#Checkout Efficiency

[bholasidhu]

How Can Tavolope Billing POS Software Enhance the Customer Checkout Experience

In today’s retail world, the checkout can make or break a customer’s opinion of a business. A smooth, fast, and pleasant checkout experience ensures customer satisfaction and repeat business. Tavolope Billing POS (Point of Sale) software is designed to change how businesses transact. Here’s how we do it and what it means for customers and retailers.

Quick and Easy

Speed is one of the key elements of the checkout experience. Long queues and slow transactions will frustrate customers and deter them from coming back. Tavolope Billing POS software is designed to process transactions quickly and efficiently. The simple interface allows cashiers to process sales with minimal clicks, so customers don’t have to wait.

The software supports multiple payment methods, cash, credit/debit cards, mobile payments, and even loyalty points. This means customers can pay however they want without delay and have a better experience.

Easy to Use

An easy-to-use interface is for both customers and staff. Tavolope Billing POS software has a clean and simple design so new staff don’t have to learn a lot. The simplicity of the interface means cashiers can focus on customer service not struggling with complicated systems.

For customers, an easy-to-use interface means fewer errors and faster service. When cashiers can process transactions quickly and accurately customers have a smoother checkout experience. Tavolope’s interface is designed to handle high-volume transactions so you don’t slow down during peak hours.

Inventory Management and Live Updates

Nothing annoys customers more than finding out an item is out of stock after they’ve waited in line. Tavolope Billing POS software has robust inventory management features that give live stock levels. This means cashiers can tell customers instantly if an item is in stock.

The software can auto-reorder stock when it hits a certain threshold so you don’t run out of stock and popular items are always available. By keeping optimal stock levels Tavolope helps you meet customer demand.

Customized Customer Experience

Personalization is a powerful way to increase customer satisfaction. Tavolope Billing POS software collects and analyses customer data so businesses can tailor their services to individual needs. By tracking purchase history and preferences the software allows cashiers to offer personalized recommendations and promotions.

For example, if a customer buys a certain brand of coffee frequently the cashier can suggest related products or upcoming sales on that brand. This level of personalization makes customers feel valued and have a better shopping experience.

Loyalty Programs and Discounts

Loyalty programs are a great way to reward repeat customers and get them to come back. Tavolope Billing POS software has loyalty programs built in so customers can earn and redeem points easily. The software tracks points automatically so no manual calculations are required.

In addition to loyalty points, Tavolope can manage multiple discount schemes and promotions. Cashiers can apply discounts at checkout so customers get the best value for their money. This easy management of loyalty programs and discounts means customers are more satisfied and come back more.

Additional Security Features

Security is a top priority for both customers and businesses during transactions. Tavolope Billing POS software has advanced security features to protect customer data and prevent fraud. The software does encrypted transactions and complies with industry standards for data security.

For customers knowing their payment info is secure means they feel confident and at ease. For businesses less chance of data breaches and financial loss. Tavolope’s commitment to security means a safe checkout experience.

Integrates with E-commerce Platforms

In today’s digital world, many customers shop online. Tavolope Billing POS software integrates with e-commerce platforms so businesses can unite their online and offline sales channels. This integration means a consistent and seamless checkout experience no matter where the transaction happens.

For example, customers can buy online and pick up in-store or return online purchases in-store. Tavolope’s integration means inventory levels are updated across all channels so no discrepancies and a smooth customer experience.

Sales Reports and Analytics

Understanding customer behavior and sales trends is key to a better checkout experience. Tavolope Billing POS software has detailed sales reports and analytics so you can see customer preferences, peak hours, and product performance.

These insights will help you make informed decisions on staffing, inventory, and promotions. By aligning your operations to customer needs and preferences you can have a more efficient and better checkout experience.

Training and Support

And finally, training and support are key to getting the most out of any POS system. Tavolope has extensive training resources and 24/7 support so businesses can get the most out of the software. Well-trained staff means better service and a better customer experience.

Tavolope’s support team is always available to help with any issues or questions so downtime is minimized and the checkout process runs smoothly. This support network is key to high customer satisfaction.

Summary

Tavolope Billing POS software is a powerful tool to improve the customer checkout experience. Speed, user-friendly, real-time inventory, personalization, and security features mean a smooth and satisfying transaction. By integrating loyalty programs, multiple payment methods and analytics Tavolope helps businesses meet and exceed customer expectations. In today’s competitive retail world investing in a robust POS like Tavolope can make a big difference to customer satisfaction and business success.

[mars-ipan]

my fellow anxiety havers what is one of your mundane day-to-day tasks that should by no means be anything remarkable but feels like you are being hunted for sport. i’ll go first: putting all of your groceries on the conveyor belt during checkout is like a long series of quick time events to me

[rahleeyah]

Everybody talks about the desire to be the most fuckable person in the grocery store but what about being the only person in the aldi who knows how the fuck it works

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

The little scanner thing was down today at Stop & Shop which meant I had no purpose.

[fingertipsmp3]

In some other news I am not being assigned projects so for all I fucking know I don’t have a job anymore 👍🏻

[airises]

Sam's Club Revolutionizes Shopping with AI-Powered Exit Technology

“Experience the future of retail! Sam’s Club’s AI-powered exit technology sets a new standard for customer satisfaction.” Sam’s Club has taken a giant leap in retail innovation by introducing the largest-scale member-facing AI technology in the industry! This cutting-edge AI-powered exit technology is transforming the shopping experience, making it faster, more convenient, and more…

[exhaled-spirals]

« Whenever a land hermit crab is lucky enough to come across an empty shell (sometimes because a behavioural ecologist put it there) and if no one else is around, it will stop, take a closer look and probably try on the new shell for size. If it likes what it finds it will keep the new home and continue on its way. However, if the shell is too big the crab won’t pass on by, but will sit quietly next to it, sometimes for as long as 24 hours. In that time other crabs will probably amble past and wonder what’s going on. Then a spontaneous hermit party breaks out. Don’t get too excited, though, because the main thing that happens when hermit crabs get together is they start forming queues.

