#because i genuinely thought my career path was exactly what i wanted

[simplygojo]

Under the Desk ⸺ Nanami

author's note ⸺ I may or may not have a crush on the handsome senior consultant on my team...so what. pairing ⸺ Kento Nanami x reader teaser ⸺ "It should have told you that eventually, you’d end up here: bent over his desk, legs spread wide for your mentor, who was more than happy to show you the ropes in a way that had nothing to do with consulting." content ⸺ 18+ SMUT, MDNI, hot office nanami, age gap implied, lowkey perv nanami, office siren vibessss, oral sex (reader recv.), reader got that WAP, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns

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Kento Nanami didn’t particularly enjoy training new hires—especially the ones who were on a short contract like you were. They were often overzealous, unpolished, and too eager to prove themselves. But when you walked in on your first day, something in him shifted.

Nanami wasn’t proud of the thoughts that crossed his mind when you walked into the office on your first day—He blamed that little skirt. Too tight, too short, hugging your hips in a way that wasn’t at all appropriate for a junior consultant. And yet, it wasn’t the skirt’s fault he couldn’t stop staring.

He cleared his throat and looked away. 

This wasn’t him. He wasn’t that guy—the type to ogle a junior or let his mind wander to places it had no business going. 

You were new, eager to learn, and assigned to him as your mentor because of his reputation for professionalism. And so, despite his initial lapse in judgment, he resolved to keep his thoughts in check.

But you didn’t make it easy.

You had this way about you—bright-eyed and ambitious, always so eager to please. Every time you asked him a question, you’d lean in, wide-eyed and genuinely curious, your voice sweet and lilting. When you listened, you bit your lip in concentration, nodding along like his every word was gospel.

Nanami told himself he was imagining it, that you weren’t actually flirting with him. You were just... enthusiastic. 

But then there were the moments that felt too deliberate to ignore. Like the time you stayed after hours, your blazer draped over the back of your chair, leaving only the silky blouse underneath. It wasn’t see-through exactly, but in the low light of the office, he could see the faint outline of your bra.

He forced himself to look at his monitor, jaw tight, and tried to focus on the report in front of him. “Get a grip,” he muttered under his breath. This was a slippery slope, and he wasn’t about to fall.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Things escalated when you suggested the coffee chats. You’d said it so innocently, wanting to hear more about the job and his career path, but Nanami hesitated. 

Alone. With you. Outside of the office. It wasn’t a good idea.

Still, he agreed. He convinced himself it was harmless, part of his role as a mentor.

The first coffee chat was fine. He kept things strictly professional, answering your questions about client strategies and work-life balance. But then you started showing up in skirts shorter than usual, leaning forward a little too much when you laughed.

Your questions turned more personal—how he handled stress, what he did to unwind, if he’d always been this... dedicated.

He noticed your eyes drifting, lingering on his hands as he stirred his coffee, on the way his shirt sleeves strained against his forearms. And you—you—must have noticed the way his gaze followed the curve of your legs as you crossed them.

By the third ‘coffee chat’, Nanami couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He wanted you. Desperately.

He told himself it was harmless, that he could keep it professional even as his thoughts grew more explicit. But then came the late nights in his office. You’d stay back, asking for feedback on your work, standing close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off you.

“Thank you for your help, Nanami,” you said one night, looking up at him through your lashes.

He nodded stiffly, stepping back to create space between you. “It’s my job,” he replied, his voice gruffer than he intended.

He should have stopped it there. Should have set boundaries. But he didn’t.

All of this—the coffee chats, the lingering looks, the late nights—should have been a warning. 

It should have told you that eventually, you’d end up here: bent over his desk, legs spread wide for your mentor, who was more than happy to show you the ropes in a way that had nothing to do with consulting.

Nanami hadn’t intended to go this far. Truly, he hadn’t. But the moment your trembling voice broke into soft, pleading whimpers, any sense of guilt burst.

His mouth found its way to places he’d only imagined in quiet, shameful moments—places that had haunted his late nights and unguarded thoughts.

The slickness of your pretty pink folds coated his lips and chin, shining faintly in the dim light of his office. His name spilled from your mouth like a prayer, broken and reverent, as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

Nanami knew he was losing control. Knew he’d already crossed every line imaginable. But when he felt your thighs quiver on either side of his head, your fingers tugging helplessly at his hair, he could not have cared any less.

