#Retail Store Window Cleaning

[bristolwindowcleaners]

[citimaidscleaning]

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[bristolwindowcleaners]

[maxpounds]

Twink Death

The bass thumped like a heartbeat, reverberating through the crowded club as neon lights flickered in rhythmic pulses. Simon glanced at his reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. His blond hair was artfully tousled, and he wore a tight white tee that clung to his slim frame, tucked into skinny black jeans. He was used to attention but felt a little jittery tonight. Michael, his best friend, coworker and fellow roommate, had dragged him out, insisting they needed to "blow off steam" after a hectic week at the clothing store.

“Look around, Simon,” he said, gesturing with his empty glass. “This place is teeming with men who would kill to buy a twink like you a drink.”

“All they want is a one-night stand.”

“And what's wrong with that?”

Michael winked, then disappeared into the throng of bodies on the dance floor, leaving Simon standing at the bar. Simon scanned the room. That’s when he noticed him: a man in his late thirties just a few feet away, casually leaning against the bar like he owned the place. Broad shoulders filled out a crisp navy button-up that strained slightly over his chest, and his brown hair and neatly trimmed beard gave him an effortlessly mature air. His biceps flexed slightly as he raised a glass of whiskey to his lips. The man’s gaze met Simon’s. His brown eyes softened into a smile, and he walked over with the confidence of someone who had nothing to prove.

“Hi,” he said, his voice deep and warm. “I’m Jeff.”

Simon blinked, caught off guard.

“Oh, hi. Simon.”

He shook Jeff’s offered hand, his smaller fingers disappearing in Jeff’s firm grip.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Jeff said, nodding at Simon’s nearly empty glass. “Mind if I get you one?”

Simon hesitated for a split second before nodding.

“Sure, why not?”

Jeff signaled to the bartender and ordered another gin and tonic for Simon. As they waited, Jeff turned to face Simon fully, towering over him in a way that was somehow both intimidating and intoxicating.

“So, what brings you here tonight, Simon?”

“My roommate dragged me out,” Simon said. “I’m not much of a club person, honestly.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “Really? You look like you fit right in.”

“Thanks, I think?” Simon replied, a faint blush rising to his cheeks.

Jeff chuckled. “It’s a compliment.”

Simon's drink arrived, and they clinked glasses before taking sips. The conversation flowed effortlessly—Jeff talked about his work as a Realtor, his passion for architecture and how much he loved discovering hidden gems in the city. Simon shared stories about the chaos of working retail with Michael. Before long, Jeff leaned in closer, his cologne—a mix of cedar and spice—invading Simon’s senses.

“Do you dance?” Jeff asked, his tone playful.

“I do,” Simon said, shyly.

Jeff extended a hand. “Come on, then.”

Simon placed his hand in Jeff’s, letting him lead him to the dance floor. The music was loud, the beat infectious, and Jeff’s presence steady and grounding. They moved together, Jeff’s strong hands guiding Simon’s hips until Simon let go of his self-consciousness. Their bodies pressed closer, and Simon felt a flutter in his chest every time Jeff’s dark eyes locked on his.

“Simon, I’d like to keep talking. My place isn’t far. Would you like to come over?”

Simon hesitated, glancing around for Michael. He caught his friend on the far side of the dance floor, waving and flashing a thumbs-up. Taking a deep breath, Simon turned back to Jeff.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

The sleek black SUV pulled into the underground garage of a luxury high-rise in downtown. Simon looked out the window, marveling at the clean lines of the building and the shimmering skyline. Jeff parked the car effortlessly and turned to him.

“Welcome to my place,” he said.

Simon followed Jeff to the elevator, their hands brushing as they walked. When they stepped into Jeff’s apartment, Simon’s jaw dropped. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a stunning view of the city, and the open-concept living room was immaculate, with modern furniture, tasteful artwork, and a kitchen that looked straight out of a magazine.

“This is... wow,” Simon said, turning to Jeff.

Jeff set his keys on the counter.

“Glad you like it. Make yourself at home.”

Simon wandered over to the windows, while Jeff grabbed two glasses and a bottle of wine. He handed Simon a glass, their fingers grazing, before leaning casually against the counter.

“You’re even more stunning in this light,” Jeff said softly, his voice like honey.

Simon felt heat rise to his cheeks.

“I bet you say that to everyone you bring here,” Simon teased, sipping his wine.

“Only when it’s true,” Jeff replied, his eyes never leaving Simon’s.

The tension between them simmered, and before Simon could respond, Jeff closed the distance between them. His hands slid gently around Simon’s tiny waist, pulling him close. Their lips met in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, filled with heat and longing. Simon melted into Jeff’s embrace. They moved to the bedroom, where the city lights cast a soft glow across the luxurious space. Clothes were shed, kisses trailed, and hands explored, Jeff’s touch both tender and consuming. Simon felt completely seen, completely adored.

After having amazing sex, they lay tangled in the sheets. Jeff’s arm was draped over Simon’s slender frame.

“You’re incredible,” Jeff murmured, his voice husky.

Simon turned to face him.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he teased.

Jeff smiled, then grew serious, his gaze softening.

“Simon, I want you to know something. I don’t just see this as a one-time thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I want to take care of you,” Jeff said, his voice earnest. “You seem special, Simon. I want to pamper you, spoil you, take you on dates...”

Simon blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in Jeff’s words.

“Really?” he asked softly.

Jeff nodded.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean. Let me treat you the way you deserve.”

Simon felt a flutter in his chest, a mixture of excitement and disbelief. He had never been pursued so openly, so confidently.

“I... I think I’d like that,” he said.

Jeff grinned, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Simon’s forehead.

“Then how about dinner tomorrow night? A proper date.”

Simon nodded eagerly.

“Okay.”

Jeff pulled him closer, his strong arms enveloping Simon. As they lay together, Simon felt a sense of warmth and security he hadn’t experienced before.

***

Here he was, sitting in a vinyl booth at a 24-hour diner across from Jeff, who looked very happy. The warm smell of fried food and syrup hung in the air as Jeff casually flipped through the menu.

“Are you hungry?” Jeff asked, noticing Simon fidgeting with his straw.

“Only a little,” Simon lied, though his stomach growled softly in protest.

Jeff chuckled, the sound rich and warm. He flagged down the waitress.

“Two cheeseburgers, two orders of fries and two chocolate milkshakes. Oh, and a plate of waffles with ice cream for dessert. Sound good?”

He winked at Simon. Simon opened his mouth to object but couldn’t bring himself to ruin Jeff’s enthusiasm.

“That’s… a lot of food.”

“You don’t have to finish it all,” Jeff said with a shrug, though the gleam in his eye suggested he hoped Simon would.

When the food arrived, Simon stared at the towering cheeseburger, the golden fries glistening beside it, and the decadent milkshake topped with whipped cream. Jeff dug in without hesitation, biting into his burger with gusto and groaning in satisfaction.

“You’ve gotta try this,” Jeff said between bites. “It’s amazing.”

Simon hesitated, but the aroma was too tempting. He took a cautious bite, the melted cheese and juicy patty practically melting in his mouth. Before he knew it, he was reaching for the fries, then sipping the milkshake. Jeff watched him with a satisfied smile.

“See? Told you it was good.”

By the time the waffles arrived, Simon was full but couldn’t say no when Jeff slid the plate toward him. Two scoops of vanilla ice cream oozed over the warm, syrup-drenched waffles.

“Just a bite,” Jeff said, though Simon noticed the encouraging tone.

Simon groaned as he took a forkful.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Only in the best way,” Jeff replied, smirking.

That first date set the tone for the beginning of relationship. Simon quickly discovered that Jeff had a talent for making indulgence seem irresistible. Every time they met—usually at Jeff’s spacious apartment, there was always something sweet in the kitchen. A pink box of fresh donuts on the counter. A chocolate cake with thick frosting in the fridge. A carton of premium ice cream in the freezer, always paired with Jeff’s insistence: “Have a little. You deserve it.” Jeff had a knack for making Simon feel special, showering him with compliments and small surprises. He’d pick Simon up after work, whisking him away to a cozy restaurant or back to his place, where they’d curl up with a movie and snacks. Jeff always seemed happiest when Simon gave in to his offers—taking the extra slice of pizza or savoring the brownie Jeff had baked himself.

At first, Simon didn’t think much of it. Jeff clearly loved seeing him happy, and the attention was intoxicating. But after about a month, Simon was starting to notice some changes. His skinny jeans felt a little tighter. His favorite shirt clung in places it hadn’t before. One evening, while stepping out of the shower, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His once-flat stomach now had a slight curve, and his face seemed a touch softer. When he stepped onto the scale, the digital numbers blinked back:

15 pounds heavier.

Jeff entered the bathroom. His gaze dropped to the way the briefs hugged Simon’s growing hips and how the waistband strained against his softening waistline. Simon turned, catching Jeff staring.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing. You’re just… perfect.”

Simon rolled his eyes, but his blush betrayed him.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true,” Jeff murmured, wrapping an arm around Simon’s waist. He tugged him close.

“And you know what? I think you’re getting even more perfect.”

Simon squirmed slightly but didn’t pull away.

“But I’ve gained weight.”

Jeff grinned.

“Yes. And I love every single bit of you.”

His hands slid down, cupping Simon’s ass.

“Especially this.”

Simon let out a surprised laugh.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?”

Jeff tilted his head. He gave Simon a gentle squeeze, earning a mock glare.

Over the next few weeks, Jeff’s obsession grew more obvious. He loved surprising Simon with treats, always framing it as an act of care. He’d surprise Simon with his favorite pastries, or he’d whip up elaborate dinners that always ended with a rich dessert. He never outright said it, but Jeff was thrilled to see Simon indulging. And Simon—despite his initial reservations—found it hard to resist. Jeff was so good at making him feel cherished. “You deserve to be spoiled,” Jeff would say, handing him a plate of double-fudge brownies. “Let me take care of you.” The results were impossible to miss. Simon’s hips filled out his jeans in a way they hadn’t before, and his thighs started to press against the seams. His briefs became a challenge to pull on, the fabric stretching tight over his fuller ass, often leaving the top of his cheeks exposed. Jeff loved those moments—catching Simon struggling with a waistband or seeing him shift uncomfortably on the couch, adjusting the fit of his too-tight clothes.

***

Curled up on the couch one lazy Saturday night, Simon sat with a bowl of his favorite ice cream while Jeff rested his hand on Simon’s thigh. Jeff’s hand kneaded the soft flesh.

“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” Simon asked, glancing at Jeff with a teasing smile.

Jeff didn’t look embarrassed—if anything, he looked proud.

“Into what?”

“You know,” Simon said, gesturing vaguely at his body. “Fat.”

Jeff pulled him closer.

“I’m into you. I love everything about you. And yeah, I love that you’re letting me spoil you. I love how happy you look when you’re eating something you enjoy. And, if I’m being honest…” His hand slid lower, resting on Simon’s fuller backside. “I can’t get enough of how sexy you look.”

Simon’s face turned pink.

“You’re something else, you know that?”

Jeff’s adoration was undeniable, and it was hard for Simon not to feel flattered by all the attention. Still, he couldn’t ignore how his wardrobe was shrinking, or how every pair of briefs he owned now clung to him like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination. But every time he caught Jeff staring—his brown eyes full of love and hunger—Simon couldn’t help but feel a thrill.

After having a coffee the following morning, Simon stood in front of the mirror. He realized his ass had grown a lot, spilling over the top of his briefs and making it impossible to find pants that fit properly. His tits and belly looked bigger too. He sighed and ran a hand through his blond hair as Jeff walked into the bedroom, carrying a pink box of donuts.

“You bought donuts again?” Simon asked, narrowing his eyes.

Jeff grinned.

“Of course. You love these.”

Simon crossed his arms over his chest.

“Jeff, we need to talk.”

Jeff set the box down on the nightstand, his brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?”

“This,” Simon said, gesturing to himself. “I’ve gained twenty pounds, Jeff. My clothes don’t fit. I can’t keep eating like this.”

Jeff stepped closer, his hands finding Simon’s love handles.

“Simon, you look incredible.”

“I look chubby, I'm not a twin anymore” Simon shot back, his cheeks flushing.

Jeff tilted his head, his brown eyes softening.

“You look hot. You’ve always been gorgeous, but now… I don’t know. I love you like this.” His hands slid down to cup Simon’s big ass, squeezing gently. “Especially this. It drives me crazy.”

Simon tried to pull away, but Jeff held him firmly.

“Jeff, I mean it. I need to go on a diet.”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Jeff said, his voice low and soothing. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

Before Simon could protest, Jeff pulled a donut out—a glazed, sugar-dusted ring that practically sparkled under the light.

“Open up,” Jeff said, holding it to Simon’s lips.

“Jeff, I—”

“Shh.”