A gaggle of hermit crabs clustered around a big empty shell will sort themselves out into a size-ordered line with the biggest at one end, leading to the smallest at the other. This orderly formation is called a vacancy chain, and people form them too, of jobs and houses. The crabs work out who goes where by clambering around and feeling up each other’s shells. Sometimes, if there are lots of hermits in the area, several queues will form around a single, large vacant shell and then things get a bit more interesting: a tug-of- war ensues. The biggest crabs will wrestle over the coveted empty shell while the little ones further down the line will shift queues like supermarket shoppers speculating on which checkout will move fastest.

Eventually, one queue will win control of the empty shell and, in a flurry of claws, everybody in the successful line moves house. Each crab slips out of its old shell and into the newly abandoned shell of the crab one place ahead of it in the queue. They all get a new shell, one size bigger, and quickly scuttle off, once again going their separate ways. Behavioural ecologists have worked out that forming vacancy chains provides benefits for all the crabs involved; adding just one new shell can efficiently provide new homes, of just the right sizes, for a whole gang of hermits. »

— Helen Scales, Spirals in Time: The Secret Life and Curious Afterlife of Seashells

[kyrsse]

Hiii I started watching Sakamoto days and immediately thought of Sylus, if you can, can you make a fic about their first meeting but make it mc and sy???Thankyou!! I just love the way u write!

OMG YES!!! I LOVE THAT MANGA (i stopped reading it)

Love at first Aid!

synopsis: Sylus, was the most notorious and formidable hitman in all of Onychinus.No one dared cross his path, let alone challenge him. Women were simply drawn to him like moths to a flickering flame. Yet, none of them ever truly captured his attention. Love, romance, those were stories for fools, not for Sylus. Or so he thought.

wc: 779

Sylus, was the most notorious and formidable hitman in all of Onychinus.No one dared cross his path, let alone challenge him. He reigned supreme, a king in a world of whispers and concealed daggers. Money flowed like a river to his coffers, fame clung to him like a second skin, and women… well, women were simply drawn to him like moths to a flickering flame. Yet, none of them ever truly captured his attention. He was a man consumed by his work, a solitary figure in a world of chaos. Love, romance, those were stories for fools, not for Sylus. Or so he thought.

One sweltering afternoon, Sylus found himself in a brightly lit, decidedly ordinary convenience store. He needed supplies, the mundane necessities of a life lived in the shadows. He moved through the aisles, gathering his items with an air of detached efficiency. At the checkout, he kept his gaze averted, a habit born of necessity. He wasn't looking for trouble, or even conversation. He just wanted to pay and disappear. As he placed his items on the counter, he fumbled for his wallet, and that's when he heard it – a voice as sweet and unexpected as birdsong in a battlefield.

"Hi!! How may I help you, sir?"

He looked up. And the world stopped.

Behind the counter stood a girl. A girl with a sweet smile that could hit Sylus like a supernova. Sylus, the man who could take down a whole gang without breaking a sweat, suddenly turned into a stammering mess. His heart did a little pitter-patter dance, and he felt his cheeks turning the color of a ripe strawberry.  Is this what they call love at first sight? The thought was so foreign, so utterly ridiculous, that it almost made him laugh. Almost.

He was still staring, completely mesmerized, Just then, the adorable cashier noticed a little… uh… occupational hazard on his shirt.  "O-oh no! Is that blood?" she stammered, her eyes widening.

Sylus blinked, suddenly aware of the crimson stain blossoming on his shirt. He instinctively clutched at his shirt, trying to conceal the evidence. He opened his mouth to explain, to offer some plausible excuse, but before he could utter a word, the girl had vanished. She was gone, disappearing into the back room.

He sighed, a sound of resignation. Even his bloodstains scared away the cute cashiers. Why would she be anything but terrified? He found his wallet, threw some money on the counter and left the store, the weight of his solitary existence pressing down on him once more.

"W-wait!!"

He stopped, his senses on high alert. That voice… it was the girl from the counter. He turned to see her rushing towards him, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming in short gasps. Why? Why was she following him? Hadn't she been scared?

She skidded to a halt in front of him, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and… something else. Something that made his heart do another one of those disconcerting flips. She held out a small, brightly colored band-aid.

Sylus stared at it, then at her. "For me?" he managed to croak out.

"Yes," she said, her voice a little breathless. "S-sorry it took me so long to find these… We ran out of other medicines to treat wounds, but I hope this helps." She thrust the band-aid into his hand, her fingers brushing against his. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him.

"Please clean your wounds when you get home!"

He was speechless. He, the most feared assassin in Onychinus, was rendered mute by a simple act of kindness. He mumbled a "thank you" and turned to leave, feeling strangely flustered. As he walked away, he glanced back and saw her still watching him, a small smile on her face. "Be safe on your way home!" she called out.

He gave her a small, almost hesitant wave in return.

Inside his car, Sylus placed his purchases on the back seat. He took a deep breath, his hand instinctively going to his chest. Thump-thump, thump-thump . What was this feeling? Why was his heart behaving like a runaway train?

He drove home, his heart doing a little happy dance. A smile touched his lips as he replayed the encounter in his mind. Sylus, the man who never bothered with minor injuries, suddenly became obsessed with the cleanliness of his skin. After that night, he made sure no one, absolutely no one, even dared to scratch him. The band-aid, still in its brightly colored packaging, remained untouched, a precious memento of a chance encounter, a tiny seed of something… more.

AO3

[oaksgrove]

Oiii, você pode fazer um de Price fazendo compras com a esposa? No mercado! amo suas escritas!

