#tiptoe boutique

[daydreaming-nerd]

Our Girl (Bat Boys! x Female! Reader) Rhysand's Part

First part

AN: Sorry I've been a little MIA, I've been going through a lot and struggling to find time to write. But I just busted this out and I love it.

Summary (Series): When Rhysand becomes High Lord the boys find themselves too busy and too well known to visit their local pleasure house. So they hire the reader to to satisfy their needs.

This fic: Rhys seeks his revenge from the last encounter he had with you and his brothers.  HEAVILY BASED OFF THIS FANART

Warnings: sub/dom dynamic, dirty talk, degradation, cock warming, cum eating, (i think that's it, as always lmk if I missed anything)

Word count: 3,100

The past week or so had been nothing but bliss. I spent every morning curled up on my chaise lounge reading a book and eating whatever home cooked breakfast that was brought to me. It was just as I had dreamed, silk pajamas and expensive champagne, sleeping in and spa treatments. 

Rhys and his “brothers” had been extremely busy the past couple of days, I hadn’t yet seen them since the first night we spent together. I hadn’t heard from them either, but as long as the gold in my account kept being accepted at every manner of boutique and fancy restaurants I didn’t much care when my services were needed.

I made my way through the townhouse and to my room, bags in hand and hair freshly done. I had spent the day at the hair salon and decided it would be a crime to return straight home with a fresh blowout, so I treated myself to lunch and of course some shopping as well. 

When I returned to my room I found a black box waiting for me on my too large bed. Setting the bags aside I made a beeline to the mysterious box tossing the lid open with little care. My eyes went wide at what I saw inside. A babydoll made of deep purple lace and a silky mesh lay in the box. It was beautiful, but that wasn’t the lingerie that made me lose my breath, it was the diamond necklace that lay on top of it.  

I picked up both gifts prompting a note to tumble out of the folds, 

Your presence is requested by your High Lord…

There was no doubt in my mind that Rhysand was the one to send such a lavish gift. While I’m sure Cassian and Azriel were paid handsomely I could buy a house or two with this necklace. 

I wasted no time changing into the attire Rhys had bought for me. I wondered if this would be a recurring thing for him. He had told Cassian and Azriel they could dress me however they pleased, but none had yet to take advantage of it. 

I tiptoe down the hall to where I can practically feel his power seeping through the door. He had been holed up in his office all week. There were times I thought to check on him, offer him some release or even some company, but I didn’t want to pester him and lose my paycheck. 

My hand lingers on the doorknob for a moment before closing around it and pushing the door open. I find Rhysand in the exact same place he was when I first came here, hunched over stacks of papers and drinking a whiskey on the rocks. 

“There you are,” he says low, rising from his plush chair, his presence making me feel small. “Do you know what I was reading over?” he asks, waving a piece of paper in the air. 

“No my lord,” I reply and I don’t miss the glimmer in his eye as I utter the familiar name he claimed to love so much. 

“This, little one,” he smirks, further closing the distance between us. “Is your bank statement.” he smiles tossing the paper on a nearby chair. 

My blood runs cold. Had I spent too much? Did I overdraft my account somehow? I was sure I hadn’t spent that much money in the past week. 

“200 gold marks at Rita’s for dinner last night,” he states, coming behind me pulling my hair to the side so he has access to my neck. 

“300 gold marks at a boutique, 100 marks buying lacy underthings and another 100 gold marks buying shoes.” he smirks, placing kisses on my neck as he lists every expense. 

“I-I’m sorry did I overdraft my account? I can return the shoes, or the ‘lacy underthings’ as you so call them?” I wince praying I’m not about to get fired. 

“If you take back those lacy underthings you will be fired,” he chuckles, resting his hands on my hips. 

I mentally curse myself for forgetting his ability to pry into my mind, but I stop kicking myself the moment he kisses that sensitive spot underneath my ear. 

“On the contrary, little one. You aren’t spending enough of my money.” he smiles, brushing a hand over the lace covering my breasts and up to my necklace. “I thought you could use some help.” 

“They’re beautiful my lord,” I breathe, feeling him lick a stripe up the column of my neck. 

“The next time I fuck you I want you dripping in diamonds and jewels that I bought you, is that clear?” he asks smugly and I swear if he wasn’t bracing his hands on my hips my legs would��ve buckled. 

“Yes my lord,” I breathe leaning into his touch as I feel him smirk against the shell of my ear 

“Good girl,” he praises me and I feel my stomach flutter once more. “Now I have unfinished business with you.” he growls and my eyes snap open as his hand traces around my necklace. 

“You see last time I was denied you, I had to watch my brothers fuck and fill what’s mine and I didn’t like it very much.” he says dangerously low as his fingers dance over the diamonds around my neck. “Who put this pretty little collar around your neck?” 

“You did my lord,” I breathe as he turns to face me. 

“That’s right I did,” he smiles tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. “And whose money do you spend all around town on expensive wine and shoes?” 

“Yours,” I say, my love drunk eyes boring into his. 

“Good girl,” Rhys smirks, dragging a thumb over my lips. “Now I have need of you but, I’m not done with work.” he says, dropping his hand from my face, making me miss the contact already. 

He strolls around the desk and sits down on his ornate chair again. Part of me wondered what his throne looked like if this was just the chair to his office. I hear his belt unbuckling as he frees himself from his slacks, standing tall, proud and practically throbbing for attention. 

“Come here little one,” he croons as he tugs his cock a couple times in his hand, getting it hard and ready for me. 

I approach him smoothly, I think he wants me under his desk with my mouth on his cock but the second I’m within arms reach of him I feel his hands on my hips. The next thing I know he’s slipping me on his cock like I’m nothing more than a cock sleeve for him. 

“There we go, nice and snug in there,” he smirks, nibbling my earlobe. 

I can hardly think or even breathe from the sheer size of him. I was almost embarrassed that he didn’t even have to touch me to warm me up for him. His words alone had me dripping wet for him making it easy for him to slide right in. 

“Now,” he chuckles, feeling the tension in my body. “I’m going to finish some paperwork and you're going to sit right here and keep my cock nice and warm alright little one?”

“Yes my lord,” I mewled, already sweating, needing him to move. 

“Good girl,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “No talking, no moving, and no touching yourself or you don’t get to cum.” 

I nod shallowly as he begins to resume his paperwork. 

It was probably the biggest exercise of self control I had ever practiced.  I knew how good it felt to ride Rhys, knew how good it felt when he lost control and pistoned inside of me until I fell apart under him. To sit here and be so close to that kind of pleasure? It was torture. 

The ticking of the clock on the wall only furthered my madness. I averted my eyes to where Rhys was scribbling on scroll, the scratching of a fountain pen equally as infuriating. The way his hand gripped the fountain pen, the veins standing out. How could his hands possibly be arousing? Was there a part of this male that wasn’t arousing to me? 

I pictured what those hands might do should they find their way on my skin. Where they might touch first, the ideas had my pussy clenching as I take in a sharp breath.

Rhys’ hand on my waist flew to my thigh slapping it hard, “Bad girl, I felt that,” he growled and I had to bite my lip not to whimper. 

The scratching of his pen on paper echoed throughout the room as I did everything in my power not to move, not to breathe or think about anything but being completely still. 

“150 gold marks at the perfumery huh?” Rhys croons holding the receipt for the perfume I bought two days ago. 

“Yes my lord,” I say, eyeing the receipt that had yet to bear his signature. 

“Let’s see what I purchased then,” he utters slowly, his nose nuzzles my neck inhaling the scent of the new perfume. “Mmm, very nice little one.” His voice is low and husky and I can’t help but clench around him once more. 

He growls, grabbing the back of my neck and hauling me up before slamming my front on top of his desk. On instinct I try to move but I’m held down by his hand on the back of my neck. His cock slips out of me, leaving me cold and empty, I’m half tempted to beg him to fill me again.

“What did I say about moving?” he snarls in my ear, making me whimper.

“I’m sorry,” I mewl, making him laugh. 

“You aren’t, but you will be,” he chuckles. 

His hand grips the hem of the light chiffon of the babydoll and tosses it over the small of my back so he can see all of me. I feel his hand smooth over my bum before spanking me hard. The sting makes me whimper until his hand comes back to soothe over the area. 

Without warning he buries himself inside of me, his balls smacking my clit. The guttural moan he lets out is nothing short of pornographic. I can feel the bulge in my belly that he leaves, his tip brushing my cervix like he did last time. 

He pulls out and moves in slow languid motions, making me feel every harsh inch of him. I’d like to think he’s warming me up but I know he’s warning himself up, this is all about him. 

“Gods your pussy is worth every single piece of gold I pay you? Do you know that?” he growls picking up the pace a bit. 

I whimper in response, feeling him move his hand from my neck to my hip to keep me from lurching forward so much. Out of the corner of my eye I see him shift the receipt from the perfume on the desk and grab a pen. Is he really signing my bills as he fucks me over his desk? The scratching of his signature on the page lets me know he is. 

“Every fucking penny,” he grunts before tossing the heavy pen on the desk. 

The thud of the pen is followed by another grunt before his hand goes to my upper back pressing me back into the desk again. His fingers on my hips and between my shoulderblades keep me from moving even an inch as he pistons his hips into me, a male gone feral. 

“Oh fuck Rhys!” I moan feeling my eyes roll to the back of my head. 

My fingers grab the edge of the desk trying to keep myself from moving too much, needing something to dig my nails into. The sound of skin slapping fills the room as Rhys’ breathing picks up with the rhythm of his thrusts. 

I clench around him and I receive a harsh slap to my behind once again. The sting startles me but fades into pleasure.

“Don’t you dare cum little one,” Rhys growls, increasing his pace. “You were a bad girl, bad girls don't get to cum.”

I let out a whimper at his words. I swear to the gods if this man leaves me trembling on the desk from not finishing with his cum leaking out of me I will lose my mind. I’ll run and find Cassain and beg him to finish the job, which I know he will. Azriel is another story. I think he might end up tying me up and getting off on me begging, hell I might get off on it too.

“Rhys please,” I cry as he presses my cheek further into the cool, smooth wood of the desk. Pens and picture frames rattling off from every thrust.

His hand comes down on my ass again as he pistons into me, searching for his own release. Long fingers dig into the skin of my hips leaving marks in their wake. 

“Are you going to beg little one?” Rhys laughs, thrusting harder making me too dumb to speak. 

My eyes roll to the back of my head as he finds that spot that drives me wild. I’m sure he’s not trying to, clearly just trying to get himself off. Yet somehow he’s fucked me dumb already and I’m a babbling mess bent over his desk.  

“Tell you what if you beg nice and pretty I’ll let you cum?” Rhys chuckles. “Can you do that for me, little one?” 