Jeff’s other hand slid around to Simon’s belly, his fingers brushing over the soft curve.

“You know I love you,” he murmured, his tone dripping with adoration. “Let me take care of you.”

Simon hesitated, his resolve wavering. Jeff leaned closer, his lips brushing against Simon’s ear.

“You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” Jeff whispered. “You have no idea how crazy you make me, Simon.”

The sweet, buttery flavor melted on Simon’s tongue as Jeff’s hand continued its exploration, squeezing his developing man boobs and then reaching his dick.

“Good boy. You’re so sexy,” Jeff said, his hand jerking him off. “Every time I see you in these tight little briefs, I lose my mind.”

Simon swallowed.

“I don’t feel—”

“Shh,” Jeff cut him off. He picked up another donut, holding it between his fingers like it was something precious, and crouched to meet Simon’s gaze. “I love how soft you’ve gotten. How much you’ve let me take care of you.”

“Jeff…” Simon began, but his voice faltered when Jeff brought the second donut to his lips.

“Open,” Jeff said, his tone both gentle and commanding.

Simon hesitated but parted his lips. He took a bite, the sugary glaze melting on his tongue.

“Good,” Jeff said with a satisfied smile. “That’s my boy.”

Simon moaned as Jeff continued to feed him. By the time he was on his third donut, Jeff stop jerking him off and his fingers slipped under the waistband of his briefs, tugging it down to expose Simon’s round butt cheeks. He gave them a slap. Simon was torn between embarrassment and excitement.

“Do you really like my new curves?,” Simon asked.

“You have no idea,” Jeff replied, grabbing another donut.

Simon finished it slowly.

“I can’t eat anymore,” he murmured, his voice shaky.

“Yes, you can,” Jeff said, his hard dick now entering Simon's ass. “For me.”

Jeff gave Simon another donut.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” Jeff said, his voice thick with desire. “And you’re going to let me love every inch of you.”

***

A few months passed, and Simon barely recognized himself. His once-fitted clothes had long been replaced by stretchier options that could accommodate his growing figure. His belly was soft and round, resting comfortably over the waistband of his sweatpants, and his hips and thighs had thickened noticeably, giving him a fuller, almost plush appearance. Jeff, of course, was over the moon. His constant attention and affection made it impossible for Simon to feel anything but adored, even as he packed on more weight. Simon loved how Jeff’s eyes would light up every time he grabbed an extra helping or indulged in the treats Jeff always seemed to have on hand.

One Saturday afternoon, Simon sat on the couch of his shared apartment in his underwear, lazily scrolling through his phone. Michael arrived after being on a date.

“Holy crap,” he blurted out, his wide eyes scanning Simon’s body. “Look at you”

Simon glanced up.

“What?”

“You’ve gotten huge!” Michael said, gesturing toward Simon’s belly. “Is this Jeff’s doing?”

Simon shrugged, trying to hide his smile.

“He just likes spoiling me, okay?”

“Simon,” Michael said, exasperated. “You were, like, a twink icon, and now—” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I mean, are you happy?”

Simon looked down at himself, running a hand over his soft stomach. He thought about Jeff—the way he looked at Simon, touched him, worshiped him—and nodded.

“Yeah. I am.”

Michael groaned.

“Whatever.”

Simon was sprawled on Jeff’s bed later that night, recounting the interaction while Jeff rubbed his fat belly, grinning like he’d won the lottery.

“He called me huge.”

Jeff chuckled.

“He’s right,” Jeff said, his voice low and reverent. “You are huge now.”

Simon blushed.

“My sexy ex-twink,” Jeff murmured, pressing kisses to his belly. “You’ve let me take care of you so well. And look at you now. You’re perfect.”

His hands roamed freely, exploring every curve, every new softness. Simon shivered, his embarrassment melting under Jeff’s touch and words. He loved how much Jeff adored him, how desired he felt despite—or maybe because of—his growing body.

“You’re mine,” Jeff said. “My beautiful, fat boy. And I’m going to keep loving you—and feeding you—for as long as you let me.”

Simon moaned as Jeff’s mouth engulfed his dick. He didn’t really care about Michael’s reaction or the numbers on the scale. All that mattered was Jeff and the way he made him feel like the most cherished person in the world.

Jeff stirred awake, the morning sunlight streaming through the curtains. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he turned his head to see Simon already sitting up on the edge of the bed. He stretched, his arms reaching overhead, and Jeff couldn’t take his eyes off the way his soft belly rounded and shifted with the movement. His love handles curved gently over the waistband of his new briefs, which had also grown so tight that they seemed to struggle to contain him. The fabric cut into his hips, emphasizing the generous swell of his behind, which jiggled slightly as he stood. Jeff bit his lip as Simon hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the too-small briefs and tugged them down, revealing the full glory of Simon’s ass. It was round and plush, its fullness accentuated by the way it swayed naturally with each step toward the bathroom. His thighs rubbed together as he walked, the soft flesh shifting with every movement. As Simon stepped into the bathroom, Jeff heard the sound of the shower starting, water splashing against the tiles. He couldn’t resist any longer. Throwing the covers aside, he padded across the room and slipped into the steamy bathroom.

“Jeff!” Simon exclaimed, half-turning to look at Jeff.

“Couldn’t stay in bed,” Jeff said with a hard-on.

The water ran down Simon’s body in rivulets, highlighting every curve. His belly glistened under the spray, the soft flesh jiggling slightly as he shifted his weight. Jeff’s hands found Simon’s hips almost instinctively, pulling him close.

“You’re stunning,” Jeff murmured, his voice husky.

Simon rolled his eyes, though his lips curved into a shy smile.

“Well, I'm almost 300 pounds.”

Jeff's fingers started kneading Simon's belly, marveling at its warmth and softness.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered.

Simon shivered as Jeff’s hands slid lower, tracing the curve of his thighs before moving back up to cup his ass. Jeff squeezed gently, his hands full.

“You’re obsessed,” Simon said, his voice breathy.

“Completely,” Jeff admitted, planting a kiss on Simon’s lips. “You’re everything to me. I love you”

“I love you too, but I'm worried I'll never be fat enough for you.”

Simon turned around and leaned against the smooth tile. Jeff's hands rested on Simon’s thick waist, fingers sinking slightly into the soft flesh. His round belly jiggled slightly with every shift, and his love handles spilled over Jeff’s large hands. Jeff’s touch was deliberate, reverent, as he let his palms slide along Simon’s sides, squeezing gently. Then his hands moved up, cupping Simon’s chest. His thumbs grazed over Simon’s soft man boobs, teasing the sensitive nipples. Simon gasped, arching his back slightly. Jeff leaned down to kiss the curve of Simon’s neck.

“I want to pamper you even more.”

Simon's belly quivered as Jeff’s hands wandered lower, gripping the wide curve of his ass.

“Even more?” Simon asked.

Jeff’s grip tightened, and he kneaded the round flesh, his hard dick digging into the softness.

“Oh, much more,” he said.

[eyelambspider]

𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝. - König

Part One || Part Two

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : The WX 400 model, or König, had been sitting in a Cyberlife store for nearly six months without so much as a glance from customers. He had been repurposed from a hard laborer to a sort of domestic care-giver... but the thing was, consumers only wanted the newer models. Until you came by. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.2 k 𝐚/𝐧 : consider this my masterpiece, probably will write a second part 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : fluff, hurt/comfort(?), domestic fluff

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄. From the sleek tiled floors, to the large window panes that were cleaned daily, to the Androids that stood on display within.

On white pedestals, circled with fluorescent tags and holograms indicating their model numbers and generic purposes: Domestic housekeepers, caretakers, companions. Smaller synthetic machines that had friendly faces and sparkling eyes. Built for a life amongst humans.

He wasn't built for that. No.

His slate-colored eyes had watched for months, lingering over Cyberlife's newest models at the front of the store. A blank expression as each one smiled hopefully. Perhaps something they were programmed to do. To appear friendly?

He considered it a possibility, sure, but the 'front of the store' androids were a stark contrast to his own model.

The WX-series of androids had been built with only one purpose: hard labor, or to put it more simply, construction work.

When customers came into the store they only wanted one thing: a shiny new companion.

Everyday the eyes of those strangers would frown when they saw him. Hardly sparing the WX a glance before they turned around and considered an AX 400 instead.

An android built for housework and taking care of children, with a soft round face and a smile that reached all the way up to her kind blue eyes...

It seemed a diluted plausibility that one day the repurposed WX would eventually find a purpose. With everyday he inched closer to the possibility of being discarded. Simply unwanted.

Until a particularly cloudy day in May, one of the stares had caught his attention, even in his low power mode. Only able to shift his tired seeming eyes and move at a slow pace. Meeting that oddly new curious gaze of yours. The eyes of a stranger finally lingering on him.

Him.

"Excuse me?" You held your hand up sheepishly, asking for assistance from one of the android retailers, a young looking man with a head of soft brown hair and a blue circular LED on his right temple. The holographic label on his chest reading: Ethan.

"Hello, How can I help you?" Ethan stepped next to your side with a light smile.

You pointed to the WX in front of you, feeling a bit silly for even asking but... "Could you tell me about this one?"

The android salesman nodded, hands folded politely behind him, following your gaze towards the decommissioned android, unable to show the usual grimace humans showed the WX.

"Of course," he agreed easily, "This particular model is a WX 400, a decommissioned laborer. They aren't often sold in stores, but if you are interested I could tell you more about it."

The WX watched you nod, his eyes flickering occasionally between you and the sales-android.

"Why is he decommissioned?" you asked quietly, letting the question linger momentarily before Ethan perked up again, unbiased.

"The WX 400 was only decommissioned in its primary purpose, which was doing manual labor," the mechanical man explained with a synthetic smile, gesturing with his hands for your eyes to follow. "It works perfectly fine, and besides some damage to its synthetic skin and body, and a few replaced parts," he managed a soft light-hearted chuckle, "This model works perfectly fine, just not for its intended heavy lifting purposes. It will work perfectly fine for housework. Is that what you were looking for?"

As the sales-android considered the new possibility, he prompted a new question: "We have many other fine models if you are interested in something else."

The statement, whilst a little profound to you, meant next to nothing to the two androids who patiently awaited your answer.

"I was looking for someone to help around the house," you confirm.

The WX before you, nearing seven foot tall easily in the display case, glanced down at you. Unmoving, but like all androids, his eyes held an uncanny humanity within those blue depths.

He could see the consideration on your face. The way your eyes wearily, almost tenderly, traced the lines and deep scars on his synthetic skin. Deep grooves and lacerations running from his fingers, up his strong forearms and disappearing under the fabric of his standard Cyberlife shirt.

Even the androids face, while once maybe even considered handsome, had a deep scar running over its left side. Over his dirty blonde brow and high cheekbone, tracing over his lips to his chin.

It was a wonder he even worked properly, and the unspoken question must've been written all over your face again.

"The WX has had his diagnostics run perfectly well. I assure you the android itself works perfectly fine," Ethan smiled boyishly when you blushed.

"I don't doubt it," you assured him with an unintentionally adorable grin. "I've just... I've never seen an android like him," you admitted softly, those soft eyes meeting the WX's again.

He was looking right at you again.

Immediately your gaze dropped down shyly, unintentionally reading the blue holographic labels that surrounded the short white pillar he stood on.

"He has a name?" You asked, glancing over to Ethan for confirmation.

"Of course, but if you'd like to reset it-"

"No," you stopped him, feeling a bit more confident than you had when you first entered the store.

"König sounds fine to me."

König watched from his display, with a hint of utter- well... what would you call this?

Disbelief? Surprise?

Surprise when your complexion lit with a smile. Surprise when you said his name and turned to walk with the other android to the front of the store? Surprise as his eyes trailed after your form, unable to comprehend you.

For what reason could you possibly want a repurposed android like him?

It didn't make sense in the slightest, and although he watched you, he felt lost, considering possibilities that felt underwhelming in their answers.

His price was lower than others for being damaged. But so many had passed him by.

It was something König considered for a while, never finding a suitable answer until a new initiative popped across his sensors. Jolting him awake once more.

He was registered now to you. Your name popping across his vision like a directive.

"Thank you," you waved to the man who had helped you with a soft smile, getting a vaguely surprised gesture from him.

"Oh- You're very welcome!" Ethan smiled back and watched for a moment longer as you headed up to König, whom at that moment, was given back full control over his mechanical body. Unlocked from his low power mode.

The blue Thirium that cooled and powered his circuits rushed back into him. Circling through his veins and giving him back full control of his body. The world no longer running in slow motion.

König's hands lifted up slowly. The WX inspecting his hands and flexing his fingers into gentle balls. The two of you watched in silent awe as the large android moved once more, no longer destined for a Cyberlife disposal facility... but for.

König's vision refocused as you reached out. Your tiny hand taking one of his. Warm, and unmarred in contrast to his, and he could feel the almost imperceptible beating of your pulse beneath the contact.