THIS ISN’T A DRILL! I GOT MY FIRST PORTUGUESE REQUEST!!! OMG😭💓💓💓

request translation: “Hiii, could you write Price going shopping with his wife? In a grocery store! Love your writing!”

Thank you so much for your request!💓

The Little Things

Pairing: John Price x Reader

Synopsis: Grocery shopping with John is nothing extraordinary—just another small part of life together.

Warnings: Pure fluff, domestic softness, playful banter, and John Price being the most husband material to ever exist.

Word Count: 905

The grocery run wasn’t anything special—just another part of life together. But that was the best part, wasn’t it? The ease, the routine, the small moments that made up a life shared.

John held the shopping list in one hand and your hand in the other as you made your way through the store, the steady, familiar rhythm of it comforting. It was a slow day, no rush, no mission to get in and out. Just the two of you, picking out what you needed and maybe a few things you didn’t.

“You wrote this,” John murmured, squinting down at the list, “but I can’t read half of it.”

You peered over his arm. “It says tomatoes.”

“That’s supposed to say ‘tomatoes’?” He turned the paper slightly, as if a different angle would make your handwriting more legible.

You sighed, reaching over to take the list from him. “Fine, I’ll read, you push the trolley.”

John hummed, clearly pleased with the arrangement. He set both hands on the trolley handle, steering it steadily as you moved through the aisles. His hand occasionally left the cart to pick out a pack of biscuits or a different brand of tea than the one you usually bought, dropping it in without a word.

“Do we need more honey?�� he asked, already reaching for a jar.

“We have some at home.”

He hummed but placed the jar in the cart anyway.

You rolled your eyes fondly but let him have his way. It was little things like that—John ensuring there was always enough tea, enough honey, enough of whatever made the house feel full and warm.

In the produce section, he stood beside you as you picked out fresh fruit. He reached over, selecting an apple and pressing it gently between his fingers, testing its firmness before handing it to you for approval.

“Good choice,” you said, dropping it into the basket.

He let out a small, satisfied huff. “Years of experience, love.”

Further along, in the bakery section, he grabbed a fresh loaf of bread, knocking on the crust lightly. You raised a brow at him.

“Checking if it’s hollow?”

John smirked. “Checking if it’s fresh.”

You shook your head, amused, as he added it to the trolley.

As you passed by the sweets, you reached for a pack of biscuits, only for John to take them from your hands.

“Oi,” you protested, but he simply gave you a look before placing them back on the shelf and grabbing a different pack.

“Those are better,” he said simply.

You huffed but accepted it. He always had his preferences when it came to tea and biscuits, and you had long since learned to trust his judgment.

At checkout, John took charge of unloading the trolley onto the conveyor belt, his movements easy and practiced. You stood beside him, watching as he efficiently packed the bags, ensuring nothing was crushed. He always took his time with it, methodical even in something as mundane as grocery shopping.

Once everything was packed up, he pulled out his wallet, but you were quicker, tapping your card before he could.

John exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he tucked his wallet away. “You’re too fast for me these days.”

You grinned, grabbing one of the lighter bags. “It’s all the practice.”

Back in the car, as he pulled out of the parking lot, he reached over, resting a hand on your knee. It was nothing grand, nothing extraordinary—just a simple touch, a quiet moment in the middle of an ordinary day.

But that was the beauty of it. Life with John wasn’t just the big, defining moments—it was this. The small things. The steady companionship. The warmth of his hand on yours as you drove home together, groceries in the back, the rest of the day stretched out ahead of you.

As John pulled into the driveway, he turned off the engine and sat back with a satisfied sigh. “Right. That’s the shopping done.”

You nodded, grabbing one of the lighter bags. “Yep. Now we just have to put everything away.”

John reached for the heavier bags, hauling them inside with ease. As you stepped into the kitchen, you grabbed your phone, checking the bank app out of habit.

A new notification popped up: Joint Household Account – Grocery Store Purchase Approved.

You squinted at it.

John, blissfully unaware, was already unpacking the bags, neatly placing everything in its proper place.

You turned to him slowly. “John.”

“Hm?”

“You know how you were grumbling about me paying?”

He glanced over his shoulder, brow raised. “Yeah?”

You held up your phone. “Darling, we used the account.”

John blinked. Then, recognition dawned.

“The account,” you repeated. “The joint account. The one we both put money into.”

A beat of silence. Then John groaned, rubbing his face with one hand. “Bloody hell.”

You burst into laughter. “So all that fuss about me paying first—”

“Doesn’t count,” he grumbled, shaking his head.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, still grinning. “Face it, love. We both paid.”

He exhaled through his nose, but you could see the amusement tugging at his lips. “Fine. But next time, I’m tapping first.”

You patted his chest. “Sure, sweetheart. Whatever makes you feel better.”

John huffed but pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re a menace.”

“And you love me for it.”

He didn’t argue.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth

[strnilolover]

adhd!reader with Matt or Chris when overstimulated

Matt …

There weren’t many time that you easily got overstimulated, they were usually more subtle — easier to deal with right away with some easy fixes.

But, there were other times that every little trigger played into it — and today was that kind of day. You and Matt needed to go to the store for dinner items and other food necessitated and the grocery store was packed when you arrived. People were everywhere — bumping into carts, clogging the aisles, and standing way too close for comfort.

You weren’t one for crowded places — never have been. It made you feel suffocated and stuck in a place you couldn’t escape from. The chatter, the beeping of cash registers, and the squeaking of cart wheels were all blending into a chaotic mess. You had thought this would be a quick trip with Matt, but now it felt like the walls were closing in the longer you were there for.

Your breathing had started to quicken as you scanned the crowded aisle, gripping the cart tightly. You tried to calm your nerves yourself, but it ultimately felt like the walls were closing in on you and there was no room to move. “Do we have everything? Can we just go?” you asked, your voice sharper than you meant it to be.

Matt glanced at you, immediately noticing the tension in your face and the way your hands were clutching the cart. “Hey,” he said gently, stepping closer but not touching you. “What’s wrong?”

