#Cardboard Box Factory

[xinxipackaging123]

Cardboard Box Factory | Perfect For All Your Needs

Cardboard Box Factory are vital in various industries, from retail and shipping to packaging and storage. A cardboard container manufacturing unit plays a critical function in producing the ones bendy, green, and price-powerful packaging answers. Whether you need easy packing containers for garage or custom designed designs for branding, a professional cardboard box factory gives pretty quite a number merchandise that meet diverse dreams. Let's explore the key elements of a cardboard container production unit, collectively with the production manner, customization alternatives, and the advantages they bring about to corporations.

The Production Process: From Raw Materials to Finished Products

The method of making Cardboard Box starts off evolved with raw substances—normally recycled paper. Cardboard is made with the aid of layering and bonding paper sheets through a system referred to as "corrugation." In the case of corrugated cardboard, this entails a fluted, wavy layer among  flat sheets, giving the material electricity and sturdiness.

The Production Manner Typically Entails Numerous Key Steps:

Pulping and Preparing the Paper: The uncooked paper materials are pulped, combined with water, and treated to put off impurities. Once organized, the paper pulp is pressed and dried into huge sheets.

Corrugating the Paper: To create corrugated cardboard, a completely unique device feeds the flat paper sheets thru a chain of rollers, which form the fluted layers. This offers the cardboard its power and capacity to soak up effect, making it perfect for packaging fragile items.

Cutting and Shaping: The corrugated cardboard is then cut into sheets and sized in step with the customer’s specs. These sheets are further reduced and folded into field shapes for the usage of automated machinery.

Printing and Customization: If custom branding or logos are required, the cardboard is printed using outstanding printing machines. Customization can also consist of embossing, die-slicing, or including particular finishes to beautify the field's appearance and functionality.

Assembly: Once published and decreased, the boxes are folded and fixed or taped into form, equipped for packaging and shipment.

Customization Options: Tailoring Boxes for Your Needs

One of the main advantages of operating with a Cardboard Box Factory facility is the ability to customize your bins to suit your specific needs. Here are some commonplace customization options:

Size: Cardboard packing containers can be made to any size, from small containers for man or woman merchandise to huge bins for bulk gadgets.

Design and Print: Whether you want easy branding or hard designs, custom printing may be carried out on the bins. This is ideal for agencies that need to promote their logo and create a memorable unboxing enjoy for clients.

Strength and Durability: Different styles of cardboard provide various ranges of power. A manufacturing unit can create unmarried-wall, double-wall, or maybe triple-wall bins, relying on how heavy or fragile your devices are.

Eco-friendly Options: Many cardboard container factories now offer sustainable alternatives, inclusive of the use of recycled cardboard and non-poisonous inks for printing. This is specifically vital for groups seeking to lessen their environmental footprint.

Benefits of Choosing a Cardboard Box Factory

Working with a expert cardboard box production unit gives numerous advantages for businesses:

Cost-Effectiveness: Cardboard containers are regularly much less high-priced than other packaging substances like plastic or wood crates. By selecting cardboard, companies can lessen their packaging fees without sacrificing excellence.

Durability and Protection: Corrugated cardboard packing containers offer superior safety in the direction of effect, making them quality for shipping and storing fragile devices. Their electricity moreover guarantees that merchandise is much less likely to be damaged in some unspecified time in the future of transport.

Branding and Marketing: Customized cardboard bins deliver corporations a notable possibility to beautify their brand photograph. Printed trademarks, colorings, and unique designs make packaging an crucial part of your advertising technique.

Eco-Friendly: As cardboard is a recyclable cloth, groups can lessen their carbon footprint by means of the use of cardboard packing containers. With increasing call for for environmentally accountable packaging, selecting a cardboard container manufacturing facility that prioritizes sustainability is a clever business enterprise skip.

Conclusion

A Cardboard Box Factory in China plays a crucial position in supplying businesses with packaging answers that aren't best value-powerful but also customizable and environmentally fine. By deciding on the proper production facility, corporations can ensure they have got access to incredible, long lasting bins that guard their products at the same time as enhancing their brand image. Whether you need essential storage boxes or custom-designed packaging, a professional cardboard box manufacturing facility is prepared to satisfy your unique necessities with precision and care.

[newbloggycat]

Joke of the day - Discarded

“I worked in a cardboard box factory but it folded.” Photo credit: Jiawei Zhao

[kalpanahandmadepaper]

https://kalpanapapers.com/collections/handmade-paper-box

[dinosans]

Producător de Încredere al Cutiilor de Carton

Dinosans este destinația ta de încredere pentru cutii de carton de înaltă calitate. Cu o experiență vastă în producția de ambalaje personalizate și standard, suntem un producător de top de cutii carton. Indiferent de industria sau scopul tău, oferim o gamă variată de cutii carton de calitate superioară pentru a satisface toate nevoile tale. Explorează gama noastră diversificată de produse și bucură-te de ambalaje fiabile și eficiente, fabricate de profesioniști în domeniu. Alege Dinosans pentru soluții de ambalare personalizate și profesionale.

[garthwest]

Garthwest is UK based sustainable corrugated cardboard print & packaging manufacturers with wide range of Packaging solutions for design, suppliers, packaging & boxes.

[impette]

drew this as part of my “wuv-you webby” AU! you can find the synopsis below the cut <3

❗️repost as my old blog @snigglette got nuked — may it rest in peperony and chease

the queen in white has been a thorn in the sides of the lords in black since long before the earth held a title. their sister ( a title that tasted acidic on the mouths of the lords in black as well as the queen in white herself ), webina, was a nuisance at best and a iconoclast at worst. she was the only one not to adhere to their rules and visions. where they brought chaos, she brought peace. the kind of peace that she extended to those with a touch of the gift. the kind of peace that could permanently remove them from existence like graphite on paper.

the kind of peace that needed to be dealt with.

and deal with it they shall.

wiggog barked orders like a rabid dog, and wilbur cross followed them obediently.

wilbur slammed a sheet of paper down on the table of employees at the factory responsible for producing uncle wiley toys and goods. with a crisp green apple in one hand, he used the other to slam the pad of his finger against the sketch, the newest in the uncle wiley doll line. a plump and friendly plush spider, with eight limbs and eyes. he demanded a prototype of both the plush and the box it would be held in, a demand that didn’t need to be repeated, for the employees scrambled like mad ants to comply.

in mere days, they had it.

a vessel made of cotton and minky. a prison of fleece and embroidered stitch work.

webina was easy to fool, her naive heart yearned to believe her siblings when they invited her to speak about a truce, when they had offered opened arms as invitation to her.

irony held a wicked sense of humor, and it clutched its belly and laughed and laughed as the spider herself became trapped in a web woven to ensnare her & ensure her demise.

using their joint powers, the lords in black separated webina from her true form, trapping her essence in the prison of cotton and fleece. a prison that meant she could no longer be a thorn in their side. a prison that meant no further communications with those who have a touch of the gift — those that could put an end once and for all they had on their christmas list.

but webina should not go unpunished, wiggog decided. for this was not punishment enough, no. this fleece and fabric was the jail cell but not the sentence. and so, he ordered wilbur cross to have her delivered to toy zone, along with the various other stock in the uncle wiley toy line. schadenfreude seeped into the syllables of their words like spilled wine in white carpet as they giggled and snickered over how the infamous toy zone customer sherman young would be sure to purchase ‘wuv - you webby’, delighting in the what ifs and could be’s.