As if snapped out of the trance I’m in I feel my thoughts come back to my head. I’ll beg for him, I’d do anything for this male. I knew the second I met him I’d be utterly devoted to him if he just fucked me right, and by the cauldron he does.

“Please, please, please, please my lord,” I cry, feeling like a cock drunk fool. “Please let me cum!” 

Rhys chuckles, grabbing the back of my hair and angling my head so my cheek isn’t pressed into the wood anymore. I almost wished there was a mirror in front of us so I could see  the way he’s taking me.

“If you  make a mess, you’ll have to clean it up. Can’t have other High Lord’s coming in here and seeing my whores cum all over my desk,” he smirks fucking me harder. 

A sick part of me wanted just that to happen. Hell let the other High Lord’s watch him fuck me. 

“I’ll be good, I’ll clean up,” I rasp out feeling tears prick my eyes. “P-Please let me cum.” I breathe. 

It suddenly occurs to me that this is truly revenge from our last encounter when I wasn’t allowed to let him cum. He wanted me to beg just as hard as he did that night. 

His hand in my hair tightens, lifting my front off the desk. My back is forced to arch and somehow he’s able to fuck me even deeper in this postion. My eyes fly open and I’m met with a pair of raging violet ones. 

“Couldn't reach that pretty clit with your face pressed against the desk,” he smirks and before I can say anything his finger finds that sensitive pearl between my legs rubbing little circles in it. 

My mouth falls open as the coil in my stomach threatens to unravel. His fingers continue their tantalizing ministrations on my clit. The impressive length of his cock digs deep in my belly. I close my eyes for a moment, feeling overstimulated. The hand he has fisted in my hair shakes as he forces me to arch my back more. 

“Eyes on me little one,” he growls and when my eyes flutter open I see his violet ones staring back at me, eating up every reaction I give him. 

My mouth falls open as I slip back into that cock drunk feeling and his eyes drink me up, seemling getting off on my fucked out face. 

“Yeah you like that?” he smirks, not taking his eyes off me. “You like being my little cock slut?” 

The words falling from his lips are enough to have me coming undone for him in a string of moans and cries. Tears fall from my cheeks, and I swear I feel him lick one up before he slams into me one last time, sputtering inside me so deeply I can feel the warmth coating my insides. 

The grunts that fall from his mouth are enough to make me want more, but as he releases my hair and gravity pulls my body to the desk again I realize how spent I truly am. 

I hear the chair squeak behind me, signaling that he’s sitting down, no doubt watching his cum spill out of me as I haven’t gotten the energy to move. 

“Oh little one you’re such a messy girl,” he teases, running a finger up my folds collecting the mixture of our releases that are there. 

I mewl as I feel him graze my overstimulated clit. I pull my head up to examine his desk, pen cups and picture frames are knocked over, papers are lying on the floor. My eyes widen as I see faint claw marks from my nails in the wood of the desk. 

“What did I say about messes?” he tuts behind me.

 I let my body slink to the floor, hitting my knees at the edge of his desk. He runs a large hand through my hair from where he sits behind me and my eyes come face to face to the mess we made. 

Rising on my knees I let my tongue lap up the salty sweetness of him and that's right in front of me. His hand pushes my head down a bit forcing me to take every last drop. Only when the wood is spotless do I feel him thread his fingers through my hair and pull me back so he’s looking at me again. 

“Such a good girl for me,” he smiles, leaning down to give me an upside down kiss. “Let’s get you cleaned up little one, you’ll sleep with me tonight.” 

I’ll give the High Lord one thing, he fucked like a god, but what he really did well was aftercare. Always cleaning me up and getting me fluids. Holding my shaking body until I fell asleep. Something told me he longed for this type of intimacy as well. Cassian was the same that first night as well. Fetching me snacks and stroking my hair. The mysterious third brother, Azriel, had yet to show his cards. But something told me I’d be seeing him sooner than later.

(If your name is highlighted tumblr won’t let me tag you☹️)

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[greedyhoneyz]

Mama’s Got Her Groove Back. Toji Fushiguro

Change can be a good thing, it can sometimes lead you to the perfect dress.

.ೃ࿔*:･pairing: toji fushiguro x reader .ೃ࿔*:･contains: fluff all around. dad!toji. husband!toji. baby megumi. .ೃ࿔*:･author's notes: enjoy!

The boutique filled with gowns, petticoats and blouses, carries the ambience of pipped music and hushed chatter. It’s hot and stuffy, and yet Toji wades through his discomfort with his son.

Megumi is all too quiet, in his father’s lap, his tiny hands claw at the pile of clothes beside him. He babbles to himself, drool pooling across his chin and shirt, as his hands feather closer and closer. However, he falters back, in cohesion with Toji’s shuffling and finds himself distanced from the object of his affection. The pile of clothes, colours of whites, blues and greens, are further away and yet, the distance fails to hinder Megumi’s persistence. He shuffles in his father’s arms, digging his feet into the palette of his thighs and leans forward. His hands reach out for the clothes once again, his fingers wriggling with delight but he falters back once again, swinging back into his father’s arms.

All through Megumi’s fight for delight, Toji remains silent. His only display of rejection was performed with the swift shifting of his weight, his body mounting to the left and settling down, now a few inches away from Megumi’s object of affection.

He fiddles through his phone, scouring through his emails and texts, before shifting once again in a stop-start fashion.

Their battle persists, Megumi climbing out of Toji’s arms towards the pile and Toji swinging back, scooting further and further away til buttcheek hangs on the edge of his seat. And by then, Toji locks his phone, stuffing it into the pocket of his pants and bares his hands beneath Megumi’s arms. He lifts the boy above his head and hangs him on his shoulder, locking his arm around his hand.

Megumi stills, rattled by the swift change in height but quickly finds comfort on his father's shoulder, absorbing his new perspective.

He mounts over Toji’s head, saddling his fingers into the tresses of his father’s hair and tugs, swinging his little feet as his eyes score across the room, all while Toji watches from the corner of his eyes.

The clatter between metals and fabric echoes the motion of the changing room curtain drawing open as (name) steps out, her hands tugged to her sides.

She tiptoes towards Toji, hanging on the front of her feet, and angles her right leg to the side, unveiling her clothed silhouette to her husband.

“What do you think?”

Her eyebrows draw together and a faint smile pulls to her lips as she watches the expansion of her husband’s irises. They grow large, filling his sclera and rattle slightly, his mouth carefully parting.

Toji carefully stands, his huge stature amassing over (name’s) and steps forward. His eyes rest over her figure, ogling the way her fat smooths out from the beneath the fabric of her dress and the way her curves cling on tight its silhouette before his scar tilts, his lips curving upwards.

“Ya look good, mama.” Toji smirks, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip.

“Really?” (name) giggles, turning her hips. She offers her husband another pose, curving her hands across hips and stomach with a grin.

“Yeah,” Toji hums, watching as his wife pivots for the mirror behind her. She stands tall, his staunch figure veiled behind her, and rocks her figure from side to side. Adorning each of her side profiles to the reflection of the mirror all whilst rubbing the fabric of her dress into her skin.

Joy, relief and a hint of worry is all that glimmers between (name’s) eyes as she stares at her reflection, her fingers toying at the hem of her dress.

“It’s a bit short,” (name) concedes. “But it’s so cute. Perfect for brunch, right?”

“Perfect.” Toji drones, dismounting Megumi from his shoulder.

He holds the boy outwards, hanging the boy in the air and carefully swings him, his babbles shifting to giggles. “What’d ya think? You think mama looks good?”

As if he understood, Megumi smiles, baring his two bottom teeth at his mother and offers a clap, screeching. “Mama!”

(name’s) eyes shimmer at the sight of her son, her smile widening. She scoops him into her arms, tucking her arm beneath his bottom and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Mwah!”

“Thank you Gumi!” She cooes, brushing his baby hair across his head. She rubs his back, planting her chin atop his head and turns back to the mirror once again.

With her child at her hip, (name) stares at her reflection. She’s emboldened, her body forever changed by the wonders of childbirth, is finally perfect, seamless in the body of a gown fit to size. It brings a smile to her face, a jolt to her heart; (name’s) self finally assured and glad.

© greedyhoneyz, 2024

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 14 all chapters

warnings: The Author is choosing not to spoil the chapters with super specific warnings, (honestly they annoy me, sry). From here on out, expect sexual content. This is a yandere fic. If you have squicks, you probably shouldn't be reading this. Ye've been warned. I love you all. Carry on. 😘

-However, when you get back to your hostel, you find the doors are locked. It’s not even that late, and they actually fucking locked you out. Only then do you see the sign outside that proclaims they in fact will do this at the ridiculously early hour of ten o’clock.

“Shit.”

Seemingly calmer now, John slings an arm around your shoulders against the night’s chill. “I’ll get you a room in my hotel;” he promises. “It’s my fault I kept you out so late.”

You would be a liar if you pretended you did not consider the possibilities of this arrangement.

John is staying in a beautiful old boutique hotel with an ornate carved stone façade and wrought iron balconies. As it turns out the room directly next to his is vacant. A miracle, considering it’s the height of the season. He takes you up to get you settled, and brings you one of his t-shirts to sleep in.

Somewhere along the way he’s lost his suit jacket and tie, and you are hypnotized by the sight of him in just his shirt, his trim waist on display.

“Will you help me with my zipper?” you ask. You’re not being completely conniving. A kind comrade at the hostel did assist you in getting dressed in your dorm room.

He helps you like a gentleman with no real funny business, pulling the fine fastening down. You know he can’t help but brush the bare skin of your spine a little with his fingertips, but it is a fight not to squirm with the desire that small touch ignites within you again, moist heat pooling between your thighs. When he finishes the gesture with a seemingly innocent caress of the tops of your shoulders, you burn.

You turn in his arms, feeling the dress falling down your shoulders as you do, and stand on tiptoe to press your lips to his. He freezes for a single moment before his arms wrap around you in answer, holding you so hard you fear your bodies might fuse. He kisses you like he intends to eat you, his tongue sweeping your mouth and warring with yours, his teeth grazing the swell of your lower lip.

A part of you wonders how long its been, since he’s touched a woman. Since his wife passed? Is that why his hands shake as they slide into your hair, pulling just hard enough to get your attention? His mouth finds the line of your neck, branding you with kisses on your sensitive skin. Somehow, your hands work just enough to undo the first three buttons of his shirt, before he catches your mitts in his.

“Wait…” It is hard to tell if it is a request or an order, caught between a pant and a growl. He kisses you again, bending you over backwards and stealing your breath away. “You have had a lot to drink, and I am trying to do this the right way, and I am barely holding on. Please, y/n.” He presses his forehead to yours, as though he can will you to understand what is going on in that mysterious mind by osmosis alone.

