you grinned, patting your pocket, “Neat trick, hmm?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[oneforthemunny]

home is wherever i'm with you |hockey player!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: life on the road during hockey season is far less glamorous than you thought it would be. homesick and lonely, eddie tries to get you feeling better.

also special thank you to @angietherose for the name of the au hockey team :) eddie is officially on the indy reapers! thank you to all who voted as well!

contains: fluff, but there is slight angst at the beginning. mentions of loneliness, a little depression. slight-ish tension or strain on the relationship, but you know i make it happy at the end lol. language.

Pasadena, California - 1993 

Day seventeen on your six week excursion with Eddie. Well, excursion was a generous thing to call what this was. You were feeling more like a groupie for the Indianapolis Reapers, a puck bunny as Eddie’s teammates snickered, brows raised in suggest when they’d pass jersey clad girls lingering around their buses. Stop after stop- press, practice, training, games, all over the nation. 

A suitcase full of clothes you’d grown sick of already, longing to go home and trade them for something different, washing them in the sharp, sterile detergent of the hotels. You longed for your own sheets, perfumed with your own detergent. 

Eddie was gone for most of the day. You tried to sightsee on your own, explore the cities but it was lonely, lacking someone to giggle with over lattes, to hold your hand in the street, just to talk to. The other WAGS that came along, stuck out the long haul across the states, clung to each other, comfortable in their own little clique. You were too new, an outsider to their group. 

“Hey, babe,” Eddie pressed the key into the lock, twisting the heavy latch open. “Babe, do you have that stuff? Did you bring it?” He hummed, dropping his bag at the door, kicking off his sneakers. 

His nose curled at the pungent smell, ripe from the warming weather of California. “Jesus Christ, I gotta wash this stuff. I’m sorry, I’ll put it in the laundry thing.” Eddie hummed, sliding the slotted closet door open. “Can’t believe how warm it is here already. Feels so nice outside. You’ve been outside today, sweetheart?” He rambled, sweetly, tossing the powdered detergent into the washer, shoving the workout clothes from his bag into the tiny machine. 

The steady hum of the air conditioner filled the room, his only response. Eddie’s brows lifted, jamming the button of the washer, sliding the door back into place. He didn’t remember hearing you say you were leaving today, but he had taken a pretty hard hit to the glass during practice, ears still ringing dully. 

“Baby?” Eddie called, opening the bathroom door, empty of you other than the scattered products on the vanity. Heavy steps on the patterned carpet, Eddie walked into the bedroom suite, halting at the edge of the crumpled sheets. 

You laid on your side, still in what he’d left you in that morning, eyes puffy and red rimmed looking motionlessly out the window. “Hey, I thought you- I was, uh, I was just talking but-” Eddie’s heart beat in his throat, uneasy at the sight of you, crumpled in the sheets. “Are you ok?” 

You turned, cheek still pressed to your arms under the pillow, just enough to see him- all wild curls, matted and frizzy with helmet hair. “Yeah,” You croaked, throat scratchy and sore with sobs that had stilled hours ago, still you were plagued with the aftershocks of weeks of suppressed emotion. 

“I- I’m not trying to sound like a dick or anything here, but you’re clearly not.” Eddie said softly, slowly approaching the bed. The bed dipped under his weight, a warm hand rubbing over your ankle under the cool sheets. 

“Baby,” Your face crumpled at the coo, so sweet, gentle, it made your nose burn. “What’s goin’ on?” Eddie muttered, thumb circling your ankle bone gently. 

Your nose burned with a slow, shaky exhale that he felt, rattled all the way down your body under his touch. Eddie’s heart dropped. “Hey, look at me.” Eddie’s voice was softened but sharp, teetering on frantic. You turned, looking at his wide eyes, running over your frame in worry. “What’s goin’ on? What’s the matter?” 

Your lip wobbled, head screaming words you couldn’t bring yourself to say- you didn’t know how to say. “I just-” You took a breath, chest stuttering. “I don’t… feel good.” 

Eddie’s brows creased, crawling up the bed beside you. “Don’t feel good, like, sick?” He muttered, the back of his hand pressing to your palm. “You don’t feel hot t’me. What hurts? Is it your head still? I told you, baby, that hippie dippie shit only works so much. You have to take medicine-” 

“-No,” You shook your head, eyes squeezing tightly to keep your tears at bay. “It’s-it’s not that.” 

Eddie blinked carefully. “What? Is it, like, the time of the month? D’ya need me to go get some stuff for you? You know I don’t mind to. Not a problem for me, baby, just tell me what you need.” Eddie’s head tilted to the side, so sweet and doting, it made your chest heat with swarming guilt and adoration. 

“I’m not on my period. It’s nothing, Ed.” You shook your head, curling back into your pillow. 

Eddie stilled above you. “Are- Are you pregnant?” He whispered. 

“No.” You groaned quickly, head shaking into the warmth of the pillows. 

Eddie sighed lightly, a huff of relief that fell short, when your body turned from him, back towards the window with a long inhale. “Hey, can you- can you look at me? Please? Look at me, baby.” Eddie’s pitch raised, teetering towards scared, his hand on your shoulder, pushing you gently so you rolled on your back. 

He hovered over you, curls falling down nearly brushing your cheeks. “Tell me what’s going on. Please? Tell me what’s wrong.” Eddie whispered, nearly a beg. “You don’t feel good? You don’t feel good here?” His throat swelled, tight with fear. “With me?” 

Your silence had Eddie’s stomach twisting, dropping with fear, bile rising in the back of his throat- he was going to be sick, he was sure he would be. 

“No,” You muttered, head shaking lightly under the pillow. “Not with you, just,” You reached up, nervously twirling his curl around your finger. “Just with this.” 

Eddie swallowed, willing himself still, calm, though his heart felt like it might give out. “This? Wh-What do you mean this?” Eddie’s voice shook. 

You blinked up at him, eyes rounding in a sad softness he hadn’t seen before. “I just… I miss being home.” You whispered, eyes glossing with a fresh wave of tears that pricked your waterline. “I miss seeing my friends, and being in my own bed, a-and even work. I just,” Your breath hitched, lip trembling. “I’m just really lonely.” 

Eddie was sure his heart did give out, break right in his chest, sunk right to the pit of his stomach. “Do you- You wanna go home?” Eddie’s hand ran down your cheek gently. “That’s what you want? That would make you feel better?” 

Your face crumbled, caved into itself at his tone. “I-I don’t know.” You admitted, eyes squeezed shut to keep the tears in. “I don’t want to leave you, b-but I don’t-” You pressed your palms to your eyes, taking a slow inhale through your nose. “I just don’t want to be alone so much. A-And I know that’s not your fault. I know you’re working.” 

When your eyes did meet his, Eddie wished they’d stayed closed, heartbreakingly sad, vacant of that light that usually shone through, brightening anything cast in your gaze. “I just… I’m feeling homesick, ‘m sorry.” You muttered. “I just really miss home, and I’m having a bad day.” 

“You don’t- Don’t apologize.” Eddie shook his head. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were feelin’ like this.” Eddie swallowed, pulling you up gently. Your body was slack, limp with unmotivated movement, but still, you settled into his arms. The tension in your body melted, nose buried in the material of his shirt, lathered in cologne and the hot California air. 

“I have a half day tomorrow.” Eddie muttered, his heart beating fast, you could hear it, feel it. His hand smoothed up your back. “We’ll do something. Go exploring and stuff. Do some fun stuff.” 

“You’re ‘sposed to rest.” You muttered, cheek squished to his chest. “It’s before your game, you’re supposed to be resting.” 

“Yeah, but that is resting.” Eddie shook his head gently. “I’ll be alright. Promise. Played after way worse. Me and Josh used to come in hungover, vomited on the ice one time.” Eddie’s chest rumbled with soft laughter. “Pretty sure we’re the reason that rule’s in place now.” 

Your lips curled, even through your sullen, dazed mood, you couldn’t help it. Clinging to him tighter, you moved into his touch. “Coach just means take it easy like, don’t go get fucked up and actually sleep the night before.” Eddie muttered, chin tucking down onto your head. “C’mon, lemme take you out tomorrow. Me and you. Go anywhere you want.” 

You didn’t reply. Instead, sighed gently, settling into his hold. 

Eddie was restless through all of morning practice, hands buzzing, ready to run to the rental car at the first dismissal. Shower be damned, he’d take a quick one at the hotel, he couldn’t be held up any longer. 

“What’s goin’ on with you, Munson?” Elijah muttered, next to Eddie in the huddle on the ice, the coach’s droning about protocol for the game. 

“Nothin’.” Eddie whispered back, twisting his stick in his hands. “Just wish he’d fuckin’ hurry up.” 

Elijah’s eyes cut to Eddie, snorting lightly. “You got somewhere to be?” 

“Yeah, I do actually.” Eddie sighed out. “Gotta get back. Promised my girl I’d take her out.” 

Elijah’s brows raised. “Shit, you brought her with you?” 

Eddie’s shoulders tensed. “She wanted to come.” He muttered defensively. “I mean, she wanted to. Now it’s kinda fucked, she’s-” Eddie’s eyes cut around him. “She’s kinda homesick.” 

Elijah nodded slowly. “Yeah, that happens.” He fought back a smile. “When’s the last time you took her out?” 

Eddie’s eyes cut to him, defensive with accusation. “It’s not like that. I take her out.” 

“Yeah? On the off day? After we’ve traveled all day?” Elijah snorted, shaking his head. “C’mon, Munson. Believe me, that doesn’t count.” 

Eddie ignored him, gripping his stick with furious annoyance. The fuck did he know? He didn’t know anything. 

“Look, I’m not tryna piss you off. I did it, too. Just- believe me, alright? That one day shit doesn’t work.” Elijah pressed gently. 

“Hey, I got it, alright? I’m good.” Eddie growled. 

Elijah held his hands up in defense. “Alright, I’m just saying, when it was me,” He started. “I wasn’t meaning to. I just wasn't used to it. Had my own road routine and tried to fit her around it instead of into it. Thought it was going good until it wasn’t.” 

Eddie stilled, silent but shoulders slumping lightly. “You gotta change your routine, find a way to fit her into it. She’s on the road too, not just you.” Elijah continued. 

The coach whistled, waving them in dismissal. Eddie blinked, pulled out of his daze, lifting his helmet and stick with him. Elijah nodded at him. “Have fun tonight, Munson.” He smiled softly. “Make sure you take her somewhere nice.” 

Elijah’s words rang in Eddie’s head all the way back to the hotel, only a short drive from the arena. Eddie nearly threw his keys at the valet, sliding into the elevator shamelessly, bouncing on the balls of his toes until he reached your floor. 

You startled when he came in, sitting at the vanity, doing your makeup. “You’re done already?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie muttered, ducking down for a kiss. “Just gotta shower real quick, but are you hungry?” He shimmied his workout sweats onto the floor, kicking his socks off with them. 

Your eyes lingered over his bare lower half for a second, turning back to paint your mascara on. “I’m not starving.” You mumbled. 

“Alright, good, I was gonna see if we could go to this place. I think you’ll like it.” Eddie grinned over his shoulder at you, the hiss of the shower coming to life. “Some guys told me if you’re in Pasadena you gotta go here.” His smile so wide, eyes sparkling in the dim yellowed light of the hotel bathroom, it made your tummy tingle with warm excitement. 

“Promise you’re not looking?” Eddie mumbled, hands over your eyes, waddle-walking awkwardly behind you, pressed close to your back. 

“Swear I’m not.” You grinned. Eddie was right, it was beautiful outside. Warm and bright, light illuminating his hands that covered your eyes with a reddish glow. 

“I can feel you trying to. Your lashes are tickling me.” Eddie muttered, leaving you giggling. “Ok, just- you know what, this is good enough. I’m scared you’re gonna trip.” Eddie said, lips curling at your soft laugh. 

“Are you ready for your surprise?” You could hear Eddie’s grin in his voice, a breeze floating between the two of you. 

“Yes.” You giggled, Eddie’s chest swelling at the sound. “Just show me. Your hands are clammy. They’re gonna smear my mascara.” 

“Shit, sorry.” Eddie muttered sheepishly, a blush spilling on his cheeks, pulling his hands away so they were still in front of you. “Ok, ready?” 