‘oh, what a delightful early birthday present,’ wiggog had happily hummed as he held the plush in his hands, before tossing it against wilbur’s chest with the demand he ‘see to it.’

webina fought with all her might to escape. she wasn’t able to free herself, though her efforts had caused the once pristine box she was encased in to become damaged with torn edges, creased corners and dented plastic. something that went unnoticed by wilbur, who figured the sounds were nothing more than the infamous potholes that every michigan road held & who hadn’t thought to open the cargo box to check on the state of the doll.

frank pricely, however, noticed it the moment he caught sight of it between the cardboard flaps.

as he opened the stock and removed the damaged box, he all but recoiled. it would be an insult to the reputation toy zone had built to place this damaged product on one of their prestigious shelves.

and so he phoned the manager for uncle wiley toys — though he was unable to get said manager, so he instead was met with a customer service rep — a prepubescent sounding boy whose voice crackled like pop rocks. phone in one hand and box in the other, frank barked his outrage that he had been delivered damaged goods and requested a refund.

‘uh sir, we have no transaction for a wuv you webby listed on our records sir, so we can’t issue a refund sir.’

frank hung up on him, shoving his phone into his pocket. he didn’t know what he was to do. he supposed he could offer it at a discount, but toy zone had a reputation to uphold! maybe he could —

‘frank?’

frank raised his gaze from the damaged box to look into the eyes of his best employee, lex foster. ( though he wouldn’t ever tell her that, he couldn’t let it go to her head! )

‘what?’ he asked exasperatedly.

‘is there any extra overtime i can do? i’ve been trying to save to get hannah something for christmas, but the fridge had some issues and every damn thing i had in that damned christmas budget had to go that damn fridge,’ she huffed and then closed her eyes tight and took a breath, trying to calm herself. ‘look, whatever it is i can do, i’ll do it. please, frank, i can’t bear the thought of telling hannah that santa was too busy to drop by the trailer again this year.’

frank pricely, a man who views ‘a christmas carol’ as a cautionary tale, looked from lex’s desperate face to the damaged box in his hands. the foster family’s financial situation & home life was no secret in a small town who loved to gossip. ‘here,’ he said as he placed the box in lex’s hands. ‘the box is damaged, but the plush inside it seems pristine. give it to hannah, and i’ll see what i can do about some overtime,’ he said to a jaw-dropped lex.

and for the first time in forever, the dead pine they used as a christmas tree held a couple presents beneath it — and hannah’s favorite was her new ‘wuv - you webby doll’.

little did the lords in black know that their plans of separating webby from those with a ‘touch of the gift’ had placed her in the hands of two with the gift, not merely a touch of it. two sisters who, together, may be powerful enough to take them all down.

[pookietv]

moving in | george clarke

i love the idea of moving in with someone so :,)

four years into your relationship, you had decided it was time: between the two of you, you were a little sick of the lack of privacy in your relationship, despite the hilarity of kissing in the kitchen for a second and the awkward moment of arthur hill walking in on you, or being in your flat and falling asleep on the sofa together to the amusement of your flatmates, you figured it had been long enough now. so you were moving in together.

and you were so sure it was going to go smoothly...

until you actually had to move in, that was - between a sea of cardboard boxes that made no sense to you, making george carry everything (because what's the point of having a man around if not for manual labour?) and slight confusion of what furniture still needed to be ordered, you had decided that george could be left to try and build a tv stand in the front room whilst you tackled the bedroom.

however, what you had failed to realise is how awful you were at building flatpack furniture from ikea yourself, the double bed frame you were trying to build still laying in pieces on the floor like it was half an hour ago, your hands fiddling with screws and a feeble attempt to read the instructions for what seemed like the 100th time, so engrossed in your efforts that you barely heard george come into the room.

"need a handyman?" he teased, and you groaned jokingly as you looked up and turned your body slightly to face him.

"turns out i'm useless, george, i cannot even build the bedframe," you laughed to yourself, and he grinned and poked you slightly, asking you to move along.

"well, if you like, i can finish, or... you know, start, to build the bed if you start sorting out the clothes in the cupboard? you can manage that, right?" he said cheekily, and it was your turn to nudge him with a slight smile in return.

"okay, fine, you can live out your handyman dreams and i'll start on clothes," you smiled back, standing up to go to one of the many other brown boxes, opening one that george had packed, and beginning to get to work, folding jeans into draws and hanging up jumpers and t-shirts into an organised section for him in the wardrobe, occasionally looking back at george, who had made more progress on the bed frame in ten minutes then you had made in half an hour, and you had to admit that you were staring at him a little, 'cause he just made something as simple as building flatpack furniture look good.

when you got near to the bottom of the second box of georges clothes, you found a shoebox labelled 'sentimental' and giggled to yourself, causing george's head to turn and look at you.

"what's so funny?" he asked, as you smiled and pulled it out, showing it to him.

"what's hidden in here?" you asked with a grin playing on his face, and his face went slightly red, though he shrugged and tried to act nonchalantly.

"just old pictures and stuff, i don't know," he said, turning his attention back to the building in front of him in hopes his face would go a little less red.

you sat down cross legged next to him, putting the box in front of you, "can i look?" you asked with a hopeful head tilt, and he groaned a little and agreed.

so when you opened the box to what was practically a memorial for everything to do with your relationship, you looked back up at him with the biggest smile, lightly pushing his shoulder.

"george! you soppy boy," you grinned as you pulled out pictures of you guys from both when you started dating to recently, an old cinema ticket, a small lego man you had given him after making it at the lego factory after telling him very convincingly that it looked just like him, a small note you wrote him explaining why you had to leave his flat early one morning, and a collection of many other things.

his face was still a little red as he looked up, but he was grinning before he shrugged again, "just felt like i should keep that stuff, i like having it all in one place,"

at the bottom of the box, there was a small velvet bag, a black one, and you pulled it out with a quizzical look.

"what's this?" you asked curiously, and george's eyes widening with an even more bashful look made you giggle.

you opened it slightly, tipping it out into your hand to see a small pendant necklace, with a small golden sun at the bottom of it, and you look back up to george, your eyebrows slightly scrunched up.

"i, um... got it a little bit ago, never really knew when to give it to you, i just saw it and thought it looked pretty, and i thought it would look nice on you, then i just felt a bit awkward every time i was going to give it to you,"

a slight warmth spread through you, and your bottom lip stuck out slightly at the adorable gesture, "well, seems like the right awkward moment is now?" you laughed slightly, and he nodded.

"well, it's not a candlelit dinner but it'll have to do, right?" he joked back, and you nodded. "do you like it?" he asked, and you nodded.

"it's really pretty, george," you looked back down at the small pendant in your hand before looking back up at him, "can i put it on?" you asked, and he smiled with a nod.

"well, that's what necklaces are for, right?" he grinned.

"well, does it come with a lifetime commitment to building ikea furniture?" you laughed back, and he mockingly pretended to be thinking for a while before looking back at you with a feigned look of reluctant agreement.

"well, i suppose so, i mean god forbid if i had let you build the bed," he teased, "i have the fear the bed would collapse the second we got in it if i had left you to build it,"

you were just thankful that george was surprisingly helpful, putting everything together with no complaint, checking the water and the gas, pottering around and doing odd jobs with a content look on his face.

"george?" you pottered into the kitchen after finishing unpacking the bathroom toiletries, where george was unpacking a kettle and microwave, and he looked up at you and confirmed he was listening with a small 'hm?'

"should we order a takeaway? 'm thinking maybe we deserve it after all the hard work building furniture and moving?" you said with a smile, and he rolled his eyes playfully at you.

"our hard work?" he teased, and you gave him a small grin.

"hey, i built a quarter of the wardrobe!" you laughed back, and he nodded his head.