“It’s ok,” you try to soothe him, hardly recognizing your own voice. “I want you. I want you so much, and for so long…” If he thinks this all was just a whim of yours brought on by too much alcohol, boy is he mistaken.  

A yip of surprise escapes you as suddenly he lifts you in his arms, as though you weigh nothing at all, carrying you to the bed and pressing you down into the soft mattress with hands on your shoulders, breathing heavily. You reach for him again, starving little thing that you are, but he catches your hands in his. “Stop.”

Thoroughly chastised, you freeze. Again, there’s that steely tone. Wide eyed, you look up at him, his hair a wavy mess from your fingers, his shirt half undone. He is beautiful, and there is something wild in his eyes that takes your breath away.

You are so confused. What did you do wrong?

He lets out a ragged sigh as he straightens, running his fingers through his hair.  

You are soothed a little, when he touches your lifted knee lightly, running fingertips down the blade of your bare shin. With precise fingers he unties the bows of your shoes at your ankles, removing them from your feet and setting them on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The moment his hands are absent from your skin you whine, knowing you sound like a cat in heat, but absolutely too drunk on desire as much as booze to care.  

“Shh,” he says, gentler this time. “We can talk about this in the morning. Right now, you need to get some rest.”

He touches your bare foot, tracing the arch, dwarfing it in his big hands, before turning to go. You sense you really are about to lose him for the night, and in your desperation you play your last card, not knowing where you get the cheek or the bravery to do so.

“But Mr. Wick…” you whine, and he freezes in his tracks. You can see the tension thrumming between his powerful shoulders, fighting with the decision to stay or to go. “Sir, haven’t I been a good girl?”

He turns back to you then, those burning dark eyes narrowed down at you. Just that single look floods you with a searing wave of heat, and you soak through your panties for the umpteenth time that evening. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the agonizing ache this man inspires between your legs.

You’ve never actually done this before with a man, but some woman’s intuition in you knows that at last, you’ve got him in the bag.  

“Young lady, do you know what game you’re playing?” he warns, taking a step closer to the bed.

Maybe he’s right to caution you, but you’ve come too far now to care. “I need you.”

At least that much is true.  

He lets out a shuddering sigh, taking the remaining step to bring him back to you. You reach for him as he bends down, but he catches your hands again with a tut-tutting sound. You are beginning to think he doesn’t want you to see what’s beneath his shirt—which seems absurd, because from what you felt he’s fucking gorgeous and frankly, way fitter than you.

“These stay here,” he directs, pressing your hands above your head. His tone is not harsh this time, but low, still unyielding as stone. You reckon he’s a man who is used to being obeyed. It’s not your strong suit, but there is something buried in you that finds this new game unusually titillating.

“Or what?”

This wins you a dark little chuckle that lifts the hairs all over your body.

“Or, else.”

Something in that last word makes you squirm, and again you press your thighs, the ache you feel there bordering on pain. “Okay,” you agree breathily, too crazed by lust to care how ridiculous you must sound.

Finally, his lips are on yours again, a soft kiss with the barest slide of tongue that only leaves you wanting more, your nipples drawn to painful peaks. You whimper as he withdraws to kiss your throat, then lower on your chest.

“Shh, you needy thing,” he admonishes softly. “Good girls don’t whine.”

Somehow you manage to catch your next little sound in your throat, though it still comes out a strangled peep. You feel him smile over your breast, before he gives the bodice of your dress the slightest tug. In your current state it’s all it takes to bare your pebble-hard nipple to him, which he kisses with tenderest care, flicking his tongue over the bud. It sends spears of pleasure straight to your loins, and in that moment you think you really might die from wanting this man. You writhe beneath him, and without thinking your fingers find their way to his hair, grabbing soft fistfuls of dark curls in your desperation.

Immediately, he stops.

“What did I say about those?”

Suddenly you are on the edge of tears.

“I can’t….”

He stands, and you watch with fascination as those sure fingers flick open the silver buckle of his belt. He whips the leather from the loops with a crack. The sound startles you, your heart skipping a beat in your chest. The tent in his pants is more than impressive, but there is a sharp glint in his eye, and you can’t help but worry a little about what he intends to do with that belt.

With the leather doubled in his hand he caresses the line of your shins. You cannot help but part your legs a little, and he smiles. It’s almost a cruel curl of lips, but you are a broken thing, and all you can manage is anticipation mixed with the slightest bit of fear for what he has planned for that designer strip of leather.

“You will,” he corrects you, looping the belt around your wrists and making a knot. It doesn’t hurt, but…you are genuinely trapped. “Where do these go?”

With a sigh you return them above your head.

“What was that?”

“Here, Sir.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Those four words utterly wreck you.

He returns his attention to your bent legs, his fingertips ghosting up your thighs, higher and higher to disappear under the lace of your skirt. You sigh with relief when his fingers hook in the sides of your silk panties, slowly drawing them down your hips. He smiles wickedly at the damp little bundle in his big hand.

“These are ruined.” He sounds so very pleased about it as he slides them into his pocket.

“Before we even went to dinner,” you confess, and it’s absolutely true. The sharp look he pays you is a breathtaking mix of awe and hunger.

“You really want me so much?” There is an incongruous vulnerability in this question that tugs at your heartstrings, as though he can hardly believe it.

At this point, you might as well go for broke. Maybe he’ll feel less like he’s taking advantage of you if you admit, “I’ve missed you. From the moment I left I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

  A pained sound escapes from low in his throat at hearing it, and he sits on the bed beside your feet, his touch agonizingly light upon the backs of your calves. He meets your eyes unwaveringly as he pushes your legs apart, gentle but exacting.

You are putty in his hands.

He ducks to kiss just the inside of your knee, lingering there as he looks down upon you completely bared to him. You are sure he can see your folds glistening and swollen, needing him with every iota of your being.

Yet he sits completely still, and the next sound you make more resembles a frustrated little snarl.

“Did you just growl at me?” You can tell by his voice that he is inwardly laughing at you.

Wondering what punishment that would entail, you hold your breath to stay silent.

He ducks lower then, nipping at the inside of your thigh with a harsh little suck, and you know there will be a bruise there in the morning.

“You’re like a fierce little kitten with her claws out. Big eyed and soft and so fucking adorable.”

You’re not sure if you like this or not, but his mouth continues downward, and as he nears the apex of your thighs you forget all about it. When his tongue touches your clit you make a sound like a sob; you’ve never felt anything so good in your life. He circles you slowly, paired with hard laps of the flat of his tongue, and you cannot help but arch into him. The sliding pressure of one of his long fingers inside you is heaven, and yet somehow, not enough.

“God, I want you,” you plead as you writhe against his skilled ministrations. “Let me cum on your big cock buried inside me?”

He makes a low sound deep in his throat in answer, the vibrations themselves are nearly enough to push you over the edge. You feel him shake his head no slowly in answer, his tongue a menace and a marvel as it kneads your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Please?”

You forget everything in the throes of your desire for him, maybe even your own fucking name, and that is when you make the mistake of moving your hands again, touching his soft hair with your fingertips to get his attention.

He looks up at you then, and you’re not sure how just the lift of an eyebrow can communicate such volumes, but as his eyes meet yours you know you fucked up.

He abandons you in your need, standing beside the bed again. You are too astonished to say anything, just watching him in pure agony. His eyes flick to your wrists, as though he’s considering leaving you trussed like a Christmas goose, before he releases the belt with two sharp tugs.

“We can try this again tomorrow.”

“John…” you’re finally able to protest, hating the broken sound of your voice, your every nerve at painful attention. “Mr. Wick…”

He doesn’t look back until he reaches the door, turning to look over his shoulder with his hand on the handle. He brings his index finger to his mouth, licking the juices you left there, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Don’t even think about touching yourself. That sweet little pussy is mine.”

Shocked and dumbfounded, you watch as he makes his exit through the adjoining door, and locks it behind him. You hear the click, and in all your frustration you throw a pillow across the room, certain he can hear your enraged little shriek.

He makes no answer, letting you stew in the anguish of your unfulfilled desire.

[bunnyrafe]

oh my gosh all the pink in that moodboard. that baby is about to be spoilt rotten :(( he would 100% be the type to see a cute outfit and buy it peaches she would look so cute in this (!!!) and peaches would see the price tag and it's like close to a hundred dollars (because obviously rafe would drag her into one of those fancy baby boutiques that sell 100% organic cotton onesies next to a rack of baby Dior) and she'd be like we don't need that, honey. she'll grow out of it in like a month. but he's already walking to the next rack with the dress tucked under his arm, pushing the stroller :((

the single mom!reader & older!rafe AU is so important.

rafe never thought he’d have a chance at having a family of his own— his mom’s gone, his dad’s gone, his siblings have their own lives (and why would they even want to be around him) … but here comes peaches and her baby girl as a package deal. tiptoeing and waddling into his life smelling like baked goods and floral, sensitive skin safe fabric softener. he’s not going to pass up that luck, so of course he spoils them both rotten.

[lovingwanda]

Character Profile: Candice Ann-Marie Montgomery (Candy)

Full Name: Candice "Ann-Marie" Montgomery

Nickname: Candy

Age: 35 years old

Eye Color: Green

Hair Color: Chestnut brown, often styled in loose waves or elegant updos.

Residence: Warren Valley (Trick R Treat universe)

Occupation: Owner Of "Candy's Corner" A boutique shop in Warren Valley.

Family Background:

Mother: Eleanor Montgomery, a dedicated homemaker who infused warmth and creativity into her family's life. Eleanor encouraged Candy's love for fashion and instilled the importance of self-expression through clothing and personal style.

Father: Robert Montgomery, a decorated veteran of both World War I and World War II, who returned home with a deep sense of duty and responsibility. His strong work ethic and focus on discipline influenced Candy's determination to succeed. However, his experiences in war left him emotionally scarred, leading to periods of withdrawal and difficulty in expressing his feelings, which strained their family dynamic. Despite the pride associated with his military accolades, the toll of his service created a complex relationship for Candy, as she struggled to reconcile the heroic image with the reality of his struggles with PTSD.

Siblings: Candy is an only child, which fueled her ambition to excel and fulfill her parents’ high expectations. Growing up without siblings allowed her to develop independence early on, often planning her own activities and social events.

Marital Status: Widowed

Late Husband: Nathaniel "Nate" Carter, a kind-hearted man who supported Candy's dreams. They were married for four years before his untimely passing due to an unexpected illness. Candy often reminisces about their adventures together, and Nate’s encouragement helped her build the confidence to pursue her aspirations.