“Eddie-” 

“-Sorry, Alright, one, two,” Eddie moved his hands, smiling proudly in front of you, a pinkish looking building behind you. “Here it is! Surprise!”

You blinked. “Oh.” You quipped softly. 

Eddie blinked, smile falling. “What? I thought you’d- You don’t like it?” 

“No,” You shook your head. “I mean, no, that’s- Where are we?” 

“Oh,” Eddie shook his head lightly. “Shit, I thought you’d know. Uh, apparently this place is supposed to be like the place for flowers, y’know? Pasadena has that flower festival thing, but it’s not until later and I know you like to go to the cool places, and-” Eddie motioned to the store behind him. 

You took in the building, spilling over with plants you could see from the inside. “I, uh, I know you miss home.” Eddie said softly. “And I was just thinking, y’know, we can’t get houseplants like at home, but maybe some bouquets? Some flowers for the hotel room.” 

Eddie waited a beat, desperately trying to read your face, eyes wandering over the building and the signs. “I thought maybe you’d pick out some flowers and-and it would make it feel like home.” Eddie’s hands slid down his jeans, hot from the sun beaming on them. “Plus, you wanted to see some around here, a-and y’know… one bird, two stones.” Eddie rambled, shrugging sheepishly. 

You felt the familiarity of a cry bubbling back in your chest, swelling and suffocation, only this time the aching of sadness was gone. In its place, a bubbling, burning feeling of adoration was left, consuming you from the inside out with every nervous glance Eddie gave you. He’d listened, really fucking listened. He always did, but this time it was different. Relief, comfort washing over you for the first time in days. 

It felt like home. 

Like the two of you were back in Hawkins, or Indianapolis even, perusing the usual spots, happy and content to be together in a familiar place. 

Eddie wasn’t expecting you to grab him, pull him into you with a fierce, sloppy kiss. Right there on the sidewalk, under the California sunshine. Lips melting into his, clawing and grabbing at his shirt, the back of his neck. Eddie’s cheeks burned bright when you pulled apart, a smile so wide and goofy it made you giggle. 

He let you grab his hand, lead him around the flower shop like a lost puppy, picking out anything and everything that made you smile. A bright bouquet spilling out beautifully in the green vase, made just for you. 

You sat it right on the small bedside table, beaming at how it livened up the room. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was the flowers or you. Either way, it revived you, made you happier and giddier. Made the sheets of the hotel less cold when you slipped beneath them, legs tangled in his, pinning him under you onto the stiff mattress. It made the room brighter, spilling with a new fragrance that felt familiar. 

It was small, a miniscule way that meant the world to you; made you feel at home. Eddie knew it, planning how he’d do it with every next city, until you finally got back home.

[dragonsholygrail]

Hello!

God, I love the idea of werebirds/the bird colony!

What if the dance instructor did end up making a nest with all the nesting material they gave them (however/where ever they’d do that)? What would the colony think?

What if the colony got together and used their dance knowledge to create some sort of mating dance for the instructor? Teasing the instructor with their ruffling, colorful feathers in a mesmerizing display.

I need more of them lmao

Hope you have a great day/night💜💜

When word got around the all male Bird Hybrid Colony that you had made a nest in your office out of the materials they had gotten for you, loud fierce chirps rang throughout the studio. The bird hybrids wings flapping erratically at your acceptance of them.

Your building a nest they provided you in such a private place had to mean that you were finally agreeing to their mating offers. Their feathers ruffled and they all preened at the thought of claiming you as a mate should by fucking into you with abandon and filling you to the brim with cum till you’re growing their eggs inside of you.

But they knew they had to do something special, something really over the top in order to make sure you were ready for them to breed you till you were so fucked out you couldn’t see straight. What better way to do that than a mating dance?

They’d all show you just how much they had learned under your seductive and arousing teachings. Together they created the most powerful mating dance for you that anyone had ever seen.

It was an offer that was impossible to refuse and their minds couldn’t help but imagine the way your thick thighs would spread for them. Your pussy glistening with arousal. They can practically taste how good your fat cunt will be when they finally get their wings and hands on you.

Their eagerness to please you both in dance and by filling all your holes till you can’t take it anymore is clear in their burning gaze. The next week at dance class is filled with a crackling tension. Their feathers successfully hiding their hard cocks, tips red, angry, and dribbling pre cum with their mate so close.

When you heard your class had a surprise for you, you were immediately intrigued. The fact that they’re wanted to dance for you already turning you on as your panties flood with arousal. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by the bird hybrids as your scent perfumed the air.

It only spurned them on and made them more desperate to dance for you and sink themselves inside your wet heat. Their feathers ruffled out, showcasing them all so that you can see just how lovely of mates they’ll be as the dance starts.

The colony begins dancing as one large machine, their colorful feathers spinning and mixing to create a truly brilliant show. You’re in awe as you watch it, a mix of moves you’ve taught them combined of more traditional mating dances. Their biology combining with what they’ve learned. Almost like you’re a part of them now. You squirm in place, thighs rubbing together, needy for some type of friction.

By now as you watch them you’re sure you’ve soaked through your panties, your skin unbearably hot with need. It’s not even the dance itself that’s getting you so hot and bothered but the fact that even with their attraction to you they still pay attention to the actual work. Their passion for you mingling with their passion for dance. And it has you wanting to take them all here and now.

As if being able to read your thoughts, the bird hybrids descend onto you. A part of the routine as they pull you into the middle of them. Hands touching every part of your body. You gasp as claws tease at your skin while others rip your clothes to shreds, leaving you naked before them.

A moment later they bring you down in the nest you lovingly made for them that they got from your office. Beautiful cocks of all shapes and sizes nudge at the openings of each of your holes. With your mind hazy with lust you let yourself give in, opening wide for them to push inside you. You moan lowly at the delicious stretch of your mouth, hands, cunt, and bottom. Every inch of you filled with them.

The music from their dance stops at one point but your bird hybrids are nowhere near done with you. Furiously fucking into you as if they’ve gone completely savage. Only knowing for certain that you need their cum.

Your moans and their chirps of pleasure echo against the walls as they slam themselves inside of you. Your body on fire as every inch of you is being stimulated with more pleasure than you’ve ever known.

They pass you around from hybrid to hybrid and you quickly lose track. Their forms becoming a blur of color and ecstasy as they fill with you cock after cock, the colony seemingly endless. You’re feeling so much of everything all at once and it’s overwhelming but in the past way possible as you try and meet all of their thrusts at once.

You cum countless times, your body shaking with the sensations overtaking you. You swear you black out for a moment only to wake up coming again, a strangled cry falling past your lips as a fresh wave of pleasure washes over you.

Your bird hybrids eventually get their fill of you, knowing their plump human needs a break. They slip out of you only once you’re fucked full of cum and limp on the floor, too tired to move let alone lift a limb.

So they take care of your every need, cleaning you up, whispering words of love and affection for you their mate, and cuddling up to you after. You nuzzle into their furry bodies, finding so much comfort in their embrace that you fall asleep in a matter of seconds.

[redroomreflections]

Not Easily Broken Chapter 10

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader go through a tragic divorce

Masterlist | General Masterlist

10/10

w/c: 6.4k

Note: So, this is it. The past three years have added up to this moment. It was so tough finishing this story but we made it. I'm always so nervous for y'all to read the final chapter since I don't want to disappoint the people aka you. But this is all in good fun and thanks for being along for the ride.

Enjoy =)

It’s early. Possibly too early in the morning for Natasha. You lie in bed next to her, peacefully asleep, as she opens her eyes for the first time that morning. She blinks, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering into the room. The familiar scent of the apartment envelops her, a comforting reminder of the life she's trying to rebuild. She takes a moment, lying still, listening to the gentle rhythm of your breathing beside her.

Slipping out of bed carefully, Natasha is mindful not to disturb you. The cool floor beneath her feet is a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed. She takes another glance at your bare form. She heads to the kitchen, your t-shirt draped over her, a small comfort in this new yet familiar setting. The apex of her thighs ache, a welcoming feeling after another night of lovemaking. She rolls her head around her shoulders, hoping to work out any kinks, as she pads further through the apartment. As she starts making coffee, Natasha's thoughts wander. This apartment, your apartment, feels both strange and right. It's not the home you shared before, but a new space where you're trying to rebuild what was lost. The past year of separation and the divorce have changed both of you. Now, with almost ten years of history and two children, things are different.

Natasha pours herself a cup of coffee, reflecting on the differences this time around. She wonders if this reconciliation is real if you both have truly changed and learned from the past. The divorce left its mark, but maybe it also gave you both the clarity you needed.

The coffee machine sputters and groans, as the smell fills the space. She goes through the motions of fixing herself a cup. Natasha leans against the kitchen counter, her eyes glued to the bedroom. Her hands cup the mug, relishing in the warmth that spreads throughout her hands. She uses her foot to scratch an indistinct spot on her leg. She sips at her drink, enjoying the rich aroma and flavor, the taste of the coffee warming her body. She thinks back to the early days of your relationship. How, once, you had made the coffee for her every day. Her mind gets stuck on things like that. Reminiscing. She doesn't dwell, though. That's something new. Instead, Natasha focuses on the here and now. The sound of your breathing in the other room, the taste of her coffee, the soft material of your shirt against her skin.

She tries not to think about the fact that when the two of you make love it's always here. For the past few weeks, it's always been here. Not in your marital home. Not in the bed you bought together. Not underneath the sheets that you picked out and that she'd never replaced. She tried to reason that it was for the sake of the kids. She wanted to reason that this was all for the both of you to get better without the questions and prying eyes of your children.

But she can't deny the real reason.

This apartment, the bed, the sheets. It doesn't have the history of the two of you. It doesn't know the whispered secrets, the heated exchanges, the faint scent of the other's perfume on its cool pillows. Not like her home. Your home. The one that, until a few weeks ago, hadn't been considered as such.

This place feels like a fresh start and a neutral ground. A way for the two of you to be together without any pretenses. Besides the first night she'd stayed here, the two of you don't discuss the divorce. You don't mention counseling even. Every other morning, Natasha would slip back into her clothes and return to the kids. Eventually, hours later, you would come knocking on the door and visit. You'd kiss her sweetly, gently, as if you hadn't fucked her brains out the very night before.

As if the past year didn't happen.

And for the first time in a long time, Natasha is okay with that.

Natasha doesn't want to think too deeply about it.

You've moved past the divorce, she's moved past the divorce. She hopes. She hears shuffling coming from the bedroom. Her senses are heightened as she anticipates you waking up but you don't.

Another noise disturbs her solitude. A knock at the door. That's a first. From what she's heard you don't usually get visitors.

She gently places her mug on the counter and walks over to the door. She stands on the tip of her toes to peer through the peephole. She doesn't recognize the person on the other side. She fixes her shirt and unlocks the door. She's met with someone of a similar height. A young girl who could be no more than fourteen. Her makeup is slightly heavy, a bit too mature for her age, but meticulously applied.

"Oh, hi," The girl rocks slightly on the tip of her toes. She glances at the door number in confusion before looking back at Natasha. "Is y/n here?"

"Y/n?" Natasha repeats. Her eyes narrow as she takes in the girl's appearance.

"Yes, I'm here for y/n," The girl repeats as if Natasha has comprehension issues. "The owner of this apartment unless she moved without telling us. Probably is something she would do."

"What business do you have with y/n?" Natasha asks, crossing her arms across her chest. She can feel the cool material of her shirt rub against her skin.

"I just came to bring her package," The girl offers a small package to Natasha. "Here. The Amazon lady keeps dropping it off at our door. I don't think she cares who it belongs to."

"Oh, okay," Natasha drops her arms. She takes the package in her hands.

"Are you her girlfriend or something?"

"Or something," Natasha says. "Who are you?"

"I'm Mallory, you can call me Mal," The girl nods. "I live across the hall." Mal inspects Natasha's choice of clothing and then whistles. "I didn't interrupt anything did I? You’re pretty. Hey, I know you."

"You do?" Natasha isn't all that surprised.

"You're the woman in the pictures," Mal grins. "The ex-wife she's still hung up on."