All of this—the coffee chats, the late nights, the way your body had grown so eager for his attention—should have given you an indicator—should have told you that you'd end up like this…breathless and undone in his office, his mouth working you open, claiming you in ways you couldn't have imagined.

And that, dear reader, is the story of how you were secured a permanent contract.

[claramelooo]

Hey, guys!

If you're reading this, congratulations! We've reached the end of this saga! I'm so happy I had the courage to start this project, and it's all thanks to the support of you guys who interacted with me so well that I felt comfortable writing with all my heart.

I still thinking in eventually to write one-shots for them, but I dunno, you tell me!! Lol

and I will definitely write more about the milfs we love, no worries!

Enjoy it!!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Happy Ending!!!

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem Reader

Summary: Wanda's courage makes her knock on your door after five years

Read here: Prologue | Part 1 - Predator | Part 2 - The Prey | Part 3 - On your Knees | Part 4 - The Spider | Part 5 - The Lamb | Part 6 - Pure Crimson | Part 7 - Dependece | Part 8 - Passion | Part 9 - Revenge | Part 10 - Control | Part 11 - Consequences

VELVET CHAINS

Love

After five years, everything had changed. You had graduated in International Relations and were working in a mid-level position at the American embassy, handling negotiations, mediating conversations between diplomats, and diving into a routine that made you feel important. It wasn’t exactly what you had imagined when you first dreamed of your career, but you were on the right path.

Living in a quiet Manhattan neighborhood, your apartment reflected who you were: an organized person with a touch of calculated chaos. Stacks of books sat on the coffee table, an unfinished painting leaned against the wall, and Sparky, your Golden Retriever, bounded back and forth with endless energy.

Sparky had come into your life at a strange time, a gift from Yelena. "You need some decent company," she said, placing the puppy in your hands. "Because clearly, you can’t pick good company on your own." It was her way of showing she cared, and you knew that.

Yelena was one of the few ties you kept to your past. Despite your differences, you often met up, usually for quick lunches at tucked-away cafés in the city. She would talk about her work, about Natasha, and occasionally drop hints that you should go out more.

"You're young, smart, and beautiful," she’d say, almost like a mantra. "And you live like a nun."

What Yelena didn’t understand—or pretended not to—was that you didn’t just want to go out more. You wanted something that felt impossible to find: connection.

Even when you went out with your blonde fling (if you could even call her that), everything felt hollow. She was funny, gorgeous, and always willing to meet up, but she knew nothing about who you really were. She didn’t know about Sparky, your sleepless nights reading poetry, and definitely didn’t know about Wanda.

Ah, Wanda.

There were moments when thoughts of her crept in. Not intentionally, of course, but reflexively. Like when Sparky did something adorable, reminding you of how much Wanda loved dogs. Or when a particular song came on, one she used to hum while cooking.

But you’d learned to shove those memories into the back of your mind. There was too much to deal with in the present.

That day, for example, a stack of reports awaited your review, and you had a meeting at three. But first, you needed to take Sparky for a quick walk. Grabbing his leash, you left the apartment, greeting a few neighbors along the way.

"Good morning, Y/n!" called a cheerful older woman from the second floor.

"Good morning, Mrs. Harris!" you replied, your smile automatic but genuine.

Mornings were like that: simple, ordinary. A far cry from the life you once lived.

By the end of the day, Sparky lay curled up on the rug while you pored over a complicated email. The weight of routine settled over you. Everything seemed in place, yet something still felt out of tune.

You paused, staring out at the city through the window. The lights shimmered on the horizon, a promise of vibrant life out there.

But inside you, there was only silence.

After five years, everything had changed—except you.

Outwardly, you were the perfect image of an adult woman: successful, independent, living the life anyone would envy. But inside, the marks Wanda had left on you lingered like invisible scars, impossible to ignore.

You still felt like a little girl, torn between the desire to be cared for and the need for discipline. No matter how much you tried to bury it, there was a void in your routine that no job, company, or casual relationship could fill.

Wanda had shaped you. She taught you to surrender, to trust, to lose control in a safe way—and somehow, that had defined you. The nights with her still visited your dreams, a mix of longing and anguish. Her voice, firm yet full of care, still echoed in your mind when you felt overwhelmed.