"Come on," you smiled, not quite helping him from the stand, but guiding him down the small step. "I'll show you how to get back home, König," you mused, feeling the large androids cut up hand grip yours a bit tighter.

Next >

© Eyelambspider. I only post here on Tumblr! könig photo credit to my friend @koharu-rk800

[deathshallbethelastenemy]

where you go, i go (2)

TEEN!gojo x FEM!reader (soulmate AU)

TW⚠️: angst, toji being toji, reader thinks about killing someone, gojo is in his tweaked out enlightenment era soooooo gojo a little creepy and eerie

Part 2 of what you see, i see

She had been going through the motions for the rest of the day, she hadn't even bothered to stop by her school clubs, until she arrived home. A sickly sweet scent of pastries attacked her senses the second she entered. Her house doubled as a bakery for the first floor. It was a popular hang out place for people her age especially for couples. There was a parade of them this time - cheerful couples were already sharing their coffees and sugary pastries.

The universe was laughing at her. It had to be. Why else would there be so many happy couples in the store right now? It was pointing and laughing hysterically on the ground saying: "That's what you get for ignoring me! That's what you get for resenting my gift to you!" Because that's what a soulmate was, a gift. A rare and wonderful gift that no one believed in, except for those who have experienced it themselves, and she had lost it; lost him.

She almost cried on the spot.

Her mother waved gleefully from behind the register, her daughter seldom returned it as she went up the stairs. She dropped her school bag in her room besides her desk and, face first, flopped on her bed.

She closed her eyes. Nothing, there was nothing.

Her lip quivered as tears began to sting her eyes, but she couldn't cry. Not when her mother was expecting her to change and put on an apron and help as she always did after school. She could silently mourn him tonight.

She let out a shaky breath. Did she even have the right to mourn him? She had never met him or talked to him. Everytime she thought of him recently was only to insult him or dismiss him entirely. No, she did not have the right to mourn him and she deserved to feel empty on the inside.

She put on a clean apron and slugged her way down stairs with a smile as she took over her mother's place at the register. Her mom kissed the top of her head and beamed at her with a thumbs up.

She never understood why so many people hated working retail, but now, she did. She had to force a smile and treat every customer kindly, all the while, she was dying on the inside.

A man had come in. Tall and insanely buff, a scar on his mouth. He ordered the cheapest pastry on the menu and handed her a wadded up yen. Her blood turned cold when their fingers brushed.

Her mother quickly took the money away from her as she gave her a quick command to check on the oven in the back.

She swallowed and listened to her mom. Her steps were quick as she pushed the double doors that led to the kitchen, she hugged herself.

It was him. It had to be him. That was the man who killed Gojo Satoru. She reached for a knife and gripped it tight. She should kill him. Her soulmate was dead and he was the reason why. She should try and avenge him.

Sheshouldsheshouldsheshouldsheshould-

The oven blared next to her. Her head snapped to it as the knife clattered on the ground, and with shaky mitted hands she opened the oven, and took out the fresh pastries.

Those were dangerous thoughts; thoughts she never thought she would ever have against anyone. She took off the oven mitts and looked outside the circle window of the kitchen - he was leaving and her mother was watching him like a hawk, even when the bell rang sharply with a muffin in his mouth as he walked outside with the rest of the crowd. She didn't know what possessed her to run after him, but she did. Maybe, all she wanted to know was why he had killed Gojo Satoru. Maybe, she wanted this man to kill her too, so she wouldn't feel empty inside anymore.

A blur of a conversation as the words tumbled out of her mouth: "Why? Why did you kill Satoru?"

She didn't register anything other than his gruff voice, "Ah, he had a soulmate. If I were you I'd keep that information to yourself from now on." Uninterestedly, he continued, "You wouldn't want the Gojo clan to know about you. No doubt, they'll try to marry you off to another member of the clan." and then, kept walking.

She didn't hear the interest in his voice when he said to himself, "But she would be worth a lot of money if I did take her to them." He would negotiate a price first to see if he was right about her being worth any money. He would worry about that later, right now, he had a star plasma vessel to turn in.

A sharp tug on her arm is all that stopped her from running after him again.

"______! What were you thinking?" her mother gritted out as she led her back into the bakery. Her mother's voice is strict and unwavering, "Go to your room."

And she did.

She tossed the apron on her desk and kicked her school bag. How was she supposed to live like this with the rest of her entire life half-full?

A sob violently escaped her.

This was how everyone else in the world lived, she realized.

Aching and alone.

Desperate and searching.

Wanted and unwanted.

Now, she was just like everyone else like she had always wanted. She supposed, she couldn't complain.

She laid in bed, wrapped herself in a blanket - trying to keep warm, but she doubted, she'd ever feel warm again as she cried herself to sleep.

She dreamt about Satoru. Flashes of a long chain, of red, of purple, of blood, of a crowd clapping, of someone wrapped in a white sheet, of a long dark hallway.

The universe was laughing at her again. Why else would it give her dreams about him?

An uneasiness settled into her bones. Someone was watching her. The grim reaper, no doubt wearing the face of her soulmate's assassin. If death wanted her, so be it.

She kept her eyes closed.

She saw herself sleeping soundly in death's gaze. She saw the time pass through her window changing from sundown to night as death continued to watch her intently.

Hours had passed.

00:57:39

She wondered at what specific time the grim reaper would take her.

1:13:01

Did it want her to open her eyes?

1:13:10

Probably.

1:13:15

The grim reaper has been patiently waiting for her.

1:13:17

Why keep death waiting then?

1:13:20

Her eyes fluttered open.

Beautiful, vibrant cerulean blue.

It was not death. It was -

"Satoru," she whispered.

"______," he whispered back.

Satoru was sitting down on the floor extremely close to her bed with his legs crossed while his hands rested neatly on his ankles. There was dry blood on his face and on his white dress shirt.

Her mouth moved but no sound came.

"You were crying," he said as he caressed her cheek soothing his thumb along the trail of stained lines that her dried tears had left, "alot."

So, he had seen everything.

She put her hand over his and gently rubbed circles.

Satoru scooted closer to her bed, "I didn't like seeing you cry," his hand trailed up to her scalp, "or frown," and gently ran his fingers through her hair.

He laid his head down on her bed and stared at her with those vibrant, sparkling eyes; eyes that could see everything she could never see.

She touched his cheek gently, "I didn't like not feeling you."

Her whole body shivered. Satoru was here, in front of her, and she was still cold.

"Are you still cold?"

She nodded.

Never letting go of her, he kicked off his shoes and climbed under the blanket with her. He wrapped his legs around hers as her arms wrapped under his uniform jacket.

With his hand still tangled in her hair, he said, "Better?"

His heartbeat had returned to her. They were beating in unison again.

"Better," she hummed. "You?" She asked.

His lips pressed softly on her forehead, "Much better." He tugged her in closer into his chest.

She smiled.

She was warm again.

@whatamidoing89 @mr-underhills-things

Part 1: what you see, i see

Part 3: you know i adore you

Part 4: i'm crazier for you

Part 5: baby, you're the life of the party

Part 6: something's made your eyes go cold

[purpleqilinwrites]

old rose.

a/n: i had this written a while back, and i almost forgot to post! here's my piece for the pixel café network's secret santa. a special gift for the lovely kandy @kandyshoppe!!! ❤ happy holidays! sending you a virtual steaming hot mug of cocoa with marshmallows and all your fave toppings!!! i hope the winter season has been treating you so well so far. sending you good vibes only for the rest of the season, and i hope it overflows even into the whole of next year!!!

fandom: haikyuu!!

character: aone takanobu

genre: fluff

info: established relationship (aone is your boyfriend); post-time skip

warnings: -

synopsis: you were stuck on what to get aone for the holidays.

word count: 1.9k

Aone Takanobu

Aone, for all his overwhelmingly positive characteristics, had one glaring weakness: he was quite impossible to shop for.

This was your first holiday season as a couple, and somehow, you felt the need to give him a gift that was better than all the gifts you've ever given him combined. You realised that this winter would just be one winter in the many you'd have with him by your side, but realising something was different from acting on it.

You found yourself browsing the outlet mall again after work, idling in front of aisles and aisles of things on sale. From after a quickly scarfed down dinner to the time the retail workers would politely ask you to leave, you loitered about a plethora of stores selling different things and hoped that there would be that one thing in particular that stood out to you as the best gift ever.

Aone was a very self-sufficient man, and you loved that about him. He always bought multiples of every product he used, even going so far as to shop in anticipation of needing a replacement to make sure that he never ran out of anything. His place was always clean and organised, even when you dropped by unannounced because your grandmother made some food and you wanted to share it with him. There was always sufficient food in the fridge and ingredients in the pantry, and nothing expired in his place under his watchful eye.

You loved that he took such good care of himself, and that his care extended to you too. But it made it all the more difficult to shop for him, because there was really nothing that he had need of. You'd offer to pay his rent for the next month or two for a gift, but you knew he wouldn't accept it.

After spending hours scratching your head and mumbling to yourself while window shopping, you decided to go to Aone's friends for advice.

Futakuchi pointed at you like a bully did in those old American coming-of-age movies and began cackling when you asked him, having caught him refilling his water bottle during a break. You had it in mind to stomp on his apparently brand new volleyball shoes before he stopped his witchy laughing fit long enough to say, "Big guy'll like anything you give, dummy! You're like made of gold or something to him." It tickled you to have Futakuchi's vote of confidence, but it wasn't what you were looking for. What would be a good thing to get Aone for the holidays was still very much a mystery.

You would've asked Moniwa who was there to watch VC Date's practice match with another of the prefecture's municipal teams, but his partner – or were they already engaged? You'd have to prod Futakuchi a bit to find out. – was sitting with him. They seemed to be enjoying listening to Moniwa explain every move made by the players on the court, so you refrained. Kamasaki arrived sometime after the match had started, but he was too busy exchanging quips and shoulder shoves with Futakuchi after the game for you to cut in.

"I got it! Why don't you make something for Aone-kun?" Nametsu slapped you on the back lightly when she spoke, and you looked up from the amigurumi you were crocheting.

She threw you an encouraging look, holding up both her thumbs to drive the point home. Something in your brain paused at her suggestion. Your eyes went from her to the almost-complete project in your hands and then back to her. Her smile never faltered in the time it took for her words to register.

"He's not a plushie kinda guy. But—" The vibrant colour of the pink afghan you recently blocked grabbed your attention when you turned your head to face Nametsu properly. You secured the working yarn of the amigurumi in your hands with a stitch marker from the coffee table, before you lifted the corner of your pink afghan. "One of these would be nice, wouldn't it?!"

She nodded vigorously, smoothing both her palms across the cabled pattern of the afghan as it lay prettily across the back of your couch. "He'd love it so much!" she said. "Bet he'd love it even more if you made him one that matches."

The next time you could leave work a little earlier, you rushed to the local yarn store on the other side of town. When you got there and found that there wasn't any more of that specific shade of pink in the yarn you used for your own afghan, you deflated slightly. The colour code was the same, but the batch code wasn't. All you had was a picture on your phone for reference, but you were sure that the difference in shades would be more obvious in person.

Sighing, you wandered the aisles of the store. Running your fingers over some of the fancy hand-dyed and hand-spun wool skeins in the corner with the premium yarns definitely cheered you up a bit. With your heart settled and your wallet ready, you ventured back to the section that held yarns with price tags that wouldn't break the bank and make a nice afghan for Aone.

He was careful about washing his woollen winter garments, so you didn't have to pick a superwash yarn. He also didn't get cold easily, so you didn't have to pick a 100% wool yarn. The large row of sale bins drew you away from the wool yarns at standard price. Within these bins, you were pleased to find several discounted bags of pink cotton and wool blend yarn in a shade that was more old rose than your preferred Barbie pink. The muted pink would work beautifully on his beige sectional!

You got to work on Aone's afghan immediately after locking the door and toeing off your shoes. Crocheting occupied the bulk of your free time after work and even on the weekends, and you felt a panic come over you when you started noticing shops putting up Santa Claus and reindeer-themed décor.

There was a pang of guilt in your chest each time you had to tell him that you couldn't meet him when asked on the day of, simply because you already had plans to rush home and continue working on the afghan. You didn't want your gift to get between you and your boyfriend, but with the way time was rushing past, you really, really wanted to finish it as soon as you could. It was already getting to mid-December before you knew it.

Nobu ❤ >>> If you're very busy with work, I can meet you where you are. It's been a while since we had a meal together. I miss you.

It dawned on you then that this must be the reason for the Crocheter's Curse: devoting so much time to the project that the intended recipient felt forgotten. You didn't expect to let it get this bad—

Nobu ❤ <<< i miss you too, pookie!!! really!!! ❤❤❤ i'm really sorry that i've been unavailable lately. let's meet for dinner at that restaurant you like this friday! my treat!!!