Natasha's heart beats loudly. Her interest is piqued by how well this kid knows you. "You've seen pictures?"

"Well, not the ones she's got framed," Mal explains. "But she had a bunch in an album and shit. You guys were so cute. Too bad it didn't work out between you. Though considering you're not even wearing panties I'd think it's going fine."

"Excuse me?" Natasha doesn't make a move to tug the shirt down. That would mean this teenager wins and she wants to call the girl's bluff.

"Lucky guess," Mal shrugs.

"Mal, who are you talking to?" A voice calls from behind them as the door across the hall opens. Natasha watches a woman, possibly a few years older than the teenager, approach the doorway. "Oh, hi."

"Mom," Mal carries this shit-eating grin as she looks at the other woman. "This is y/n's ex-wife. You know the one she's been moping about for a while now."

"Nice to meet you," The woman extends her hand out to Natasha. "I'm Sarah. My daughter's a little blunt, but I'm not as rude as she is. Sorry if she bothered you."

"Oh, no she's not a bother," Natasha assures the woman. She looks back at the teen. "She's been a delight."

"Good," Sarah nods. She grabs the collar of the girl's shirt. "That's why she doesn't have many friends."

"I have friends," Mal argues. "Y/n's a friend. I'm the one that's told her to get back in the saddle. Are you going to break her heart again? That would be messed up for you. Of course, after all of the pretty women she's turned down, she deserves something good."

"Pretty women?" Natasha questions. She can't hide the frown on her face.

"Yeah," Mal laughs. "Y/n's been getting a lot of attention. The whole building knows. You've been missed. Don't hurt her again."

"I'm not planning on it," Natasha promises.

"Good," Sarah grins. She tugs on her daughter's shirt, pulling the girl inside. "Nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you, too," Natasha smiles distractedly before closing the door behind her. She locks it just in time for her to hear the shuffle of your feet entering the kitchen.

"There's my shirt," You mumble as you eye her outfit. You opted for a clean one and boxers after not being able to find the one you'd stripped last night. "Hi, baby." You whisper as you close the distance between you. You rest your hands on her waist beneath the fabric as you plant a kiss on her lips. "Mhmm, you taste good." You dive in for another kiss.

"Y/n," Natasha hums. She feels you tug the hem of the shirt up and over her waist. Her bare bottom is exposed, but you keep her pressed against the door. "There's something you've been keeping from me."

"Hmm?" Your lips press against her pulse point, your hand tracing her inner thigh.

"A teenage girl and her mother were at your door," Natasha sighs. "They called me pretty. Told me a bunch of new things about you."

"I've been doing a lot of things," You mutter, kissing the exposed part of her shoulder.

"They mentioned," Natasha closes her eyes, feeling your fingers trace along the outside of her folds. "How many women have approached you? " She slightly pushes at your chest to get you to stop. You know that tone in her voice. It's not a playful one.

"A few have," You admit. "I didn't encourage anything. I wasn't interested. Why are we talking about this right now?"

"You're not interested?" Natasha questions.

"Not at all," You tilt your head. "Also, I wouldn't just say it's been that many women. Sarah and Mal are just fucking with you. Probably getting back at me for canceling our weekly dinner thing."

"Weekly dinner thing?" Natasha repeats. Her eyes are suddenly distant. It's almost as if she's debating on whether or not to make this a thing. "How often was that going on?"

"Every week for about six months," You answer, stepping away from her. "It's not a big deal. They've had a lot of people in their lives come and go. They're welcoming. Mal is a great kid once you get to know her."

"You know her," Natasha continues.

"Well, yeah she comes to the dinners too," You shrug. You take the box from her hands and step over to the counter to open it. if you weren't going to get any play you might as well open the surprise you'd gotten for yourself.

"Right, the kid that knew a lot about me," Natasha huffs.

"That should be a good thing right?" You glance over at her. You dump the contents of the box, a new pair of airpods after you've lost the last ones. "Is this going to be a conversation about how you think I'm sleeping with Sarah?"

"Should it be?" Natasha raises a brow.

"No, it shouldn't," You shake your head. "Are you jealous?"

"No," Natasha shakes her head. "I trust you. I just want to know more."

"Nat, it's nothing," You insist. "What's the big deal?"

"You didn't tell me," Natasha argues. "That while our kids were yearning and missing you, you were over here playing house with another woman and her kid. While Ryan and Emma got your voicemail inbox this kid got first in line to the family photo albums."

"That's not the case," You sigh. "It's not a thing, Nat."

"It's not?" Natasha scoffs. You didn't realize this would be an argument. You forgot how she finds the littlest things to dwell on.

"Did you just expect me not to have any friends?" You questioned. "If that's the thing you're mad at fine. I don't get it. You're insinuating that I was playing house with her is far from the truth."

"Were you?" Natasha challenges.

"Why are you doing this?" You sigh. You can't believe that this good day was turning into this. "I don't understand. I was lonely. Sarah was there for me. Mal is kind of just a part of the package. She let me vent to her. My not being there for the kids was my mistake. One I'm trying to make up for. It's kind of like your thing with Richard except she doesn't want to fuck me." Okay. You could have left that part out but you're honestly kind of annoyed at this entire thing.

"She doesn't want to?" Natasha laughs. "I thought you said you weren't interested. How can you know if she wanted to fuck you or not?"

"Because she's straight," You huff. "She's not going to want to fuck me."

You stand from your seat. "This is getting more ridiculous by the minute. If I knew a friend knocking on the door would trigger you this much I would have given you the warning to never open it. Actually, let me warn you Beatrice from the second floor likes to play bingo on Tuesday nights."

"Funny," Natasha rolls her eyes.

"is something wrong? You're picking a fight based on nothing," You sigh. "I'm sorry about the kids. Like I said it's something I'm working on. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows over here."

"It wasn't like it was with us," Natasha points out.

"Natasha," You start.

"Do you not think this is weird?" Natasha asks. "We haven't talked about it."

"Talked about what?" You grasp at straws. You don't know where the conversation is heading.

"Everything," Natasha throws her hands in the air. "We haven't spoken about it."

"I thought we've talked a lot," You are genuinely confused.

"We have but we haven't," Natasha's eyes narrow.

"Okay," You nod. "Let's talk. We can sit down and have a discussion. Just not when you're trying to accuse me of sleeping with some random woman and raising her child."

"It's just...a little hard to believe," Natasha says.

"Nat, I can assure you there was no one else," You sigh.

"I wasn't saying that," Natasha mutters.

"Okay, so let's sit down and discuss this," You gesture over to the couch. "Though you might want to put on panties first if you want me to keep my distance."

"Y/n," Natasha rolls her eyes.

"Hey, you started it," You hold up your hands.

Natasha takes a few steps to the couch and sits down. You sit a comfortable distance away, leaving room between the two of you.

"I know you guys thought I abandoned the kids," You frown. "It's not my best moment. I was going through a lot. It was inconsiderate of me. Selfish even."

"They cried for you," Natasha says with tears in her eyes. "Frequently."

"I didn't know," You frown. You didn't know how bad the situation was. "I'm sorry. I wish I could make up for it."

"You're not abandoning them now," Natasha reminds you.

"Never," You shake your head.

"I have a temper," Natasha spoke more to herself.

"Yes," You laugh. "I can remember."

"I just," Natasha takes a breath. "I just get a bit jealous."

"That's understandable," You nod. "You're possessive. A little whiplash comes with the territory."

"Is that why you left?" She looks at you curiously.

"That's not the reason," You shake your head.

"Why'd you leave?" Natasha questions. "Please be honest."

"You have no idea what it was like in my head," You frown. "The two of us weren't a team. Not like we should have been. We weren't even in the same book. We weren't reading from the same script. I was so focused on everything else that I didn't see what was happening in front of me."

"Was that it?" Natasha whispers. "That's the reason?"

"Part of it," You mutter.

"I want the other part," Natasha sighs. "If we're being honest with each other."

"You pick fights," You reminded her of what happened just a few moments ago. "I'm too nonchalant about shit. Fine, I can own up to it. You pick fights. Every day, I would come home. You would pick a fight."

"I wanted you to talk to me," Natasha replies. "I tried."

"I didn't feel like talking," You reply. "I'm sorry. It's not you. It's me. I didn't have anything to say. I was tired. Stress from work. I was afraid to admit that I would rather face that than anything going on at home. So many expectations. So many things to do. So much of people needing me."

"I'm sorry," Natasha nods. "I didn't mean for it to be like that."

"I know," You smile at her. "I'm sorry, too."

"We suck at communication," Natasha looked down at her hands.

"We do," You agree. "I felt we were growing apart and expecting too much from each other. For the record, if I hadn't told you I never stopped being attracted to you. I just couldn't bring myself to have sex. My libido had lessened. With us fighting it didn't make sense to me."

"That's good to know," Natasha says. "You turned me down a lot."

"Not my best decision," You cringe. "How do we come back from all of this while being truthful to ourselves and what happened in the first place? How do we keep that from happening again?"

"We could start by answering why you don't want to sleep over at the house," She suggested.

"I didn't want to," You frown.

"Why not?"

"It feels," You breathe. "Too many bad memories."

"Okay," Natasha nods.

"I know it's our kids' home," You add. "But I can't get past the fact that I left and everything has changed."

"I get that," Natasha hums.

"How do you get over it?" You question. "I've missed so much. How do you not let that cloud everything?"

"It does," Natasha nods. "But when you have two kids depending on you, you kind of just push through."

"How'd you manage?"

"I didn't," Natasha confesses. "For the first few months, I didn't. I didn't talk about you. I didn't show them the pictures."

"You didn't?" You are a little shocked.

"I wasn't ready," She admits. "I didn't know how to. There was this gaping hole. I was sad and angry."

"That's not the impression that was given," You mutter.

"I didn't show them," Natasha replies. "Richard did. I would watch him as he would talk to them about you."

"What?" You raise a brow. "That guy hates me."

"No, he doesn't," Natasha says. "He was disappointed and a little upset."

"Upset?" You question.

"He liked you," Natasha sighs.

"Yeah, okay," You scoff.

"He did," She insists. "Even if he is an asshole. I won't be trying to give you his redemption arc or anything. "

"He is an asshole," You nod.

"So are you," She says.

"What?"

"Sometimes you are," She smiles.

"You're right," You laugh.

"I am too," Natasha admits.

"I didn't think it was possible," You smile.

"What?"

"To fall in love with you twice," You look over at her. "I didn't think that was possible."

"I'm glad you did," Natasha's cheeks flush.

"Our marriage was like a piece of tape," You say suddenly.

"What?"

"It was always there," You shrug. "Trying to stick together. Never able to quite connect. There were a lot of issues that went unresolved. We never addressed the problems."

"I guess so," Natasha nods. "Do you want to fix them?"

"We don't have to," You remind her.

"I would like to," She looks over at you.

"I always wanted the kids," You confess. "I know that's been a doubt. Of course, you won't ask it out loud. I never felt pressured to have them. I wanted them just as much as you did. I want them just as much now."

Natasha bites her lip. It's amazing how well you know her.

"This divorce taught me how to be alone again," Natasha whispers. "I became too dependent on you for my happiness."

"We both did," You nod.

"Trying to have another baby would have been a mistake," Natasha has a look in her eyes. " Trying to have a baby when we weren’t okay would have been a mistake.” She clarifies. “A stupid one. The surprise would have ruined us. We were barely together as is."

"It was something you wanted," You put a comforting hand on her leg. "I would have been happy."

"Yeah?" She raises a brow.

"A little you running around? Not that Emma isn't already that," You shrug. "A lot of couples have babies to fix things."

"I didn't want us to be that couple," She shook her head.

"We wouldn't have," You promise.

"I was selfish," She admits. "I was mad at you for a long time. I didn't want to try."

"Nat, if you had gotten pregnant we would have made it work," You tell her.

"Isn't that crazy to think about?" She muses. "We always just made things work."

"It's how we were," You nod. "Until we couldn't anymore."

"Can I ask you something?" Natasha says after a long moment.

"Always," You nod.

"What do you need from me?"

"To be patient," You answer. "To communicate. I want the truth, even if it's a harsh one. To be my partner, not someone who feels like I'm obligated to do anything. What do you need from me?"