Your teeth gritted together which — just made your brain cringe more at the sound and feeling. An unsettling feeling creeping through your bones. “I just — I hate crowded places,” you muttered, avoiding his eyes. “It’s too much. I just want to leave.”

“Okay,” Matt said, his voice calm. “We’ll leave. But first, let’s just breathe for a second, alright?” trying his best to not set you off any further.

“I don’t need to breathe; I need to get out of here,” you snapped, feeling a mix of irritation and panic bubbling up deep in your chest. Your brain was rattling, that gross feeling still coursing through your veins from gritting your teeth together.

Matt didn’t take your tone personally. Instead, he nodded. “Alright. Let’s head toward the checkout now. You don’t have to do anything else — I’ll handle it, okay baby?”

You hesitated, still feeling anxious, but you nodded and started moving toward the front of the store. He walked slightly ahead of you, creating a subtle barrier between you and the crowd, giving you space without making it obvious. At the self-checkout, he took over completely, scanning items quickly and efficiently while keeping an eye on you.

When you finally got outside, the fresh air hit you like a wave of relief. You took a deep breath, your chest finally loosening. Matt turned to you, his expression soft.

“Better?” he asked, keeping his tone low and calm. You nodded, your voice quiet. “Yeah. I’m sorry I got snappy.” you muttered.

Matt shook his head. “Don’t apologize,” he said with a small smile. “Crowds suck. I get it.” You managed a faint smile. “Can we…can we go home now? please?” you asked softly, still feeling the urge to get home to the peace and quiet.

“Of course,” Matt said, unlocking the car. “No more crowded places for the rest of the day. We’ll watch your favorite show when we got home, deal?.”

A faint smile spread across your face — “Deal.”

Chris …

The party had been a mistake. You’d known it from the second you walked in. The music was loud, the crowd was thick, and the energy of the room was chaotic in a way that immediately set your nerves on edge. But you’d pushed yourself to go because Chris had been excited about it, and part of you had wanted to believe you could handle it.

You couldn’t.

By the time the house was packed and the bass thumped relentlessly in your chest, you felt like you were vibrating with tension. Every laugh, every shout, every clang of glass was grating against your nerves, and you couldn’t think straight. You stood near Chris while he chatted with friends, but the words blurred together, and all you could focus on was the overwhelming noise.

“Hey,” Chris said, nudging your arm gently. “You good?” he asked, concern written along his features. He knew something was off — he could sense it in the way your body language had quickly changed.

“I’m fine,” you muttered quickly, pulling away from his touch. Your tone was sharper than you intended, and you immediately hated yourself for it. “I just — I need a second,” you mumbled, already turning and walking off toward the kitchen. You found a quiet spot, a part of the kitchen that seemed to be off limits but you didn’t care.

You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Your breathing was shallow, and your irritation was boiling over into full shutdown mode. You didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to explain. You just wanted everyone, including Chris, to leave you alone.

You were so lost in your head, that you didn’t hear footsteps approaching the doorway. “Hey,” Chris’s voice cut through the fog. You glanced up to see him standing in the doorway, his eyes soft and his hands tucked into his pockets. He stayed where he was, not coming any closer. “What’s going on?”

Your eyes squinted. “Nothing,” you snapped, your voice clipped. “I’m fine. Jus’ go back to the party.” and Chris tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You don’t seem fine,” he said gently, his tone calm and steady. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

You shook your head, your teeth gnawing on your lower lip. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered, turning your gaze back to the counter. “Alright,” Chris said, his voice still soft. “We don’t have to talk. But I’m staying here.”

You frowned, irritation bubbling up again. “I don’t need you to babysit me.” you mumbled. “I know,” he said easily. “I’m not babysitting. Just… being here.”

His calmness started to chip away at your frustration, and after a long silence, he spoke again, his tone even gentler. “Can I help? You don’t have to say anything, but… would it help if we did some breathing? Just to settle a bit.”

You hesitated, still caught between irritation and desperation for relief. Finally, you nodded once, stiffly. Chris smiled softly, staying where he was to give you space. “Alright. In through your nose, nice and slow.” He inhaled deeply, exaggerating it slightly so you could follow. “And out through your mouth.”

You mirrored him, your first breath shaky but slowly steadying with each repetition. He kept his pace slow and easy, his voice a low hum guiding you through it. “That’s it,” he said after a few rounds. “You’re doing great baby.”

And — your chest loosened slightly, letting out a shaky sigh. Chris didn’t move closer, but he tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “Would it be okay if I touched you?” he asked gently. He knew sometimes when you were like this, you didn’t like physical touch — so it was important that he asked first.

You hesitated, but you felt as though it would help more… so you nodded again, this time more confidently than before. He smiled, approaching carefully, his movements slow and deliberate. When he was close enough, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you gently into his chest. “You’re safe,” he murmured softly. “I’ve got you. Just focus on my breathing, okay?”

His warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours helped pull you out of the haze. You rested your forehead against his shoulder, letting yourself melt into the hug as the tension in your body slowly unwound.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt. “I didn’t mean to snap.” Chris shook his head, his hand gently rubbing circles on your back. “Don’t apologize. I get it. It’s a lot.” You stayed there for a while, his steady presence grounding you more with each passing second. When you finally pulled back, his hands stayed on your shoulders, his eyes scanning your face carefully.

“Better?” he asked softly. You nodded faintly. “Yeah,” you said, your voice steadier now. “Thank you..”

“Anytime,” Chris said, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Let’s get out of here, yeah? We can grab food, sit somewhere quiet. Just you and me.” You nodded once more, feeling lighter already. “That sounds good.”