"oh, yeah, of course you did babe," he curled his lip in amusement, standing up and pressing a kiss to your forehead, "takeaway sounds good, just let me finish up quickly getting these in the boxes and we'll leave the rest for tomorrow? most of it is done anyways,"

"sounds good to me," you smiled, and walked into what was now the living room - a little bare still, but it had a sofa and a tv, and it would obviously feel more homely the more you were there. but right now it was still kind of surreal - you lived with george.

once the food had came and you had put on some tv show you both knew far too well in the background for noise, whilst you were eating you looked at george with a small smile.

"weird that we, like, live here now. like.. we live together," you said, and he laughed.

"yeah, i get no more late night cuddles with arthur and chris," he mockingly frowned, and you giggled at him, playfully putting your hand on his shoulder, feigning support.

"it must be so hard to move out from your boyfriends' house," you grinned, and he nodded, playing along.

"it is... and now i'm just stuck with you," he said with an amused look on his face, "being your live in handyman."

"oh, shut up, you wouldn't have it any other way," you jabbed him playfully before leaning into his side.

[luulapants]

Incorrect comments I often see on tumblr posts about US incarceration

"The problem is private prisons!"

Private prisons are awful, and there have been specific instances of incarceration resulting from private prisons (like the Kids for Cash scandal), but they represent a very small percent of prisons in the US. Only 8% of people incarcerated in the US are in a privately-owned prison, and many states do not allow private prisons at all.

However, profiteering off incarceration doesn't stop at private prisons. There is an entire parasitic economy built around prisons, from prison phone, text, and mail-scanning companies to companies that run prison commissaries to the companies that provide food and clothing to prisons. These are all for-profit entities that contract with state or federal "justice" departments, who will choose either the lowest bidder or the company that provides the largest kickback to the officials making the decision (there is a LOT of corruption in these deals). Then they operate as a monopoly with no reason to provide incarcerated folks with anything but the bare minimum. The food companies make people sick. Until recently, prison phone companies have charged extortionary rates from the families of incarcerated people. Since the FCC put a stop to that, they have moved onto text, tablet, and mail schemes.

"The incarceration rate is so high because it's legalized slavery!"

While the 13th amendment exemption certainly plays a role in incarceration, especially the history of incarcerating Black Americans, prison labor is not the only piece of the puzzle. In 1973, 0.093% of the US population was incarcerated - a little less than 1 person for every 10,000 Americans. Today, the rate is 0.6%, or more than 1 in 200.

The factors that led to this trend are multifaceted: there was a backlash to the Black Power movement, the American Indian Movement, and resistance to the Vietnam War. There were "tough on crime" and Broken Windows policies that sought to reduce violent crime by arresting more people for petty crimes. There was the War on Drugs. There was the closing of state mental institutions and the failure to adequately fund the community-based treatment programs that were meant to replace them.

Prison labor does exist and play a role in all of this, but it's not the direct driver of incarceration, and only 1% of prisoners are employed by private corporations. Rather, the more pressing issue is that even if prisoners weren't required to do labor, they probably would still be forced to choose it because of how expensive it is to be in prison. Basic necessities like soap, toothpaste, and even shoes are not provided. In some places, they are actually charged rent - for the prison! The average wage for a prison laborer range from 13 to 52 cents per hour. People will petition to get transferred to prisons with factory jobs where they can get higher wages - like $4/hour making cardboard boxes. Even with their paltry wages, they still cost their families more than they can afford.

"Most people are in on petty drug busts!"

Drug arrests do play a pivotal role in the incarceration cycle, but only 1 in 5 incarcerated people is in on a drug-related offense. This makes sense, because those sentences tend to be short. A less direct way that drug criminalization factors in is that drug arrests give people a criminal record. They might lose their job when arrested, then incur court and parole-related fines and fees, struggle to find a job and housing because of their record, and end up in increasingly desperate situations where violent crime becomes a more viable option. Incarceration causes crime.

"Sex offenders need to stay locked up because they will offend again!"

People convicted of sex offenses actually have lower recidivism rates than people with other types of convictions. This is despite the fact that they receive no scientifically valid treatment during incarceration. This is also contrary to the wishes of the vast majority of victims, who favor less punitive sentences with greater investment in rehabilitation, mental health treatment, and victim support.

[xinxipackaging123]

Cardboard Box Factory For Custom Packaging Needs

A Cardboard Box Factory unit produces robust, recyclable bins for packaging and shipping desires. Using automatic machines, the factory cuts, folds, and assembles cardboard into custom sizes. These boxes serve industries like e-trade, food, and manufacturing. The manufacturing facility helps sustainable practices via the usage of green materials and decreasing production waste efficiently.

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

Listing a few funny things that happened when Angel had to deal with the media, post rescuing everyone from Playtime Co:

Angel, still shaking from spending one week inside the factory and with dried blood still glued to their hair, smelling like hell, politely answering some questions while in the hospital while waiting for Dogday's emergency surgery to finish.

The media being obsessed with calling Angel, whose actual name is Raphael Taylor de Oliveira, "Angel" the moment they hear one of the toys referring to them as that.

Combine the religious imagery with Angel's poor little meow meow wet kitten born in a cardboard box with every disease face and we have a very, very easy way for making the narrative out to be "a kind ex-worker at Playtime Co. discovers that children were used as experiments inside the factory and risks their own life in order to save them".

Angel is instant-loved by Brazil the moment the first news start to arrive, which is something they're very proud of.

Angel having to hold Catnap and Mommy Long Legs by their hands while giving out an interview in their home, so neither one of them would be too mean to the poor reporters. Angel still has to tell them to be nicer though.

The cops and investigators having to explain why they didn't figure out there was something wrong with the factory when all Angel had to do was walk inside and say hello to the Huggy Wuggy statue.

A reporter explaining the horrific events while in the background Huggy stares at her like "smoll person :0}" and boops her. Cue to Angel saying sorry and anxiously guiding him away.

"What did you have to eat while trapped down there?", someone asks, and the toys all go "oh hahahaha. uhm. rats. and the bodies of our friends WHEN THEY INEVITABLY DIED FROM A DISEASE. we didnt hunt each other dw dw hahahahahaha".

Angel a few months later, after buying the farm, giving a "house tour" so people will know the kids are doing okay and stop pestering them about house-related questions. Angel is very excitedly telling the reporter about how much more space they have now while Catnap is eyeing a bird in the background. "Theo don't you think about that, you have food right there".

One of the mini critters listing all the toys that were gifted for them and saying "it's very nice, very chewable", I like how it tastes" and Angel looks at them like "so it's YOU who has been chewing the toys??????", with the reply being "and the doors as well!"

Catnap going from referring to Angel as "our savior" to simply "our mother" during any interviews or news reports where he somehow talks.

Everyone wanting to interview Dogday because he does, indeed, have a radiant and happy energy and audiences love him.

Angel saying "and the hut is the house of 1006, the first one to ever happen, but he would prefer if we just left him alone".

Poppy being someone who's always SUPER pleasant to work with, and excitedly telling the reporters everything they have been doing around the farm.

Angel sighing after finding out Prototype is Elliot Ludwig, KNOWING they'll have to tell the authorities so they can have license money and control over the Playtime Co. brand.

Angel turning to the family's lawyer like "you won't believe what I just found out", the lawyer saying "oh, this won't be the most absurd thing you told me yet", then after hearing Angel tell her about it going "oh, you are always full of surprises, uh. Uhm. Now that makes things complicated", and Angel laughing to the point of tears after that.

ALL the news reports during the trial against Playtime Co.'s higher ups and the negligent authorities. Kickin keeps a collection of the "best moments", which include Angel beating the ever living shit out of a higher up after he refers to the toys as "things" and "collateral damage" instead of "victims of human experimentation".