The day of the holiday dinner was upon you just as you removed the afghan you crocheted for Aone from your makeshift blocking board. It was the miracle you needed for the season that your gift was completed, washed and blocked on time. You admired it for a minute before you folded it into a thick rectangle for easier packing and wrapping.

Now all you had to do was to give it to him!

You were riding the high of both a met deadline and a completed project despite the string of recent sleepless nights. Until you arrived at his place and felt yourself sink into his sofa, you were confident you'd be awake enough to witness Aone's reaction. The decorative pillows were newly fluffed. Judging from the sweet orange scent that hung in the air, the sofa slipcovers, among other things, were freshly laundered too. These sensations worked together to make your wakefulness all the more easy to slip away.

Aone's head whipped around to your direction when he heard the sound of your palm colliding with your cheek. He washed and dried his hands before he stepped out of the kitchen and sat by you on the sofa. Taking your face into his hands, he examined the sight before him. "You haven't been sleeping well," he said.

The words to let him know that nothing was wrong and that you were feeling alright sat on the tip of your tongue. But you couldn't get them out when he was stroking his thumbs over your cheekbones so sweetly. The motion was so soothing that it was lulling you to sleep even if your eyes were still wide open and you desperately needed to blink. "Would you like to take a nap? It'll be a while before dinner's ready."

Shaking your head, you patted him on the thigh as a means of reassuring him. Aone's upper lip jutted out almost imperceptibly at your action, and you laughed. "I'm alright, really! I was just working on your gift these days. I didn't want to give it late, is all!"

His little pout deepened into a recognisable frown. You jumped up a little in your seat, placing both your hands on his chest and rubbing small circles about his collarbones to assuage his concern. "Ah, it's no big deal! I'm not sleep-deprived. We don't celebrate the holidays in my family but I know your family does, so I just wanted to do things right!"

Aone closed the distance between your face and his with a series of light kisses, and you closed your eyes at the first touch on your lips. When he was satisfied for the moment, he pressed his forehead to yours. "I'm very grateful. But you didn't have to do anything at all. I will never be disappointed by you, or by your gift."

Your heart positively swelled at his words. "But I wanted to do things right! You deserve it," you said. "I wanted this first gift to be extra special, is all."

The two of you shared a few more whispers and kisses before you pulled away, giddy with excitement and extremely eager to hand him his gift. You walked to the sideboard by the entryway where you left the afghan and returned to his side by the sofa.

"For you, Nobu!" You pushed the wrapped box into his waiting hands, bouncing on the heels of your feet in anticipation. "Will you open it for me, please?"

He nodded, thanking you in a hushed tone that you could only describe as reverent. Your palms began to sweat, even if you knew you didn't have to be nervous about his reaction. You put all your love into each stitch.

The stick-on bow and the wrapping paper came off, and next was the lid of the box.

You would never have predicted the love-struck gasp that escaped him once the lid was off. The wonder in his eyes was clear as day, his hands appreciatively tracing the cabled pattern lines of the afghan, still folded neatly within the box. "Do you like it?" you asked, though the answer was quite clear. You just wanted to hear Aone say it.

"I love it," he said, leaning over to brush an appreciative kiss in your hair. "This is the best gift. Thank you."

[lynn-w3st]

MK1: Thantophobia (Part 1)

(Noun), The fear of losing someone you deeply love and cherish very much.

Pairing: Dark Bi Han x Fem Reader

Warning: Mild Yandere Behavior and Stalking Behavior. (I try my best so I’m sorry if it came out cringe ) 🥺❤️. Hope you guys enjoy 🥰.

Prologue Link: https://www.tumblr.com/lynn-w3st/747076610473263104/mk1-thantophobia-prologue

You were awoken by the sound of birds chirping outside of your window. The sunlight gently beamed through your curtains as you sat up from your bed and groan tiredly. It was time to get ready for work as your owns a small bakery.

With a sigh you decided to get ready for the day as you needed all of the money you can get to help your father to pay for his medication. You wore you standard clothes and skirt apron.

Your father walk towards you with his cane in hand and gave you a weak smile. “You know if you feel burden to continue the family business I won’t hold you accountable. I want you to live a normal and steady life.” He began as you sigh and brought him into a hug. Your father began to cry as he felt useless for burdening you a lot.

“It’s ok father, I want you to be happy and safe. Mother may have walk out on us but you have always been there for me growing up. Please don’t ever feel like you are a burden to me.” You said softly as you wipe a tear from his face.

Your father place a kiss on your forehead and gave you a blessing before handing your satchel to you. “It seems you are stubborn like your old man.” He said as he chuckled before coughing uncontrollably. You frown and use your own handkerchief to wipe his bloody mouth.

“I won’t be out to much long father. Please by the elder gods go get some rest and lay down.” You said as you then escorted your sick father towards the bed and helping lay down before covering him up with some warm blankets.

“Take care my daughter. Don’t speak to any strangers unless they are customers.” He said as you nodded before getting up and leaving his bedroom. You bid farewell to him before leaving the house and locking it behind you and hop on your bicycle rode towards the village market.

The fresh spring air breeze was gently blowing on your face as everyone in the village were tending and working on the fields. A sense of calm and peace was evident in your mind.

The ride to the marketplace wasn’t much long as many vendors and retailers began to open and prepare their products and stands. You came into a stop in front of the bakery as the baker Jun was waiting patiently for your arrival.

“For a second I thought something happen. How’s your old man doing?” He asked as you got off of your bicycle and park it against the wall. “He’s still not doing well, had a high fever last night. Almost gave me a heart attack.” You said as you opened your bakery shop’s door.

“Hey don’t worry kiddo, your old man will get better soon. He’s one tough man and I’m very proud to be your godfather. It is my duty to make sure you are safe.” Jun said as he ruffled your hair. “Thanks uncle, now those pastries and breads won’t bake themselves.” You said.

The both of you began to set up and clean up the shop before any customers came in. The shop has been passed down from generation to generations. It belong to your ancestors before passing it down to your parents. You turn on the open sign before helping Jun make the goods.

Few hours later, you were humming a lullaby tone as you place the newly fresh batches of breads and pastries on the display cabinet.

So far you and Jun had quite a few customers come in to order your guys famous boba milk tea. The market was filled with people who were happily chatting away and shopping around the stores. The radio was playing some calm music as the bakery’s door open to reveal an old man.

“Hello welcome! If you need any assistance please feel free to ask me.” You said as the old man nodded and looked over the display. Jun was outside in the back smoking a cigarette.

“How much for these moon cakes.” The man said as you happily told him the price. The bell jingled again as two familiar faces enter the shop. The old man grabbed the two boxes of the moon cakes before standing before you to pay before leaving the bakery to go shop again.

“(Y,N)” Kung Lao said as he greeted you with a smile as you left your position from the register and rounded the corner to hug your two best friends. “Raiden! Kung Lao!” You said happily.

You brought them both into a tight hug. Jun smiled and greeted the both of them when he entered. “I hope Kung Lao hasn’t been giving you any trouble Raiden.” You asked giving your friend the funny stinky eye. Raiden chuckled at your sassy attitude while Jun choked a laugh.

Kung Lao let out a fake gasped and place a sassy hand over his heart in a dramatic gesture. You rolled your eyes and laugh as his reaction.

“How you could you say that to the Nicki Minaj great Kung Lao.” He said dramatically making you giggled more before making a baggie full of pastries and goodies. “Here are some freshly baked pastries and breads for you both. It’s on the house.” You said as Raiden was speechless.

“Oh no no (Y,N) let me pay for it please you are to kind.” He said as you shook your head and practically shoved the small bag into his arms. “Please I insists, Raiden! You and Lao have been very helpful to me. Especially in hard times since my father is still very ill.” You said.

Raiden gave you a reassuring smile before accepting the bag. “Thank you (Y,N) Kung Lao and I will enjoy your pastries. Hope your father gets better soon.” He said as he and Kung Lao bid farewell to you before leaving the bakery.

You waved back to them and resumed going back to work as more customers came into the shop. By the time you had finish paying the last customer, the sun was beginning to set in the horizon. Many of the stores began to close up and head back to their home for the day.

Jun helped you place the chairs up as you were counting register. “Why don’t you go home for the day kiddo. I can finish here and lock up the store.” He said as you hesitated for a bit. “Are you sure, Jun ? I don’t mind staying.” You said

“Yeah go take care of your old man. Be careful and don’t speak to strangers.” He said as you gave him a thumbs up and left the bakery. You place your satchel on the basket and got on your bicycle. You waved goodbye to Jun before riding towards your home to make some dinner.

You parked your bike against the side of the house and walked towards the front door to open it but found another small box that very similar to the one that you received last night.

However, this time the writing had a different message on it that read; In this timeline ‘till next I’d be choosing you over and over again.

Again that cold and dreadful feeling appeared as everything went quiet and your body was filled with goosebumps. You decided to not think much of it and enter your cozy house.

“I was worried for a bit my child. You normally don’t stay this late. I’m assuming Jun is going to finish up.” Your father said as made his way to you. “Sorry father for worrying you. Are you feeling a bit better?” You asked your father.

“I feel a bit better, my daughter. Come let’s us eat some dinner. You’ve had a very busy day.” He said leading you towards the kitchen table that various of your favorite spicy dishes.

“Ok papa, I’m starving and by the way Raiden and Kung Lao stop by. They are going out of town for a few months and they said that hopefully you get better soon.” You said.

Your father smiled as he served you some tea before the both of you began to eat the food. The both of you did not notice a dark silhouette watching you every move before disappearing.

Later that night after finishing getting ready for bed you couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread and uneasiness as someone or something is watching you even if your curtains were closed.

You decided that maybe it was the stress that caused you to feel this way. And with that you blew out the candle and got into your cozy bed.

Tiredness and sleepiness began to consume you as the last thing you saw was your window balcony opening slowly before you fell asleep.

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter of the story. Sorry if it’s slow as you can see I’m still trying to figure how this story is going to work out.

If you guys have any questions or concerns for me, I’m always happy to answer them for you guys. Please if you guys have some ideas or suggestions on how to introduce Dark Bi Han then I would be very much appreciated.

Please take care of yourself my lovely besties and I’m here if you guys ever need anything.

[simsroyallegacy]

An Unlikely Girls' Day Out; Princess Minerva Seen With Fiancé's Ex

With all the drama surrounding our royals at least we can catch a break with our future Crown Princess! Her Imperial Highness Princess Minerva (one half of our beloved #Minicolas) was spotted in Windenburg's historical district with her close friend, supermodel Lisa Cartwright-Hampton, and a surprise guest: "reformed" villain and her fiancé's ex Lady Anissa Crawford.

The fabulously dressed trio were seen window shopping and stopping for coffee; no catfights, no drama, no trading of insults. We've gotta say, we're shocked!

(Pictured Above: Princess Minnie shares a lively discussion with the group before heading into luxury atelier Sior.)

After years of battling bad press and earning the monicker of "Easy-A", Lady Anissa has come a long way in reforming her image; starting with her shocking tell-all interview with a popular late night television host over two years ago. Her long time suffering from Princess Isadora exposed to the nation that perhaps not everything said about Easy-A had been completely true. In fact, if our sources are to be believed, she is not so easy after all!

Most of her cheating scandals have been debunked by online sleuths and many of Isadora's fake sources in the media coming clean. In a shocking turn of events, Anissa and Nicky were even spotted months ago attending their close friend's football match and mingling! No one expected a friendship to be developed between her and Princess Minnie though!

(Pictured Above: Lisa looked effortlessly chic in her monochrome look featuring a slim maxi skirt, a black and white crop top, and slicked back low ponytail.)

According to a close friend of Lady Anissa's, she and the future Crown Princess met through their mutual friend Lisa Cartwright-Hampton herself. Anissa and Lisa have worked in the same field for years with Anissa dabbling in fashion design, even having Lisa walk in several of her brand's fashion shows during San Myshuno Fashion Week. The two had grown close and Lisa eventually introduced her to her closest friend, Princess Minerva.

(Pictured Above: The three fashionable ladies spot the paps before entering another luxury store.)

The trio were apparently out dress shopping for the recently engaged Lady Anissa, spending the longest amount of time at luxury fashion house Sior, which she had previously worked for in the beginning of her career.

(Pictured Above: Lady Anissa shows off her giant sparkler along with her §1,000 belted silk dress from luxury brand MIKI.)

Lady Anissa got engaged to long time on-again-off-again boyfriend Jackson "Jacks" Pierson, the previously mentioned close footballer friend of hers and the Crown Prince. He is also heir to his father's Earldom in Callahan. The two, despite the many ups, downs, and breaks in their relationship, have known each other for over ten years and have currently been dating for three.

The two live in a luxury penthouse in San Myshuno with their two cats, Minxy and Jinxy. Their wedding is planned for late spring of next year, only a couple of months before Nicky and Minnie's!