Chris dropped one arm to his side but kept the other resting gently on your back as he led you toward the back door in the kitchen. “No more parties for a while,” he teased lightly, his voice warm. “Just peace and quiet.”

a/n : If this doesn’t seem the best i apologize..i don’t have ADHD myself (at least i don’t think, i’ve never been diagnosed) but i do get overstimulated so i’m going to write based off of how i get overstimulated (i tend to get irritated or shut down and become avoidant) ik there are many many other things ppl do when they become overstimulated, but idk if i could portray them well enough.

[ahhnini]

temperance - frat!rafe x tarot!reader

warnings - rafe being a jealous guy, slow burning with rafe is slow burning, not proofread!

the star / the world / texts pt one

soft classical music played over the shop, you’d just finished a reading with a client and you’re making polite talk with him as you clean your space. rafe was in the back, making himself a cup of coffee.

“i’ve been really interested in these things but never got the chance to do any research, can you tell me more?” your client, derek, asks. you nod your head, showing him to the tarot aisle of your shop. all the meanwhile, rafe is leaning against the doorframe, keen eyes watching over you.

“here are the cards we have in stock! for first time users i’d recommend the classic rider tarot deck,” you pull one from off the shelf, “it was originally made in italy and has the most powerful symbolism. the guidebook that comes with this can be hard to read, but there’s a ton of free guidebooks online. we also have some physical copies of guidebooks if you wanna check ‘em out,” you smile, handing him the box. your hands brush against each other. feeling an electric shock run through your body, you flinch away. derek softly smiles at you, pushing a stray hair behind your ear, and you whisper a “thank you.” you then nod shortly, clearing your throat, “oh, you also need some incense to cleanse them before you begin bonding,” “bonding?”

he follows you to the corner filled with incense sticks, “yeah, so your cards can resonate with you. if you go right into readings they won’t resonate as much and you may get some overly negative readings if you don’t cleanse,” you hand him three sticks of incense, “you can use one, just giving you a couple extra!” you beam, his hand lingering over yours again. he softly chuckles, taking the sticks. “how do you ‘bond’ with your cards?” he asks, taking a step closer towards you.

“usually, after I cleanse them I put them under my pillow and sleep with it. then I start doing a reading on myself and keep doing said reading until everything starts to resonate,” you sigh, “it’s a long process, but it’s an efficient one.”

your lips form a small smile as he nods. you bring him to the checkout counter, ringing up his items, “thank you for your services again today, I really appreciate it. and thank you for telling me more about tarot,” your polite smile widens into a genuine one, “you’re very welcome, derek,” derek hands you a hundred dollar bill, and you open your register to give him his change before he interrupts you, “—you can keep the change,” your eyes widen and you stumble upon your words, “oh—thank you!” he lets out a soft hum, grabbing his bag. before he leaves your shop, he turns around, approaching you again, “I might forget the process of cleansing the cards and bonding or whatnot, so…in case I forget, do you mind if I call you?”

you lightly scoff, a soft giggle emitting from your lips, “smooth,” you click your tongue, handing him a business card, “here, that’s my personal number, but don’t tell everyone that,” he takes a glance at the card before exiting your store, the ringing of the bells overpowering the soft music for a moment.

“smooth?” rafe walks over to you, eyes dark. you cross your arms, facing him. “yeah? it was,” you shrug. he rolls his eyes, “you’re not actually gonna call him, right?” “why not? if he needs help with his cards i’m gonna give help,” you try to squeeze past him, but his broad frame doesn’t let you through. “rafe. relax,” “he was flirting!” his eyes widen and his arms flail in the air. “no shit he was, besides, i’m only gonna give him tarot advi—are you jealous?” rafe’s face turns bright pink, no longer being able to hold eye contact with you, “n-no,” “oh, rafe cameron is jealous,” you poke at his chest playfully.

“just don’t want you to be calling him while we’re sharing a room, I like my peace and quiet,” his voice is soft.

“uh-huh…” you reply, walking back to your workstation as you mumble to yourself, “definitely jealous.”

taglist - @nemesyaaa @julie123456897 @mfdoomdickrider @grxnde-dwt @littlelamy @rafeeekam @xcinnamonmalfoyx

[cherryycassette]

grocery store wife energy – elle greenaway insists on pushing the cart, you insist on sneaking in way too many snacks.

it starts like it always does—elle’s the one with the shopping list, the plan, the reusable bags, the “no, we are not buying six tubs of ice cream” energy. you’re the chaos. the little gremlin trailing behind her in the cereal aisle, silently plotting which snacks you’re going to slip into the trolley when she’s not looking.

she pushes the trolley like she’s handling a mission briefing—efficient, focused, absolutely no time for detours. she checks her list, scans shelves, tosses items in with the kind of precision that makes your stomach flutter. her sleeves are rolled up, her hair’s tied back, and there’s that little furrow between her brows that only appears when she’s concentrating too hard.

you, on the other hand, are already three snacks deep. there’s a bag of peanut butter pretzels hidden under the kale she made you get for “balance,” a box of strawberry pop tarts behind the oat milk, and your crowning achievement—an entire sleeve of mini brownies sneakily nestled next to the quinoa. she hasn’t noticed yet. it’s exhilarating. you’re on a goddamn mission.

“we need chickpeas,” elle murmurs, barely glancing up from her list.

“you need chickpeas,” you grin, looping your arm through hers and leaning your head on her shoulder. “i need double chocolate fudge energy.”

she side-eyes you. it’s the kind of look that says “i love you but you’re testing me,” and also very possibly “i will fuck you on this trolley in the car park if you don’t behave.” you live for that look.

“if i find anything in this trolley that’s not on my list…” she warns gently, her voice low and full of mock-seriousness, like she’s an authority figure giving you a final warning.

“what’ll happen?” you ask sweetly, batting your lashes. “will i be punished, agent greenaway?”

you watch her jaw flex. victory.

she doesn’t even answer—just moves on toward the canned goods aisle like she didn’t hear the filth you just whispered. but you know she heard. oh, she definitely heard. her ears are pink.

you skip ahead of her, grabbing random items off shelves and then dramatically reading the labels like you’re on a cooking show. “what even is tempeh?” you say, holding it like it’s radioactive. “babe. it’s giving... fungus.”