"Time," Natasha replies. "Just give me some time. Time to adjust and not think of the what-ifs. To figure things out. Time to not feel guilty for loving you."

"We're in no rush," You reassure her.

"Who needs marriage counseling now?" She smirked.

"We still do," You chuckled. "You're right. We're a lot alike. We don't talk. We don't have a way with words."

"We just say the wrong ones," Natasha agrees.

"We'll just have to work on that," You say. "Come here." You tug her over to you. Her lips press against yours and you let out a satisfied moan. "You're mine."

"Hmm," She presses her lips against yours. "Only yours."

"Good," You breathe. "Now, where were we?"

"I can't remember," Natasha smiles.

"Let's not remember, together" You pull her onto your lap.

"I like the sound of that." She kisses your lips. Your hands slide under the t-shirt again.

"You really answered the door without panties?" You ask cheekily. "Scandalous."

"It wasn't on purpose," She blushes. Your left-hand rises to toy with her nipples over the shirt. "We can't end all of our discussions with sex."

"No, but it's a great way to make sure we understand each other," You grin. You pinch the nipple and she jerks under your touch.

"You're going to ruin me," She lets out a whimper.

"Only a little," You tease. You kiss her lips and let her take control of the kiss.

"What happens if I don't have sex with you tonight?" Natasha whispers against your lips.

"I'll be disappointed," You say.

"You're going to have to take a raincheck," She replies. "You have lunch with my sister in like two hours."

"Ugh, I forgot," You groan.

"She's not going to go easy on you." She muttered as your kisses began to drift towards her neck. "Don't get too close or she might cut you."

"Natasha?" You mutter to her as you push the t-shirt over her head.

"Mhmm?" She half moans.

"I don't want to talk about your sister while I'm trying to fuck you," You say. "She's a bit of a mood killer."

"Fair," Natasha chuckles. "No more talking about Yelena. No more talking about anything."

"No more," You agree. The next few minutes are done in relative silence. You pepper her chest with kisses while your other hand waste no time finding her clit.

"Oh, god," She moans.

"You're soaked," You tell her. You can feel how wet she is against your thigh.

"You were taking too long," She pouts.

"Well, you were the one who insisted on arguing with me," You shrug. As a slight form of punishment, you tease the entrance of her pussy.

"I was trying to prove a point," She says as she bucks her hips.

"That I'm a whore with a second family?"

"I can't answer that," She breathes.

"You were being ridiculous," You shake your head. "I should be mad."

"Are you?"

"Not anymore," You sigh.

"Then," Natasha's lips move towards your ear. "I don't want to talk."

You smile as your lips find her's. "Neither do I."

****************

"I can't believe my sister has let you into her bed," Yelena says after the waiter leaves.

You sit across from Yelena at the table. You figured a public restaurant in a neutral place would be best. Though you have no doubt she's hiding a knife attached to her thigh or something.

"You don't think she can be forgiving?" You raise a brow.

"It depends on the situation," Yelena shrugs. "Natasha doesn't do anything if she's not a hundred percent on board. I should kill you for how much you hurt her."

"Go ahead," You shrug. "It'll be a lot better than what I've already put her through."

"So, this is you begging for forgiveness," She raises a brow.

"More so," You nod.

"I'm listening," Yelena folds her arms. She leans back in her chair and gives you the floor to speak.

"Wow, that easy?" You question. "I thought you'd want to strangle me by now."

"There's still time."

"Well, I've had a lot of time to think," You nod.

"You're telling me," She rolls her eyes. "The amount of nights I've heard Nat cry herself to sleep was...a lot. It was a lot."

"I'm sorry," You frown. "It wasn't my intention."

"What was your intention?" Yelena questions.

"To figure out how to be a good mother," You answer. "A good person to myself. How to be a person I think."

"How's that going?"

"I'm getting there," You chuckle nervously.

"You have a lot to work on," Yelena nods.

"I know."

"Do you think you and Nat can make it work?"

"I hope so," You drink from your cup.

"I don't like you," Yelena offers. "You messed up a good thing. "

"I'm aware."

"I'm glad that you are," She smirks.

"Are you going to be like this the whole time?" You question.

"Depends, you haven't done enough groveling," She replies.

"Fine," You roll your eyes. "What can I do to prove I'm worth a second chance?"

"That's a good question," She smirks. "I don't know."

"You're going to make me figure it out?"

"Yup," She grins.

"What if you don't like the answer?" You ask.

"Then, you'll never have Nat back."

"I don't think that's one hundred percent true,"

"She's desperate to have her family back," Yelena relents. She hates to admit it. "She wants it to work again because for some reason she still loves you."

"I don't understand why."

"I don't either," Yelena sighs. "I'm trying to see what she sees. But I just can't."

"You knew me before the divorce also," You pointed out. "We were close."

"Yeah," She nods. "Then you left."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't going to cut it."

"I'm going to make this right."

"You said that already," Yelena looks away. "My dad wants to break your arms."

"Why?"

"For making Nat cry," Yelena says. "That's what he does when anyone does that."

"I'll keep an eye out," You nod. "Do you have any idea how long I should be watching my back?"

"A while," Yelena smirks.

"I deserve it," You reply. "I don't mind the threat."

"Have you asked her to marry you again?"

You almost choke on your water. You grab a napkin to wipe at the dribble along your chin.

"No," You sputter. "We've just gotten back together. I mean we haven't even truly defined what this is. We don't even know where we will end up or if this will work. Does she want to?"

"I have no clue," Yelena answers. "Do you want to?"

"Of course, I do," You reply. "She's the love of my life."

"She's a fool to think you are." Yelena sighs.

"You're a great sister," You shake your head.

"I am," She nods. "Nat is the one that's a fool."

"Besides insulting me and her in some odd way, don't you want to ask me anything else?"

"You didn't cheat on her did you?"

"Technically it wouldn't be cheating since we were divorced but no,"

"Good," She nods.

"I would never."

"But you did lie."

"I know."

"What do you see happening if she takes you back? You can't leave her again."

"I won't," You answer. "I want us to go slow this time."

"Is that even possible?"

"It has to be," You nod.

"Okay, that's a good start," Yelena nods. "You're going to have a lot of making up to do."

"I know," You reply.

"This won't be a quick fix," She warns.

"I'm aware."

"It might not even work."

"I hope it does."

"Are you still a season ticket holder to the American baseball games?"

"Yes, why?"

"Can I have your season tickets?"

"I can arrange that." You look at her quizzically.

"Perfect."

"I'm glad you think so."

"That was the hardest one." Yelena relaxes.

"Does this mean you forgive me?"

"No, but I'm closer," Yelena sighs. "I can't forgive you, not yet. It's not up to me, though. It's up to my sister. If she forgives you, then so will I."

"How generous."

"It is."

"Anything else you want?" You raise a brow.

"Can I have your apartment?"

"What? That's a crazy thing to ask."

"Well, eventually when my sister lets you back into the house you're going to let it go."

"Probably."

"You need a new place."

"I have a condo."

"A place that doesn't have any memories."

"Maybe," You sigh. "We haven't talked about living arrangements."

"Just think about it," Yelena insists.

"I'll think about it."

"Good," She nods.

"Are you done now?" You question.

"For now," She shrugs.

You were good. 

***************

2 years later… 

In the softly lit room of the therapist’s office, Natasha and you sit close together, a quiet sense of anticipation hanging in the air. This is your final session of couples counseling, a moment to reflect on the journey you've undertaken together.

Cheryl begins, her voice calm and encouraging. "Today, we’re going to review all the progress you've made, celebrate your achievements, and talk about what you’ve learned about yourselves and each other."

Natasha glances at you, a small smile playing on her lips. It’s been a long road, filled with challenges and revelations. She thinks about the changes she's seen in herself and you. The walls she built after the divorce have slowly come down, replaced by trust and understanding.

"You both have shown incredible strength and resilience," Cheryl continues. "Natasha, you’ve learned to open up and share your vulnerabilities. And you’ve learned to be patient and supportive, giving y/n the space she needed."

Natasha nods, feeling a swell of gratitude. She remembers the moments of doubt and the times she almost gave up. But looking at you now, she knows it was worth it. The love between you is stronger. 

“Y/n, you’ve learned to also open up and share your vulnerabilities and take time for yourself,” Cheryl reads from her notes. "Now, let’s talk about what you've learned about each other, "She prompts.

Taking a deep breath, you speak first. "I've learned that you’re incredibly patient and forgiving. You never gave up on us, even when things were tough. You’ve taught me the importance of communication and trust." 

Natasha’s turn comes next. "I've learned that y/n is one of the strongest people I know. She’s been through so much, but she still finds the courage to move forward. I’ve learned to appreciate her resilience and to give her the support she needs."

The therapist smiles warmly. "You’ve both come a long way. Remember to look out for ‘red flags’—signs that things might be slipping. Communication is key, and recognizing these early on can help you address issues before they become bigger problems."

As the session draws to a close, the therapist summarizes your strengths and achievements. "You’ve rebuilt trust, learned to communicate more effectively, and found ways to support each other. Celebrate these victories and keep working on them."

Leaving the therapist’s office, Natasha feels a sense of hope and determination. This final session isn’t just an end; it’s a new beginning. Holding your hand, she knows that, together, you can face whatever comes next.

Now to go home to your kids. 

************

When you walk through the door, you hear the familiar sounds of CocoMelon blasting at a ridiculous volume. You make eye contact with Natasha, rolling your eyes, but neither one of you truly feels annoyed by it. You drop your keys on the table and follow her into the living room.

"I thought I told you not to allow her to watch that," Natasha rounds the couch. "It's too overstimulating."

"Mom, you're back," Ryan hops up. "I have to show you what I made on Roblox."

"Sure thing kid," You ruffle his hair. "Where's your sister?"

"Right here," Emma walks into the room occupied by her tablet.

"Oh, hush she likes it," Yelena argues as she bounces the infant in her lap. There are so many conversations going on at once and the drooling baby in her lap turns her head at the voices she hears. Her eyes immediately brighten and she lifts to reach for Natasha.

"Hey, little one," Natasha coos as she takes your daughter into her arms. She plops onto the couch to properly hold her.

"She spit up again," Yelena points out. "I don't know why you guys don't get a proper nanny."

"We don't want that," You sigh as you settle next to Natasha. "I like coming home and having my kids running up to me."

"Plus, the last one was a thief," Natasha adds. "I caught her trying to steal some of my jewelry."

"You two are impossible," Yelena sighs. "So stubborn."

"You could've just said no," You point out.

"I'm not saying no to that face," Yelena pouts. She makes a funny face to which she receives a smile.

"You are going to spoil her," Natasha warns.

"She needs a spoiling."

"She's only six months old," You chuckle. "She doesn't need much."

"She needs the best," Yelena says. "Isn't that right Wren?"

"Like her auntie," You laugh.

"You are ridiculous," Yelena sighs.

"But you love us." You laugh.

"Okay, I'm heading out," Yelena stands. "Goodbye, family."

"See ya," You wave.

"Bye," Natasha waves with Wren's hand. "Say bye-bye, Wren."

Wren simply coos as her green eyes follow Yelena until she's out of the door.

It's then Emma decides to come and sit on your lap as Ryan rests at your feet.

"Hey put those devices away. Let's spend some family time," You nudge them.

"Okay," They groan as they put their stuff down. You receive a text on your phone and it's from none other than Tony Stark.

"Oh, come on, Mom you just told us to put them away," Ryan groans.

"I'm sorry, it's Tony, he wants to know if I'm willing to come back for my position," You offer. Your sabbatical had turned into a two-year break and a step down after the birth of Wren. You and Natasha had gotten remarried in a quiet ceremony this time. Just the four of you in a park with a minister. You didn’t announce it to friends or family. You’d both planned it out meticulously. You need it to be for both of you. 

"Are you going back?" Natasha looks at you.

"What would you want me to do?" You question.

"Only you can decide that," She shrugs.

"I think I'm ready to go back," You nod. "With contingencies. My schedule can't be like it was. I want to spend as much time with my wife and kids as I can."

"Okay," Natasha nods. "Then, do it. You miss it."