The news about the fact that apparently Elliot Ludwig became the first PlayCo. experiment ever, and Angel + Poppy having to deal with THAT.

Prototype's single public apparition, around 4/5 years post-rescue, because he had to go to court as well so Angel would have a chance of getting the rights to PlayCo. and all of its properties back to them.

The news when Dogday and Catnap get married, a whole decade post-rescue.

Angel just dropping the most cryptid information ever in social media or during one of the rare interviews they're willing to give after the initial years post-rescue. They tweet things like "I saw some people asking if any of the toys ever attacked me during the week I stayed at PlayCo, and I want everyone to know that all of them at some point did. But don't worry, I bit them back, we're all good now" and one time say "my husband and I like to grow tomatoes like this, but one of our daughters has been trying another way" and that's how everyone finds out Angel and Prototype are a Thing.

Craftycorn happily blogging her life as an artist and featuring all of the other toys during her videos, while Poppy does makeup and sewing tutorials, and the two of them doing collabs and livestreams often. During one of the streams Angel screams "THEODORE GRAMBELL LUDWIG OLIVEIRA DID YOU JUST HUNT A COYOTE AGAIN", and that's how Crafty and Poppy's fans discover everyone decided to add Ludwig Oliveira to their names.

I would say more but honestly this post has been getting pretty long so rip

[kalpanahandmadepaper]

https://kalpanapapers.com/collections/handmade-paper-box

[dinosans]

Descoperă Cutii cu Capac din Carton la Dinosans

Explorează colecția noastră de cutii cu capac din carton disponibile pe Dinosans. Alege dintr-o gamă variată de dimensiuni și modele pentru a găsi cutia perfectă pentru ambalarea și depozitarea produselor tale. Cutiile noastre cu capac din carton sunt ideale pentru cadouri, ambalare de produse, sau organizarea eficientă a spațiului de depozitare. Calitatea și versatilitatea acestor cutii le fac ideale pentru orice nevoie. Caută printre opțiunile noastre și găsește cutii cu capac din carton potrivite pentru proiectul tău la https://www.dinosans.ro/11-cutii-cu-capac

[garthwest]

Garthwest is UK based sustainable corrugated cardboard print & packaging manufacturers with wide range of Packaging solutions for design, suppliers, packaging & boxes.

[inevitablysomber-dark]

Under The Radar 1

Started a new AU called Affectionate Obsession, with Steve Rogers as the first Character Story Series to be told I hope you all enjoy and don't be afraid to tell me what you think.

Dark! Steve Roger x Kiwi! Reader

Warnings:

This story contains themes of emotional manipulation, power imbalance, dubious consent, toxic relationships, and psychological control. It deals with difficult subjects such as forced dependency and mental/emotional abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

Description: Kiwi thought she had her life under control—until a chance invitation to the Maldives from her former friend pulls her into a web of manipulation and control. What starts as a luxurious vacation turns into a slow descent into captivity as Steve, the wealthy man funding her escape from reality, begins to tighten his grip on her life. Now trapped in a toxic relationship where affection becomes control, Kiwi must navigate a world where every decision is made for her, every boundary crossed, and escape seems impossible.

Is it too late to reclaim her freedom, or will she succumb to the life Steve has crafted for her?

Story Masterlist

The low hum of the factory machinery buzzed in my ears as I sat in the breakroom, staring at the sad sandwich I’d slapped together this morning. How did I end up here? After years of hard work and late-night study sessions, my Finance degree didn’t seem to mean anything anymore. Instead of crunching numbers and living the life I’d dreamed of, I was here—packaging cardboard boxes and watching my future slip away.

I glanced down at my phone, a knot forming in my throat. Rent was coming up in two weeks, and I had no idea how I was going to scrape the money together. The thought of moving back in with my parents twisted my stomach in knots. No way could I go back to their judgmental looks, the snide remarks about my life choices, or their constant need to belittle everything I’ve done. I'd rather sleep on a park bench than deal with that.

My phone buzzed on the table, jolting me from my thoughts. I looked down at the screen and felt my heart sink a little deeper.

Sharon.

Of all the people who could be reaching out, she was the last person I expected—or wanted—to hear from. We hadn’t spoken since graduation, and that was by design. Things between us hadn’t ended well, and the fact that she was contacting me now couldn’t mean anything good.

With a sigh, I swiped to answer. "Hello?"

"Wow, you actually picked up," Sharon's voice dripped with that same smugness that always made me grit my teeth. "I wasn’t sure if you were still alive."

I rolled my eyes, immediately regretting answering. "Yeah, still kicking. How are you?" I shot back, not even trying to hide my sarcasm.

"Fabulous, of course." Her voice was so sugary sweet it made my stomach churn. "Anyway, I’ll get to the point. A few of us are going on a trip—Maldives. One-month private villa. You should come."

I blinked, trying to process what she’d just said. A month-long vacation in the Maldives? Out of nowhere?

"Uh… I don’t think I can," I muttered, the discomfort rising up my spine. "I’m working right now, and I can’t afford a trip like that."

There was a brief silence, followed by Sharon’s familiar, annoyed huff. "Steve’s paying for everything, so don’t worry about that."

As if money was the only issue. I shook my head, feeling my frustration rise. "It’s not just about money. I can’t take off from work for two months."

"Why not?" she snapped, sounding genuinely confused, like the concept of having to work to survive was foreign to her. "Just quit."

I almost laughed at how ridiculous she sounded. "I can’t just quit, Sharon. I need this job. Some of us actually have bills to pay."

"Whatever," she sighed, clearly losing interest. "Look, if you change your mind, you’ve got three months to figure it out. We’re leaving in July."

I clenched my jaw, fighting back a smart remark. "I’ll let you know."

And with that, she hung up.

I stared at the phone, my mind spinning. Why now? Why was Sharon suddenly interested in inviting me on this extravagant trip after all this time? After everything that happened?

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I shook off the nagging feeling. Whatever she and her clique were up to, I wasn’t about to fall for it. Not this time.

I had more pressing things to worry about—like making it through the rest of my shift without falling apart.

***

Three weeks after Sharon’s call, I found myself standing in the manager’s office, trying to make sense of the words coming out of her mouth.

“Budget cuts,” Diane said flatly, as if that explained everything.

“But I’m the only one being fired,” I pointed out, confusion mixing with anger. “How does that make sense?”

Diane shrugged, clearly uninterested. “It’s just how things are.”

I knew better than to push back too much, but it still gnawed at me. Budget cuts? No way. This factory wasn’t exactly rolling in dough, but I’d seen plenty of new hires lately. So why me?

As I walked out of her office, I thought back to the time I’d corrected Diane on… well, something trivial. She’d been going on about a new process we had to follow, and I’d pointed out a mistake in her instructions. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. I remembered she’d gone all red in the face, tight-lipped, and I could tell she didn’t appreciate being corrected, but it seemed like she was over it.

Did she have something to do with this? It didn’t make sense. I was practically invisible at the factory. Why would she care?

Still, it stung. Whatever the real reason, I was out of a job.

A few weeks later, my luck hadn’t changed. I spent every waking moment job hunting, praying something would come through before the end of the month. But it didn’t.

When it became clear I couldn’t afford my rent anymore, I had to make a decision: drown in debt or swallow my pride and move back in with my parents.

I hated the idea. But bills were piling up, and the pressure was too much, so I chose my parents.

The moment I walked through the door with my boxes, my mom took it upon herself to help me unpack—which, of course, meant a nonstop commentary on all the poor decisions I’d made in life.