"Good girl."

It was a simple phrase, but loaded with meanings no one else seemed to understand. It wasn’t just the compliment itself; it was what came with it: warmth, security, the feeling of being seen entirely.

A shiver ran down your spine at the memory. Sometimes, you hated it—hated how her memories still held power over you. But the truth was that part of you yearned for it again: a firm touch, a gaze that stripped away all your layers of protection, a kiss that said, "You’re mine."

You’d tried to recreate it with other people, of course. Foolishly, you thought you might find something similar with your blonde fling. But the woman lacked patience, or the understanding to handle your needs. She enjoyed herself, sure, but she had no idea that, for you, it went far beyond casual sex.

There were times when she rolled her eyes as you hesitated or became too submissive. It made you withdraw, reminding you that without Wanda, no one else seemed willing or capable of understanding.

"You’re complicated," the blonde had once said after you hesitated to take any initiative.

The woman straddling you moved rhythmically, trying to coax a reaction that just wouldn’t come. It wasn’t her fault; she was doing everything right. The problem was you. It was always you. Or rather, the emptiness left by the one who should never have gone.

Your vacant gaze fixed on the ceiling, your hands resting lazily on her hips, entirely unenthusiastic. Everything felt wrong, each touch a cruel reminder of what you truly wanted.

And it was only one person.

Not even five damn years had been enough to erase her name from your mind. It was etched somewhere between your ribs, buried deep but never far enough to ignore.

Wanda.

You closed your eyes, trying to push the thought away, but it was useless. All you could do was remember the feel of her mouth on yours, the sound of her raspy voice calling your name, the devastating look that made you feel like the only person in the world.

Now, she was on the other side of the country. Probably lying in bed next to her perfect husband. You almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Vision was everything any woman could want: stable, respectable, and, of course, approved by everyone that mattered. But he was never you.

You let out a deep, heavy sigh, so profound the blonde paused, propping herself up on her elbows to look at you with a mix of confusion and irritation.

"Are you going to fuck me or not?"

You shifted your gaze to the blonde straddling you... Jenna? Jemma? You couldn’t even remember her name. All you knew was that she worked in a different department.

Gripping the blonde’s hair, you yanked her head closer. "That’s not how you ask for what you want. But since you’re a dumb little slut, I’ll do all the work."

The woman, who had been about to protest your dirty language, fell silent as you buried three fingers inside her. You grabbed her waist and pulled her down until your fingers disappeared completely.

Her nails were already digging into your shoulders with the simple movement. You smiled to yourself before you began to destroy the poor woman's pussy. You thrust with maximum speed and force, making her scream in pleasure.

You curled your fingertips, hitting the woman's spongy, pulsing spot—bringing tremors in her legs, indicating the strong signs of an orgasm. When the woman came loudly, you pulled out of her.

At least she started to get dressed quickly afterward, "Maybe we can do this again sometime."

You gave her a weak smile. "Maybe."

You grabbed your phone, ordering an Uber for the blonde, the feeling of having brought her here haunting your mind like a mistake weighing on your heart.

As you waited for the blonde's Uber, guilt began to mix with boredom. It wasn't just her; it was the whole situation. The repetition of the same pattern: empty encounters, forgettable faces, names you didn't even bother to remember. You grabbed a robe to dress yourself and cover your nakedness—you threw yourself on the living room couch, while Sparky, your faithful companion, jumped beside you, offering an affection that seemed to be the only true constant in your life.

The apartment was a clear representation of who you had become over the past five years. Modern, well-decorated, yet with an air of transience, as though you had never truly committed to the space. A reflection of your own soul, perhaps.

And now, there was the job offer abroad. Paris. A dream for anyone in your field. The first thought you had when you received the news was excitement. Yet, there was something inside you that hesitated. It wasn’t just attachment to what you had built in Manhattan. It was what you still couldn’t let go of, even after all this time.

Wanda.

Her name still carried a different weight. A name that brought a flood of memories: her laughter, the way she looked at you, the way the world seemed to dissolve when you were together. You didn’t know how she was now. You knew she was in Texas. But beyond that?

Was she still with Vision? Did the boys remember you? Had she completely forgotten about you?

The emptiness returned, but this time with a twinge of curiosity. What was Wanda doing now? Was she sleeping beside Vision? Was she thinking about you?