"I'm still going to be here," You remind her. "I'm going to be there during important events like Wren's first steps. Emma's ballet recitals. Ryan's baseball games. All of it."

"I know, love," She kisses your cheek. "I believe you."

"Okay, let's settle the debate," Ryan interrupts. "Do you think Wren will say my name first or Emma's?"

"Probably Mom's," Emma replies.

"Or Auntie Lena," Ryan shrugs.

"Oh, God," You sigh. "She'll call everyone except you."

"I'll teach her to say it," Ryan promises.

"Okay," You roll your eyes.

"It'll be easy," Ryan nods. "She's a genius."

"I'm glad you think so highly of your sister."

"I can't help it," Ryan smiles. "She's pretty cute."

"And smart," Emma chimes in.

"Oh, and funny," Ryan laughs.

"Okay," You push Emma off you. "Wren, promise right now you'll say my name first."

The baby with the slightest bit of reddish-brown tufts of hair gurgles, stuffing her fingers into her mouth and chomping on them. Wren’s eyes, a striking green that mirrors Natasha’s, seem to take in everything with a surprising intensity for her age. There’s something undeniably familiar in her expressions and the way she moves—an echo of Natasha’s mannerisms. The resemblance is uncanny, a mini clone of her mother, right down to the determined set of her tiny jaw.

Having chosen the same donor for both Ryan,Emma, and Wren, it’s clear that the genetic legacy is strong. Wren’s features, the shape of her nose, the curve of her lips—all mirror Natasha’s so closely that it's like looking at a baby version of her. Even her little gestures, the way she furrows her brow in concentration or the slight tilt of her head when she’s curious, are pure Natasha.

"See, she gets it," You tell your kids.

"That doesn't count," Emma replies.

"It totally does," You argue. "Okay," you say with a laugh, feeling a warm sense of contentment wash over you. The playful banter between Ryan and Emma fills the room with a sense of normalcy and happiness that you cherish.

"Wren's lucky to have such a loving family. You two are going to be great role models for her." Natasha laughs.

Emma and Ryan exchange proud looks, their excitement about their baby sister evident.

As you all sit in the living room, the sense of togetherness and love envelops the family. Natasha takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "We've come a long way," she whispers.

You nod, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the journey you've been on and the family you've built together. The future is bright, and you know that, with each other, you can face anything.

[manufacturerfillingmachine]

Enhance Your Business Success with Perfume Filling Machines

The fragrance and perfume market is anticipated to reach a value of USD 70 billion by the end of 2036, with a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 5% between 2023 and 2036. Globally, approximately 28% of consumers invest in perfume moderately, while nearly 18% opt for high-end/premium options. (https://www.researchnester.com/reports/fragrance-perfume-market/5376). If you manage a perfume manufacturing and sales business, it's crucial to maintain a high level of competitiveness to capitalize on market growth and establish a prominent position in the industry.

A distinguishing factor for your business is the fragrance of your product, closely followed by the quantity. Ensuring that the quantity in the bottle matches what is stated on the label is imperative for upholding your reputation among customers. This aspect is often overlooked but can significantly impact the success of your business. By utilizing a dependable perfume filling machine, you can guarantee accuracy and meet customer expectations regarding quantity, while also streamlining your business operations.

Keen to delve deeper? Let's explore how investing in a perfume filling machine can unlock your business's full potential.

Streamlined Production Process

Traditional methods of filling perfume bottles by hand can be time-consuming and labor-intensive. However, automatic liquid filling machines eliminate the need for manual labor, allowing you to fill multiple bottles quickly and accurately. This not only saves time but also reduces the risk of human error, ensuring consistent quality across all your products.

Increased Efficiency and Cost Savings

In addition to streamlining the production process, this automatic liquid filling machinecan also significantly improve efficiency and reduce costs. By automating the filling process, you can pack large batches and quantities of perfume in a shorter amount of time, allowing you to meet customer demand more effectively. Moreover, the precision and accuracy of automatic filling machines minimize product wastage, ultimately saving you money on raw materials.

Enhanced Product Quality

Consistency and quality are paramount in the perfume industry. Customers expect the quantity of their favorite scents to be the same every time they purchase them. Manual filling methods can result in variations in product volume, leading to inconsistencies. Perfume filling machines, on the other hand, ensure precise measurements and uniform filling, guaranteeing consistent product quality with every batch.

Versatility and Customization

Another advantage of perfume filling machines is their versatility and ability to accommodate various bottle sizes and shapes. Whether you're filling small sample vials or large perfume bottles, automatic liquid filling machines can be easily adjusted to suit your specific requirements. Additionally, many modern filling machines offer customizable features such as adjustable fill volumes and multiple filling heads, allowing you to tailor the filling process to meet the unique needs of your business.

Improved Hygiene and Safety

Maintaining high standards of hygiene and safety is crucial in the perfume industry, where products come into direct contact with customers' skin. Manual filling methods pose a higher risk of contamination from airborne particles, dust, and bacteria. Perfume filling machines, designed with hygiene and safety in mind, feature enclosed filling chambers that prevent contamination and ensure product purity. Additionally, automated filling machines minimize the need for human intervention, reducing the risk of accidents and injuries in the workplace.

Grow Your Business with FILLOGY

Ready to take your business to the next level with a perfume filling machine? Secure your machine from the top provider, FILLOGY. Their products are globally renowned and trusted by direct marketers, medium-sized companies, and individual departments within large corporations. FILLOGY's filling systems are capable of accurately dispensing a diverse range of liquids, from thin to viscous, hot to cold, and even lumpy or creamy textures.

[godsfavdarling]

Office Vixen

my masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x office vixen fem!reader words: 360 warnings: none! a/n: a short little thing. there is just something about spencer x some bad bitch serving cunt.

The air in the office was thick with the usual tension and focus that came with the line of work. Agents bustled about, engrossed in their tasks, while the ever-present hum of computers filled the space. Amid this orchestrated chaos, Spencer Reid sat at his desk, poring over the intricate details of a case file.

Across the room, a different kind of attention was being commanded. Y/N, made her way to the coffee machine, her every step exuding confidence. With dark hair perfectly styled and pencil skirt hugging her curves just right, she was the epitome of elegance and poise. Her nails, manicured to perfection, clicked softly against her coffee cup as she stirred in her cream and sugar.

Spencer's gaze flickered up from his papers, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. It wasn't just her striking appearance that caught his eye, though. There was something about her that piqued his curiosity. She wasn't part of the BAU team, but she worked in the office, handling administrative tasks with an efficiency that rivaled even the most seasoned agents.

She caught Spencer's glance and offered a small, knowing smile. She was used to the attention, but something about Spencer's shy, yet intensely observant nature intrigued her. She made her way over to his desk, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor.

"Morning, Dr. Reid," she greeted, her voice smooth and melodic.

Spencer blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Good morning, Y/N," he replied, his tone polite yet tinged with nervousness.

"You seem deep in thought," she observed, glancing at the array of papers spread before him.

"Just working on this case," he explained, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "It's... complicated."

"Isn't it always?" she replied with a chuckle. "You seem to handle it well, though."

Spencer gave a modest smile. "Thank you. It's a team effort."

Y/N leaned a little closer, her perfume a subtle but captivating scent that made Spencer's heart beat just a little faster. "Well, if anyone can crack the case, it's you."

Her words were sincere, and Spencer felt a warm flush creep up his neck. "I appreciate that."

She straightened up, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer. "If you ever need a break, you know where to find me," she said with a wink, before turning to walk back to her desk.

Spencer watched her go, his mind racing with thoughts. She was an enigma to him. She was confident, poised, and undeniably beautiful, but there was a depth to her that he couldn't quite figure out. His analytical mind couldn't help but wonder about the stories behind those perfectly styled locks and the confidence that radiated from her.

[businessminddubai]

Is perfume filling machine have a market trend in Dubai?

As of my last knowledge update in September 2023, the perfume industry in Dubai and the UAE was indeed experiencing significant growth and had a strong market presence. Dubai is known for its thriving luxury retail sector and is a popular shopping destination for tourists, making it a hub for the perfume industry.

The perfume manufacturing industry in Dubai is thriving, with both local and international brands producing top-tier fragrances. In this industry, the critical role of perfume-filling machines in dubai cannot be overstated, as they are instrumental in achieving precise and consistent packaging of these highly valuable scents. These machines are intricately designed to handle the delicate and often expensive nature of perfume products. Let's delve into the key attributes and advantages of these specialized perfume filling machines:

Unrivaled Precision and Accuracy: Perfume filling machines are equipped with cutting-edge technology, enabling them to fill bottles with unparalleled precision. This precision not only minimizes waste but also ensures a uniform product quality, meeting the exacting standards of the industry.

Preserving the Essence of Fragrance: The essence of a perfume lies in its blend of fragrant oils, and the fragrance is a pivotal selling point. Perfume filling machines are meticulously crafted to minimize the exposure of the perfume to air. This preservation of the fragrance's integrity is of paramount importance to meet the expectations of discerning consumers.

Adaptable Fill Levels: Versatility is a key feature of these machines. They can be easily adjusted to accommodate various bottle sizes and shapes. This adaptability makes them an ideal choice for different perfume brands, each with its unique packaging requirements.

Rapid High-Volume Production: Dubai's demand for perfume products can be substantial, particularly given the region's affinity for high-quality fragrances. Perfume filling machines rise to the occasion by offering high-speed production capabilities. This ensures that companies can efficiently meet market demands without compromising on product quality.

Cost-Efficient Operation: One of the most compelling advantages of these machines is their contribution to cost savings in the long run. By reducing product wastage and ensuring a consistent filling process, they help perfume manufacturers operate more efficiently and sustainably.

[handlemehyuck]

oh, we’re falling in love . lee jeno

・❥・ a best friend and breezy drives bring realizations | 831 words ・❥・

there’s something so sweet about his presence, but the peace feels fragile. to hold it in your hand would be a moment spent without breathing, without moving, consumed by admiration alone.

it’s taking up space, and you’re making more for him. you notice when he’s not around. you think of excuses to have him close—reasons why you could show up at his doorstep again. but the fear of being obvious ringsringsrings in your head, pulling you back to the ground and away from the high—the delightful serenity he’s flooded your life with.

your roommate believes it’s marvelous. she’s always sworn to be a bit clairvoyant—from a bloodline of women with gifts. her words. apparently, your hue has changed colors. apparently, your hue is warmer than it used to be, and her proclamation over spaghetti and glasses of red wine keeps you up until the early hours of the morning.

the idea of another having so much control over your emotions has always terrified you. you want to create that peace and love on your own and for yourself; the empowerment is delicious, but you’ve never done what this man has done in a couple of months alone.

“it’s ok to like it. you can relax in it if it feels good.”

your roommate’s voice cuts through the humming coffee machine, pulling your gaze away from the device taking up far too much counter space for an already tiny kitchen.

she smiles and dips her spoon into a bowl of cereal. “what i said last night freaked you out.”

your mouth opens to only close again, a furrow setting in between your brows.

you’re not denying it, so she continues. “if anything, people are uncomfortable crying in front of someone, but you were afraid to laugh in front of me. it took so long. you hid your happiness, and i had the hardest time trying to understand why that made you feel the most vulnerable.”

the back of your neck feels hot, preparing yourself for the rest of this conversation.