“I told you this would happen,” she said, folding one of my shirts with military precision. “You never listen. You should have stayed closer to home, gone into something practical. But no, you wanted to follow your dreams.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to snap. It was always the same speech: how I should’ve done this, should’ve done that. As if I didn’t feel bad enough already. But I stayed quiet, nodding along while she reminded me just how incapable I was.

I’d been living with my parents for a month and a half now, and I was at my breaking point. Their constant nagging, the tension, the way they hovered over me—it was driving me insane. I needed out.

One week before Sharon and the girls were set to leave for the Maldives, I caved. Desperation took over, and I found myself texting Sharon, asking if there was still space for me on the trip.

Honestly, I didn’t expect her to respond. But then, there it was: a yes. Along with a list of things to pack and an address of where to meet them.

I stared at my phone in disbelief for a second. I was actually going to do this. Anything to get away from my parents.

When I told them about the trip, their reaction was immediate approval. Of course, the second they heard Sharon and Steve would be there, they were practically pushing me out the door.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” my mom beamed. “Sharon’s such a successful young woman. You should really try to get back on her good side.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course they loved Sharon. She was everything they wanted me to be—successful, put together, and always in the right circles. And Steve? They practically worshiped the guy. The heir to a tech empire. Who wouldn’t?

“Just make sure there’s no more falling outs this time,” my dad added, like I’d ever intentionally ruined things with Sharon.

I remembered the first time I told them about our fallout. They acted like I’d told them I was addicted to drugs, and they never really forgave me for it.

Now, it seemed I was being given a second chance to make everything “right.”

And honestly? I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but at this point, I’d do anything to get away from here.

***

I couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole trip might be some elaborate prank. I half-expected to show up and find a hidden camera crew waiting to embarrass me. But here I was, standing in front of a private jet, struggling with my heavy luggage.

“Need a hand?” a man’s voice cut through my thoughts. Before I could even respond, he was already taking my bags, prying them from my grip with an ease that felt almost dismissive.

"Uh, thanks," I muttered, watching him haul the luggage up the steps of the jet. Was this even real?

Inside, Sharon was waiting, her bright smile as fake as I remembered. “Kiwi! Oh my God, look at you!” Her eyes swept over me, lingering on all the wrong places. “Still… you,” she added, her tone too sharp to be anything close to nice.

“Yeah,” I replied, biting back the instinct to roll my eyes. Same old Sharon. Still poking at me for being shorter and curvier than the rest of them. “Still me.”

I looked to Natasha, Jane and Pepper and waved before following them into the Private Jet.

Sharon smirked, gesturing toward the jet's sleek interior. “Welcome aboard. I bet it’s been a while since you’ve ridden in anything like this?”

I didn’t bother with a response. There were a million reasons why I didn’t fly on private jets, one being that I couldn’t afford too, but it wasn’t worth the energy. I followed Sharon inside, catching sight of the group lounging around like they belonged there.

Steve was the first to greet me, his golden hair practically glowing in the soft light as he flashed that easy smile. “Hey, Kiwi,” he said, patting the seat beside him. His tone was friendly—maybe a little too friendly—but I hesitated. Before I could move, Natasha grabbed my arm and steered me toward a different seat.

“We saved you a spot over here!” Natasha chimed, squeezing my arm with just a bit too much excitement. She shot a quick glance at Steve, then back at me, like there was something I wasn’t picking up on.

Peter was already seated across from me, leaning back with a casual confidence that made me uncomfortable. His dark eyes met mine for a split second, and he gave a small nod. There was nothing awkward or out of place about him—if anything, he looked like he belonged here. Like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

“Glad you could make it,” Peter said, his voice smooth and low. There was something about the way he said it, something that felt off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

The conversations around me were light, but every now and then, I’d catch something—a quick glance between Steve and Peter, a soft chuckle from one of the boys, or Sharon’s eyes sparkling with something that wasn’t amusement. It felt like they were all in on something, like the air was thick with an inside joke I wasn’t a part of.

I tried to brush it off, joining in on the small talk and ignoring the strange tension. But with every shared look between the boys, every lingering gaze from Sharon, that unease just kept creeping back.

It was like they were waiting for something.

Something I wasn’t in on.

***

I stirred awake to the gentle shake of my shoulder and a soft voice calling my name. “Hey, Kiwi, we’ve landed,” Natasha said, with a small grin, wiping her own hands on her lap. “You’ve got a little drool there.”

Still groggy, I wiped at the side of my mouth, feeling my face flush as I tried to erase the evidence of my nap. I sat up, blinking a few times, trying to get my bearings. When I looked around, I noticed the plane was emptier than before.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, my voice still thick with sleep.

Natasha stretched, her arms raising above her head. “They already headed to the villa. I guess they didn’t want to disturb you.”

I glanced over at Peter, still slouched in his seat, eyes closed, completely knocked out. The soft rise and fall of his chest made him look so peaceful, like the weight of the world wasn’t even a concern. He hadn’t noticed anything either.

Natasha smirked, shrugging. “I felt bad leaving you two alone, so I stayed back.”

I looked between Natasha and Peter, my stomach twisting. “Oh… right,” I muttered, feeling a familiar awkwardness settle over me. My head dropped slightly. It wasn’t the first time I felt like an outsider with these people, but moments like this seemed to make it worse.

Natasha didn’t say anything, but she gave me a look, one that spoke volumes without needing words. Then she moved toward Peter, giving him a nudge. He jolted awake, eyes wide as if he had no idea where he was. “Where is everyone?” he asked, his voice a little too casual.

Natasha repeated the same thing she told me, though this time, there was a teasing edge to her tone. “They left for the villa, but I didn’t want to leave you two sleeping on the plane.”

Peter ran a hand through his messy hair, giving a lazy stretch before standing up. I wondered if I was overthinking things, but Natasha’s earlier look stayed in the back of my mind.

“Alright, let’s catch up,” Peter said, flashing that easygoing smile of his.

As soon as I stepped off the plane, the warm, salty air hit me, carrying the scent of the ocean and sun. Waiting outside was a sleek black car, ready to take us to the villa. Peter led the way, while Natasha shot me an encouraging smile, like she knew exactly what I was thinking but wouldn’t say it out loud.

But once we got in the car, the excitement that had been bubbling inside me during the plane ride started to fizzle. Reality was sinking in, fast. I stared out the window as the scenery blurred by, and that familiar, sinking feeling crept in.

What am I even doing here?

Every part of me was screaming that this was a mistake. I didn’t belong here. These people had made me feel out of place back then—why would now be any different? I had spent so much time trying to distance myself from them, so why was I here now, in the same circle that made me feel like I wasn’t enough?

Was it going to be like this the entire trip? A constant feeling of not fitting in? The idea of spending two months like this, constantly questioning why I came, made my chest tighten.

I imagined stopping the car right there, getting out, and figuring out a way to go home. But how? I came here with them, and I was stuck until they decided to leave. There wasn’t exactly an easy way out.

I sighed, feeling a knot form in my throat as the tears threatened to well up. But I fought them back, forcing myself to take a deep breath. ‘Hold it together,’ I told myself. There was no way I was going to fall apart in front of Peter, Natasha, or anyone else.

I stared out at the horizon, the villa still nowhere in sight, trying to clear the anxious storm swirling inside me. I would just have to figure this out somehow. I always did.

***

When Natasha, Peter, and I finally arrived at the villa, the others had already claimed their rooms. The place was breathtaking—open spaces, stunning ocean views, and a luxurious atmosphere that screamed money. I was almost tempted to be impressed until Sharon appeared, smug as ever, pointing to the far side of the villa.

"Natasha, Peter, your rooms are down the hall," she said with a wave of her hand before turning to me. Without a word or explanation, she just motioned to the other side of the villa, not even bothering to look me in the eye.