The sound of a notification on your phone pulled you from your thoughts. The Uber had arrived. You got up, escorting the woman outside, ensuring she was safe—you’d never let anyone leave without making sure of that. The blonde waved at you from the car window, and you responded with an automatic gesture before walking toward your balcony.

You stopped in your tracks when you heard a familiar, yet more mature voice.

“You should put some clothes on if you’re planning to stay out here all night.”

Your blood ran cold at the sound of that voice. A strong wave of denial surged within you. Turning toward the voice took all the strength you had to stop yourself from retreating indoors.

The world seemed to tilt when you turned, and there she was. Wanda Maximoff. Five years. Five damn years since the last time you’d seen her, but nothing could have prepared you for this moment.

She stood at the base of your balcony, arms crossed over her chest, covered by a wool cardigan. Her hair was longer than you remembered, with strands that caught the faint streetlight, giving her an almost ethereal glow. But that wasn’t what captured your attention. It wasn’t her undeniable beauty. It was the restrained fury in her eyes, a deep, uncontrollable fire that pierced you like blades.

“Wanda…” you whispered, her name barely escaping your throat as your heart raced wildly.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression stern as she tilted her head slightly. “I asked if you’re staying out here all night or if you’re finally going to get dressed.”

You looked down at yourself, realizing you were still in just your robe, nothing else. But it wasn’t enough to distract you from the fact that she was there. After five years. After all the time and distance, she was standing on your balcony, looking at you as though she could dismantle your entire life with a single glance.

“I…” You tried to speak, but your voice failed. Your chest tightened, a storm of emotions you couldn’t name swirling inside you. Fear. Guilt. Longing. Anger. Love. All spinning within you like a tornado. “It’s been a while.” You finally settled on that response.

Wanda’s eyes narrowed at you. “Yes, and you’ve kept yourself very busy since the last time I saw you.”

Her sarcasm hit you like a slap. Her anger, once contained, began to spill over. How dare she? Five years of silence. Five years of emptiness, and now she was here, judging you?

“It’s none of your business,” you retorted, your voice harsher than you intended.

“It used to be,” Wanda replied with the same intensity. She took a step closer, her eyes burning as her voice dropped to something rougher, more intimate. “You used to be so good to Mommy.”

Her words cut like a knife. The heat you’d felt turned to a chill. You stepped back, raising your hands as if to keep a safe distance from her, from everything she represented.

“Goodnight, Wanda,” you said, your voice cold and controlled, trying to salvage the last shred of dignity you had. You turned to head inside, but before you could take more than two steps, you felt a tug on your wrist.

Her touch, even after everything, was familiar. Too familiar. Your eyes met hers again, and something in Wanda’s expression had shifted. There was anger, yes, but also... something else. Something that looked like desperation.

“Y/n,” she said, her voice now almost a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken conversations. “We need to talk.”

“Talk?” you repeated, almost mocking. “Five years, Wanda. Five years of silence. And now you show up at my door, after everything... to talk?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if searching for the right words. When she opened them again, tears were beginning to pool.

The tension in the air was almost suffocating. Your heart was still racing as you stepped back, swallowing hard and looking away from Wanda. It was too much—seeing her there, the weight of her presence after all this time. You tried to escape the emotional storm, turning toward your hallway, your hands trembling as you gripped the door to close it.

But before the wood could meet the frame, her foot stopped it.

The shock of her audacity quickly morphed into anger. You spun on your heels, ready to confront her, but before you could say a word, Wanda had already crossed the threshold of your home. Without permission.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” your voice came out firm, though the lump in your throat remained. You stepped forward, crossing your arms, trying to project an authority you didn’t feel.

Wanda didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. She shut the door behind her with a calm that was unsettling, her green eyes scanning the room before landing back on you. “I’m not standing out in the cold while you play house with every random whore who crosses your path. But when I need you—when Mommy needs you—you refuse to listen,” she said, her tone almost casual, but with an edge of something dangerous, like a sharp knife wrapped in velvet.

The word you hadn’t heard, hadn’t uttered in years, sent shivers down your spine. Hearing it from Wanda’s mouth reignited a fire in your lower belly—one you tried to ignore.

“Listen?” You laughed, but it was dry and full of disbelief. “You barge into my house after five years and think I owe you anything? Wanda?”