Would-Be Child: They were expecting their first child, whom they named Lily, but Candy suffered a miscarriage during the first trimester. The loss deeply affected her, instilling a sense of fragility about life that she channels into her work and relationships.

### Backstory:

Candy grew up in a tight-knit suburban community in the late 1940s, where individuality and creativity were cherished. Heavily influenced by her mother’s role as a homemaker, she learned early on how to throw vibrant gatherings and events that brought people together. Candy's childhood was filled with color and warmth, as her mother often organized neighborhood events and holiday celebrations, cultivating a sense of community.

Her father's experience as a decorated veteran of two world wars instilled in her a sense of respect for duty and service. However, his service left him with deep emotional scars, leading to difficulties with intimacy and emotional expression. While she admired his bravery and accomplishments, she often felt the weight of unspoken expectations and the burden of his unresolved trauma. As a child, she found herself tiptoeing around his moods, desperately wanting to support him but often feeling helpless to alleviate his pain. This dynamic taught her resilience but also instilled a sense of responsibility and fear of vulnerability.

After high school, Candy attended a local community college, where she studied fashion design and business management. Her education sparked a passion for style and entrepreneurship, leading her to envision a future where she could combine both. Upon graduating, she worked in various retail settings, honing her skills in customer service and fashion merchandising. Her outgoing personality and flair for connecting with people made her a natural fit in these roles.

Candy and Nate decided to travel together, exploring America’s vibrant culture and fashion scene. Their adventures deepened their bond and ignited Candy’s desire to create a space that reflected her vision of community and creativity. Tragedy struck when Nate fell ill. His unexpected passing was a devastating blow, leaving Candy grappling with her grief. The emotional toll was compounded by the loss of their unborn child, an experience that shattered her dreams of family and stability. Yet, through the darkness, she resolved to honor Nate’s memory by pursuing her dreams.

### Personality:

Candy is outgoing and friendly, with an innate ability to make people feel at ease. She thrives in social situations, often acting as a mediator and organizer among her friends. Her life experiences have made her empathetic and emotionally aware, qualities that draw others to her. Despite her cheerful demeanor, she is a planner at heart—meticulously organizing her shop’s events and always keeping a detailed calendar.

Candy’s resilience shines through in her determination to succeed despite personal tragedy. She uses her pain as motivation, channeling it into her work and community involvement. Her shop serves as a safe haven for those looking to express themselves, and she approaches every customer interaction with kindness and understanding, hoping to uplift others who may be going through similar struggles.

### Goals and Aspirations:

Professional: To expand her shop into a well-known destination for fashion enthusiasts, offering unique pieces and community events that inspire creativity and connection.

Personal: To heal from her past losses while finding ways to keep Nate’s memory alive. She dreams of one day starting a family again when she feels ready, nurturing her own legacy and possibly naming a future child after Lily.

### Conclusion:

Candy’s story is one of resilience, creativity, and connection. She embodies the spirit of a social butterfly, using her charm and planning skills to create a welcoming environment for others. Her journey from grief to self-motivation illustrates her strength and commitment to living life to the fullest, making her a beloved figure in her new community.

### About "Candy's Corner"

In Warren Valley, within the Trick 'r Treat universe, Candy currently owns and operates a charming boutique called "Candy's Corner." The shop specializes in unique, handmade clothing and accessories, embodying her flair for fashion and creativity.

### Details about Candy's Corner:

Theme: The boutique features a whimsical and nostalgic aesthetic, blending 1970s styles with seasonal decorations, particularly for Halloween. The shop transforms into a festive haven during the fall season, showcasing costumes, spooky decorations, and autumn-themed clothing.

Community Hub: Beyond being a retail space, Candy's Corner serves as a social hub for the community. Candy often hosts events, such as crafting nights, fashion shows, and seasonal celebrations, where locals can come together to share ideas and support each other.

Focus on Sustainability: Candy is passionate about sustainability and often sources materials from local vendors, promoting eco-friendly fashion. This aligns with her values of community support and responsible living.

Mentorship: She also takes on a mentorship role for young aspiring designers and seamstresses in the area, encouraging them to express themselves through fashion and creativity.

### Conclusion:

Overall, Candy's Corner reflects her vibrant personality, love for fashion, and dedication to building connections within Warren Valley, making it a beloved establishment in the town.

[dk-thrive]

If you were to ask me how I found my way through the most difficult parts of my life, I would tell you this, ‘I pay attention to beauty’. And by this, I mean that I have taught myself how to look for the details that make up the delicate bones of the world around me, the things that tiptoe quietly on gentle feet, that don’t announce their presence in a loud voice ...

— Liezel Graham, from "When Life is Darkest" in Stripped: Poems (Quiet Rebel Press, July 14, 2021) (via Make Believe Boutique)

[landhoe-norris]

For the prompt list, can you please do #2 + Carlando? I think it would fit them so well, since lando always looks cold and Carlos is just so touchy

"your hands are warm"

Monaco’s usually mild evenings had taken an unexpected turn. The palm trees along the boulevard rustled in the chilly breeze, and the sea, though still shimmering under moonlight, looked less inviting than usual. The cosy cafes and boutique shops had their heaters on, casting a warm orange glow on the pavements.

Lando and Carlos, after an intimate dinner, had been wandering along the seafront. The lights from the yachts in the harbour shimmered on the water, casting a serene glow that contrasted with the cool air. Jazz music wafted from a nearby café, blending seamlessly with the distant hum of the ocean waves.

Lando, always one to believe in the persistent warmth of Monaco, was clad in a light shirt and was now regretting his optimism as he felt the uncharacteristic cold nip at his skin.

Carlos, wrapped comfortably in a jacket, shot a teasing glance and chuckled softly, “You and your belief in the eternal Monaco warmth. I thought Brits were used to the cold!”

With a sheepish grin, Lando replied, “In my defence, who expects Monaco to be this chilly?”

Seeing his discomfort, Carlos instinctively drew Lando closer, their bodies naturally fitting together. “Better?” he asked, his voice holding a tender note.

Lando nodded, nestling further into the embrace. They continued their walk, now in sync, the warmth between them building with each step. At a particularly secluded spot, they paused, captivated by the reflection of the stars on the gentle waves. Without thinking, Lando intertwined his fingers with Carlos’. Feeling the surprising warmth of Carlos’ hand, he looked up, their eyes meeting. “Your hands are so warm,” Lando whispered, the emotion evident in his voice.

Carlos, his gaze locked onto Lando’s, responded with a voice full of emotion, “It’s not just my hands, Lando. It’s everything I feel when I’m with you.”

Lando stood on his tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss on Carlos’ lips. As they pulled away, Carlos whispered with a grin, “Guess we’ve found a better way to stay warm.”

With their fingers intertwined and smiles that wouldn’t fade, they started to walk back home, each thinking of the many different ways they’d keep each other warm that night.

[saintsmith]

The descending lift was claustrophobic. The landsaint was becoming an under-landsaint with every jagged tug towards the bowels of the earth. She kept her breath steady and long so as not to panic. A Dromag attendant in the opposite corner of the lift had his arms crossed, and she could feel his hot breath, and smell its pungent spiciness.

The light approached from beneath, piece-by-piece with each pull of the chains. (The bigger cities had automatic lift mechanisms, but these were still hand-cranked.) The landsaint must have begun to hold her breath when the light first appeared, because it escaped in a single burst once they reached the lift’s landing below.

The attendant opened the brass-barred door, letting in more light from the landing. “This floor,” he mumbled, well-practiced but bored, “Market. Shrine.” He stood on his tiptoes to check the landsaint’s irises. “You know this. Blest day, saint.”

The landsaint stepped out of the lift, which immediately began to ascend to pick up more visitors to the city’s belly. 

She hated the air down here. Dry and stuffy. Even when the air was cool, it felt hot. She was going to finish her work here and return topside, as soon as possible.

Two half-halberd-wielding Greshtal guards let her through with a nod. The landsaint returned the gesture curtly. Beyond the guarded brass door was a deep-dug city of stone, four stories high, stone stairs winding up and down the sides of stone buildings to stone balconies giving landing for brass doors, wooden planks from surface trees filling in gaps and forming crossings where the stone streets were narrow. Blackflame lamps kept the streets and stairs lit, but the closer to the roof, the darker it became. Up there, tall shadows danced. Only Dromag were short enough for the low ceilings in these reaches, but children of all types daredeviled from ledge to ledge.

The lower two levels were purely commercial, various shops and stores and groceries and boutiques lining the streets and dazzling passersby with brightly painted signs and intricately-woven tapestries. The two levels above were for the homes of the merchants. But not all who did business in this district lived here. Many commuted with their stalls and carts from the lower residential levels via the bigger, industrial lift by the main gates of the surface town.

The landsaint scraped past pedestrians and took in some of the shops and stalls. She saw a smithy selling blades –

– but the smith couldn’t call them blades. It was illegal in this jurisdiction of Kolqust for most tenvo to carry weapons larger than a work-knife. But many smiths circumvented this restriction by selling sharp scraps of bronze that almost looked like blades, but by the precise wording of the law couldn’t be called weapons. All it took was some string, resin, and a suitable length of wood to manufacture a “self-defense implement” at home. The landsaints politely ignored these loopholes; it was their job to enforce laws, not argue them.

– a wooden sign, painted with the words “mostly-meat sausages” (in smaller script beneath: “accepting chit only”), indicated such meats were hawked at the rickety stall where it hung by a lanky Dromag –

– those words being all the butcher needed to claim to bypass a law regulating the use of mineral additives in such products. Dromag had sturdy teeth and hardy stomachs, and could handle a little clay or limestone in their mixed meats. (During ancient times of poverty, clay was a common food source for the Dromag, earning them the now rarely-used sobriquet “clay-eaters.”) Aajakiri and Greshtal, on the other hand, could not digest these things. But when the prices were this low, a chipped tooth or a little indigestion was worth it.

– in a dim corner, lit by an array of colored paper lanterns, sat the waterpipe lounge –

– where the only smoke of griidc could be found in these times, as individual possession and consumption of the narcotic by claypipe had been outlawed by the state about a decade ago, much to the dismay of the large smoking subculture of Kolqust. Begrudgingly, tenvo would pay to smoke in these lounges for an hour, taking up their hoses around the communal waterpipe and allowing the smokemaster to supply them with their fix.

– a beautifully engraved storefront advertised “Oshr’s Fine Jewelry.” Through the open arches of the facade were rows of glass-protected counters bearing precious jewels, rings, necklaces, bracelets, anklets, torques, tiaras, and more. In the back, at a counter operated by Oshr herself, a beautiful face-painted Aajakiri, were displayed the finely cut, delicately-faceted receptacle gems for spirits, future thoughtstones –

– illegal to fill without saint sanction, but not illegal to cut and sell beforehand. Only saints or temple priests are allowed to capture spirits or sell thoughtstones.