(Pictured Above: Our Queen of Fashion showed off her iconic necklace the Heart of the Crown this afternoon while out shopping with her friends. Her navy blue body con dress is from affordable online fashion retailer MarcoPolo and costs about §60! Better grab it before it sells out.)

Speaking of Nicky and Minnie's wedding, we have to confess...WE CAN'T WAIT! Their happy ending has been years in the making and we're desperate for another Royal Wedding. Perhaps if we all ask nicely they'll move up the wedding date?

[seat-safety-switch]

For a couple years, I worked in a video store in a small town. In many ways, this was the culmination of a childhood dream: routine, unchallenging labour. If you were a particularly annoying labour analyst, all I actually ever “did” was ring up rentals, restock returns in the morning, and clean the windows. Customer service has its own way of filling the space left by the actual work, though.

People who have worked retail are a sort of elite corps. For one thing, you’re never rude to another retail employee for the entire rest of your life. You’ve been in the trenches, too, and even if you somehow managed to escape, you’d still have had that shared trauma to know how bad that shift could get for that shelf-stocker at Maybe’s Drugs off I-40.

I have all the usual complaints, but there’s something else, too. My unique problem is this: I had this one customer who came in every Monday morning, asking for the same movie. We never had that movie, which is the crux of our conflict. He – and I can’t remember his name anymore, even if the electroshock therapy had been effective – never took “no” for an answer, and would come back the next week. He’d ask for the same thing, by title. No other details: no barcode, no publisher, no actors. Not even a description of the plot (he hadn’t seen it yet, obviously.) Now, this was before broadband internet was widely available, so I’d have to dial up after hours to America Online, and see if the movie had been added to their database. It never did, except one night I saw some folks talking about it in a video store chat room.

Their customers, too, were asking for this film. Insistently. After talking about it that night, we decided that we would form a bit of a trade union group. If any of us heard anything on this mysterious VHS, we would share the knowledge with the rest of the group. That retail-worker camaraderie at work again, you see. Nothing ever came of it, but I did end up becoming good friends with a manager at a Hobart’s Movies in Ames, Iowa, and we were even roommates for awhile before he got a new job at Seaworld. I moved on, too, making my slow, but inevitably in retrospect, drift towards the coast. Still, the whole thing bothered me. For years afterward, I would turn on my computer every Monday night, long after I had left the job, and search for any clue as to the existence of this film.

Once, on a day off, I called a librarian, who got pissy at me for even asking about it, and demanded to know who had put me up to calling her as a prank. I hung up in a panic, but she called back for hours. Obviously, she was also undergoing the same situation, and I felt shame at having brought a momentary pain to another proud Retail-American.

Now, video rental stores are a thing of the past. Even in small towns, they have been reduced to just a fond memory and an abandoned corner of a strip mall. Maybe my customer’s quest doesn’t matter anymore. The aggregation of the world’s knowledge into one hissing, unseen beast at the centre of our collective technological hallucination is complete. If they don’t have it, pick a different one. All I know is that, one day, someone will find a copy of this movie, and I’ll be able to go back to that town and shove it in the ground where the video store once stood. On that day, I can finally rest, freed from the slavedriver that is Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol.

[chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang]

“Dress to Impress” (Deacon x reader)

Word count: 1, 274 words

Age restrictions: 16+ (vulgar language)

Tags: Fluff, crack, you determine whether the relationship is platonic or romantic

Synopsis: You’re having a party planned for the New Year’s Eve, so your undead friend decided to offer his helping hand in picking a presentable outfit.

Author’s note: Yes, I named it after a Roblox game. No, I’m not twelve years old.

_____________________________________________

Ever since you heard about your coworker throwing a New Year’s Eve party and inviting you over, it hadn’t left your mind. You just started working at this company at the end of November and you felt a bit awkward, because of the lack of friends and connections. So this was a perfect opportunity to make a good impression on your new colleagues and be the social butterfly you hoped you’d be someday.

Today was the day. 31st of December, almost 7pm. You still had plenty of time to get your shit together, since the even started at nine and the venue was at a walking distance from your apartment. You dug through your full closet, trying to find that one outfit, that would blow everyone away in a matter of seconds. Something classy, but not pretentious. Something to show personality without making you look like a weirdo. Something to be eye-catching without it seeming like you’re trying too hard.

Finally, it presented itself. Falling from the top shelf and landing right onto your head was a beautiful gift from destiny. It was your old blazer with dress-pants, that you wore to a friend’s wedding. Pair this up with any top you want and you’ll look like you pay your taxes on time. Perfectly styled for a responsible office worker.

You put it on, messed a bit with your hair, until you could finally say you tolerated that person in the mirror and was about to start cleaning the mess of unworn clothes that you made, but the sound of a bat squeaking outside of your window stopped you. Seems like your dear friend came again and waited to be invited inside.

You met Deacon about two years ago, when you worked as a shopping assistant in a thrift store. It was almost the end of your shift, when some guy in a vampire costume knocked on the door of the shop and asked to be invited in. You thought this was a bit and found it rather funny, so you invited him in, without questioning. He entered and navigated his way to an oversized leather jacket with furry collar.

He put it on and turned to you: “How does it fit?”

“There’s a mirror right over there.” His question threw you off a bit.

“I need your opinion.” He rotated 360 degrees in front of you. You found it just as amusing, as you did confusing.

“It fits nicely. I think it suits your aesthetic rather well. But…” You thought out loud.

“But?” He was getting a bit impatient.

“But maybe you shouldn’t button it all the way up? Like leave it a little loose at the top. Makes it look hot.” You mentally facepalmed and quickly added. “With all due respect.”

He followed your advice, buttoning it down and fixing the collars a bit. He proceeded to do another spin. “Better now?”

“Oh, yes. You look very good.” You smiled.

“Good. Thank you…” He squinted his eyes at your name tag. “[reader].”

“You’re welcome…”

“Deacon.” He said.

“Deacon.” You mentally noted his name, just in case he comes back. Customers liked it, when you remembered their names.

After this brief interaction your late customer simply headed for the door, without regards for the simple rules or retail. Which is paying for the item, that he currently had on. You cleared your throat to get his attention. “You didn’t pay.”

He waved his palm at your face and said: “I don’t need to pay for this jacket.” Then left the store.

You weren’t paid enough to care and your negligence towards your own job turned out to worth it! Because he returned the next night… and the night after… and the night after the night after. So now, despite losing your job for letting a robbery happen at least 12 times, you had a cool vampire friend, who continued to visit you almost nightly, even after you stopped working in the thrift store.

“Please, come in.” You told him and the bat flew in through the window, turning into a hundred and something year old vampire on your couch.

“What in the world do you have on?” He looked you up and down.

“My Saturday Night’s best.” You chuckled.

“Where are you going?”

“I should remind you, it’s usually more proper to greet a person, before starting an interrogation, but I am going to a very important party tonight.” You sat in the armchair.

“In that?”

“Yeah, why?”

Despite your confusion, he examined your clothes again and looked away. “Nothing.”

“Come on, spit it out. What’s wrong?”

“I have never seen anything more bland than this. It’s not how you usually dress.” He finally gave in.

“How I usually dress is not suitable for a colleague’s get-together.” You looked at your clothes on the floor. “If I put on something like this…” You picked up a brown pair of pants with fake human and animal teeth sawn into them. “It wouldn’t make a good impression. I want to look approachable. Not like a manic psychopath with evident violent tendencies.”

“But now you look like what Nick probably dressed like, before he stole my style.” He huffed.

“No need to attack me like that.” You playfully scoffed. “Look, it’s my favourite colour. Already showing some personality, huh? A good conversation starter, I say.”

“If you’re planning on being this boring the whole time, I am leaving.” Deacon pointed at the window.

“Okay, fine… What do you suggest?” You almost felt, like a movie montage of you trying out clothes with Deacon would start, but unfortunately it didn’t.

He stood up and started searching through the stuff you had lying on the floor. Whenever he found something that looked presentable, he threw it on the couch. Soon enough, there was a full set of clothes. A velvet jumpsuit, a turtleneck and a belt with chains, because it’s fun. “And you’ll take my coat.” He added.

“Won’t you be cold? It’s like zero degrees outside.”

“I’m a vampire. I’ll be fine.” He insisted.

You looked at the clock. Still an hour left. Naturally, you took the clothes and changed in the next room. You returned into the room like a model doing a catwalk. After spinning around you stopped.

“I don’t know… What if everyone else will come in black tie and I’ll be there like this?” You gestured at your new attire.

“Then you’ll be showing personality.” That made you smile and gave you the last bit of confidence you needed to wing the night.

You spent a bunch of time just hanging around in your apartment, while you cleaned up the mess that inevitably occurred whenever Deacon showed up for some reason. You got caught up in talking to the point of completely losing track of time.

“Shit, I’m running late!” You scurried from the couch. “Can you, like… fly me there? It’s about to start in two minutes.” You begged with the expression of a kicked puppy.

“Fine, come on.” You got onto the fire escape outside of your window and he floated you to your friend’s house, avoiding any curious bystanders.

“Thank you so much!” You exclaimed and quickly gave him a warm hug, before running up the stairs to your coworker’s apartment, leaving Deacon to stare at you from behind.

Turned out, that this wasn’t exactly a ‘party’ in the traditional sense of the word, that you thought of. It was more of a casual evening. Everyone was dressed down, the same way you’d come to a close friend’s house. Everyone, except for you.

Well, at least you showed plenty of personality ;)

[gothgoblinbabe]

Marlboro Red 100's (pt.1)

Daryl Dixon x FemReader

Modern/no apocalypse/no walkers AU

Word Count: 3765

Warnings: Mentions of smoking, fluffy-lovey-dovey crap, suggestive-ish, swearing, mention of slight age gap but no ages specified

(Pt.2)

A/N: This is like my second ever one shot I've posted to Tumblr pls enjoy and don't rip me to shreds <3

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1:30 to 2:00

2:00 to 3:00

Then 3:30 to 4:00

4:00 to 5:00

5:00 to 6:00

Your shift dragged on and on the more you glanced at the clock, watching the hands circle around and around, painfully slow. Six more hours. You could do six more hours of this, right? Monotonously scanning items and cashing out customers, fixing displays, cleaning spills, scrubbing toilets, checking inventory; all the wonders of being a minimum wage employee at a gas station corner store. Overworked and underpaid, a sentiment shared by many.

There’s handfuls of regulars at any retail store. Some are pleasant and will make small talk with you, asking about your life or commenting on the weather. Others, not so much. Men can be creepy and some people will share every detail of their life with you, whether you want to hear it or not.

There’s rare times, though, when there's a customer that you actually have genuine interest in talking to. Like today.

The door chime rang out through the desolate store, causing you to repeat your usual “Hi, how’re you?” and turn your gaze from your shift paperwork up to the front door. 

There stood a man, broad shoulders and shoulder length, dark hair. He wore dark jeans, heavy-looking boots and a leather vest over a flannel that had the sleeves torn off. His tan, muscular hands and arms were covered in what looked like motor oil. He wiped them on a red rag he took from his back pocket, shaking his hair out of his eyes. 

“Hey,” his voice was low and gruff with a bit of a southern accent, “you got a bathroom I could use?”

He raised his arms, showing you the mess on his large hands.

“Yeah, uh, right in the back, to the left.” you stammered, gesturing towards the back of the building.

You’d probably die before you told anyone this, but the whole hot mechanic look some guys came in with really got you going. Not often is there a good looking guy that comes in that you drool over, but every now and then there would be a mechanic or a construction guy or a painter who just looks dirty and you wanted them dirtier. It was weird, you didn't know why, but maybe it was just the idea that they weren't afraid to get their hands dirty, literally.

You watched this one walk to the back, eyes on his biceps. Oh, how you’d like to be nearly crushed between them. 

Seriously, being here so long with so little to do makes your mind wander just about anywhere and everywhere and half of what you did during your shift was daydream.

When he disappeared into the men’s room, you leaned against the cigarette wall behind the register, eyes scanning the parking lot outside the window. It was almost abandoned, except for an older man pumping gas into his Subaru and a worn-looking Harley Davidson motorcycle propped up out front.

“Of course he rides a motorcycle,” you mumbled to yourself, shaking your head with a little grin. He definitely seemed the type.

“Say somethin’, sweet ‘eart?” his voice startled you from your thoughts, noticing he’d already washed his hands and was now standing up against the counter.

You couldn’t help the light blush creeping across your face at the nickname, shaking your head and pointing outside, “just sayin’ I like your bike.”

You blinked at him from behind the register, watching his eyes almost light up at the mention of his prized possession. You could feel your heart beating faster at the scent of his cologne mixed with a little gasoline.

“Ain’t she beautiful? Just got done workin’ on ‘er, made a mess but it’s always worth it.” He grinned, glancing out the window at his bike.