Wanda stepped closer, and you realized you were cornered between her and the wall. Despite the anger burning inside you, something else was growing—something that made your knees weak and the air hard to breathe.

“Five years,” she repeated, her voice heavy with meaning. “Five years without a single word. And now, when I finally see you, you think you can dismiss me with a ‘goodnight, Wanda’? No. We’re going to talk, Y/n.”

“Talk?” you repeated, almost derisively.

The tension in the room was almost electric as you held Wanda’s gaze. No matter how hard you tried to maintain your firm posture, your crossed arms, and your cold voice, something inside you was crumbling. She was so close now, and that familiar scent—a mix of something floral and woody—invaded your senses, dragging up memories you had spent five long years trying to bury.

“Yes, talk,” Wanda replied, her tone lower now, but with an intensity that rooted you in place. “And you’re going to listen, Y/n. Because I didn’t cross half the country to be ignored.”

You let out a bitter laugh, anger and confusion boiling inside you. “You don’t have the right to show up here and demand anything from me, Wanda. Nothing! You made your choice, remember? You chose your family. You chose Vision. So why are you here now? For what?”

Her eyes shimmered with a mix of pain and determination.

"Vision found out." Two words—only two words were enough for you to completely let your guard down with her.

You felt your arms drop to your sides, your posture crumbling. All the control you had desperately tried to maintain was ripped away. Wanda observed the change in you, her eyes watchful but devoid of any satisfaction. It seemed like she was crumbling inside too.

"Found out what, exactly?" you asked, but your voice came out softer than you intended. It was a loaded question, filled with everything you had tried to ignore for years.

"About us," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. "About everything."

You let yourself fall back against the wall, trying to find stability as your head spun. "And then? What do you want from me now, Wanda? I can't be your safe place when everything falls apart. Not anymore."

The woman ignored your questions and continued her monologue, her eyes glistening with tears. “He threatened me. Threatened to expose this to the church, threatened to take the boys from me.” Wanda's voice was a fragile thread.

You tried to speak, but your throat was dry. Everything about her—the teary eyes, the voice heavy with pain, the proximity—was pulling you back into a whirlwind of emotions you didn’t want to face.

“I thought about killing him.” The confession made your heart stop for a second. You felt the weight of those words hit you like a punch. Wanda, your Wanda, talking about murdering her husband with an almost practical coldness.

She took another step, her palm now resting against your cheek, a touch so delicate it completely contrasted with the violence of her words.

“It would be simple to poison him, and I’d be free—I’d have my boys, my reputation intact, I’d have you.”

The closeness was suffocating. The intensity in her eyes, the tears slowly rolling down Wanda's face, mingling with your own tear-filled gaze, trapped you in a way you couldn’t escape.

“But then… Billy got sick, and I saw no other way out, Y/n. There was no other way to push you out of my life except for that…” Her voice trembled, an echo of a desperation so raw and real it made your chest tighten even more.

Your heart was torn between believing her and protecting yourself. Her words seemed genuine, but you knew Wanda had always had the power to manipulate your feelings. She always knew exactly how to reach the most vulnerable corners of your soul.

“Wanda, I...” You tried to find words but were lost. Lost in the whirlwind of emotions she provoked in you—anger, sadness, love, and a terrible longing for everything you used to be together.

"I never wanted to hurt you," she whispered, her fingers now softly tracing the line of your jaw. "I just wanted to protect you. Protect the boys. Protect... us."

"Protect?" Your voice finally found strength. "Wanda, you destroyed everything. Not just your life but mine too. I spent five years trying to piece together what you left behind. And now you come back, expecting me to believe it was all to protect us?"

Wanda stepped back slightly, but her eyes remained fixed on yours, pleading for something you didn’t know if you could give. "I don’t expect you to forgive me, Y/n. Not now. Maybe not ever. But I needed you to know. I needed you to understand what really happened."

Silence fell between you, heavy and oppressive. Her words still echoed in your mind. Vision. Threats. The boys. She had thought about killing for you. For them.

And despite everything, a part of you wanted to believe her. Wanted to go back in time, to before everything fell apart, to when her touch was the only thing that made sense in the world. But the past was there, as present as she was, and you didn’t know how to escape its shadow.

“Who was she?” Wanda's hoarse voice cut through the silence like a blade—low, but laden with an intensity that sent a shiver up your spine.