The landsaints brow-plates flexed as she listened vaguely in the direction of the jeweler’s shop. Something tickled her brow-plates, and she focused on it.

It spoke of mastery. It spoke of a job well done, a product complete. Satisfaction – of the mind and the chit-purse. A deal. A transaction. A bargain sworn.

The landsaint squinted at Oshr. Her neck gleamed with a brilliant ruby. Personal thoughtstone. Not for sale.

The landsaint’s brow-plates resumed a neutral position as she carried on down the street. Finally she reached her destination: the town shrine. Its set of concentric walls were beautifully engraved and brightly painted, the outer ring etched with the laws of the priests of Raam. The landsaint ascended the radial stairs, passing one circular gate as she did, leaving behind the first circle, representing Uodh, the Void. The next ring depicted the victories of local saints throughout history – this circle represented Uorh, the Word. She passed its gate, leaving her one more circle to pass – Eilh, the World – displaying the triumphs and tribulations of Raam before he ascended to bring the day. Its gate had a door, which she slowly pushed open to enter the outer sanctum, where only priests and saints could pass.

A fairly reverent tenvo, the landsaint closed the door tightly behind her. She had expected to be greeted by a priest as soon as she entered, but none appeared; all that welcomed her was the floral scent of welic incense smoke wafting from censers hanging from the high rafters. Taking a left, she walked the circular corridor, lined with shelves bearing sacred scrolls, tomes, and tablets, until she came back around to the Eilh gate. She doubled back, but stopped as she met the Raam gate, a tightly shut door to the inner sanctum, halfway down.

Her brow-plates widened, and she swallowed deep. The door of the Raam gate was of plain wood, ornamented only with a single sacred symbol etched in gold in the center. Hand shaking, she reached out for the handle…

The door burst open from the inside, and a priest rushed out. It was Jark, coadjutor of the shrine’s chief priest. The landsaint’s hands were safely behind her back, but she did catch a glimpse of the black velvet curtain behind Jark shifting – the last barrier between unsanctified eyes and divinity.

“Imreb!” snapped Jark as he nearly ran into her, clutching his chest with his large Dromag hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you, Holy,” Imreb replied.

“You’ve been waiting?” stormed Jark as he pushed Imreb from the Raam gate. “I got so tired of waiting for you that I went ahead and joined the other Holies for evening communion!” He made a show of straightening his beard. “Where have you been?”

“Capturing a fallen spirit topside,” Imreb explained in a rush, flustered. “For young Kheloz.” She patted the collection case on her belt.

“Ah, young Kheloz…” mused Jark, still stroking his beard. “I remember being as young and curious as him…”

Imreb wondered if Jark had, in a past life, been a miner, or logger, or wrestler; he had a sturdy physique, and was tall for a Dromag, coming halfway up Imreb’s chest. He was this shrine’s first Dromag priest – they usually selected for Aajakiri with keen brow-plates. But Jark had somehow formulated a roundabout mystical way of interpreting thoughtstones; his rate of success was high enough to be dependable.

“Nevermind that,” Jark said, taking a seat at a bench wedged between two shelves. “Have a seat, landsaint.”

Imreb obeyed, sitting next to Jark. “What troubles you, Holy?”

Jark reached into a pocket of his robes and retrieved a small sapphire thoughtstone. But Imreb didn’t need to attune her brow-plates to hear it speak.

It spoke of tears. It spoke of wailing, weeping. Wet eyes and running noses too pitiful to look at, but demanding attention regardless.

“It’s leaking,” said Imreb, having to fight back her own tears from sympathetic reaction.

“As I suspected,” Jark said with a nod. He extended a massive hand to show Imreb the stone. “See the facets, here? Asymmetrical. Imperfect cut.”

“Where did you get this?” Imreb asked, her brow-plates receding into their sockets, trying to distance themselves from the pained thoughtstone.

“One of your knights confiscated it from an Aajakiri thief. Not sure the original source.”

Imreb leaned forward. “Which knight?”

“Confidential, I’m afraid,” said Jark with an apologetic smile raising the corners of his whiskers. “But it’s not the only such thoughtstone I’ve been delivered. It’s a pattern, now.”

“‘Illicit manufacture and sale for profit of thoughtstones,’” quoted Imreb from the legal code. “Could likely append ‘improper treatment of a spirit’ due to the poor gem quality.”

“Precisely,” agreed Jark. “An investigation is in order. Too delicate for a knight. You’ll handle it personally.” He handed Imreb the thoughtstone, which she quickly pocketed to silence it. “Start with talking to Oshr, the jeweler.”

“You suspect her?”

“Raam, no. Her handiwork far surpasses this. Don’t even suggest that, she’ll just be offended. Be discreet with her. Don’t let on too much.”

“With all due respect, I know how to conduct an investigation, Holy.”

“Of course, Imreb, of course,” said Jark with a gracious nod. “Go. Do what you must.”

Imreb nodded and stood to leave the shrine. “Wait,” said Jark as she was halfway to the Eilh gate. 

Imreb turned back. “Yes, Holy?”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but…the knight who brought me that thoughtstone told me they suspected you. That’s why they brought it to me instead of you directly.”

Imreb’s eyes widened, her brow-plates spreading apart. “Holy, I-I…”

“Don’t worry,” said the Holy with a wave of his hand. “Mortals can be easily mistaken. Would I have discussed this with you if I believed you were the culprit?”

“I suppose not, Holy.”

“Relax, and do your duty, saint.”

Imreb nodded and left the shrine.

- - - - -

Imreb knocked on the arch bordering Oshr’s shop as the jeweler nearly finished shuttering it. Oshr spun around, eyes and brow-plates wide, clutching her chest. She exhaled sharply when she saw Imreb. “Saint! A pleasure. What can I do for you?”

“Evening, Oshr,” smiled Imreb. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind…but first, why are you so startled? What troubles you?”

“Oh, nothing,” said the jeweler with a dismissive wave of her hand. But a flutter of her brow-plates indicated she was lying. Imreb copied the flutter to show she caught on. “Okay,” admitted Oshr. “You are my landsaint, after all…” Oshr looked around nervously before coming closer to Imreb and whispering, “Lately, I’ve noticed suspicious youths leering at my wares from a distance. I don’t see them now, but I’ve seen them the past few nights, around this time. I worry they’re planning something drastic.”

Imreb, a good, stoic landsaint, kept an even expression even at this alarming news. “Do you know these youths?”

“No, no…but…is there anything you can do?”

“I’m afraid not,” Imreb sighed, “without any hard evidence. But I’ll assign one of my knights to keep watch down here at night. Would that make you feel safer?”

“That would be wonderful, landsaint,” said Oshr, smiling wide, her hands clapping together, and her brow-plates raising. “Now, sweet landsaint, what was it you needed?”

“Let’s speak on that inside,” said Imreb, gesturing through the gap still left in the storefront’s shutters.

Oshr nodded and led Imreb inside, closing the shutter behind them. Oshr stood behind the counter at the back as Imreb leaned against it from the other side.

“Allow me to begin by showing you something,” Imreb said. From her coat pocket she retrieved the leaking sapphire thoughtstone, her brow-plates clenched so as to ignore its speech.

Oshr reacted to the thoughtstone’s wailing immediately, her brow-plates seeming to nearly pull away from her face. “Raamfire,” she moaned, “what are you showing me, saint?”

“Confiscated faulty thoughtstone, as you may have guessed.” Imreb set the sapphire on the counter between them. “What can you tell me about its manufacture?”

Oshr futilely covered her brow-plates with one slender hand and delicately plucked the sapphire between thumb and forefinger. She rolled the cut stone between her fingers, eyes scanning the facets. “Yes,” she said, squinting, “there are some obvious flaws here. Rather glaring, honestly. What novice cut this?”

“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me,” Imreb sighed. “Do you know any local…amateurs or enthusiasts?”

“Well…there’s of course the topside jeweler, Glaa’ib, but while insufficient to my skill –” she made a sour face “– he is not this bad…I believe he took on an apprentice lately, but I heard they had a falling out. Not sure what happened to him.”

“What was his name?” Imreb asked.

“Oh, I’m not sure…Something like ‘Druugam’ or ‘Mogram’ or…something. I’m sorry, saint, I only know through hearsay from customers.”

“Don’t worry, Oshr. You’ve been very helpful.” Imreb held out a hand to take back the thoughtstone. Oshr quickly thrust it forward, grateful to be rid of it. The landsaint put it back in her pocket, silencing it and pleasing the two Aajakiri’s brow-plates.

“Blest day,” concluded Imreb as she opened the shutters and passed through the gap.

“Blest day, saint,” responded Oshr, who resumed the process of closing up shop.

Outside, Imreb looked up at the shrine at the end of the street. A solemn group of the faithful gathered around the outer Uodh wall: some kneeling with small prayerbooks in hand, counting out repetitions on their rosary belts as they mumbled the words of ancient saints; some ran their fingers reverently over the gold-inscribed engraved laws of the wall’s surface; others partook in heated ritual debate over the dictates of the priests and Raam himself.

Imreb gazed down the rings of the gates and tried to imagine what lay beyond the last, the Raam gate, that she almost caught a glimpse of earlier. She offered a prayer to that vague image and made her way topside to return home for the night.

[love-for-burgundy-blog]

Georgia and Burgundy love to play pranks on each other, this includes pushing each other into bodies of water fully clothed.

One day while on a camping trip, Burgundy was sitting by a pond while her dewott played in the water. Keep in mind that she was wearing her canon clothing. Unfortunately for her, Georgia felt mischievous and decided to play a "little" prank on her frenemy. She tiptoed over to Burgundy and gave her a hard shove. Burgundy squealed as she toppled into the pond which was quite deep and not shallow like a lot of ponds so Burgundy was completely submerged into the muddy and scummy water. When she resurfaced, she was sputtering and spitting out the dirty pond water. She was also swearing french curse words at Georgia who just laughed at her displeasure. When Burgundy came out of the pond, Her beautiful curly purple hair was now messy, tangled with leaves, and sopping wet. Her clothes were not only deeply soaked and clinging to Burgundy's pale skin but they were also slightly muddy and covered in pond scum. She was clearly incredibly grumpy that her fine clothing and hair were now dirty. She looked like a sea monster. Georgia found it hilarious.

"Georgia you imbecile!! Do you have any idea how much this outfit cost!? I payed over 200 pokedollars for it at a specialist shop near the PCA!!"