I stood there for a second, waiting for...something. Maybe an explanation, a reason for the sudden isolation, but nothing. No one said anything. Natasha gave me a quick, apologetic glance, but even she stayed quiet.

“Guess I'm on my own then.”

I walked in the direction Sharon had pointed, my suitcase bumping against my heels as I made my way down the corridor. The villa was massive, sprawling in all directions, but as I got closer to my room, I noticed how much plainer and utilitarian the space became. The opulence of the rest of the villa seemed to vanish the farther I went.

And then I found it—a small, one-off room that looked like it had been tacked on as an afterthought. My stomach twisted as I stepped inside. It didn’t have the same elegance as the other rooms I’d seen. The furniture was basic, the decor minimal, and there was no sign of the luxury that was displayed on the other side of the villa.

It looked like a remodeled servant’s quarter. I knew the vibe all too well. Being around people like Sharon, I had seen enough servant quarters to know what one looked like, no matter how much they tried to pretty it up.

I stood there for a moment, soaking it all in. There had to be at least one or two other rooms left over in this massive villa, but I wasn’t given one of those. No, this room was chosen specifically for me. The message was loud and clear: *Know your place. *

I set my suitcase down with a sigh, biting back the frustration swelling in my chest. I should have expected this. I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the invite.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my half-unpacked suitcase, trying to figure out a game plan for the next two months. The thought of spending all that time with these people—people who barely knew me, or worse, remembered me only for what I wasn’t—made my stomach twist. I didn’t want to be ignored the entire trip, but becoming a complete recluse would probably just make things worse. What if they just... left me behind?

The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I got. The walls seemed to inch closer, squeezing the air out of the room. My anxiety gnawed at me from the inside. Was this really worth getting away from my parents?

Before I could spiral any further, a light knock on the doorframe jolted me from my thoughts. I turned to see Natasha standing there with a soft smile and a casual “Hey.”

I forced a smile in return. "Hey," I said, trying to sound less flustered than I felt.

Natasha stepped inside, looking around the room before glancing back at me. “Nice room,” she commented.

I glanced at her, trying to figure out if she was joking. Was she being serious? Because this room—my room—was anything but nice. It was clearly the smallest, most tucked-away space in the entire villa. My little corner of the world, far from everyone else.

“Yeah,” I muttered, not sure what else to say.

“They’re about to get ready for lunch in like two minutes,” Natasha added, a little too breezily, as if she hadn’t noticed how awkward this all felt.

"Okay," I said, figuring that was her cue to leave. But instead of leaving, she sat down on the edge of the bed, her gaze still fixed on me, like she was waiting for something.

I shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do next. “Was there… something else?” I asked, hesitantly, trying to figure out what this impromptu visit was really about.

Natasha took a deep breath, still staring me down before stating “Sharon invited you to keep Peter busy.”

  I froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief as Natasha’s words settled in. "Wait… what do you mean I was invited to keep Peter busy?"

Natasha’s shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze for a moment before facing me again "Look, it wasn’t meant to be a big deal. Sharon didn’t want things to be awkward, you know? If you didn’t come, there would've been an odd number, and Steve didn’t want to leave Peter behind."

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So, I was invited to… what? Be Peter’s distraction?”

She shrugged, looking almost apologetic. "Well, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. You two are both nice people, right? It’s not like it was meant to offend you or anything"

I stared at her, still trying to process this. Peter? Then it hit me.

"What about Clementine?" I asked, my curiosity spiking. Last I heard, she and Peter were still together. Sure, she hadn’t been on the plane, but I figured maybe she was meeting up with us later. They were inseparable, after all.

Natasha shrugged again, but there was something uneasy in her eyes this time. "I don’t know. Sharon thinks they broke up, but…"

"But?" I pressed, sensing there was more to it.

She sighed, glancing away. "Clementine kind of just… disappeared. She stopped coming around, and Peter stopped talking about her. It’s weird, though. I don’t think anyone really knows what happened."

The room suddenly felt colder, and the walls seemed to close in again. Clementine disappeared? And now I was supposed to… what? Be Peter's distraction? None of this made sense, and yet, it felt like I was being pulled into something I wasn’t ready for.

I stared at Natasha, my mind spinning as she casually shrugged off the fact that Clementine had just disappeared. Clementine wasn’t the kind of girl to just vanish without a trace. She was... put together. Confident, smart, driven. The kind of girl who had her entire life mapped out from the moment she could walk.

Clementine had been a scholarship kid, just like me, but that’s where our similarities ended. She had that type of grace and poise that people like me only dreamed of. I remember seeing her around campus, always looking so polished, so in control, even though she came from a background as modest as mine. She had Peter wrapped around her finger—he adored her. At least, that’s what I’d always thought. They were practically inseparable.

The last time I heard anything about her, she was starting some fancy job after graduation, and Peter was supposedly gearing up to propose. That’s what people like Clementine did. She climbed the ladder, no matter where she came from, and she always seemed to have everything fall perfectly into place.

I couldn't wrap my head around this. How did she go from being Peter’s "forever" to just... disappearing? And now *I* was here? Supposed to "keep Peter busy" like some sort of replacement? None of this was making any sense.

Natasha’s voice brought me back to the moment. "Yeah, it was weird, right?" she continued, leaning back casually. "Peter just stopped mentioning her, like she never existed. He’s been pretty chill about the whole thing. But Sharon thinks they broke up, and... I don’t know, maybe she’s right. Maybe that’s why you’re here."

I shook my head, trying to process. "Clementine wouldn’t just disappear. She wasn’t like that. She had a plan, she was going to—"

Natasha cut me off. "Well, plans change, right? Maybe she wasn’t as perfect as you think. People always hide stuff. Maybe Peter saw something in her that no one else did."

The idea didn’t sit right with me. Clementine always seemed untouchable, like she had everything figured out. Now, she was just… gone. And here I was, caught in some ridiculous plan to "keep Peter busy."

I started gearing up to confront Sharon, but Natasha quickly stepped in front of me, stopping me before I could make it to the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, her voice edged with concern.

"I just want to have a little chat with Sharon," I replied, trying to sidestep her. But Natasha moved again, blocking me. She lowered her voice, clearly not wanting to make a scene.

"You're being ridiculous. Just calm down and think about this." Her eyes darted around nervously. "This is supposed to be a vacation. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You could still enjoy yourself, Kiwi."

I paused and turned to face her, frustration bubbling up. "That was always the plan, but why did you have to tell me about Sharon’s little setup with Peter?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but it was sharp.

"I was just giving you a heads up," Natasha said softly, her eyes pleading.

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. But I couldn’t just let it go. Without saying another word, I turned and marched toward Sharon and Steve’s room, Natasha trailing behind me, still begging me to think it through.

When I reached the door, I didn’t hesitate—I slammed it open. There, on top of Steve, was Sharon, practically tangled up with him. She scrambled off him the second she saw me, her face flushed. Steve, on the other hand, just stayed where he was, smirking like the whole thing was a joke to him.

"What the hell is your problem?" Sharon snapped, straightening out her clothes.

I didn’t flinch. "I want to go home."

I thought about calling her out right then and there, exposing the whole plan about setting me up with Peter. But I couldn’t do that—not without throwing Natasha under the bus. As much as I was irritated with her, I wasn’t ready to burn that bridge. So I kept it simple.

"This whole trip has been uncomfortable for me since I got on the plane. If it’s going to be like this for a whole months I don’t want to stay."

Sharon's expression shifted, her irritation melting into a smirk. "Sure, whatever."

Just as I was about to turn and leave, Steve’s deep voice cut through the air. "No."