“i came up with a few ideas. the first being you simply don’t like your laugh, nothing deeper than that. secondly, you don’t think you deserve to be happy, and it has nothing to do with letting someone hear you laugh. it’s all internal. the third is laughing leaves you too exposed. crying makes everything so heightened. your emotional awareness is crystal clear. it’s like all your senses are on high alert. laughter is the total opposite. it reduces your stress and relaxes your muscles. it brings the happy hormones. it leaves you naked.”

it leaves me naked.

the answer is obvious. you rub the back of your neck and finish making the coffee that gets you out of bed.

for now, the conversation is left alone. you don’t have anything to say, but you reflect on her monologue all day, wondering when this all began and why. your mind sifts through memories, taking you back to childhood sleepovers filled with laughter that didn’t leave you running for privacy.

so, when was it? what the hell happened?

jeno wants to see you again, but it’s friday night, and he can’t decide if exposing his lack of plans will stir negative feelings in you. rationally, he knows better, but he likes you, so he’s thinking too much.

spring is falling into summer. the days are warm, and the evenings welcome blissful breezes, perfect for night drives. they’re enjoyable on his own, but jeno continues craving your presence in his car.

it’s easy to imagine the first waft of your perfume when you sit down and the smile on your mouth after the hello passes soft lips. he wants to hear you humming melodies and folding your legs to create a place of comfortable rest for your chin as you peer up at the sky. he wants to catch your closed eyes at stoplights, the radiating red on your skin, as the best part of a song consumes your entire body.

he’s enamored by your quiet passion. he’s fascinated by the gentle rhythm to your love. he craves to hear your voice grow louder when you finally give in and let the emotions within you burst, spilling from your lips in a beautiful palaver.

he noticed you at parties years before you connected, but he never saw you dance. he never saw the veins in your neck from singing with your entire being. he never saw your eyes as wide as saucers or any evidence of drunkenness on your features.

even at a party, you were soft smiles and crossed legs and slight sways.

jeno would never push you beyond your comfort zone, but he can’t help but want you to let go. he can only imagine how beautiful utter bliss will look on you and radiate off your skin.

fuck me, he thinks, stalling at a stop sign while a blue honda crosses in front of him. i’m falling in love with her.

[tyxoxo]

RxLuSTx0_

pairing: jeno x fem!reader

genre: smut, cam couple!jeno/reader

words: 2.5k

warnings: pwp, degrading, erotic asphyxiation/breath play (choking, headlocks/chokeholds), facefucking/throat fucking, spitting, slapping, near unconsciousness, reader wears eyelash extensions (didn’t know if this needed to be mentioned but its necessary to the story trust me!!) 

a/n: horny JAIL!!

playlist: deftones - beware • she_skin - 55

“alright baby, tell ‘em what you told me earlier.” jeno’s words were sinfully sweet, filled with excitement to hear you voice your death wish to thousands of people. 

“i want you to go as hard as you can on me. don’t. hold. back…” you ended your request with a giggle, knowing the audience got a kick out of your boldness, which would only get stomped in the dirt by your boyfriend later. 

currently, the two of you were in your bedroom, only in your underwear: him on the ottoman at the end of the bed, and you sitting back on your heels in between his spread legs, both facing the camera. 

the stream had only started minutes prior. the first ten were usually spent sitting leisurely in front of the camera, drinking sips of water to hydrate for the scenes ahead. it was definitely unassuming at first, but once the comments started flooding in, any outsider would realize that this side of the internet was nothing but filth. 

you didn’t even have to look behind you to know that jeno sat there, eyeing all of the comments with a smug look of satisfaction, cock growing harder and harder by the second. even if there wasn’t a camera lens to glance at the top of the laptop, you would still be able to sense his anticipation. 

raddad234: can’t wait to see you destroy her pretty little mouth today _

vix3n11: what’s daddy have planned for his girl today? so happy to see you two after a long day of work - xoxo

those were just a few of the many subscribers tuning in for the night. just from the sight of your two faces alone, money started pouring in. 

01bbyGirl: just sent $50!!

prXncesS666: just sent $25!

“01bbyGirl, prXncesS666, we haven’t even gotten started yet! you’re too kind, thank you so much!!” you attached your hands to your mouth, followed by blowing a kiss to the screen.

jeno’s remained quiet, leaving you to do most of the “thank you’s” for any of the gifts or money sent, as you were more eloquent with your gratitude. truthfully, his job of looking delectable for the camera was more than good enough, and you always made an effort to mention that to him. 

he continued to caress your shoulders, slender fingertips tapping along your curved skin ever so often. 

“for those of you that just now logged in, i hope you all are having a good day/night, wherever you are. you haven’t missed anything, we’re just waiting on a few more people to join before we get started!” 

the viewers continued to rise with every blink: 

2,033

3,455

4,550

it was astonishing to say the least. every saturday, at 11pm you felt pampered. so many people—strangers who were obsessed with watching jeno manhandle you for however long he saw fit.

his stamina was never short of amazing, making you dazed, confused, cock drunk…whatever words described your undoing the best. 

“repeat it again baby…” jeno’s “strong but silent” façade was wearing thin as the stream progressed. as soon as the night of debauchery began, he would turn into a degrading machine. 

just as you set your bottle of water down from taking another sip, you smiled for the camera, eyes fluttering at the upcoming repeat of your death wish.

you looked back at jeno, who’s eyes had already transformed, pupils dilated to the size of a marble.

he smiled at your intentional doe-eyed expression, nodding his head to signal that you should and will repeat it.

“don’t take it back now.” he chuckled after, offering the right amount of lightheartedness. he nuzzled his face into your neck, rubbing his nose up and down the smoothness of your skin. he inhaled deeply, catching the scent of your pleasant perfume.

“i’m nottt. don’t worry…” you giggled, leaning into his feline embrace.

“i’m sure you guys can tell jeno’s excited. reiterating from earlier, i decided that i want him to go as hard as he can on me tonight. no holding back…”

jeno missed the comments that flashed by, as he was too absorbed in wrapping his arms around your neck, lips barely grazing across your warm cheeks.

uKKixo_9: are you sure can handle it babygirl?” 

osAkalov3r: woww, you’re such a perfect sub! ur gonna do great! i know you will!! 

the ability to read more of the comments were becoming increasingly difficult. it was evident from the fact jeno had strengthened his hold on your head and neck. 

he had only did a few chokeholds in the past, but this seemed different. 

he was hungry; starved to see you gasping for air at the very start.

the fluorescent colors of the vaporwave inspired chatroom began to melt in front of your very eyes, becoming blurry from his relentless affliction. you immediately brought your hands up to clasp onto his veiny arms, breaths getting hollow with every attempt to wiggle within his broad frame.

“you asked for this. let’s see how good you do.”

his tone had dropped an octave deeper, hitting against the vein that was now bulging from your temple. 

he had clearly done this on purpose, catching you off guard like this. you couldn’t even clear your throat, let alone speak. you attempted a shallow breath as he held you in place, saliva bubbling out past your trembling lips.  

“if you fucking pass out, i won’t get to use this throat now will i?” he spat against your ear, taking a peek at the chat. a devilish grin spread across his face, resonating through the laptop screen, completely high off of the comments plastering on the screen like bets. 

bets to see how long it would take for you to tap out.

you would go against all odds, no matter the sting, no matter the lack of oxygen. 

“you make me so fucking hard baby…mmh, all this cock is for you.” 

the ability to comprehend anything that came out of his mouth was nearly non-existent. you slammed your eyes shut, hoping to sacrifice your sight for the ability to hear, as the ringing got louder and louder.

as a result, you missed the chat,

1hEllygrrl0: i can’t help but touch myself, this is so hot

kInKstarxx77: you weren’t joking, jesus christ

you were sure your face was contorted into an unsightly expression from the pressure against your entire jaw, but the self-conscious thought didn’t matter. all that mattered was jeno’s love for seeing you struggle from his brute strength. 

just as you tried to hook your nails deeper into his arm and claw away at his taut skin, he released, arms flailing back, hitting against the arm rests of the velvet ottoman. 

you persevered through the burn surging from your trachea, making sure to keep your teary eyes glued to the screen. chest heaving, ragged breaths escaping from your glossy lips. 

now you understood the science behind being addicted to this; head spinning, ears blaring, skin tingling, heart racing. 

being on the brink of consciousness felt better than any runner’s high. more fulfilling than a wrestler on steroids. 

and you wanted more.

a single, heavy cough from deep within your chest was all that you were allowed to do. as jeno had already hooked a single arm around your neck, this time rising to his feet, and pulling you up to be face-to-face with his bulging cock. 

the viewers were no stranger to your boyfriend’s strength, especially the frequent donator’s. every now and then he would gift them with videos of him exercising at the gym, coming up close to his phone screen so people could see the sweat practically streaming down his chest and abdomen.

they all knew he could destroy you. 

the chat had an excellent view, now that jeno switched the position of the laptop so everything could be watched from the side. they all tuned in as jeno stood above you, running his fingers through his hair, before taking off his boxer briefs. you used that time to take as many deep breaths as you could, fearing that there wouldn’t be much opportunity left. 

his length stood loud and proud against his navel. his girth alone took up most of the view of his chiseled face as you panned your eyes upward.  

your star-crossed eyes still showed admiration behind the angst, waiting for his next command.

he was painfully hard, tip pink and leaking down the pulsing veins on his shaft. 

there was anything but self-control as he forced your head forward onto his groin, arousal immediately coating your eyelids, balls pressing against your closed mouth. fortunately you were still able to breathe through your nose, as you would grow accustomed to by the time this was over. 

he directed your head like a rag doll, smearing your face back and forth across his length.

“she’s gonna let me use this throat any way i want to…isn’t that right baby?”

all you could do was nod violently, not having the power to speak past his balls that were prodding at your lips.

your hands remained on your thighs, clawing at the skin to take your mind off of your own arousal, that was now leaking past your underwear. 

jeno peaked over at the laptop, smirking to himself at how pathetic you looked—being controlled like the useless slut you were always meant to be.

he found himself satisfied from that little show, knowing it was time to get down to the real art. 

with his left hand still locked onto the back of your head, he pulled you back, enough to give you whiplash from the sudden movement. 

“open up. tongue out.” 

those four words were all it took for you to obey, letting him guide his tip onto your drooling tongue. he didn’t bother starting off slow; all of the subtlety could be left to rot for all he cared.

he pushed past your lips, tip hitting your uvula in a single blink. you gagged instantly, heaving further onto his length. 

his let his head fall back, finding instant gratification in your supposed journey towards resilience.

what a sick joke, jeno thought, as he let out a sigh of relief. 

he kept you still for what felt like minutes, eventually using both of his hands to usher you closer to this bare groin.  

“be a good fuckdoll…show them you can take it.”

jeno was somewhat surprised you hadn’t tried to back away so soon, but considering the years of training that led up to this point, it had definitely paid off. 

though, he could tell when it became too much. the way you began to tap his thighs over and over, was a telltale sign that even your nose breathing didn’t offer invincibility to his wrath.

your taps had turned into slaps, somehow keeping a steady rhythm despite the world spinning around you.

he ignored you, just like you expected.

it felt too good to let you go, especially with the way your tongue spasmed along the underside of his shaft. 

you used all the strength you could muster, grasping his thighs and pushing your head back against his palms. 

mau5Queen: uh ohh, she’s in trouble now hehe!  

a coughing fit ensued as you successfully managed to release yourself. your hands remained on his toned thighs, head staring down at the floor where tiny little puddles of his essence had remained. 

he used his left hand to grip your chin, squishing your face together like putty. you held your breath as you met his eyes, brows furrowed in disappointment, lip upturned in a snarl.

the tears that stained your cheeks made a connection with his right palm, a single slap that was enough to make your head turn. 

“don’t try to run from me bitch. who said my cock could leave your mouth?” he growled, patience hanging by a thread that would soon snap into seething anger if you didn’t pull yourself together quick.

he grasped his dick once more, attempting to put himself back inside where he belonged.

you purposefully pursed your lips together with a shake of your head, preventing him entry…hoping he would slap you again.

he winded his hand up and brought it down on your cheek as you faced the laptop screen. giggling to the audience, and to your sadist boyfriend that your wish had been granted.

a scornful smile adorned his face, with only the nose-down of his figure being available to the camera, which made it all the more hotter. 

you kept your head facing the camera as he finally found himself inside, knowing he loved the sight of his dick poking through your cheek from this position. for once, he thrusted slowly, letting his cock slip out with a pop, occasionally directing his tip to rub against the corners of your mouth. 

you kept your hands locked behind your back to show obedience as he continued his playful actions like constant rewinds on a videotape. your saliva and his precum formed a delicious elixir, decorating your breasts in a lustrous shine.