"Okay sorry I potentially ruined your ugly connaissuese outfit." Georgia replied jokingly and with obvious sarcasm. Burgundy just let out a "hmph" and continued on. After a while, Georgia finally took pity in how grumpy and embarrassed Burgundy was so she wrapped her arms around her still damp body and whispered, "Even if you look like a sea monster, I still and always will love you." In response, Burgundy sighed and returned the embrace, resting her head on Georgia's shoulder. She was still slightly grumpy but the hug from her best friend definitely cheered her up. Also, Burgundy's outfit wasn't ruined, it just had to be washed a couple times to get rid of the pond smell and the mud and scum stains. Even though all worked out well in the end, Burgundy was still going to get her revenge.

A couple weeks later, Georgia and Burgundy were having a picnic by the lake along with Trip. Eventually, Georgia went to stick her feet in the lake and Burgundy knew this was the perfect opportunity for Georgia to pay her recompense. She quietly walked toward Georgia and gave her a hard but painless shove causing Georgia to shriek as she toppled into the lake with a splash. Georgia rushed out of the lake as quickly as she could but her hair and clothes were already sopping wet and we're sticking to her like an extra skin layer.

"Burgundy what was that for?! Now my favorite dress is ruined!!" Burgundy just smirked.

"Well maybe you shouldn't have pushed me into that pond a couple weeks ago. My outfit was almost ruined and I needed it's for my profession you know." Burgundy replied shamelessly. Georgia was right unfortunately, her cute teal flowly sundress which she bought due to Bianca's recommendations was now permanently ruined due to the lake water so Georgia had to toss it. She was devasted and frustrated about the whole thing so Burgundy decided to make her feel better. "Hey, I apologize for ruining your dress but you could always buy a new one", Burgundy suggested.

"I know but it was my favorite summer dress.", Georgia muttered with disappointment. That's when Burgundy decided what she had to do. She went out to a boutique in Castelia City and bought a sundress which was very similar to Georgia's now defiled one. When Georgia saw it, She engulfed Burgundy into a tight embrace and kissed her on the cheek. "Burgundy, you didn't have to do this for me but thank you. You are the best friend ever.", Georgia praised. Burgundy smiled, giggled and hugged Georgia back.

"Bien sûr, anything for my favorite partner in Crime.", she replied.

@owls-den you might like this!! ❤️💜

[mournfulminds]

╱ starter for ❪ @emeraldhazes​ ❫ .

She had not been to Daegu prior, despite it being on her list of places to visit and seeing how she was in Fukuoka for a meeting ─ about a two-hour plane away Carys decided to make the precise sojourn, the vast city greeting her with a modest summer day. What drew her to such an area was nameless, chalking it up, in part that she had been to almost every major municipal in the world, and was now dwindling down to smaller cities in countries, and also that she could use a few days off work. Sitting in her hotel room, Carys was drying her hair and researching attractions when she gave up with a defeated sigh and resolved to ask the concierge at the front desk. They had suggested she try Dongseong-ro, a street composed of five department stores, and a plethora of markets, since even when she was not working, she was working, a nasty habit she could only try and blame on her parent's example.

There were already throngs of people milling about when she arrived, stopping in a couple perfume boutiques and facial stores before she came across a large crowd in particular that was loitering outside a store that sold sunglasses or purses, blocking Carys' path. She stood on her tiptoes in a fruitless endeavour to see what was happening, before she spotted familiar features, eyebrows creasing as she weaved her way further into the converge. Her original struggle was to make her way through and escape whatever sort of event was going on but it was all lost when she tripped over another, the contents of her bag spilling over the sidewalk. Dark hues swept up as Carys noticed another appear before her; Ivy, looking as perfect as ever. Was this whole event for her? Carys rarely checked social media to keep up with what was going on in people's lives, really only for work, but she plays the shock off as she offers the younger woman a smile. "You know if you just wanted my attention, there were easier ways than to schedule an event or whatever in your hometown," the older woman joked, instantly recalling what the other had said of this place in the past. "As always, you look like an absolute dream Ivy. I presume these gathers of fans are on your behalf."

[anavilante]

December Drabble Marathon 21/31: Choosing Gifts

AU: Modern Established Relationship

Word Count: 2.4К

Summary: John and Gale are picking out gifts for each other.

The shopping mall buzzed with holiday excitement. People were frantically searching for gifts for their loved ones, storefronts shimmered with lights, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of cinnamon, pine, and hot chocolate.

John loved it all: the holidays, the crowds of inspired people, and the chance to watch someone making a last-minute choice between a toy for their child or a long-legged angel figurine to decorate their Christmas tree. Navigating through the crowd was as natural to him as breathing. Tall, energetic, and broad-shouldered, he looked like he was built to confidently sail through this living ocean. Sometimes, he even stood on tiptoes to get a bird’s-eye view of the mall and spot the most vibrant or interesting spots.

Gale, however, calm and introverted, would have preferred to stay home. He imagined himself sitting on the couch, legs crossed, with a laptop on his knees, scrolling through online shops in the quiet of the night, a cup of hot chocolate within reach. Every item could be carefully examined, specifications reviewed, and customer reviews read. Most importantly—no crowds.

But John was John. And now he moved confidently ahead, clearly enjoying the atmosphere, while Gale walked a little behind, carefully weaving between people. He looked elegant as always, but small gestures betrayed his irritation—adjusting his scarf or grimacing slightly at someone’s overly loud laughter nearby.

“Bucky, I still think we could’ve just ordered the gifts online,” Gale muttered, adjusting the cuff of his perfectly tailored coat. “It would’ve been so much easier.”

“Easier—sure, but nowhere near as fun,” John replied, turning back to him with a wide grin. “Holiday shopping is a tradition!”

“But we’re buying gifts for each other. We’re not even shopping together!” Gale pointed out, furrowing his brows.

“Well, as I walk you to the mall entrance, I get to put my hand on your back and show everyone what a catch I’ve got,” John shot back, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Gale rolled his eyes, but John noticed the tips of his ears reddening with embarrassment.

“You’re impossible,” Gale muttered.

“Am I? And yet you’re still following me,” John teased with a smirk.

Gale held back a smile, continuing to walk behind him while mentally running through ideas for a gift. He had a few options in mind, but he wanted it to be perfect. After all, no one deserved the best more than John.

────⋆꙳•❅*•*❆ ₊⋆────

John was focused as he searched for a gift for Gale. He knew full well that Gale had refined taste and understood that anything tied to elegance and beauty would be a perfect fit. Gale might not pay attention to many details, but every choice he made was always impeccable.

Walking past a boutique, John suddenly stopped. His gaze fell on a display of luxury perfumes glistening under soft lighting.

“This is it,” he murmured under his breath, feeling something click inside.

He remembered how, many months ago, they had walked through a store together. Gale had paused at the counter of this very brand, his fingers gently tracing a bottle. His concentrated, slightly dreamy expression said more than words ever could. It was a rich scent with woody and floral notes: bergamot, orange, and patchouli—perfect for Gale. Later, Gale had spoken about the cologne for a long time but never bought it, saying, “There are more important things than perfume.” But for John, nothing was more important than Gale.

Inside the store, a helpful consultant assisted John in quickly selecting that exact bottle. As John left the boutique with a small bag in hand, he already imagined Gale’s smile when he saw it.

But as he walked out of the store, John suddenly froze.

“Something’s missing…” he muttered, glancing thoughtfully at the displays around him.

His eyes landed on a neighboring shop, where silk scarves were laid out with such elegant precision that they seemed to invite him in. Among them was one—a delicate shade of blue—that seemed made to highlight Gale’s eyes.

“Perfect,” John said with a smile, confidently stepping inside. His mind was already picturing the scarf neatly placed in a box and later, perhaps, becoming part of something far more intimate.

────⋆꙳•❅*•*❆ ₊⋆────

Meanwhile, Gale was standing at a ticket counter, intently studying the schedule on the screen. Finally, he found what he was looking for: two tickets to John’s favorite team’s game, with seats right by the field. After making the purchase, he looked at the tickets in his hand, feeling a flicker of doubt. For him, someone who couldn’t understand the joy of watching sports even at home, attending a stadium filled with cheering crowds seemed almost torturous.

“Well, I’ll survive one evening of his endless sports commentary,” Gale muttered under his breath.

He sighed, recalling how at home, sitting next to John on the couch, he often felt like the grumpy wife in a sitcom—the kind who worries about a turkey burning in the oven or paying off the mortgage, while her husband excitedly explains game rules, oblivious to her lack of interest. “At the stadium, it’ll be even worse,” he thought. The crowd, the noise, John’s endless talk about team strategy—it was bound to be ten times more embarrassing amidst dozens and hundreds of men for whom sports were more religion than entertainment.

But despite all that, Gale already knew he was ready to endure it for John.

Tucking the tickets into his pocket, he took a deep breath and headed to another shop. He spent some time there picking out something special and eventually walked out, as satisfied as a cat with cream, carrying an additional gift for John. His determination to give John the perfect surprise only grew stronger, no matter the sacrifices he imagined ahead.

────⋆꙳•❅*•*❆ ₊⋆────

After their shopping spree, they met at the entrance of the mall. John stood there, pleased and slightly disheveled, wearing a victorious expression. In his hands were two cups of hot chocolate, one clearly meant for Gale. Gale, on the other hand, looked tired but more relaxed than one might expect.

“Tired?” John asked, handing him one of the cups. It was obvious he had bought it moments before meeting Gale, as if he’d sensed he’d need it.

“A little,” Gale admitted, accepting the warm cup and letting the pleasant aroma of chocolate wrap around him. He buried his nose in the steam rising from the drink and felt the warmth spread through him, chasing away the remnants of shopping-induced stress. Stealing a glance at John, he gave him a soft, grateful look, one he tried not to make too obvious. John, as always, knew what he needed before he even realized it himself.

“See?” John said with a broad grin. “I told you shopping could be fun!”

“Too much fun…” Gale muttered, hiding behind the cup and taking a small sip.

“Hey, don’t relax too much,” John teased, smirking. “Tomorrow we’re picking out gifts for family and friends.”

“Oh no…” Gale groaned, nearly choking on his hot chocolate. “Can’t we order online?”

“Online?” John exclaimed in mock horror. “Are you kidding? How else would I assess Aunt Peggy’s bust size without hugging a mannequin in the store? Online shopping can’t offer that! So, brace yourself, soldier—tomorrow we’re back in the trenches.”

“You’re impossible,” Gale sighed, shaking his head. But his eyes gleamed with a faint smile, quickly hidden behind his knitted scarf.

They stepped into the cold evening air, filled with the scents of pine and winter. And though neither of them knew exactly what awaited the other under the tree, they were both certain the gifts would be something truly special.