“You new ‘round here? I’ve never seen you before,” you decided to blurt out, “think I’d remember ya’.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Not many new people come through here, is all.” you lied, so many different faces slid through every day, but you’d remember his because you’d think about it later with your hands between your thighs.

“Huh,” he hummed, “can I get a pack of the Marlboro red 100’s, darlin’?”

You nodded, turning around and reaching on your tiptoes to grab the pack of cigarettes from the top shelf. Had you been able to feel the way the man’s eyes traveled down from the top of your head to your heels, you would’ve melted into a puddle right there.

“Anythin’ else?” you asked, placing the cigarettes on the counter top.

“One more thing,” he said, handing you a twenty dollar bill, “what’s your name?”

You pointed to the name tag fastened to your shirt and he read it outloud, erupting butterflies in your stomach.

‘’I’m Daryl Dixon. And yeah, I’m new ‘round here. I’ll be back in though, you’ll see more of me.”

“You gonna be a regular?” you asked, crossing your arms and once again leaning against the wall of cigarettes after you handed him his change and closed the drawer.

“Hope so, only If i see more a’ you.” 

You rolled your eyes and tried to bite down the smile on your lips, failing miserably. 

“Uh-huh, I’m always here, Daryl Dixon,” You teased, letting his name roll off your tongue.

“Then I’ll be back for sure.” He flashed a sweet smile, tapped his hand on the counter and turned to leave. 

Once he was out the door, you watched him mount his bike, raking his hands through his hair and kicking up the side stand. As he pulled away, you felt the butterflies still flutter in circles in your stomach, your thoughts still focused on him.

You would see him again. It would be Daryl’s ritual to come in every Friday afternoon for a pack of Marlboro Red 100 cigarettes and sometimes a lighter. Truth was, even if his pack wasn’t empty yet, he’d still stop in every Friday afternoon just to see your pretty face and to watch you stretch the top shelf, his eyes raking over your shape. Jesus, he wanted you so badly it almost hurt, but he had no idea how to approach you about it, he didn’t even know much about you. Small things, like your family stuff and what you did for fun, but nothing much else. To make matters worse, he had to be at least 20 years older than you. What would you want with an old man like him?  

Was he really old? 

No, but he felt like it. 

Except for when he was lost in conversation with you.

 Every time he saw you, he felt as though there was no divide and you could’ve known each other years before, old friends meeting up every Friday for a couple months straight. He’d ask questions about you, what your favorite color was, your favorite animal, favorite song, movies, foods, anything he could learn about you, he absorbed like a dry sponge tossed into water. You’d always return the questions, ask him the same, and make mental notes of the answers, the same way he was.

On one sunny, dry, hot Friday afternoon, the door chimed and in walked your favorite regular, Daryl Dixon.

“Hey, honey,” He grinned your way, but instead of walking towards the counter as usual, he turned towards the cooler in the back.

“What, no cigarettes?” you pretended to be shocked, hand over your heart.

‘’I’m gettin’ a drink, hot as shit out there,” he replied, shaking his head and disappearing momentarily behind one of the shelves.

You smiled and rolled your eyes just as the door chimed again, another customer walking in. 

He was a short, scrawny guy who couldn't have been more than a couple years older than you. You said your usual greeting and he ignored you, walking up to the counter and simply stating a brand of cigarettes you assumed he wanted. Daryl got in line behind him just as you turned around and bent slightly to grab the pack of cigarettes on the lowest shelf.

From behind you, you heard a whistle.

You snapped back up, looking back and glaring at the asshole. He was chuckling to himself.

“Aw, c’mon, it was a compliment, baby, you got blessed back there,’’ He laughed.

“Fuck off,” you muttered, tossing the cigarettes onto the counter and swiping the scanner over them.

“What was that, babe?” He raised his eyebrows.

Daryl looked like he was about to explode, piping up from behind the guy, “you heard what she said, why don’t ‘cha? Fuck off.”

He nearly spat his words, seconds away from stepping between this douchebag and the counter.

“I ain’t gonna let no bitch talk to me like that,” He snarled, swiping the cigarettes off the counter.

‘’Alright, that’s it,” Daryl placed his drink on the counter and slid it to you, “hold that, sweetheart, okay?” before turning to the other man.

‘’Fuck you think you are, talkin’ to a lady like that? She ain’t no bitch, that’s you. Get the fuck on outta’ here.” He spat, roughly grabbing the younger man by the collar of his t-shirt and shoving him towards the door.

‘’She ain’t no lady-” the guy started, back to the door, but Daryl cut him off.

“She’s every bit a’ one, now get the hell out and leave ‘er alone before I kick your fuckin’ teeth in.” 

The guy tried to walk forward, but Daryl shoved him out through the door, onto the pavement. He scrambled up, seemingly too embarrassed to walk back in, and sped off. Daryl picked up the cigarettes from the floor where the guy had dropped them when he was shoved the first time and gently placed them onto the counter.

‘’You alright, honey? I’m sorry ‘bout him, fuckin’ asshole.”

You were just about breathless, a pit in your stomach and a tingle in your chest. You’d hate to admit it to yourself but the way he had defended you turned you on to almost no end. Your heart was beating a million times a minute, deafening in your ears as you blinked at his baby blue eyes.

You almost couldn’t speak, “ ‘m fine.”

“You sure?”

‘’Y-yeah, thank you.”

“Ain’t gotta thank me for nothin’, I’d never let some prick talk to ya’ like that.”

“Daryl?”

You had a bad idea, it was definitely bad and there's no way he’d say yes but your tongue was on a route that your brain couldn’t stop.

“Mhm?” he hummed in response, leaning on his forearms on the counter, so engaged in anything and everything you had to say.

Which made things so much worse for you.

“What are you doing tomorrow night? Are you busy?” you blurted.

Oh, this could be so, so bad.

“What?” He replied, steading himself to stand straight. 

Okay, yeah, bad.

“Nevermind, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I-”

“No, no, sorry for what? I ain’t busy tomorrow night, what were you gonna say?”

Daryl looked intrigued, if not a little confused.

“It was stupid, I was gonna ask if you, um, If you’d wanna maybe have dinner or somethin’. Like a date.” You managed to get out, picking at your fingernails with anxiety.

“I ain’t too old for ‘ya?” was the first thing from his mouth after a moment of tense silence.

“Too old?” you questioned, tilting your head, “I’m an adult, Daryl. You can’t be too old for me.”

He sighed, grinning and rubbing the back of his neck as relief filled his body.

“When you want me to pick you up, sweetheart?”

You smiled wide, feeling giddy like this was your very first date all over again.

“Let’s do six o’clock? Here, I’ll give you my address,” you find a piece of a scrapped receipt and scribble your address and phone number, handing it over to him.

He gladly accepts it, folding it and placing it in his jeans pocket.

Before you know it, it’s six o’clock the next evening and you're focused on yourself in the mirror. You’d worn your favorite outfit and done your hair, waiting anxiously for the doorbell.

At five minutes past six, it rang.

You excitedly scurried to the door, opening it to see a slightly nervous Daryl Dixon in his leather vest and flannel button down. 

He shook his hair out of his eyes to get a better look at you, making note of every curve and dip that made his head spin.

“You look…real, real pretty,” He managed to mumble out, having a hard time keeping his eyes on yours.

“You do, too,” you teased, stepping out into the evening air and closing the door behind you.

You followed Daryl to his motorcycle, your stomach turning with nerves.

“So where we headin’ off to?” you inquired, watching his broad shoulders in front of you.

“ ‘s a surprise. Figured I outta’ do somethin’ special for a girl like you.”

You blushed, shaking your head and only giggling in response.

“You alright gettin’ on the bike?” He asked sweetly, placing a gentle hand on your elbow.

You could melt under his calloused touch, instinctively leaning your body towards him.

“I should be alright, I think. Just never been on one before,” you caught your lower lip between your teeth.

He noticed the small nervous gesture, reaching over his bike and handing you the single helmet.

“You’re safe with me, alright? Hold on real tight and don’t let go, trust me, ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you,' ' He reassured you.

You hesitated for a moment before tugging the helmet on and letting Daryl help you on the motorcycle behind him. You wrapped your arms tight around his abdomen, leaning your weight on his back.

He was glad you were behind him so you couldn’t see the shade of pink his cheeks had turned or the way he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face even if he tried. You were significantly smaller in stature than he was and he adored the way your smaller arms wrapped tight around him.

“You ready, honey?” He kicked the side stand up, rearing the engine of the bike.

“Sure am, sugar,” You shot back.

His smile grew wider as you both started forward, wind through your clothes sending a light chill through you. The hum of the bike filled your ears as you watched your shadows dance upon the pavement, cast by the late afternoon sun.

Before you knew it, Daryl slowed the bike to a stop and turned to speak to you.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Nah,” you tried to act nonchalant, though your heart was beating like crazy as you handed him the helmet back, “it was fun.”

“So you’ll let me take ya’ out on it again?” 

“Well, I’ll have to if we’re gonna go on any more dates, huh?”

Daryl smiled at your quick response, hopping off the bike and helping you do the same.

You checked out your surroundings, a green and desolate park, open lawns with freshly mowed grass and large oak and willow trees.

“You take me here to kill me?” you joked, watching a dragonfly hover over the cement near your feet.

“Nah, cmon,” Daryl chuckled, waving his hand to motion you to follow him, “got somethin’ set up for ya’. Hope you don’t think it’s stupid, I ain’t ever really…’guess I’ve never been on a real date before, so I, uh…I don’t know, hope you like it, is all.”

His nervous babbling as you followed in his direction into the field of grass made you smile wide. 

“I’m sure whatever you got up your sleeve is -”

Words failed to form as you saw what he was leading you to. A blanket was laid out under the shade of a beautifully full weeping willow tree. Containers of all sorts of delicious foods were spread out along with a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

“Oh, Daryl, you did all this? For me?”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to kiss him right there for being so damn sweet.

“Of course, for you,” Daryl smiled, taking a seat on the blanket and tapping the empty space next to him, “what other sweet lady would I do this for?”

You couldn’t hide the large smile spread across your face as you plopped yourself down next to him, taking in the array of foods.

“Wow, this is…you really out did yourself. This is perfect.” you assured him, taking note of the way he was scanning your features to see what you thought of his gesture.

“Think so? Just wanted to make it ‘nice as I could.” 

“Perfect, all of it.” You smiled and opened a container of strawberries, popping one in your mouth and offering some to Daryl.

He took one appreciatively, doing the same.

You had a mischievous idea and picked up a strawberry, offering it to Daryl, “Now is this the part of the date where you feed me strawberries like in the movies?”

You thought he’d laugh, shake off your joke in slight rejection and change the subject.

Instead, he gently took the fruit from your fingers, hovering it in front of your lips.

‘’Yeah? Go ahead.”

Your stomach did back flips and you could’ve sworn it tied itself in knots at his words.

Daryl was glad you didn’t seem to notice the way his hand started to shake.

You leaned in, slowly, and caught the fruit between your teeth. You kept your eyes on his as you bit down, pulling away to wipe the juice from your lips.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, that was one of the hottest things he’d ever experienced in his life and he immediately went for the wine to calm his nerves. 

You watched him uncork the wine in his lap, noticing the slight bulge in the front of his jeans as he tried to hide it with the bottle, though it didn’t do much.

The way you had to do almost nothing but exist in his presence to make him excited had you biting down a smile, watching his hair fall in front of his face as he finally uncorked the bottle. As he poured your glass, you reached a delicate hand forward and brushed the hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear. His eyes shot up to yours, lost in the way the sun hit them and made the color even more stunning.

You were beautiful, ethereal, an angel on earth he had been blessed to be touched by.

And you made him spill the wine.

“S-shit, sorry, I shoulda’ been lookin’, too distracted,” He laughed a little, glancing at the stain of red wine on the blanket.

‘’Distracted with what?” You teased, grabbing the bottle from his hands to pour him his own glass.

“How am I supposed to pay attention when there’s a pretty girl like you lookin’ at me like that?”

“Like what? I’m just lookin’ at you!” You giggled, going to hand him his wine glass.

“Like that!” he exclaimed with a smile, gesturing with his free hand as he took the glass from you, “with them beautiful damn eyes and that pretty smile and that gorgeous face, drivin’ me damn near insane.”

“Oh, please, you say it to flatter me,” you shook your head and laughed, taking a sip from your glass.

  “Nah, but if you wanna feel flattered, I’ll sure keep tryin’,” He said, doing the same, “but it ain’t flattery if it’s true.”

You playfully rolled your eyes and had another snack. Daryl sat back against the tree and watched you intently, your lips, nose, jaw, hair, hands, every bit of you. 

“You wanna know somethin’?” He said, gaining your attention.

“Hm?”