“it’s a plant-based protein,” elle says, deadpan. “you’d know that if you ever listened when i tried to cook for you instead of dancing in my kitchen in socks.”

“you love when i dance in socks.”

“i do,” she admits, finally smiling. “you look like a very cute, very unruly elf.”

you practically preen. but the moment is short-lived, because she rounds the corner and pauses.

she’s spotted it. the brownies.

“babe.”

you freeze like a raccoon caught rummaging through bins. slowly turn. “yes?”

she picks them up. “this was not on the list.”

“it was on my list.”

elle narrows her eyes. “you don’t have a list.”

you grin, shrug. “i have cravings.”

there’s a beat. then she exhales, throws the brownies back into the trolley with a muttered, “you’re lucky you’re cute.” and oh, your heart just melts. because she says it like she means it. like you being cute is the only reason she lets you get away with half the shit you do. like she loves that she has to be the adult, because she also gets to be the one who takes care of you.

you follow her down the aisle with your hands in her back pockets, grinning like you’ve just gotten away with a crime. and honestly? you kind of have.

at checkout, elle does the maths, bags everything properly, refuses to let the avocados get squished. you pretend to help, but mostly you’re just watching her—how her hands move, how focused she gets, how effortlessly she’s taking care of both the groceries and you in the same breath.

you lean in, whisper against her ear, “i snuck in two more things.”

she pauses. turns slowly. “…what?”

you’re already halfway to the car, skipping.

elle groans but she’s smiling, shaking her head as she calls after you, “you are an actual menace, you know that?”

and you yell back, “your menace, baby!”

because yeah. you’re hers. and she's yours. even if she’s the one who carries the bags while you pretend the gummy bears were a necessity.

[ficsloverblog]

Hello, anything about Petunia Dursley and reader ? Reader moving in next to Petunia ? I don’t really have a prompt, I’m sorry. But I love your work and there is not enough Petunia stories out there !

Let Them Talk

Petunia Dursley x fem!reader

A/N: Petunia Dursley is a repressed sapphic. You can try and fight me on this, but you will not win. Also, I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that I teared up writing this….I can’t help myself, I must write redemption for unredeemable characters…Enjoy <3

Privet Drive is unnaturally quiet in the mornings. Not peaceful, never peaceful, but controlled, like silence scrubbed raw and bleached until even birdsong sounds too loud.

You move in mid-March, just as the crocuses are beginning to push through the earth, stubborn and uncertain. The woman next door watches you unpack from behind gauzy curtains. She doesn't wave. You wonder if she's always looked like that: thin, stiff-necked, a jaw clenched with permanence. The neighborhood has a stillness to it, but hers is different. Her stillness is worn, like a dress she never got to take off.

A week passes before she speaks to you.

“I saw the lorry left your bins out,” she says from across the hedges. “They don’t take them if they’re not in properly.”

You turn, caught mid-sip of your tea. “Thank you,” you say. “I’m still learning the rules of the neighborhood.”

She doesn’t smile, but she gives a curt nod, like your answer passed some invisible test. You catch a glimpse of her eyes—green, cold at first glance. But not mean, not really. Just weary.

“Petunia,” she says.

“Sorry?”

“My name. Petunia.”

“Oh.” You offer your hand over the hedge, as well as your name.

She doesn’t take your hand. Just stares at it for a moment, then looks up at you again. “You might want to keep the gate shut. Foxes.”

Then she leaves.

It’s been sixteen months since Vernon died.

A sudden heart attack. No fuss, just a sound in the hallway and the thud of a body hitting the floor. Petunia found him with his hand on the bannister, face turned upward as if surprised by death’s efficiency.

She called Dudley. He came down for the funeral, held her awkwardly when she cried once, just once, then returned to his girlfriend up north.

Now it’s just her and the empty house.

No voices. No footsteps. No arguments over the telly. Even the fridge hums softer these days.

The silence is the hardest part.

You don’t mean to listen through the walls. But it’s impossible not to hear how still her house is. No music. No television. No visitors. Just the muffled scrape of a chair, the low murmur of kettle to stove.

Two weeks later, you pass her at the grocer’s. She’s holding a single apple and a jar of marmalade. Her eyes flick toward you, then quickly away.

You don’t expect her to speak.

But just before you reach the checkout, you feel someone near your shoulder.

“Don’t buy that brand of tea,” she mutters. “It’s bitter.”

You glance at her, surprised. She doesn’t look at you. She’s inspecting a packet of biscuits.

“What do you recommend?”

She considers. “Earl Grey. Loose leaf.”

Then she walks away.

You buy it.

One afternoon, there’s a knock at your door.

You’re not expecting anyone.

Petunia Dursley stands on your step in a pale blue coat, the kind with stiff shoulders and buttons like pearls. She holds a plate.

“I had some extra. I thought—well. I thought you might want it.”

You take it from her hands. Shortbread, delicate and crisp, lined with sugar.

“They look perfect,” you say.

She shrugs. “They used to be Vernon's favorite. I still make them sometimes.”

She doesn’t explain who Vernon is. You don’t push.

“Would you like to come in?” You offer. “For a cup of tea.”

She hesitates.

You see the battle play across her face, the careful calculation of manners against discomfort. Then—against all odds—she nods.

She perches on the edge of your sofa like she’s never sat on anything soft. Her knees are pressed tightly together. She’s looking around your living room like she’s expecting to find something indecent.

“Do you ever get tired of being alone?” you ask softly after a long moment of silence.

Her eyes snap to yours, brittle and glassy.

“I’m not lonely.”

You don’t answer.

She exhales like it hurts.

“I was married for thirty-five years. I know what lonely really is.”