────⋆꙳•❅*•*❆ ₊⋆────

They sat on the floor in front of the shimmering Christmas tree, exchanging intrigued glances. The gifts lay nearby, their wrapping glistening under the festive lights.

John, beaming with excitement, was the first to pick up a neatly wrapped box and extend it to Gale.

“Your turn, handsome,” he said with a smile.

Gale raised an eyebrow, looking at the gift with exaggerated surprise.

“Wow, a real present?” Gale exclaimed, his eyes widening in mock amazement. “Not your… uh, dick with a red bow? I must say, I’m impressed.”

John snorted, barely containing his laughter.

“A dick with a bow is reserved for later tonight…” he quipped, his grin widening.

“Bucky…” Gale’s tone carried a warning edge, his frown exaggerated but unmistakable.

“Alright, alright!” John raised his hands in playful surrender. “No dicks with bows, I swear!” He paused, his eyes gleaming mischievously, and added with deliberate slowness, “It’ll be without a bow... later. Now, just open your present already.”

Gale rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile as he took the box. He carefully unwrapped the gift, taking his time, but the anticipation on his face betrayed his excitement.

John always found it endearing how Gale unwrapped presents. He didn’t tear through the paper in a rush to get to the contents; instead, he meticulously untied the ribbons, loosened the knots, and removed the wrapping with the precision of a surgeon, ensuring not a single piece was damaged. Every time, this brought a warm smile to John’s face—Gale, who had grown up in a modest household, appreciated even the smallest details, finding meaning in them beyond their apparent simplicity.

Gale always found a use for the wrapping paper: one piece would line the bottom of a trinket box where he kept stray buttons and small knick-knacks; another might be turned into a bookmark for his favorite book; the brightest piece of wrapping paper would sometimes be taped to the wall above his desk, creating a small, colorful corner that reminded him of the holidays.

John found this incredibly sweet, especially when he stumbled upon familiar scraps of wrapping paper in unexpected places. For instance, once he discovered a fragment of shiny green paper lining the bottom of a kitchen drawer with utensils. Or a piece with golden stars, neatly trimmed and taped to the lid of a tin box where Gale kept pencils. These scattered pieces of bright paper brought them back to the joyful moments of holidays past. It was as if Gale knew how to preserve fragments of warmth and magic, even in the most mundane things.

Over time, John had started unwrapping his own gifts more carefully, inspired by Gale’s attention to detail. Now, he too tried not to rip the paper, setting it aside neatly and reminding himself that even in the simplest things, there could be hidden value.

When Gale finally opened the box, his gaze immediately fell on the familiar bottle inside. He froze, his fingers gently brushing the cap.

“You remembered…” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off the cologne he had once dreamed of but never dared to buy.

“Of course I remembered,” John said with a soft smile, proud of his choice. “It suits you perfectly.”

Gale opened his mouth to thank him, but John suddenly hesitated, as though he had something more to say but wasn’t sure how to phrase it.

“Just…” John began, lowering his gaze.

“What?” Gale asked curiously.

John sighed.

“Don’t wear it to bed.”

“Why not?” Gale blinked, his voice tinged with mild surprise.

John lifted his head, his expression slightly shy but utterly sincere.

“Because I love your scent just the way it is. No additives.”

Gale gave a bashful smile before reaching into the box and pulling out the light blue silk scarf. He ran his fingers over the fabric, its softness making his smile widen.

“Bucky… It’s gorgeous,” he said, wrapping it around his neck.

“It perfectly brings out your eyes,” John added, pleased with his choice.

“You’re spoiling me.”

“You deserve it.”

Now it was Gale’s turn. He pulled a large box wrapped in several layers of bright paper and placed it in front of John.

“Your turn. But be careful—it’s fragile,” he warned, a mischievous glint in his eye.

John eagerly began unwrapping the box. He removed the top layer, expecting to find something grand inside, but instead uncovered a smaller box within.

“What the…” he raised an eyebrow, glancing at Gale.

“Keep going,” Gale said, smiling, trying to hold back laughter.

John opened the smaller box and pulled out a porcelain figurine of a white unicorn with golden hooves and a shimmering golden horn. The figurine was delicate, with large, endearing eyes, and so adorably kitschy that John couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Well? What do you think?” Gale asked, barely suppressing his amusement.

“I still think the unicorn’s horn shouldn’t be on its head,” John smirked, turning the figurine in his hands.

Gale snorted and swatted John on the shoulder.

“Pervert! This, for your information, is so you don’t lose your engagement ring!” he said with mock indignation. “Now you can hang it on the horn instead of tossing it somewhere and then turning the house upside down in a panic to find it.”

“You’re thoughtful,” John grinned, examining the figurine. “Fine, I promise I’ll hang the ring on the horn. Just don’t let me forget where I put the figurine.”

Gale sighed but couldn’t hide his smile.

“And that’s not all,” he added. “Look further.”

John paused, his hands rummaging through the seemingly empty box. His brow furrowed slightly as the thought crossed his mind—could this be payback for that time he tied a red bow around his dick as a "gift" for Gale? But then his fingers brushed against something thin and flat.

He pulled out a small envelope carefully tucked into the center of the box. Opening it, John found two tickets inside. His eyes widened as he stared at them, almost in disbelief. Slowly, he raised his gaze to Gale, who sat across from him with a soft smile and a trace of nervousness in his expression.

“Are you serious?” John finally breathed, his voice tinged with excitement. “You’re coming with me?”

“Yes,” Gale confirmed with a small shrug. “I’ll endure all those strikes, home runs, batters, fastballs, and innings for one evening.”

John set the tickets aside, and without saying a word, pulled Gale into a tight hug. He knew how much it must have taken for Gale to decide on this, and he understood that this wasn’t just a gesture. It was about love, acceptance, and a willingness to do the impossible for each other.

“Thank you,” was all John managed to say as he held Gale even closer.

Gale smiled, feeling perfectly happy in John’s arms.

[hautevaux]

@gcldfanged asked: 🎲 MEME: kiss roulette. inspired by the infamous “i want the k” meme by deactivated tumblr user tastcful. send 🎲 to generate a kiss! potential suggestive/nsf.w themes may appear RESULT: A Kiss Along the Jawline || Still Accepting ||

"I do wonder why you keep coming here ~" Vaux comments idly, the line of his gaze currently focused on the fabric pattern in front of him that he is in the intricate process of cutting out. It's late very late in fact, and the door to the Boutique had been locked when he'd heard a tap to the windows out the back - briefly startled before letting in a familiar face. "Other than to request my aid as some variety of decoy in your little... Missions."

He was behind on work, swamped by the upcoming Gala and in need of focusing on the mental mountain of things he had yet to do. Now, however, he was partially distracted and endlessly curious as to what he owed the pleasure for the visit.

"-- so, come on then, darling ~ you must be here for a reason. You may as well tell me, instead of standing there quietly." Vaux continues, deciding to put down his pair of scissors in favour of offering his full and entirely undivided attention. When naught came, his brow quipped once more - folded arms released to hang by sides with a heaved and rather purposely dramatic sigh.

Booted feet approached, long fingers reaching forward to fix his company's lapels, feigning judgment for a passing moment before a cheekier smile drew to features. He raises to tiptoes leans close enough to his breath skates along the others throat before he angled his head, just enough to pepper three kisses along his jaw - slowly.

"All you need to do is ask nicely." He whispers, simply slinking through the archway to collect more material.

[biztradersell]

BizTrader: Revolutionizing Business Transactions in the USA

Are you an aspiring entrepreneur eager to plunge into the dynamic world of business ownership? Or perhaps you're a seasoned business owner looking to gracefully exit a venture? In either case, the spotlight is on Business locations for lease – your go-to platform for buying, selling, and finding the perfect locations and equipment for your business endeavors. In this article, we'll dive deep into the vibrant sea of possibilities that BizTrader offers, navigating the choppy waters of business transactions with finesse.

Unveiling BizTrader: Your Business Oasis

The Marketplace of Dreams

In the vast and often tumultuous landscape of business transactions, BizTrader emerges as a shining oasis, offering a one-stop solution for buyers and sellers alike. Imagine it as the bustling marketplace where dreams are exchanged, and ambitions find their perfect match. Whether you're yearning to sell your thriving coffee shop or scouting for a quaint bakery to call your own, BizTrader is the compass guiding you through this labyrinth.

Why BizTrader?

Diverse Inventory: BizTrader boasts a treasure trove of businesses waiting to change hands. From small-scale boutiques to sprawling manufacturing units, the platform caters to every entrepreneurial whim.

Location, Location, Location: Ever heard that in real estate, location is everything? Well, the same holds true for businesses. BizTrader not only facilitates business sales but also serves as a compass to guide you to the ideal locale for your entrepreneurial endeavors.

The Ballet of Buying and Selling

Navigating the intricate dance of buying and selling a business can feel like tiptoeing through a minefield. BizTrader, however, transforms this delicate ballet into a seamless waltz, where buyers and sellers gracefully find common ground.

For Sellers:

Showcasing Your Gem: Listing your business on BizTrader is like putting your prized possession under the spotlight. With vivid descriptions, captivating images, and key financial data, your business is presented as the gem it truly is.

Qualified Buyers: Say goodbye to sifting through endless inquiries from tire-kickers. BizTrader attracts serious buyers, ensuring that your business is in the hands of those who truly see its potential.

For Buyers:

Curated Options: BizTrader understands that sifting through an abundance of businesses can be overwhelming. Hence, it employs smart algorithms to curate options based on your preferences, making your search a delightful journey rather than a daunting task.

Guided Exploration: Just as a compass points north, BizTrader guides you through the exploration of businesses with an intuitive interface. Detailed profiles, financial insights, and virtual tours provide a holistic view, helping you make informed decisions.

Finding the Right Location: Beyond Coordinates

The Alchemy of Location

Picture this: You've found a quaint bookstore for sale, but it's nestled in a forgotten corner of the city, far from foot traffic. It's the classic case of a diamond hidden in the rough. This is where BizTrader's emphasis on business locations truly shines.

What Sets BizTrader Apart?

Location Intelligence: BizTrader isn't just about buying and selling businesses; it's about finding the heartbeat of your venture. The platform integrates location intelligence, analyzing foot traffic, demographics, and market trends to ensure that your business isn't just placed on a map but strategically positioned for success.

Hidden Gems: Like a skilled jeweler uncovering hidden facets of a gem, BizTrader reveals the untapped potential of locations. Unassuming neighborhoods suddenly become vibrant hubs for your business to flourish.

The Art of Business Feng Shui

Ever heard of the business Feng Shui? Well, BizTrader has mastered this art, helping you arrange the elements of your venture for maximum harmony and success. It's not just about finding a location; it's about finding the right location.