“I don’t really go through a pack of smokes a week. I just come in every Friday to see you. I like seein’ your pretty face and I like seein’ you reach up to grab ‘em from the top shelf. It’s cute.”

It felt like he knocked the wind right out of you. He really was too damn sweet.

“And I like talkin’ to ya’, like knowin’ more about ya’. Could talk to you for hours.” he added in admission, smiling in adoration at you.

It was almost too much. 

“Daryl?”

He sat up, leaning towards you, “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I want you to kiss me,” you sighed, watching his eyes change, “please, kiss me.”

He wasted no time in placing a gentle hand on the back of your neck and connecting his lips with yours. His lips were soft against yours and tasted of strawberries and wine and cigarettes. His breathing was soft against your cheek as he deepened the kiss, placing his other hand on your waist and absentmindedly tracing circles with his fingers. Your hands were both in his hair, twirling his locks around your fingers. You both eventually broke apart to gaze at each other, breathless and giddy like teenagers.

“I like you a lot, Daryl.” you admitted, again playing with his hair. He leaned into your touch.

“I like you more.” He smiled, fingers still tracing patterns on your waist.

“Oh, you wanna start that fight?” you teased.

“Only if we can make up at the end,” He smiled.

You kissed him again, this time adjusting yourself to be nearly square on his lap. His breathing hitched and he gazed up at you, swiping gently at the hair that had fallen in front of your face.

“Show me how much you like me.” Was all you had to say to have Daryl’s tongue in your mouth, swiping lovingly and softly. 

His hands caressed from your shoulder blades down your back to the sides of your hips, kneading your thighs while you tangled your fingers in his hair. He pulled away just an inch to kiss along your jaw and down your neck, biting and sucking softly, earning small mews and moans from you. You mumbled his name in ecstacy, making him groan against your neck. He continued to kiss back up your neck and jaw to once again meet your mouth, using one hand on the back of your neck to keep you as close against him as you could get.

When you two finally broke away from each other, reluctantly, neither of you could wipe the smiles from your faces.

It was no surprise then, when he dropped you home later and walked you to your door, that you both agreed to a second date.

-------------

wooooo pt2 coming eventually!

[ghoulodont]

Held at a Knife's Point

Dewdrop invites Rain on an unconventional date.

Relationship: Raindrop / Characters: Dewdrop, Rain Tags: Ear Piercing, Ghoul Lore (just a little), sweet & supportive Dew Words: 3511

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Dewdrop asks him as they’re cleaning up after a practice session that day, just the two of them in the instrument storage room.

“By the way, I’m going into the city tomorrow, want to come with me?”

The abbey’s locale meets most of their day-to-day retail needs, but for some things, more specialized purchases, they tend to go to the nearest major city. There’s a big record store they all like to browse, and a music store that stocks all sorts of gear that’s better tried in person.

“Sure,” Rain says. “Guitar pedals?”

“Getting my ear pierced.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“You could get one too, if you want.”

Rain reaches up and touches his own ear without any conscious intention. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“No pressure, you could come with me either way.”

“No, I mean, I’m just not sure what kind I would get.” Dew has a few piercings already, in a scattering of different places across his ears — a body part which is quite intricate, actually. It seems there might be dozens of possibilities. Rain runs his fingers over the loops and curves of his own, as of yet unaltered.

“I think you should get one here.” Dew reaches up and places his fingertip on a spot just inside the round inner hollow of Rain’s ear. If that hollow were a globe, a planet rotating on the long axis of his ear, Dew’s finger could be on its equator. 

Rain puts his own finger there, nestled against Dew’s for a moment. 

Dew pulls his hand away, then leans back a bit and watches Rain as if he’s visualizing, considering how it would look on him.

“Won’t it get in the way of the in-ear monitor?” Rain asks.

Dew hums thoughtfully. “I don’t think it will. You could always change the jewelry if it did, though. To something flat.”

Rain pinches his ear between his fingernails. It stings. He imagines what it would feel like if they went all the way through.

“You can get whatever you like, though.” Dew puts his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “You don’t have to get anything at all. It’s up to you.”

“What are you getting?”

“One that goes across, like this.” He pulls one hand back out of his pocket and drags his finger horizontally across the flat plane of Rain’s upper ear.   Rain places his own fingers on that blank canvas of a space. His and Dew’s hands bump together. “Through..?”

“Here,” Dew gently pinches the rim of Rain’s ear between his fingertip and the pad of his thumb, above where it attaches to his head in the front, then a similar place on the opposite edge. “And here. The jewelry goes across.” He drags his finger horizontally again, connecting the two points.

“Oh.” Rain rolls the rim of his ear between his fingers. It’s fleshier, the cartilage thinner.

“You can think about it, yeah? No pressure or anything.”

He’ll think about it, sure, but he’s already made up his mind.

—

Around noon the next day, the two of them board a train into the city. As it pulls out of the station, the trees and houses next to the tracks start to creep by, then accelerate faster and faster until Rain can’t focus his eyes on any single feature anymore. Once the train makes it far enough from the residential area, the trees fall away to reveal the slow-moving landscape beyond.

“Have you decided?” In the next seat over, Dew is watching out the window too.

“Yeah. I’m going to get what you suggested.”

“Nice.”

“By the way, are they going to notice...” Rain taps the pointed tip of his ear.

“Nah, just don’t mention it and she won’t say anything.”

“Really?”

Dew hums in assent. “It’s like the horns.”

“Even up close?”

“Yep. The power of confirmation bias or something.”

Despite whatever power that allows them to function in human society, be it mystical or psychological, Rain still feels skeptical. For a human to look directly at his ear, touch it, even alter it, seems riskier than going to the grocery store, or any other day-to-day activity he’s used to. But Dew has done this before, so it must be okay.

Their destination is a fifteen minute walk from the train station. Dew knows the way without any maps or directions. They pass restaurants and cafes, department stores, shops selling clothes and furniture. Eventually they arrive at an unassuming storefront — a door listing operating hours next to a single display window, set into brown stone. Dew pushes open the door and holds it for Rain to follow behind.

Inside, a woman behind a display case greets them. Rain finds himself distracted by his surroundings while Dew talks to her. The store is bright, artificial light compensating for the cloudy weather and shadows of buildings through the window. It’s neat, too, orderly and immaculately clean, every surface polished and free of dust. The ambiance is something between high end retail and a dentist’s office.

“Do you have time for a walk-in?” Dew places his hand on Rain’s upper arm. Rain smiles politely as he’s being displayed.

“Of course.”

Dew seems to have some sort of ability to get things he wants. He doesn’t beg or argue, at least not in this context — he might pout lightheartedly in private, with Rain, with the other ghouls, but that’s the extent of it. When he isn’t pulling his punches, he just asks for things directly with a high rate of success.

The woman turns to Rain. “What are you thinking of getting?”

“Oh, um—” He points to the spot on his ear that Dew pressed his finger against yesterday. If he really focuses on it, he can still feel the heat there. “Just here.”

“Great. For your jewelry, you can pick from any of these,” she says, tapping a fingernail on one of the glass cases between them. “Or any of the ones over there, if you’re looking for something fancier.”

Of course, standing in the middle of what he now understands to be a very specialized jewelry store, he should have anticipated this would be part of the process, but it still catches him off guard. All of Dew’s jewelry is plain silver, little round beads and hoops. It would seem he always skips this step.

Rain peers into the case in front of him. Within it are rows and rows of gems and charms, arranged in orderly grids on stark display stands. There are faceted jewels in a rainbow of colors, all kinds of decorative metal shapes, intricate designs, gold and silver, large and small and every size in between. His head spins.

A cloudy gray-green stone, smooth and round and flecked with black, catches his eye where it’s lined up amid other natural-looking options. It gleams, almost iridescent, blue and bronze, when he moves his head.

He points with one finger against the glass. “The gray one.”

She reaches in through the back of the case and pulls out the display stand. She points at the stone. “This one?”

Rain nods.

She plucks it from its slot on the stand. It glints again under the LED ceiling fixtures, reflecting light from within, like an animal’s eye, a deer in the headlights.

Before she disappears into the back of the shop to prepare things, she hands them each a form on a clipboard. The two of them sit next to each other on a leather couch and fill out their names and demographic details, and confirm their willingness to participate by signing at the bottom of the page. It barely takes a fraction of the time that she’s gone, leaving them waiting and unoccupied. Rain taps his feet nervously. Dew bumps their shoulders together.

When the piercer returns, she leads them into a smaller room with a counter along one side and a black padded table in the center. It’s windowless, but just as bright as the front, and just as clean.

“Whoever is going first, you can have a seat up here.” She gestures to the table.

Rain glances over at Dew, who is already looking at him, watching his face.

“Want me to..?” Dew speaks softly.

Rain nods. This will be a first for him either way.

Dew hops up onto the table. He folds his hands loosely in his lap. His boots dangle above the tile floor.

At the counter, the piercer peels open blue and white sterile envelopes with gloved hands and lets their contents fall onto a paper-lined tray table next to her. She picks supplies from drawers and sundry jars — gauze, alcohol wipes, a marker, a small cork like the kind used as a stopper for a bottle. She wheels the tray over to where Dew is sitting.

She scrubs his ear with alcohol, then marks two spots on it with a purple pen — the same two spots he showed Rain yesterday. She offers Dew a hand mirror. He examines his ear, holding the mirror off to the side, and then nods.

From her prepared supplies she picks up a needle, unadorned steel and intimidatingly thick, the broad teardrop shape of its beveled end clearly visible from a distance. With her other hand she picks up a cork. She lines them both up against Dew’s ear, the needle on one side and the cork on the other, framing one purple mark.

“Breathe in,” she tells Dew.

He complies, his chest rising slightly.

“Breathe out.”

He does, his chest sinking back down.

As soon as he begins to exhale, she presses the needle through his ear and into the cork on the other side. Dew doesn’t even blink. She slides a metal bar into the newly created hole in his ear, using it to push the end of the needle all the way through.

She repositions the cork and the needle on either side of the second purple mark and repeats the same process — inhale, exhale, needle, jewelry. She screws a metal ball on each end of the bar, which is now threaded through both sides of his upper ear.

“All set.” She peels off her gloves.

Dew hops down from the table and checks out his ear in a large mirror hanging on the wall. The bar is longer than the width of flesh that it spans, sticking out a bit on either side. The entire top half of his ear is pink. It clearly looks new, fresh, but conceptually it fits in well with the other metal there. In time, once those indications of newness dissipate, it will look like it’s always been there, just like the rest.

Dew returns to where Rain is standing, off to the side of the table, out of the way.

“Ready?” The piercer is putting on a new pair of gloves.

Rain is the one who is supposed to be ready. He doesn’t feel ready, but time is moving forward on its own. He sits on the padded table, now in Dew’s place, with Dew where Rain was before, their positions swapped.

When the piercer brings over the tray, it has the same things as it did for Dew’s piercing — gauze, alcohol, a marker, a cork, a needle. She tips Rain’s head slightly with her gloved hands and draws a dot on his ear with the marker.

She passes him the hand mirror. “Let me know if this looks good.”

He tries to imagine the purple dot replaced by a piece of metal and stone. He can’t really close the conceptual gap — it’s just a dot. Regardless, he nods.

“Great.” She picks up the needle and the cork.

Rain’s breath catches in his throat. The needle is so much bigger up close. He glances up at Dew and imagines standing where he is again. The distance isn’t far, but somehow it made a huge difference.

Dew steps forward and closes that distance without saying anything. He eases the mirror from Rain’s tight grip and places it on the table. Then he offers his own hand, palm up and welcoming, in its stead.

Even just the invitation is a relief, a logical and straightforward improvement to the situation that Rain wouldn’t have thought of by himself in this state. He takes Dew’s hand in a firm grip. It’s warm, and the pressure is grounding.

The piercer brings her hands to the side of his face. She’s working so close to his head he can’t see anything, only the blur of her glove in his peripheral vision and her expression of concentration off to his side.

“Breathe in,” she instructs.

Rain can feel the sharp tip of the needle where she places it against his skin, just resting there lightly, painlessly. He knows what’s going to happen. He breathes in.

“Breathe out.”

He breathes out.

More than pain, there’s pressure. And more than pressure, there’s sound — a loud pop, almost a crunch, of the needle penetrating his cartilage.

She takes something from the table nearby and performs what he assumes must be the same dance between needle and jewelry as she did for Dew. He still can’t see what’s happening, only hear the rustle of nitrile as her fingers move.

Dew gives his hand one tight squeeze and then releases it.

“Feeling okay?”

“Yeah.” Actually, he feels giddy. It’s unclear if it’s just from the sudden relief after a very long day of anticipating an impending unknown, or if it’s a rush of endorphins precipitated by the needle itself.

“Want to take a look?” She takes a step back and nods at the mirror on the wall. Her gloves snap as she peels them off.