“turn towards me, i wanna fuck this pretty little face…” he whispered into the cold air. you complied, opening your mouth wide. 

this was considered take 2 as he started up again. you made an effort to maintain eye contact this time, wanting to witness his looks of pleasure. 

he was unreal, managing to rough you up with so much finesse, keeping you hungry for more. 

the disgusting sounds of him fucking your throat not only filled the room, but the ears of all of your viewers. you wished to read more, but keeping your eyes locked on jeno was more rewarding. 

his mouth hung open, tongue darting out to lick along his upper lip every time you bobbed your head to match his momentum.

he reached one hand down to cup underneath your jaw and the other to rest on top of your head. this headlock was rare, only on the special occasions that he knew he would reserve all of his cum for just your mouth. 

your eyes started to burn as he used his middle finger to prop your eyelid up as high as it could go, the air from his thrusts brushing against your cornea. the most fucked out expression you could ever make, was there for all to see. wearing eyelash extensions was clearly a mistake, as you felt them detach one by one from his harsh pull on the delicate skin.

“look at you…so fucked up, just for me.” he choked up the words, feeling his orgasm approaching in the pit of his stomach. 

now you felt numb, not even realizing that your eyes had rolled back into your sockets. 

your chest had grown tight, body going slump from the spent ability to breathe in through your nose. your ears rang louder than ever before, a sign that this may be the last you would ever hear for a while. 

“i’m almost there, fuck!!” 

with one final thrust, jeno flooded your mouth with his cum, a string of groans overpowering the sounds of it bubbling inside your abused throat. spurts of milky white stirred you from the light that almost consumed you. 

“drown in my fucking cum…” 

he backed out in a flash, watching you stumble backwards onto the floor. 

your sprawled body was just out of view, leaving the chat to wonder if you really were unconscious. 

you weren’t, but lying there for a while sounded the most appealing.

prXncesS666: is she dead wtf? 

~

//tagging: @glitchfiles @jasminexox5

lmk if you want a part 2 of aftercare/subspace, cuz this was pretty hardcore sksksk.

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part 28: Parents

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

Two hours had passed since the surgery had begun. Cillian, Max, and Lucy had been sitting together in the hospital room, all anxiously awaiting the surgeon's arrival. Tension hung in the air, thick and suffocating as they listened for the sound of footsteps. Lucy could sense Max's nervous energy as he paced back and forth while Cillian stared blankly towards the door. Suddenly, the door swung open and the surgeon walked in. His expression gave nothing away, but the silence in the room was deafening as they eagerly awaited his prognosis.

" The surgery went as well as could be expected given the circumstances," the surgeon finally said in a small voice, causing Cillian to exhale a loud, relieved sigh as he finally allowed hope to begin to trickle into his heart.

"You should go, dad ," Max said, stepping forward and placing a hand on Cillian's shoulder.

Cillian turned to Max, his eyes filled with gratitude as he nodded quietly before standing up and approaching the surgeon. 

"Thanks," Cillian managed to say, his voice laced with emotion as he looked at the surgeon who had just given him the news that he wanted to hear.

He had feared for your life, having had a hard time accepting that there was nothing that he could do to change what had happened to you.

"Let me take you to her," the surgeon said, turning towards the door and leading the way.

Cillian followed closely behind, leaving Max and Lucy alone in the room for a moment.

Lucy looked at Max, trying to gauge his emotions.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice gentle and concerned.

He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "I will be," he replied, his voice quiet. He then reached for his coat , slipping it on and pulling it tight around his slim frame.

Lucy stood in silence as watched him, her blue eyes following his every move. She could see the pain and tension etched onto his face, and it made her heart ache for him.

"It's fine Max. You can go," she reassured him and Max nodded, although he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. 

"Yeah, I should," he replied, his voice laced with guilt and emotion. "I have shit to do, you know," he then said  , trying to mask the hurt beneath sarcasm and bravado, "like go to class and do homework and all."

Lucy nodded, understanding all too well what he was feeling. "I know," she whispered, her voice soft and soothing. "I will let your dad know that you left," she said, her voice gentle and comforting this time around. 

Max sighed again, his shoulders dropping in defeat before he nodded slowly. "Thanks Lucy," he finally said, his voice soft and low. He then opened the door and walked out of the waiting room without another word, leaving Lucy standing there, alone in the room, her thoughts swirling in her head.

Meanwhile, Cillian arrived by your bedside, his eyes taking in the tubes, the machines, and the medical paraphernalia that had become part of the landscape of your life for the time being.

"I will give you some privacy for now. The nurses will be in and out to monitor her condition," the doctor said gently as Cillian stood by your hospital bedside, his eyes taking in every detail of your pale and still form. 

"Thank you, doctor," Cillian replied, his voice barely audible as he watched the surgeon leave the room.

His heart ached as he looked at you, your face pale and listless on the hospital bed, your leg heavily bandaged, evidence of the invasive surgery you had just gone through.

He felt a wave of emotion overwhelming him as he reached for your hand, gently caressing it, the warmth of your skin a comfort to him.

He leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving your face, as if willing you to wake up, to see him, to talk to him. He took a deep breath, savoring the scent of your shampoo, your perfume, all the little things that made you, you.

Cillian stayed like that for a while, lost in thought, his mind replaying the events that had led up to this moment.

"You are going to get through this. I know you will," Cillian said, his voice trembling slightly. "I am here. I will always be here, no matter what," he added, his words a promise, a vow to you and the unspoken reassurance that you needed and even though you could not hear him, you somehow felt his presence. 

He leaned in closer, pressing his lips to your forehead, feeling the warmth of your skin, the softness of your hair against his lips. He never wanted to let go. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you, of living a world without your laughter, your smile, your kindness.

He had fallen for you the moment he laid eyes on you, and now, more than ever, he knew that he loved you.

Cillian lost track of time as he kneeled there, your hand in his, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. It was only when the nurse came in to check your vitals that he realized how much time had passed.

"How is she doing?" Cillian asked, his voice laced with worry.

"She is stable. But she has a long road of recovery ahead," the nurse replied gently.  "We are reducing the sedatives now, hoping that she will wake up soon, so you should stay with her a little longer. Keep talking to her. Sometimes it helps," the nurse then explained, and Cillian nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He knew that it would be a long road to recovery, but at least you were still alive.

"I will," he said quietly. "Thank you ," he added, his voice thick with emotion.

The nurse nodded, smiling at him kindly before leaving the room.

Cillian turned back to you, taking in your peaceful expression.

He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle, as if he were afraid to wake you up.

Cillian sat by your side for hours, your hand in his, his breath warm on your cheek as he whispered sweet words into your ear. It was a silent promise, a vow that he would never leave you, not like this.

Cillian's heart raced as he leaned in closer, his blue eyes searching for any sign of consciousness, any indication that you could hear him. He watched as your chest rose and fell, each breath a testament to your strength, your resilience, your will to fight. 

He did this for hours and his heart raced as he kneeled by your bedside, his hand still tightly gripping yours.

The beeping machines echoed throughout the sterile hospital room, a constant reminder of your fragile state. The sound of your shallow breaths filled the air, making Cillian's chest tighten with worry every time. 

Then, suddenly, the door creaked open, and, finally, your parents stepped into the room. It took them five hours to get there and Cillian shot up from his kneeling position, a mask of feigned nonchalance settling on his face.

His eyes met theirs, hiding the storm of emotions swirling within him. He plastered a smile on his face, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Cillian then greeted them reluctantly, not knowing how much they knew about your relationship with him, but assuming that it wasn’t much. His voice was steady despite the chaos swirling inside him and just as he stepped aside to allow them to approach the bed, your mother's eyes widened, recognizing Cillian as Max’s famous father. They had never met before, but from magazines and television, he was easily recognizable. She had heard a lot about him from Max when you were still dating and yet, his presence here confused her.

"Where is Max?" your mother asked, breaking the silence while your father assessed the medical devices to which you were hooked up. 

Cillian shrugged, "he left a few hours ago," he replied, unsure what else to say. "I am Cillian. Max's father,"  Cillian introduced himself, extending a hand to your mother while she shook it, still trying to make sense of what was happening. "Nice to meet you," he said politely, while studying her, trying to gauge her reaction without giving anything away. 

Your mother nodded absentmindedly, her eyes focused on the beeping machines, the medical devices, and your bandaged leg, worry etched deep into the lines of her forehead.

"I will give you some space," Cillian muttered quietly, moving towards the door, but your mother shook her head.

"No, it's okay. I am sorry. It's nice to meet you too," your mother said  at last, her voice barely audible.

Cillian nodded and stepped aside. He could feel their concern and worry, and it made his chest tighten with emotion.

There was an awkward silence as your parents stood there, taking in the sight of you lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines, monitors, and medical equipment.

Cillian watched as they reached for your hand, their eyes filled with love and concern, and he could feel the tears prickling at the back of his eyes.

"It's nice for your whole family to show your support for my daughter, even though your son and her aren't even together anymore," your mother finally said, breaking the silence. "She had always spoken so highly of you and your family." 

Cillian nodded, his throat tight as he forced himself to swallow the lump that had formed.

"Of course," Cillian replied, his voice barely above a whisper and he could feel the tension in the air, the weight of unspoken words and secrets that hung between them. 

"It's a shame they broke up. I always liked Max. He is such a good boy, so kind, so gentle," your mother praised while your father was saying his prayers.  Cillian felt his chest grow tight as if a giant hand were squeezing it, and he tried to push down the anxiety and guilt that threatened to spill over.

It had been well over a year since you had broken up with Max and when Max had first introduced you to him, he had been struck by how different you were from the other girls Max had dated.

You were kind, smart, ambitious, and fiercely independent, and he had admired those qualities in you from the beginning, even though this admiration was innocent enough at the time.

"He is a good kid," Cillian agreed, not knowing what else to say. 

The guilt consumed him, guilt that he hadn't seen this coming, guilt that he had fallen in love with his son's ex-girlfriend, guilt that he had started a secret affair with you. He thought he could control this attraction, but this wasn't the case and now, with you being in hospital, the secret affair might be coming to light.

The timing was terrible and just as Cillian mulled over the gravity of his actions, the surgeon walked in to brief your parents on your condition and the procedures performed.

Your parents listened quietly, absorbing every word the surgeon spoke, their expressions stony and guarded. Cillian watched from the corner, guilt weighing heavily on him, as if he were being slowly crushed under its oppressive weight.

"We performed an emergency reconstruction on her right leg and removed her right kidney. The trauma caused severe tissue and organ damage in her right lower quadrant, and she has a long road to recovery ahead of her. She required several blood transfusions due to heavy blood loss, and it will require numerous surgeries, intense physical therapy, and ongoing medical care. However, with time, patience, and dedication, she can hopefully regain her mobility and strength," the surgeon concluded.

"Blood transfusions?" your mother gasped, her eyes wide with shock as this was strictly against their religious values.  The surgeon nodded. "Yes, unfortunately, that was necessary due to her significant blood loss during the surgery to save her leg," the surgeon reassured her, but your mother shook her head.

"Why would you put her through this?" your father 's voice was low and measured, but Cillian could hear the thread of anger that ran through it. "God will not look kindly at her now," he determined with worry. 

The surgeon hesitated, clearly sensing the tension that had filled the room. "It was the course of action determined by your daughter's registered next of kin," the surgeon explained tactfully, looking from Cillian to your parents.

"We wanted to give her the best chance at recovery, at leading a normal life," Cillian interjected, his voice quiet but firm.

He had made the call, the decision to save your leg, putting your life at risk. It had been the most difficult decision he had ever made, and one that had weighed heavily on him.

Your mother stared at Cillian, her eyes narrowed. "We?" she asked. "What do you mean by 'we'?"  your mother asked, her voice cold and sharp, cutting through the air.

Cillian hesitated, taking a deep breath before speaking. "I mean... I made the decision," he admitted slowly, his gaze fixed on a point over your mother's shoulder, unable to meet her eyes.

"You did what?" your father exclaimed, his voice full of shock and anger. "Why would you do something like that without consulting us?"

Cillian took a deep breath, searching for the right words but the surgeon intervened. 

"Maximillian Murphy was listed as your daughter's next of kin. He called his father to consult him on the matter and Mr Murphy and his son decided collectively that  preserving your daughter's leg would be the best option for her long-term health and well-being," the surgeon explained, trying to quell the growing tension in the room.

Cillian could feel the weight of your parents' gazes upon him, the accusation and disappointment clear in their eyes. He could understand it, could see why they would be angry. After all, he had made a decision that affected their child's life without consulting them first.