You blinked, confused, trying to understand the question. "Who...?"

"The blonde? Who was she?" Wanda interrupted, her eyes burning into yours, her tone a little firmer, almost possessive.

You hesitated, discomfort growing. "I... I don’t know what that matters now, Wanda."

"It matters," she shot back, stepping forward. "Because she left your house wearing the same cheap perfume I smelled on you when I arrived. So I’ll ask again: who was she?"

The sudden clarity in Wanda's words hit you like a shock. It wasn’t just curiosity or simple jealousy; there was something deeper in the way she was looking at you, as if she desperately needed this answer.

“She’s just...” You averted your gaze, trying to find an explanation that didn’t sound as frivolous as the truth. "She’s nobody. Someone from work. She means nothing."

“Means nothing,” Wanda repeated, almost to herself, but with a touch of sarcasm that hurt more than you wanted to admit. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as if trying to calm herself. When she opened them again, her green eyes were intense, locked on yours. "You think I believe that? Since when would you let just anyone touch you? She isn’t ‘nothing.’"

"You have no right to come here and ask me these kinds of questions, Wanda. Not after everything," you snapped back, your own anger finally starting to bubble.

She began, her voice deep but trembling, “Just the thought of someone else touching you, kissing you, seeing you the way I did…” She paused, her fists clenched at her sides. “It feels like the ground is disappearing beneath me.”

You felt the air leave your lungs. Her intensity was overwhelming. "Wanda..."

“You don’t get it, do you?” Her voice broke, and for a moment, she seemed so vulnerable that you didn’t know whether to stay or run. “I tried to move on. I tried to accept that I’d never have you again. But every day, every night that passed, I felt you with me. Here.” She pressed her hand to her chest, over her heart.

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to deal with the storm forming in front of you.

“I see myself in every woman who tries to touch you," she continued, her voice lowering but still loaded with dangerous intensity. “And it’s unbearable. Because no matter who they are, I know none of them will ever be good enough for you. Because none of them are me.”

Her words hit like a blow, mixing anger, sadness, and a pang of something you didn’t want to name. Love. Maybe obsession.

You whimpered, “That’s not fair! You chose him over me! You can’t just come here and say whatever you want.”

“I had to, Y/n! For the sake of my kids, for Billy’s health!” She snapped, clearly frustrated with your stubbornness.

You let out an incredulous laugh. “And what does that mean now, huh? What does it change in the present?”

She stood up from the couch, straightening her posture—and her pride. “It means I’m divorcing him.” She began walking toward you in slow steps. “It means I took the first flight and traveled 27 hours—even though I’m terrified of planes—just to see you.” Wanda smiled, emotional. More steps, closer to you. “It means, Y/n, that no matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t forget you.”

You wanted to step back, but your body wouldn’t obey. You couldn’t control yourself and cursed inwardly at the thought that your body still belonged to her, and the promise Wanda made you before still lingered.

“You know what, Y/n?” Wanda said, staring at you intently.

You couldn’t have answered even if you wanted to, your voice stuck in your throat.

“All I’ve been able to think about for the last few fucking months is your beautiful face between my legs.” Her face was close to yours, her breath fresh and hauntingly familiar, tickling your skin. “Tell me, so many women coming and going from this place… but has any of them made you come like I did?”

The truth was that you hadn’t had an orgasm since your last time with Wanda. Every woman who had passed through your life didn’t understand how much you wanted to be broken during sex and then be held, pampered, loved…

“Oh, poor thing… Haven’t you cum since the last time Mommy made you?”

Usually, you hated it when people got in your head, but you were getting close to the limits of your intelligence. The only woman who could make you was right in front of you trying to do just that.

“It seems like you need Mommy as much as she needs you.” Wanda slowly knelt down, opening the robe you were wearing a little. She moaned when she saw that you weren’t wearing any panties.

“Fuck, I love how wet you get for me.” The woman’s mouth was watering as she remembered the taste of you on her tongue.

Your breathing quickened when one of Wanda’s fingers dragged through your folds. Quickly, you took a step back and closed the robe again.

“I can’t do this. You're going to fuck me and then leave me!” You shouted, stomping your feet like the little girl Wanda knew well and missed terribly.

“Y/n, I'm getting a divorce, seriously!” She uses that soothing tone, the tone she used to calm you down when you cried in her arms after a punishment.