Rain slides off the table and walks the two steps to the mirror. He leans in and tilts the side of his head toward it, holding his hair back with one hand. There, in the inner shell of his ear, right where he pointed to, and exactly where the purple mark was, is the gray-green stone from earlier. It shines when he tips his head just a few degrees.

He leans back, standing up normally. He realizes that his face, outside of his control, has composed itself into an expression of pleasant surprise, with his jaw dropped just slightly and his eyes bright. At this distance, the jewelry is subtle — not too flashy or too colorful or too large. He lets his hair fall the way it normally does, tucked partially behind his ear, and it’s barely noticeable until it glints with his motion.

Behind him, Dew is watching the mirror too.

The piercer leads them to the cash register at the front of the shop. Cool midday sun is shining through the window now, brightening the space even more. Rain pulls his wallet out of his pocket but Dew waves it away and taps his card on the reader before Rain has a chance to protest, or to see what the total is.

The piercer sees them off with a paper copy of the aftercare instructions for their piercings. Dew folds it neatly in thirds and slides it into an interior pocket of his jacket, and then the two of them set out for the train station.

They stop for ice cream on their way. It’s too early in the year for it, really; the sun warms the ground but there’s a petulant breeze in the cool air. Packed-down piles of plowed snow remain unmelted on street corners, tucked into alleys, at the end of the occasional parking lot, all dripping sluggishly onto damp asphalt. Sidewalks are littered with a crusty patchwork of the same.

Nevertheless, Rain’s eyes linger on the shop window as they walk by. The freezer case with its cheery selection of flavors, assorted colors in big tubs marked by little handwritten labels, is visible within. When he turns his head back towards the direction they’re walking, Dew’s eye contact tugs on him with an unspoken question. Both of their steps falter, and then they’re turning around.

A bell hanging from the door greets them with a hearty jingle as they step inside. The interior of the store is warm, almost stiflingly so, and empty of other customers. The syrupy smell of waffle cones is so dense it might as well be visible in the air, condensing near the ceiling in cotton candy clouds. Sweat forms on the back of Rain’s neck like liquid caramel beading on the surface of a torched crème brûlée. His limbs sag like pulled taffy.

After they make their selections and after Dew pays — for both of them, again, as if they’re on their first date instead of their hundredth, as if they’re counting, as if an ordinal number could represent an infinitesimal sum of continuous time — they file past bistro tables and metal chairs tucked along one wall and head back out the door, which bids them farewell with the same jingle.

The early springtime air is a refreshing contrast, freezing the sugary haze on their jackets and in their hair. They trade spoonfuls of ice cream while waiting at the crosswalk. Rain ducks his head down just slightly to reach Dew’s raised spoon. The traffic signal changes.

Rain’s ear is starting to ache now, pulsing out a nagging heat in time with his heartbeat. Without much forethought he places the cold ice cream cup, held in fingers that are rapidly becoming numb, against his ear. Immediately, he jerks it away with a sharp, involuntary inhale.

Dew chuckles. His eyes are warm, glimmering with a knowing spark.

“Ow,” is all Rain can think to say.

“Yeah,” Dew laughs. When he speaks again, he’s suddenly much more serious. “Not that bad though, right?”

Rain glances over and Dew is looking at him with his brow furrowed, and with the big, sad eyes that he can never quite replicate when he tries to as a joke. Rain considers how best to downplay his reaction. “It’s...” he starts, and finally settles on, “distracting.”

Dew nods once. He doesn’t say anything, nor does he provide any other indication of what he thinks about that.

A couple blocks later, he makes a sudden turn into a pharmacy.

“Wait, where—” Rain stutters as he follows his lead. Dew never mentioned making another stop.

“Just want to grab something.”

The two of them weave through a maze of aisles stocked with neat rows of medicines and first aid supplies and vitamins. Dew leads them to the selection of over-the-counter pain relievers. The thing Dew wanted to grab, apparently, is a package of ibuprofen, which he bends down to select from a lower shelf.

They return to the front of the store to check out. On the way, Dew grabs a bottle of water from behind the glass door of a refrigerator case. It swings closed with a snap.

Back outside, Dew pauses mere steps from the door. He slides open the flimsy cardboard flap of the ibuprofen box and pulls the blister pack of pills from within. He holds the plastic and foil sheet out towards Rain.

The chain of cause and effect snaps into a straight line, orderly like the rows of pills in the package. Rain thought that he succeeded in alleviating this particular concern. “Wait, it’s not that bad.”

“It’s not a big deal, and it’s good for the swelling anyway.” Dew presses the sheet closer.

Resigned, Rain holds out his hand to take it.

Instead of handing over the entire sheet, Dew holds it over Rain’s outstretched palm and presses one dose out of the individual cells with his thumb, breaking through the foil backing. Then he twists off the top of the water bottle and hands it to him as well.

Rain swallows the ibuprofen with a sip of water. He sighs quietly. He feels sort of like a party foul, the one who needs their hair held back in the bathroom at a bar, maybe. The one who couldn’t handle what they signed up for.

Next to him, Dew pops another dose of ibuprofen out into his own palm, then drops it into his mouth. He reaches out for the water bottle. It takes Rain a second to catch up with what’s happening and hand it back. Dew drinks from the bottle and then screws the cap back on. He stuffs the remaining ibuprofen into his jacket pocket. 

When Dew looks back up, Rain is still staring, gears in his head turning. His eyebrows are probably raised just a little, he realizes.

Dew shrugs at him, nonchalant.

When they start walking again, Rain reaches out and bumps the back of his hand against Dew’s. Rain doesn’t need to say anything; Dew clasps their hands together without hesitation.

He pulls his and Rain’s hands into his pocket. It’s a comfortable fit with the two of them, not too tight — Dew’s jacket is oversized in every aspect, including, or maybe especially, the pockets. There’s nothing else inside this one, just them. It’s warm from Dew’s body heat.

Rain squeezes their hands closer together.

[mjoffic]

last minute shopping - eddie munson holiday blurb

I work retail and this popped in my head while refolding a graphic tee table and it's truly just a bunch of fluf and eddie being a cute boi

~ enjoy and happy holidays ~

word count: 1.2k

The holidays. A time focused around family, the reason for the season, cozy sweaters and hot cocoa. Twinkling lights couldn't be missed for miles as every house had some sort of big bulk convenience store decoration. No need for 'frosted windows in a can', oh no, Hawkins was seeing a very white Christmas with snow fall never ending and the chill of the wind cutting through every jacket and parka leaving no survivors behind. The joy was like an electric buzz in the air, only one thing could diminish the feeling.

The Starcourt Mall.

Eddie wasn't the best planner, never had been. Despite this year trying his best to be on top of the holidays he still had yet to get something for Uncle Wayne. With Christmas Day only two days away, it was a scramble for the perfect gift and it was absolute hell trying to get anywhere in the mall.

He could try The Gap? Nah, too pricey.

Maybe a gift certificate to Scoops Ahoy? But when would Wayne ever find the time to use it? He's always working.

Eddie sighed in frustration, running a hand through his mop of curls. He took a moment to look around the area, peeking over the heads of bustling mothers herding their kids to meet Santa, dads sitting on benches with shopping bags galore, teenagers running around the food court with their Orange Julius's sloshing all over the place. This was a nightmare. Slim pickings. Would Wayne be upset over a hand drawn card?

He was near giving up when he spotted Macy's on the far end. It was a department store, and while it seemed busy, it wasn't as congested as the inner workings of the mall. He squeezed his way through and slid through a sliver of space in between two groups of families; one included a mother scolding her husband for losing their credit card, the other group had a child crying over not getting the remote control car on the front table. Eddie pursed his lips, so glad he wasn't in that stage of life just yet.

There seemed to be never ending options for Eddie to look through, he wondered why he hadn't stopped in in the first place. It also made this decision much more difficult. He knew that he would definitely be walking out with something, no doubt, but genuinely the starting point slowly began to stump him and he felt his once eager energy depleting. A three pack of ties? When did Wayne dress up? A mug? Sure, lets add to the hundreds of them adorning the trailer wall. Maybe a fancy glass set? Even if the glasses were on sale, it was definitely out of Eddie's comfort range of spending.

"Well the sign says fifty percent off!"

A screech from an older woman pulled Eddie out of his daze and his attention turned to the scene on his right.

"Ma'am, I understand your frustration, however the sign details specifically to the gift sets. This sweater is on the table, but is signed for thirty percent off."

Eddie shifted his gaze from the woman, red in the face, almost matching her Christmas red sweater, to you. You stood behind a counter, not currently in use to ring up customers, but he noticed a stack of scarves next to you. He assumed you'd been cleaning up. You wore emerald green, very festive, and an elf hat to match. Despite your professional aura, the bell on the end of hat could almost send him into a fit of giggles every time your head even moved an inch.

"I'd be more than happy to show you-" you started, before being interrupted.

"You can show me to your manager! This is false advertising!" the women shouted, drawing a few more eyes into encounter.

"Ma'am, I'll have to ask you to keep from yelling in the store," you responded, face void of emotion. "If you would let me-"

"I'll yell if I want to! This is a free country!"

Eddie watched you take a deep breath, before picking a landline off the counter. You typed quietly while the woman continued her banter. You faked a smile to her before speaking again. "Hi, hey Ron, it's Y/n! Yeah, yeah, doing good, hey listen, would you mind sending security down to gifts? I have a disgruntled customer who refuses to listen. Awesome, thanks so much!"

The womens jaw dropped as you placed the phone back to the receiver, Eddie snickering quietly at this interaction.

"Who do you think you are!" the woman shouted, feigning a hand to her chest dramatically. "Do you know who I am?"

You smiled and shook your head, folding your hands on the counter. "No, ma'am, I don't! However I am the manager of this department and am asking you to remove yourself before security gets here."

The woman stared dumbfounded, slowly backing up from your bubble. Eddie stared in wonder at the interaction, and if he was honestly, completed turned on by your dominance.

"Merry Christmas!" you smiled, waving as the woman moved away from the scene.

Eddie noticed security at the end of the walkway and he shook his head, laughing slightly. Finding the nerve to walk up to you, he leaned softly against the counter and looked to the way in which the Grinch had left. "I think that was better than any of those movies playing in the theater right now."

You looked to him when he had approached, and smirked a bit at his words. "I try. Gotta keep some sort of sanity in this place."

"I get it, it's a madhouse in here," Eddie nodded, giving his best smile before extending his hand. "Eddie."

Your smirk simmered into a smile and you shook his hand back, nodding. "Y/n."

"Well, Y/n, I'm wondering if you might be of some use to me," he said, straightening back up.

"Oh?" you questioned, crossing your arms.

"Yeah, I mean, you are the manager of this department," Eddie said. "I'm in the works for the perfect gift."

"Ah," you nodded, stepping out from around the counter and glancing around your section. "Mom? Sibling? Girlfriend?"

Eddie stifled a laugh and he slowly followed beside you. "Uh, no mom. No siblings. And no girlfriend."

Your face erupted in pink and you stumbled over your words. "Oh, um, I'm sorry, I just assumed-"

"Hey, hey," Eddie grinned. "All good here. I'm shopping for my uncle, wanna try to find him something nice. Not much of a budget but I figured I'd find something on sale."

You felt your panic subside and sat a cool hand against your cheek, the heat subsiding. "Well, I'm sure we can find something perfect for him! Maybe something for you? Doesn't hurt to treat yourself sometimes."

Eddie pursed his lips a little bit and dug his hands in his pockets, following slightly behind you. He watched the way the bell of your hat jingled with every step you took. You arms slightly swayed when you walked, and you barely made a sound when taking a step. He began to notice the little things, and started to quietly thank the stars he'd came into the mall after all.

"I think I already have."

[wholesalerollershades]

Successfully selecting a commercial roller blinds manufacturer begins with a deep understanding of your space’s unique requirements. Before diving into the specifics of potential suppliers, it’s essential to define exactly what your commercial setting demands. Consider factors such as the type of environment, light control needs, security, and overall ambiance. By clearly assessing your space, you set the foundation for a decision that aligns with both functional and aesthetic goals.

Assess Your Space Requirements

Every commercial space is distinct. Retail stores might need roller blinds that enhance visual merchandising and draw attention to interior displays, while corporate offices require products that regulate natural light and promote energy efficiency. For instance, in an office, you’ll want blinds that offer optimal glare reduction and privacy without sacrificing style. Hotels and hospitality venues, on the other hand, might prioritize comfort and ambiance to provide guests with a memorable experience. Start by mapping out each area of your business: measure window dimensions, document the amount of natural light entering, and note any space-specific challenges—such as high-traffic areas that demand durable and easy-to-clean solutions.

Actionable Tip: Create a checklist detailing each room or area in your commercial space. Include specific environmental factors like light exposure, temperature control, and usage patterns. This initial audit will serve as a guiding reference when evaluating manufacturers.