"You had no right," your mother spat out, tears of anger and frustration welling up in her eyes.

Cillian could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him as he looked at your mother, her anger and disappointment palpable. He wanted to speak up, but decided to wait for the right moment. He didn't want to jeopardize your relationship with your parents, especially when you needed their support more than ever.

"I don't want this man anywhere near my daughter again and the same goes for his son," your mother demanded through gritted teeth, never taking her eyes off Cillian who felt as though this was like a kick to the gut.

He wanted to protest, to explain all the reasons why he had made the decision that he had.

But the words caught in his throat as he took in your mother's steely gaze, your father's tight-lipped expression.

"Please, just go," your mother said, her voice tired and broken. "Let us be with our daughter. You've done enough!" 

Cillian nodded, his chest tight with hurt and regret as he turned to leave the room. He knew that he should explain, should tell them the truth, but he couldn't. Not now, with you lying there in the hospital bed, fighting for your life.

Now wasn't the time for truths or confessions or declarations. Now was the time for healing, for recovery, for focusing on getting you back on your feet.

"Alright, I will go," Cillian replied quietly, knowing better than to protest or argue with your parents. He took one last look at you, his heart aching as he imagined what you must be going through.

With one final nod to your parents, he turned and walked towards the door, but just as he reached the threshold, he heard your voice.

"Cillian," you whispered, your voice weak and raspy.

Tags:

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[forlovvers]

( your fault! )

pair: sunghoon x f!reader | genre: fluff, just a tad suggestive, e2??? | warning(s): a soaked white shirt, one swear word lol | wc: 1k ish | synopsis: in which you and sunghoon are very late for school.

lynne’s notez 🗒️ : another consistent post .. who am i

something about you gets under park sunghoon’s skin. normally, he’s calm and collected, but whenever you enter the room it’s like you make it your life’s goal to annoy him to ends meet. you’re constantly poking at him and making small remarks about the way he pushes his hair back or the way his handwriting wasn’t perfect. 

“why’s your jacket unbuttoned? tryna impress someone, park?” you’d say, drawing his name out. and he’d intentionally roll his eyes, making sure you saw it. while thinking of a snotty comeback, sunghoon would slyly button up his jacket (the unbuttoned thing was suggested by niki, why sunghoon took the younger’s advice is beyond him). maybe he was upset because you were right or the fact that the person who he was trying to impress didn’t give him a second glance. either way, park sunghoon wasn’t very happy that day. 

and of course, you were the one person he bumped into while being late to school. sunghoon had decided that maybe he’d treat himself to some coffee before his classes, but the new barista was very clumsy and had to remake his favorite drink twice! so much that it didn’t even taste like his favorite drink anymore. 

while turning the last corner to school, you just had to be in the way. it was almost like the heavens above were punishing him for skipping that one skating practice in eighth grade. 

when the two of you collide, sunghoon’s drink goes flying from his hands and because the new barista doesn’t know how to put on the top properly, the contents of his iced mocha land across your white button-up and it immediately soaks through the light material. 

“park! are you serious!” you yell suddenly, your hands flying up in frustration. you were already having the worst day. firstly, your alarm was set to 7pm instead of 7am and all of your school blazers had not been done drying since you put them in the washing machine last night. on top of all this you just had to run to into park sunghoon and his stupid iced mocha. 

the coffee stains your shirt and you can feel it bleed through the thin fabric, leaving a big black mark across your chest and the unmistakable smell of strong coffee mixing with your perfume. you swear under your breath, reaching up to try and wipe it off with no luck. 

you spot a hose attached to the side of a local fish shop, you were sure the owner wouldn’t mind if you used it. without a second thought, you walk over and detach the hose and grab a bucket from the stack nearby (hopefully it hadn’t been filled with fishes beforehand). 

sunghoon watches you dumbly as you continue to fill up the bucket. “what are you doing?” he asks and walks over to you to get a closer look. you’ve already pulled your hair to the side as you hand him the bucket. 

“you want me to do the ice bucket challenge on you?” sunghoon’s eyes widen at the odd request and you want to strangle him. this was no time for jokes. 

“are you an idiot? just pour a little on my shirt to get the stain out. i can’t show up to class an hour late and dirty clothes.” you say irritatingly. you tug on the shirt to get it as far from your skin as possible and pray sunghoon doesn’t get any water on your pants. 

“doesn’t this need soap?” sunghoon hesitantly raises the bucket up. although he might hate your guts, dowsing you in fish shop water didn’t seem the most appropriate way to go about this. 

“just do it.”

“okay nike,” sunghoon gently pours the water over the stain, careful to not let too much spill out. the more he pours, the more he realizes how close the two of you are and how your shirt seems to become more and more transparent. 

your shirt is practically see-through and sunghoon really does try to polite about it without spilling water all over you, but it’s quite hard to contain the water without properly looking at you. there’s a pink that dusts his cheeks and he can’t help but want to bang his head onto a wall. 

deciding he’s had enough, sunghoon abruptly drops the bucket to the floor and starts to shrug off his own blazer. he was a gentleman, of course. “wear this.” is all he says, dropping it into your hands. 

you eye him suspiciously but take it any way with a small nod of thanks. “this is all your fault yknow?” you say, buttoning his blazer up. it was a bigger than your own, but you should be able to still get away with it at school. 

“my fault?” sunghoon says in disbelief. he can’t believe he just gave you his blazer (which he might get written up for for not having) just for you to say that. “it’s not my fault you have a shit sense of direction.” he defends himself surely.

“whatever you say, park.” the nickname rolls off your tongue smoothly and the more you use it, the sweeter it sounds to sunghoon. once you finish putting on the blazer, you reach for your previously discarded backpack, but sunghoon beats you to it.

“what are you doing?” you throw him a confused look as he pulls the straps of your bag over his shoulder. 

“it’s the least i could do, i mean it’s my fault, right?” a boyish grin tugs at sunghoon’s lips and he starts walking ahead, forcing you to catch up.

you aren’t sure if it’s his teasing tone, his rolled up sleeves exposing his arms or his stupid smile, but you begin to see sunghoon in a different light.

[plumelume]

Could you do a griefer x arcade worker reader, preferably headcanons, fluff :3

୨｡ griefer x arcade worker reader hcs. 𖹭 !

tw : nothing ᕙ⁠(⁠＠⁠°⁠▽⁠°⁠＠⁠)⁠ᕗ . ᵎᵎ

˙ . ꒷. words count: 5339

! note : i may not get griefer's character accurately but likewise, i hope you enjoy the hcs, ty for requesting ! (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) ✿. —. ✦

Working as an attendant(or worker) in an arcade could be quite tough on occasions. Having to ensure the best experiences for customers while going around and seek for problems throughout the day. That’s what you do for a living, you are more than overjoyed being able to sign in for a spot in a fun place.

꩜ - No jobs guarantee there’ll be no difficulty, that’s a fact. Such as bad-mannered people, and annoying brats. And moreover, just basically giving you hard times during work.

꩜ - At times, there’s people who stood out from the rest. They either put up a good impression on you, or the opposite. More of the second than first but still count.

꩜ - Recently, you’ve been noticing a guy. Not because he’s good-looking or anything like that, it’s the smell emitted from him when you passed by. Sure, you’ve been meeting over hundreds of faces as a worker. But that smell really did impact on your memory, from that time on, you begin to take mental notes of his appearance. Mostly because you didn’t want to go anywhere near him lest your nostrils being burnt by the unforgettable scent.

꩜ - Though those avoidances are not never-ending, when you were about to walk off from his direction. He called—.. No. He demanded you to come over and refill those empty ticket slots that he has long drained so he could continue playing his games. You hesitant.

꩜ - Don’t think you can actually escape, if you ignore him on purpose he’ll throw a fit of screaming at you so you’ll hear him. Which will draw many attention from surrounding people, eventually you give in and refill those damn tickets. Your miserable days start here.

You hate, HATE. Every single interaction you’ve ever had or obligated to have with him.

“Y0 PUNK, GO F1LL THE T1CKET.” Wow, at least he could’ve referred to you as ‘worker’, that’d mean a lot. Your fate is entitled to this, warily approaching the arcade machine, you spare him some glances, and gain some glares in return. Why be surprised? You deal with this everyday. You took out the key, plugged in the lock and proceeded to humbly satisfy his needs, after finishing doing so, you take.. Many steps back, watching from afar to make sure the dispenser works properly.

꩜ - Whenever he’s not there to pester you, you are filled with enthusiasm. You swear, without his presence, your jobs lose tad of weight.

꩜ - Sometimes, he caught your attention by just being an expert at games. After you refilled the tickets, you’d stand there for a while to watch his performance, and unknowingly, you became his main audience.

꩜ - He gradually noticed how you lingered around when he’s indulging in the game, that inflates his ego acknowledging someone is hooked by how ‘pro’ he is. Especially when the ‘someone’ is the worker he torments frequently with his nagging, and smell.

Congrats, you now brought a perfume bottle to spray him!! He complains, but it is better to smell good than not in your opinion.

꩜ - Overtime, you began to ask a few questions while he’s in a match, and you finally caught on to his name, Griefer. Well, that’s not actually his name but you’re just grateful enough to be answered instead of him giving some snarky remarks.

꩜ - Your grudge slowly fades, maybe he isn’t that bad of a person. He could be enjoyable to hangout with, if only you ignore those damn comments. And perchance, these feelings towards him are genuine. Griefer would’ve laughed at your face if you said that to him, he isn’t that fond of romance, you figured.

꩜ - Despite that, your actions speak volumes about how much you adore this customer, he comes off as an asshole at first, but slowly opens more to you from time to time. He'll even be lenient enough to let you play his game, even though your job isn't about playing. And make some cheeky statements about your skills but nonetheless, those affection counts plenty.

“L0L, HOW 4RE YOU S0 B4D?” Yet another comment left his mouth, you gritted your teeth immensely after being criticized. Caused your hands to be shaky and with that. Two words “GAME OVER” appeared on the screen, making you sigh in defeat. He laughs at your despair. “It’s all your fault.” You blamed him, sending a sharp glare his way, he isn’t no coward to shudder from your menacing look. “MUCH M0RE LIK3 SKILLS 1SSUES.” He snickered, his smirks widened while your anger heightened.

꩜ - Your past self would be surprised— Shocked even, that you allow yourself to fall for a stinky man child. For he has been showing you subtle hints of his affection.

꩜ - In contrast to your emotions in prior days, you’ve come to miss his presence when he doesn’t arrive at the arcade you’re working at. Feeling overbearingly bored, people call it love, you would rather (jokingly) call it mental illness.

None’s endurance is limitless. Standing beside him as another session of gaming starts, pursing lips and longing stares, you can’t even hide the obvious crush on him. “Griefer?” You called out quietly, in which he responded with a simple ‘what’. A stupid decision, but you wouldn’t want those same feelings to trouble you further. “I like you dude.” Before he could retort, “In romantic senses, I meant.” You add, and he pauses. Stunned on the spot upon hearing your— humble confession.

꩜ - Yeah no, he ain’t even bothering playing the game no more, staring at the screen before him. As the game came to an end, the sound of the dispensing tickets filled the silent yet awkward air between the two.

꩜ - “Y3AH, WH4TEVER.. I LIK3 Y0U T0O.” Griefer admits, waving off the momentary shock as he once again, focused on the current game that he abandoned.

Now you’re.. Confused..?? That was a very faint sign of reciprocation, but you take that as a win-win.

꩜ - Ever since your adoration was spoken, he actually tried to take a few showers now.. Woah. You were in disbelief hearing he finally showers, just for you. And your poor nose. That makes you happy even if it is supposedly normal.

꩜ - On break days, he invites you to come over to his house. Which is on a tree. He affectionately pokes fun at you for needing his help to climb up, his house— room.. Is just as messy as he is, you are not amused in the least.

꩜ - You lend out a hand to help him clean up his mess, whilst doing so, he mentioned how you’re like a maid to him and wished you’d be here frequently to tidy his room. You regret it immediately.

꩜ - At the end of the day, he adores you, despite the tough exterior and all. He does and cherishes the moment he gets to spend his time with whom he loves most— you. It sounds corny, really. Griefer’s words, not mine.