Before you can deny her once more, Wanda crushes her lips to yours—and that was the end of the conversation. Your hands locked themselves in the older woman's blond locks, bringing her even closer to you.

“I hate you so much!” You growled, biting Wanda's lower lip, making her moan. “You owe me the best orgasm of my life.”

You rip the woman's blouse, wrapping Wanda's nipple between your teeth—mutilating them, making Wanda moan.

“Has he touched you since I left? Do you moan like that for him? Does your body react to his touch?” As much as you tried. Tried to forget her and put out the fire of your obsession for her, here you were, with your mouth mistreating every inch of her skin.

“No.” Wanda replied breathlessly, her hands tangling in your hair. “Only you.” The woman’s intense gaze as she said this made you shiver.

Wanda pulled your head away from her. Your neck was stretched back as she stared hungrily at your body, “Mommy understands that you’re mad at her, baby, but don’t forget who’s in charge. You want to make me happy, don’t you?”

You immediately flinched at the brightness of her black eyes of pure excitement, “Yes, Mommy.”

Her lips pressed against yours in a small peck, “Good girl, now take me upstairs.”

There was a hesitant tremor in your body as you picked up the older woman and carried her to your bedroom. You sat her down on the bed and stood in front of her, waiting for the next move. You were writhing around, your pussy was so wet.

"Did you enjoy fucking that blonde slut on this bed? This bed should only be used for pleasure if mommy allows it."

You shook your head, "No, mommy…"

"What about the other sluts you were fucking? Hmm, you had so many, didn't you? All blondes… I wonder why that was."

Your focus was divided between her questions and the hand she was using to tease you. Her hand found a path you desperately wanted to follow. From your chest to your pussy.

"No mommy, they couldn't satisfy me."

Wanda finally took a long step towards you, placing her hand on your chest. "And why is that, baby?"

Your breath hitched as she touched the band of your robe, threatening to take it off. Her delicate finger crept into your folds.

"Because only mommy can make me cum." She pinched your clit, making you whimper,

"Say it again."

"Only mommy can make me cum," Your voice rose an octave as Wanda thrust a finger into you.

There was a slightly sadistic look on her face at the sound of your cries. She bent down to her knees, pulling off your robe, leaving you completely naked to her. Her finger continued to attack your pussy.

"You're so tight, Detka, has no one put a finger inside you since mommy? Have you kept that pussy all pristine for me?" You were struggling to stand at this point.

The way she was talking to you along with her finger fucking was enough to make you fall apart. Wanda smacked your thigh firmly, making you jump in surprise,

"Mommy asked you a question." Your frantic eyes met hers,

"No, mommy, no one has touched me since you."

"Not even your pretty little finger has been in that pussy?" You shake your head,

"No, Mommy."

She takes this as a sign to shove 2 more fingers inside you, "Open that pussy for Mommy. When I'm done, that hole will be just right for Mommy."

You moaned at the way your pussy stretched for Wanda. You could feel the juices dripping out of you as Wanda worked her magic on you. You almost screamed when you felt a slap against your clittoris.

Although you couldn’t see her, you were sure the woman was smiling at your reaction. She continued to pound your clit hard to the point that your knees felt like they would give out at any moment.

“It’s like it’s the first time all over again. You can’t handle a simple caress and a slap on your pussy without your legs giving out. We’re going to have to retrain you after this,” the woman pushed you hard onto the bed.

Your hands were gripping the edge of the mattress as your legs dangled over the edge. Wanda settled herself between your knees.

Her hot breath teasing your pussy. She gave one last smack before closing her lips around your clit.

“Fuck, mommy!” Wanda giggled into your pussy, sending vibrations through your body.

Wanda used one hand to hold you down as she fingered and tongue fucked you. Your back was almost arched off the bed.

“Mmm, so sweet.” She murmured into your pussy. “Mommy missed that smell so much, that sticky little pussy of yours wetting my mouth.” Wanda ground her own pussy into the edge of the mattress, the friction sending tremors through her legs.

You wanted to close your legs because there was something building in the pit of your stomach.

You staggered up from your sitting position when Wanda removed all contact. It was like your eyes were going to pop out of your head.

There was a mischievous smile on her lips as she looked down at you.

“What’s wrong, Detka?”