The silence after that is wide and echoing.

She leaves before you can say more.

You begin to notice how her fingers tremble sometimes. How she double-checks the curtains before opening her front door. How she dresses like someone halfway through mourning and never finished.

One day, while walking past her house, you see a photo through the window. A wedding picture. She’s a young bride in pale ivory, eyes wide but not joyful. The man beside her—Vernon, you presume—has the look of someone used to taking up space.

You knock.

She opens, eyes wary.

“Do you want to come over for dinner?”

A pause. Long enough to hold your breath in.

She nods once.

That night, she eats in silence until the second glass of wine. Then her voice loosens.

“I never wanted children,” she says suddenly, staring at her empty plate.

You glance up.

“I never said that out loud before,” she adds. “It wasn’t an option. Vernon wanted a boy. My parents wanted normalcy. I wanted…”

She stops.

“What did you want?”

Her throat works. Her hands twist the cloth napkin in her lap.

“Not this.”

You start to expect her.

Late afternoons. Early evenings. In the garden. At your door. On your sofa, just barely touching your teacup, like any more warmth might burn.

She tells you little things. About Dudley, who sends postcards but never calls. About Vernon’s snoring, his disdain for jazz, his love of order.

She never mentions the boy. The one she used to take in, years ago.

You don’t ask. But sometimes, when she goes quiet, her eyes flick toward the stairs like she’s listening for footsteps that haven’t echoed in years.

She starts tending your garden without asking.

At first, you think it’s a favor. Then a habit. Then something else.

You find her crouched in your flowerbed one morning, murmuring about the lavender.

“It’s being choked,” she says. “You planted it too close to the boxwood. It needs space.”

“Don’t we all?” you murmur.

She freezes. Her breath catches like you’ve pressed on a bruise she forgot how to hide.

You kneel beside her. “Petunia, you don’t have to do this. Not for me.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” she says. “I just— It helps. To fix things.”

Her voice breaks on the last word.

You don’t tell her that some things can’t be fixed.

Not yet.

It’s July when she finally cracks.

You find her on your porch just after sundown, breath fast, hands shaking.

“My roses are wild,” she says, nonsensically. “They’ve never grown like this before. I trimmed them. I followed all the rules.”

You lead her inside. She doesn’t argue.

“They’re blooming wrong,” she whispers, clutching her own arms. “Or maybe finally right.”

She looks up at you, and something inside her shatters.

“I think I knew,” she whispers. “Even as a girl. There were teachers. Friends. Girls I dreamed about. But I pushed it down. I married Vernon. I thought I could make it go away.”

She looks at you with such rawness you almost can’t hold her gaze.

“I thought it would go away,” she says again, voice shaking. “That if I buried it deep enough, it would die. But it didn’t.”

You step closer. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Her breath smells faintly of sugar and wine.

“I wanted so badly to be normal,” she says. “To be good.”

She looks at you like she’s already bracing for rejection, and then she kisses you.

It’s desperate, broken. All sharp angles and crushed breath and thirty years of denial unraveling at the seams.

You kiss her back. Gentle, anchoring.

But when you make it soft, when you make it real, she panics.

“No—no, I can’t—this is wrong—”

“Petunia—”

She pulls away, then she’s gone, coat trailing, door slamming.

You don’t sleep that night.

Neither does she.

She avoids you for a week.

When you knock, she doesn’t answer. When you call, the line rings out.

But then you find a lavender sprig tucked into your mailbox. No note. No explanation.

That evening, she knocks again.

She stands in your doorway like she’s waiting to be turned away.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “It scared me. But I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

You let her in.

She kisses you again, gentler this time.

She stays until morning.

There’s a day in early autumn when she reaches for your hand in public.

It’s just outside her gate. The mailman nods to you both. Someone across the street closes their curtain.

She doesn’t let go.

And for the first time in a very, very long time—

She smiles.

Not the tight one she’s worn all her life. But something real.

Something just for you.

And you think: Let them talk.

————————————————————————

Taglist : @ness029

[geotjwrs]

Hey could u possibly do Jenna x Single Dad Male Reader. Where Jenna meets r in store and they both flirt w each other so they go on a date and after a few months r tells Jenna he’s a dad and didn’t tell her earlier bc people in the past left after he told them but Jenna decides to stay and becomes the step mom of the child? Thank you

better care

Pairings ; Jenna Ortega x Male!Single Dad!Reader

Warning/s ; none

The grocery store buzzed with the familiar sounds of carts rolling and the murmur of conversations. Y/N maneuvered his cart through the produce section, his mind occupied with the mental checklist of items he needed. Being a single dad meant his time was precious, and efficiency was key.

As he reached for a ripe avocado, his hand brushed against someone else's. Startled, he turned to see a petite woman with striking features and a warm smile.

"Oh, sorry about that," she said, her voice melodic and sincere. "I didn't mean to invade your avocado territory."

Y/N chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. "No worries. Avocado lovers unite, right?"

She laughed, a sound that was both light and infectious. "Exactly. I'm Jenna, by the way."

"Y/N," he replied, extending his hand. As they shook hands, there was a moment of unspoken connection.

"Do you come here often?" Jenna asked playfully, glancing at his half-filled cart.

"Pretty much every week," Y/N admitted. "Being a single parent means constant grocery runs."

Jenna's eyes sparkled with interest. "That sounds like a handful. Mind if I join you? I could use some company while shopping."

"Not at all," Y/N said, feeling a flutter of excitement he hadn't felt in a long time. "I'd be happy for the company."

As they strolled through the aisles, they chatted effortlessly about everything from favorite foods to embarrassing childhood memories. By the time they reached the checkout, Y/N realized he hadn't enjoyed someone's company like this in years.

"Would you like to grab coffee sometime?" Jenna asked as they loaded their bags into their carts.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. "I'd love that."