BizTrader's Location Magic:

Demystifying Demographics: Understanding the pulse of a neighborhood is crucial. BizTrader provides a breakdown of demographics, helping you tailor your business to the needs and preferences of the local community.

Competition Analysis: Just as a chess player studies the moves of their opponent, BizTrader equips you with insights into local competitors. This strategic advantage allows you to position your business uniquely, standing out in the marketplace.

Equip for Success: Unveiling BizTrader's Equipment Corner

The Tools of Triumph

Every business is a symphony of moving parts, and the right equipment plays a pivotal role in orchestrating success. BizTrader acknowledges this, presenting a dedicated space where sellers can bid farewell to equipment they've outgrown, and buyers can welcome the tools that will propel their ventures forward.

BizTrader's Equipment Marketplace:

Auction Dynamics: The platform transforms equipment transactions into a dynamic auction, injecting a sense of excitement into the process. It's not just about acquiring tools; it's about securing the instruments that will compose your business's magnum opus.

Verified Quality: Worried about the wear and tear of second-hand equipment? Fear not. BizTrader ensures that every piece listed undergoes rigorous quality checks, so you're not just buying equipment; you're investing in reliability.

Navigating the BizTrader Seas: Tips and Tricks

Now that we've explored the wonders of BizTrader, let's equip you with some nautical wisdom to navigate these seas of opportunity.

1. Set Your Sails Right

Define Your Course: Before you embark on your BizTrader journey, define your goals. Are you selling a business, buying one, or scouting for equipment? Clarity is your North Star.

2. Dive Deep into Details

Business Profiles Matter: Whether you're a buyer or a seller, invest time in creating a compelling business profile. It's the first impression that sets the tone for the entire transaction.

3. Location, Location, Location

Explore, Don't Settle: Don't hastily settle for a location. Explore the options BizTrader presents, weighing the pros and cons. It's not just about finding a spot; it's about finding your business's home.

4. The Bid and the Brave

Bold Bidding: If you're eyeing a business or a piece of equipment, don't shy away from bold bids. BizTrader's auction dynamics reward the brave.

Conclusion: Anchors Away to Business Bliss

In the grand saga of entrepreneurship, BizTrader emerges as the protagonist, guiding you through the plot twists of buying, selling, and equipping businesses. Like a skilled conductor orchestrating a symphony, BizTrader transforms the chaotic notes of business transactions into a harmonious melody.

So, whether you're a seller looking to pass the torch, a buyer searching for your entrepreneurial muse, or an adventurer in the equipment realm, set your course towards BizTrader. The winds of opportunity are favorable, and the shores of business bliss await.

[lunarscaled]

i want the k via beau weewooweewoo

KISS ROULETTE

#35

-> They had been giving him the benefit of the doubt about it---the whole... physical contact thing. That maybe he was just a little over eager and it would die down, or that they just needed to discipline him when he went to far to understand. That, even if he was still physically interested or affectionate, he would lighten his touch a bit which seemed so callous heavy and unused to gentleness. And for the most part this was true; Beau had politely taken their boundaries into consideration when navigating their comfort, hoping to avoid scolding, and Lyric in turn had grown steadily more comfortable with his presence and sense of touch even for casual instances. It was easygoing, not too involved, and gave Lyric a break from the chattiness of their fellow guild members by sitting in swaths of peaceful silence in the truck, or at the park, or somewhere in the woods where only the crickets made noise. There was only one downside to such an even leveled, easy going interaction: Beau had no issues indulging Lyric in the slightest.

-> It didn't seem to matter what it was---violence with him as the target, wanting a share of something he ate, wanting his attention and subsequent affection to placate their sour mood. If he had time to do so, Beau seemed resigned to doing as he was told, and just when Lyric thought he may be doing so with some reluctance, they were swiftly proven wrong.

-> He wore a half mask to fit in better in civilian clothes---one of those black, medical looking ones people wore when they were sick. It was pulled down around his chin now, out of the way so he could proceed uninhibited, and he had pulled them off the sidewalk and into the shadowed space of an open alley next to some closed boutique shop just as the sun started to sink into the horizon. He has a hand on the back of their neck that keeps them near ( not that he would need it with how they're leaning towards him ) threaded in loose curly tresses and digging into the skin of their neck; he's leaned over and down to fit their mouths together and devour them, the scrapes of his teeth which seemed just a little too sharp to be normal tugging at their bottom lip as he growls into their mouth, suppressed. They feel a shiver run all the way down their spine and to their toes, and it's heightened when his one free hand pushes them firmly against the wall to crawl down their hip and grab a handful of the peek of thigh under the edge of their shorts---it makes them yelp into his mouth where his fingers press into a sensitive, underused muscle, their feet bouncing on tiptoe for just a moment as he gets a good grip ( was it the shorts? they weren't risque---in fact they came about mid thigh and weren't overly tight, maybe around 4 or 5 inches above the knee ) and leans his weight forward into them. Lyric prevents themselves from mewling into his mouth by sheer determination, but the fingers squishing the flesh and the slide of his tongue against their teeth has their face flushed red and their pupils blow. Yes---the fundamental flaw here was Beau had no issues giving Lyric all the kisses they wanted, until they were red in the face and breathless from them. Lyric wraps their arms around the thick of Beau's neck and shoulders to support themselves as the lingering humidity of the day left sweat along their brow, their pulse a steady up-beat in their ears as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss again. Parting and coming together, always acting like it might be the last and then indulging. There is a pleasant warmth in all their body as they begin to purr against his mouth, tilting their head back so he could explore it thoroughly in a way that left them wanting.

-> The hand in their hair slides down their back to grip their other thigh, and suddenly Lyric finds themselves being hauled upwards to sit eye to eye with him, the space between them quickly filled by his waist and hips holding them in place. The pressure of him against them pulls a soft, slanted whimper from their mouth, met by the timbre of what could be a chuckle as they dig their clawed hands into the backs of his shoulders until they think they feel the skin pop. His fingers inch to knead just under the hem of their shorts and make them twist in place, but the pressure of his chest holding them in place against the wall prevents any real leverage. Whatever they had been doing before has long since been knocked out of their skull as they kiss him desperately; when he finally pulls back to let them breath their pupils are wide dark circles under their pretty, long lashes and their mouth is puffy, shiny and wet ( he leans into their throat and drags his mouth over it, but it's just another tease when they bow their spine for him, giving him pleading eyes. )

"Beau---"

-> Even their voice sounds watery and dismantled. He brings his face to theirs and they nudge him with their cheek with a chirp.

"Someone's gonna see..."

[shesaidyesgfo]

Detailed Guide To Cleaning Products

Airbnb’s (ABNB) trendy boutique opened for trading on the Nasdaq at $146 per share on Thursday, jumping sharply above its initial public offering price as traders snapped up shares of the newly public company. Moreover, Snowflake’s public float - which is the number of shares held by public investors - is quite low, with the company offering just 28 million shares or about 10% of its total shares outstanding during its IPO. At any point of time when the shares are quick offered and the same usually are not brought to the exchange, the shares go in for auction. It also helps users for accurate use of data at the correct point of time. Intel shares rose 5% on news of Loeb’s letter and a Reuters report that Third Point had a $1 billion stake in the company. Tesla (TSLA) shares rose to a record high of more than $1,800 per share during intraday trading, after Wedbush analyst Dan Ives raised his price target on shares of the electric car-maker by $100 to $1,900. “We continue to believe EV demand in China is starting to accelerate in July/August with Tesla competing with a number of domestic and international competitors for market share with Giga 3 remaining the linchpin of success which remains the prize that Musk and Tesla are laser focused on capturing,” Ives wrote in the note.

The secret of my success required an earnest and conscientious effort on my part. The average person can get good Free stock Tips and after earning once for the in-house of the stock market, as a part of his retirement strategy or earning real money to buy and sell shares as his primary income. “A lot of people are taking some money off the table in U.S. Don't do this too often, however, or you will be pouring away a lot of the water which will form your stock. Usually, this was in the form of a primitive soap. The decline in the dollar has been a support for gold, leaving the metal 1.3% firmer at $1,931 an ounce. The dollar typically rises when investors pull out of stocks due to its status as a haven currency. A new technique developed at Scripps Research by scientist Peng Wu, Ph.D., aims to change that-offering a new platform that could propel personalized cancer treatments that have been hindered due to the challenges of isolating the most useful immune cells in patients. European markets have been particularly hard hit as the Continent grapples with a surge of new cases.

[solotravelajj]

Paxxio Exclusive Collection, Coming Soon - Online Business

From now until 31 Dec 2020, Tai Kwun Fans are entitled to a set of “Tai Kwun Treats” vouchers, to enjoy offers at designated retailers and eating places in Tai Kwun. So no worries about your finances now as you possibly can boutiques for your favourite fragrance at an inexpensive price. To avoid fights over the funds, you will need to have an open conversation with your associate and finances before you begin buying. Ian Trehearne, department secretary for Gloucestershire, stated sorting places of work have been 'flooded' and had been 'below the cosh' without let up since April. Sorting offices are so inundated that staff are having to stack objects exterior, placing parcels prone to being broken by rain and even stolen. A second confirmed that sorting places of work are so inundated that workers are having to stack items exterior, placing parcels vulnerable to being broken by rain or even stolen. Thousands of presents remain buried in mountains of put up bags at sorting places of work, it has been revealed. shoppers lined up in entrance of upmarket outlets equivalent to Hermes and Louis Vuitton on central London's Oxford Street as effectively heeled prospects emerged with big reward bags.

Coronavirus lockdown rules hammered the UK High Street in November as retail gross sales dropped by 3.8 per cent when in comparison with October. Some customers paused to hearken to music on Oxford Street on the last Saturday before Christmas. Donna Coventry, 52, from Shoreditch was out searching for 'final bits' along with her niece Kasey Louise in case the shops do shut. Massah Johnson (left), 30, stated: 'I'm going away so I needed to do my Christmas shopping for my family in Africa.' Graham Bradley (proper), 57, from the West End, said: 'I like coming out in the mornings as a result of there aren't too many people round. Additionally we completely dig out similar players’ inputs and tune your Magento shopping cart in a prolific method. Linda Wetherall (left), 69, from Rotherhithe, mentioned: 'I used to be worried tier three would impede on purchasing. This is regardless of London, components of Essex and Hertfordshire being underneath Tier Three curbs since midnight, with hospitality venues blasting the move after receiving lower than forty eight hours' discover. However, consultants mentioned there were 2.6 per cent fewer individuals on store floors than final Saturday, with huge drops being seen when compared to the identical interval last 12 months.