I froze, watching as Steve got up from the bed, his frame towering over me. It was then that I realized how much bigger he was compared to me. He took a step closer, his eyes locked on mine.

"Why not?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Steve gave me a cold, calculated smile. "The itinerary is already set, Kiwi. We can’t just change everything around because one person is feeling a little uncomfortable."

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I’ll pay you back," I offered, even though I knew it was a desperate move.

Steve laughed, a low, mocking sound. "You have over a hundred grand to pay back?"

My stomach dropped as he kept going. "I heard you were working at some factory for, what, twenty bucks an hour? I’m guessing since you suddenly had time for this trip, you lost that gig, huh?"

I could feel my face flushing as I tried to think of a way out. "I don’t need a private jet home," I said quietly. "Just a ride and an economy seat. I’ll figure it out."

Steve shook his head, stepping even closer. "You still owe me for your part of the trip," he said, his voice cold and final.

The reality of the situation hit me like a punch to the gut. I was trapped, and Steve was making damn sure I knew it.

Steve’s eyes softened as he stood in front of me, his posture relaxed, like he was trying to show he wasn’t a threat. He moved to block my way, but not in an intimidating way—it felt more like he was trying to keep me from making a mistake.

“You’re upset,” he said, his voice gentler now, almost coaxing. “I get it, Kiwi, I really do. But leaving right now? That’s not what you really want.”

I frowned, crossing my arms, my defenses already up. “I’m uncomfortable, Steve. Why would I stay?”

He sighed softly, brushing a hand through his tousled blonde hair. “Look, I get that things have been a little weird, but think about it. Going back home, what’s waiting for you there? Things weren’t exactly great, were they?”

I blinked, surprised by his words. It was vague, but it still struck a nerve. My chest tightened at the reminder of how suffocating life at home had been.

Steve stepped closer, but there was no malice in his movements. If anything, his presence felt like it was wrapping around me, enveloping me in something familiar yet foreign.

“Why rush back to all that?” he asked, his voice low, almost tender. “You’ve got a chance here to take a break, to really breathe.”

I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my composure. He wasn’t exactly wrong. I hadn’t been thrilled about the idea of going back to my parents’ house—being treated like I’d failed, like I was just in the way.

“That’s not the point,” I muttered, my voice not as strong as I wanted it to be. “I didn’t come here to feel like an outsider.”

Steve’s expression shifted, softening even more. He moved closer, but not threateningly—just enough to let me know he was serious. “You don’t have to. No one here is against you, Kiwi. You’ve got space here to be free, to enjoy yourself. You’re not stuck.”

His words, smooth and almost too perfect, started to chip away at my defenses. He wasn’t wrong. There was a kind of freedom here that I didn’t have back home. No hovering parents, no endless job hunt. Just sun, sand, and a chance to let go of the chaos.

“I just want you to give it a shot,” Steve continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “If, after a week, you still feel like this… I’ll make sure you get home. Personally. But for now, just relax. Let yourself enjoy it.”

I hesitated, my mind a tug-of-war between the stress and frustration that had been building and the calm that Steve was offering. He seemed so reasonable, so understanding. Was I just being paranoid? Maybe I needed to take a step back and see if things improved.

“Alright,” I said finally, my voice soft. “I’ll stay. But just for a week.”

A slow smile spread across Steve’s face, his satisfaction clear, though he tried to hide it behind his cool demeanor. “Good. I knew you’d see things my way.”

He stepped back, giving me space, and for a moment, I felt the weight lift just a little. Natasha, who had been quietly watching, caught my eye, but her expression was hard to read. Maybe I wasn’t seeing the full picture. Or maybe I was just overthinking everything.

Am I making the right call? ***

Steve moved me out of the servant’s quarters and into a small, luxury room. It wasn’t anywhere near the others, but it was closer to the pool in the back, so I figured I could make do. At least it didn’t feel like a forgotten corner of the house.

As I unpacked, Natasha stayed with me, folding clothes and organizing things like she was trying to smooth over the mess from earlier.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, not entirely sure if I believed her or if she was just trying to stay on good terms. The side-eye I gave her must’ve said enough because she added, “Seriously, Kiwi. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

I sighed, my shoulders relaxing a little. “It’s fine,” I muttered. "Just... don’t spring shit like that on me again."

Natasha nodded, her expression softening. “I promise. I just want you to enjoy the trip. We all do.”

Enjoy the trip. Right. That’s what I kept telling myself. I needed to enjoy myself, no matter what. To hell with everyone else. To hell with Sharon’s power plays and the thinly veiled insults. To hell with my parents, and their endless nagging about how I should’ve been more like Sharon. To hell with all of it.

I glanced around my new room, taking in the sleek design, the comfortable bed, and the view of the pool. This wasn’t so bad. Maybe I could actually breathe for a while. Just focus on enjoying the sun, the beach, the space.

Yeah. Fuck everyone. I was going to make this trip mine.

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

your snipers are GOOD STUFF and i’m just here for how he would work (nsfw wise) with a s/o who is INCREDIBLY down to be bullied and hunted for sport and will frolic around like a deer giggling the whole time like he’s a fairy tale prince and not a gangly string bean who is filled with nothing but spite and predatory lust

I had contemplated my regular format but I think straight up fanfiction better fits this.

Sniper X Prey Reader: Primitive Instinct (NSFW)

Warning: Prey/predator shit idk what the kink is called, breeding kink

Mr. Mundy hated the feeling of primal lust when other things mattered more. He often felt broken, and inherently wrong to desire the warmth of his body intertwined with someone else’s when he should have been focusing on something else. By nature he was a hunter. Focus and mental clarity even in the darkest of hours was most important when that rifle was up to his face. He could be sad and lonely for only just a moment. Just a second in eternity. But never more than that.

For if he delayed more, he wouldn’t be focusing hard enough. All of his senses alert to every single thing imaginable. An assassin could not afford one little slip up. Less the outcome would be self explanatory.

Still, he found himself constantly distracted tonight. In the highest point of Tuefort he stood atop a water tower’s catwalks in pitch black darkness. In front of him was the distant, dim lights of the enemy BLU base. A set of ugly buildings that looked more like a factory than anything else. His night vision scope was a smuggled artifact from his hometown. It worked flawlessly despite the long trip to join Team Fortress several years ago. The cold air bit at his skin but he remained stiffly in place like an unmoving stone. Boldly standing out in the open with no regard for his own safety. He knew the difficult position he was in would make it nearly impossible to get a clear shot at him. With multiple cardboard boxes off to both his sides, it obstructed angles.

Sniper shut his eyes. His lungs took in maximum air and exhaled carbon dioxide. He counted each second, carefully controlling his own breath.

One, two, three, four…

The old assassin heard a sound off in the distance just to the right of him. As he suspected, his theory about using this BLU water tower as a nest was validated. He turned the rifle towards the source and sure enough he caught the silhouette of an intruder rummaging through the bushes.

One, two, three, four…

His previous thoughts were proven to be more of an intruder than the unlucky person he was scoping at. For a second, Sniper unwillingly diverted his attention as those lustful desires crossed his thoughts again. He swore he saw the image of a beautiful, smooth, naked body of a woman flash in his mind as quickly as the blinking of an eye. His breathing immediately became muddled again. He could even hear his own heart rate skyrocket. All it took was one little slip up. An annoying intrusive thought.

Sniper had lost location of the person’s head through the dense foliage. They disappeared behind the bramble, and Sniper had to suppress the sudden unyielding rage shoot through his bloodstream. Every bone in his body wanted to throw his damn sniper rifle across the desert and see it break into multiple pieces below.