Their coffee date turned into another date, and then another. Over the next few months, Y/N and Jenna's connection deepened. They discovered a shared love for old movies, hiking, and trying out new recipes. Y/N found himself looking forward to their time together, the spark between them growing stronger with each passing day.

One evening, as they sat on a park bench overlooking the city skyline, Jenna turned to Y/N, her expression serious. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Sure, what's on your mind?" Y/N asked, his heart pounding in anticipation.

"You mentioned you're a single parent, but you've never talked about your child," Jenna said gently. "I'd love to hear more about them if you're comfortable sharing."

Y/N sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was planning to tell you, but... I've had bad experiences in the past. When people found out I had a kid, they often left. I didn't want to risk losing you."

Jenna reached out, taking his hand in hers. "Y/N, I understand why you were hesitant. But I care about you, and I want to be a part of your life—all of it."

Y/N felt a weight lift off his shoulders. "Her name is Lily. She's six years old and the most amazing little girl. I think you'd love her."

Jenna's eyes softened. "I'd love to meet her."

The following weekend, Y/N invited Jenna over for dinner. As he prepped the meal, he couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. Introducing Jenna to Lily was a big step, and he hoped it would go smoothly.

When Jenna arrived, she brought a small bouquet of flowers and a board game for Lily. "I thought we could all play together after dinner," she said with a smile.

Lily, who had been shy at first, quickly warmed up to Jenna. By the time dinner was over, the three of them were laughing and playing the board game, the room filled with joy and camaraderie.

As the months went by, Jenna became a regular part of their lives. She and Lily formed a special bond, and Y/N couldn't help but marvel at how naturally Jenna fit into their little family.

One evening, as they all sat on the couch watching a movie, Lily snuggled between them, Y/N felt a sense of contentment he hadn't felt in years. He turned to Jenna, his heart full. "Thank you for staying."

Jenna smiled, her eyes shining with love. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Jenna's presence brought a new level of stability and happiness to their lives. She attended Lily's school events, helped with homework, and even joined in on their weekend adventures. The bond between Jenna and Lily grew stronger with each passing day, and Y/N felt more grateful than ever to have found her.

One sunny afternoon, they decided to have a picnic at the park. As Lily played on the swings, Y/N and Jenna sat on the blanket, watching her with fond smiles.

"Y/N, I've been thinking a lot about our future," Jenna said, her tone thoughtful. "I love you and Lily so much. I want to be here for both of you, always."

Y/N felt his heart swell with emotion. "We love you too, Jenna. You've made our lives so much brighter."

Jenna took a deep breath, her eyes meeting his. "I've been wondering... how would you feel about me becoming Lily's stepmom? Officially, I mean."

Tears of joy welled up in Y/N's eyes. "Jenna, that would mean the world to us. Lily already adores you, and so do I."

They embraced, their hearts full of love and hope for the future.

As time passed, Y/N and Jenna's relationship continued to flourish. They supported each other through life's ups and downs, their bond growing stronger with each passing day. One evening, as they sat on the porch watching the sunset, Y/N felt a surge of emotion.

"Jenna, there's something I want to ask you," he began, his voice steady despite the butterflies in his stomach.

Jenna turned to him, her eyes filled with curiosity. "What is it, Y/N?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Opening it, he revealed a beautiful ring that sparkled in the fading light. "Jenna Marie Ortega, will you marry me?"

Jenna's eyes widened with surprise and joy. "Y/N, yes! Yes, I'll marry you!"

They kissed, their hearts overflowing with happiness. Lily, who had been watching from the doorway, ran over and hugged them both tightly. "Does this mean Jenna is going to be my mommy?" she asked with innocent excitement.

Y/N and Jenna exchanged a loving glance. "Yes, sweetheart," Jenna said, her voice filled with emotion. "I'm going to be your mommy."

The wedding was a beautiful and intimate affair, attended by close family and friends. As Y/N and Jenna exchanged vows, they couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the journey that had brought them together.

After the ceremony, they celebrated with a reception filled with laughter, dancing, and heartfelt speeches. Lily, dressed in a flower girl dress, stole the show with her adorable dance moves and radiant smile.

As the night drew to a close, Y/N and Jenna stood hand in hand, watching Lily play with the other children. "We've come a long way, haven't we?" Y/N said softly.

Jenna nodded, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. "We have. And I wouldn't trade this for anything."

They shared a tender kiss, their hearts full of love and promise for the future.

Years passed, and Y/N, Jenna, and Lily continued to build a life filled with love, laughter, and cherished memories. They celebrated milestones, and supported each other through thick and thin.

One sunny afternoon, as they sat in the backyard watching Lily play with her friends, Y/N turned to Jenna. "Thank you for staying, for loving us, and for becoming the amazing wife and mother that you are."

Jenna smiled, her heart full. "Thank you for giving me the chance to be a part of your lives. I love you both more than words can express."

They embraced, knowing that their love was a testament to the power of second chances and the beauty of finding happiness in unexpected places.

As they watched the sun set, Y/N and Jenna knew that they had found their forever home in each other's hearts, and that no matter what the future held, they would face it together, as a family.

[ghost-bison]

imagine if one day, fourteen was grocery shopping in london. he and donna have shared the list in half to be more efficient, so she's doing her own little shopping when suddenly, fourteen sees this lanky bloke standing in the middle of the store, looking at the tea section. the man looks like a goth gay dad, with dark clothes and dark sunglasses, and what's disturbing is, apart from the style and the man's vibrant red hair, he looks exactly like him. so fourteen starts whistling and hanging around the aisle, pretending to be looking at the different teas, and the red-haired man is like "wtf does this clown want". and he looks at the doctor, looks straight through him with a frown like he's wondering why he's looking at him so.

later, fourteen and donna meet at the checkout and donna's like "dude i saw this man in the sushi section, he looked exactly like you if you had a grunge phase".

and this is how they met crowley