“Bugger me!” He cursed quietly. Slamming his fist on the box he was resting his rifle on. Somehow, he didn’t even care if an apposing sniper heard him. The faster he died, the better.

Sniper held his fist, which was now wracked with pieces of wood. He was lucky to be wearing gloves. The wood didn’t pierce his skin at all. Still, now he had to growl and grumble while he pathetically pulled the shards of dangerous chips out of his left hand. If the others saw him — especially scout — they’d undoubtedly tear him a new one that he’d forever internalize until his dying days.

An assassin can’t fucking afford to miss.

His moment of self loathing was interrupted by the creak of the ladder below the catwalks. It was subtle, and barely audible. Like a wild cat’s tiptoeing through the forest. Sniper stopped dead in his tracks and his eyes slowly rolled to the source. Fearlessly, he put his hands back on his gun and waited. If he made any sudden movements toward his SMG on the floor next to him then he’d surely alert the stranger. The catwalks were sensitive with age in certain places and disregarded stealth.

The person on the ladder paused when Sniper halted his complaining. Which showed him that they were listening to him too. It didn’t quite strike him as odd, but what did indeed baffle him was then the sudden sprint up the ladder. As if the person wanted to be heard.

The scruffy man gritted his teeth. A little bit offended that somebody — even if it was a teammate — which let’s be honest that’s the only reasonable explanation for it — would approach him so casually like he wasn’t a huge threat. It messed with his ego and made him want to shoot the person regardless of who they were.

“Sniper?” A voice asked quietly. It was you, of course. The new mercenary. The youngest out of all of them. A thorn in everybody’s side with your naive youth. Who the hell in their right mind would hire such a young adult for this profession?

The older man tried shutting his eyes and focusing his breathing again. Blocking out any other annoying stimulus that distracted him. (You were the annoying stimulus.) He figured you were just up here thinking he’d be a willing ear and whatnot. As if he’d ever do something like that.

“Sniper!” You whispered a bit louder.

Sniper nearly found it within himself to haul his gun as promised earlier. He gripped his rifle like he was choking somebody. “God! What?!” He asked louder than he wanted to.

You glared at him. The lack of amusement in your eyes was noted and rudely ignored. Sniper shrugged his shoulders in a very, very pressuring gesture to get on with it. You didn’t even know how he had the patience for hunting animals.

“The others wanna know if you want some coffee.” You say. Your mouth curling into what would be a snarl if you hadn’t somewhat mastered the art of controlling yourself near these mercs.

“Who the bloody hell asks their colleague if they want coffee at three in the fuckin’ morning?!” Sniper’s voice pitched high in genuine concern. Like he had somehow realized he was answering to the most stupidest person imaginable.

Sniper’s condescending words didn’t sway you. You were too tired to react anyway. “By the way, was that you pointing your gun at me?” You asked curiously.

He paused, and that’s how you knew you struck a cord. The revelation couldn’t help but peak your interest. The way he tensed up and threatened to grip the edges of the box to the point of breaking the entire thing. He was SURE he was incapable of being seen. Your words had completely shattered what was left of his fragile self esteem. If anything there at all at this point. It was entertaining to see this supposedly self proclaimed unemotional assassin break like a twig. You titled your head and the side of your lip almost twitched into a smile.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” He asked bitterly. Without any second hesitation or regard, he whipped out his kukri from underneath the boxes and started marching toward you. To say you were a bit stressed was an understatement.

Sniper shoved you backwards into the wall and dug the blade into the planks near your face. It hit the wood with an unpleasant noise that sounded like it had cut through flesh. It made a chill go up your spine. Nonetheless, you braved the sudden aggression. These types of crazy reactions were just common day-to-day events. You turnt your nose away from him as he got close to your face and breathed down your neck. It was heavy and quick. Like he was inches away from eating you. His chest pressed up against yours. You couldn’t tell if this was meant to be personal or not. But it felt… disgustingly delightful. Like you were eating candy.

It felt like you were being eyed by a hungry bear that wanted to tear into you and leave nothing behind. To drop the blade and ravish your delicious body. Sniper all the meanwhile could not even identify his own body’s mistake for adrenaline being arousal. A large, blunt object pressed against your inner thigh when he pressed down harder. His veins visible from the grip on his blade. You realized all the blood flowed to his companion. A thick, wet member prodding at you and quietly pleading for relief.

“What did I tell you? I’m a hired gunman. I’m not some friend of yours, and i’m not somebody who’s gonna joke with you. Gotcha?” You could hear him bombarding you but the butterflies in your stomach spoke of delightful things.

You wanted to mate with this hungry animal, until his balls were completely empty and his insatiable appetite was temporarily satisfied. You slipped under him and tore away easier than expected. Dodging an attempt on your head, you hopped up onto the boxes and shuffled as he tried slashing at your ankles. A sickly mischievous smile crossed your face, as for what seemed like forever, you dodged his countless attempts on your life. Jumping on and off the box, and causing him to run in circles around the tower. Sniper was beginning to feel like he was on some sort of babysitting duty. He was also getting angrier.

As fast as you came in, you booked it down to the ladder and slid down it. Sniper being less athletic however, had to hurry down the steps one by one. All the meanwhile complaining “Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!”

His anger was comedic in every way possible. You ducked underneath the brambles and patiently awaited the handsome man’s arrival. You decided to not let yourself suffer any longer. Maybe him by extension as well. Those primitive urges were something that your ancestors developed as a beautiful way to bond. In what world would you simply throw away the opportunity? As Sniper reached the bottom of the water tower, you half-assed an escape attempt but as expected he jumped on you before you could even crawl through the other side of the bush. You had no idea that toothpick of a man would hurt so much. Dead god.

“Gotcha!” He proclaimed. pinning you on your belly with his entire weight. He sat on your legs. Like a cat whose paw was on a mouse’s tail. You wondered if it was possible he’d break said legs.

He was proud of his catch, but you had no heart to tell him you gave yourself deliberately. That penetrating blunt organ was all you fixated on right now. It was all you wanted. The idea of that divine organ crushing your insides sounded like heaven. The gentle breeze of his warm breath met your ears and neck again. You couldn’t help but lift your face up to meet it. Sniper found himself meeting his lips to your neck too.

The tension broke. The two of you had clearly felt the same way. Although Sniper tried his hardest to hide his beastly instincts, nature always won in the end. The moment his lips nibbled your neck is the moment that you both individually consented. A grumble escaped your throat and it sounded like you were pleased. Which in turn pleased Sniper.

Lust is such a complicated thing. Anger and annoyance can lead to it if you go down the right path. The older man began to court you. Prodding his member against your flank to offer you a good time. He shifted your legs up and got you into a mating press. Underneath those layers you could feel him dripping with anticipation.

To test the waters he forwardly thrusted up against your clothed body. Earning another blissful sound from you. Though sniper was dead silent, his rugged breathing spoke volumes. He aimlessly humped you like a horny dog and forgot his own self control. Wildly slapping his concealed dick against your pants.

“Sniper—“ You tried to get his attention. Realizing this was counterproductive without bare skin visible.

He continued slapping against you recklessly. He couldn’t hear you, and frankly you couldn’t blame him. Sniper was determined to breed you. He was surging with hormones and ready to pump you full of his children no matter the cost. He sounded like a growling werewolf the way he began expressing his pleasure. His silence leaving him. The scruffy haired man bit down hard on the back of your neck to hold you in place. The extra skin there made it so that you weren’t hurt. Just scruffed like a cat.

You were stuck there for hours. A large man using you as his sextoy. Not even once did he slow his pace. Not even after multiple times cumming. It was only when the sun came up did he even consider.

What a wonderful thing that the gift of procreation is.