Your body was shaking, yearning for your long-awaited release.

“Mommy, please.”

Wanda smiled even wider as she crawled on top of you, lining her pussy up with your fluid cunt. She was directly above you, her eyes looking playfully into yours,

“Please, what, huh? We’ve barely started, baby girl, you don’t want to cum now, do you?”

Wanda began to grind against you, making you both moan at the contact of your pussies together. The ease with which your clits met only showed that your bodies had met before—maybe in another life.

"I need to cum, Mommy. Please let me cum. Fuck, it's been too long…. I need my Mommy to make me cum, only Mommy can make me cum, please," you were desperate.

If you even tried to touch yourself without her permission right now, she would deny you. The best thing you could do was beg like the hungry slut you truly were.

She increased the friction against your pussy and a small cry escaped your lips. You demanded more, and Wanda knew it.

"Look at me," Wanda gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her.

She brushed your messy hair away from your face and placed a tender kiss on your forehead, "I've missed you so much, Y/N. I'm going to make you cum so hard. Do you know why?"

You shook your head, unable to speak. Tender moments during sex didn’t happen often between the two of you. So this was definitely new, and it was making your heart flutter.

She placed her forehead against yours, “Because I love you.” She moaned passionately, as if those words had been stuck in her throat for a long time. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed my perfect little slut? My little sneaky baby, huh?” Wanda continued to grind her hips against you, feeling her orgasm coming on herself.

“All I want to do is take care of you. I want to make you feel good because it makes me feel good.” She began to thrust harder against you.

You grab her face with both hands, crushing your lips against hers feverishly. She slumps against your body, so she’s no longer holding back.

You moan directly into her mouth as she begins to move more sporadically against you.

“Cum for me, Y/N,” the command was whispered in your ear, and that was all it took for you to cum.

Both of your bodies shook, and your arms flew around Wanda, pinning her in place. It felt like your entire body was spasming under the immense amount of pleasure.

Wanda placed soft kisses on the side of your neck as you began to regain your composure, “You’re my good girl. Cumming as soon as Mommy says you can.” You look so beautiful when you're under me like this, darling.

Wanda sighed, her fingers tracing small circles on your back, each gentle touch laden with a tenderness that felt almost reverent. Her breathing seemed calm, but you could feel the rapid pulse in her chest, as if her heart was struggling to break free from the walls her mind insisted on building. There was a raw vulnerability in the silence between you, a space where unspoken emotions seemed to take form.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” you murmured, your voice thick as you buried your face in her shoulder. Every word felt like a battle against the tight knot in your throat, threatening to unravel into tears at any moment.

“I did too,” Wanda replied, her voice heavy with a weight only she could understand. Her lips brushed against the top of your head in a slow, almost hesitant kiss, as if she needed to confirm you were real. “And every day without you… felt like an eternity. A never-ending punishment.”

“I love you too, Wanda. That’s never changed.” The words came as a whisper but carried a devastating power. You didn’t need volume; the love pouring out of every syllable was enough to fill the void of the lost years.

Wanda froze for a moment, as if your confession had the power to split time in half. You hadn’t realized how tense she was until you felt her body relax against yours, a shaky breath escaping her lips. Slowly, she pulled away, rolling to her side until the two of you were face-to-face. Wanda’s face was an open book—hope, fear, and love colliding in a whirlwind of emotions.

“I have children,” she said finally, her voice low and raw, as if each word was a confession torn from her. Her gaze was piercing, searching yours as though bracing for judgment or hesitation.

“I know,” you said, your voice steady, a contrast to the delicate fragility of the moment. Your eyes held hers, offering the reassurance she seemed to desperately need.

“The divorce…” Wanda continued, her words almost a lament, “it might get messy. Ugly. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know.” You squeezed her fingers gently, as if to say no obstacle would be big enough to separate you again.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was as if both hearts were readjusting their rhythms to beat in unison once more after so long out of sync. You brought your free hand to her face, gently caressing her warm, delicate skin.

“I’m here by your side, Wanda, no matter what happens. As long as you’re honest with me, I’m yours.”

Wanda blinked, her eyes glistening with tears she didn’t try to hide. “All mine…” she echoed, her voice almost a whisper, as though she couldn’t believe the words. A single tear slid down her cheek, and you wiped it away with your thumb, a simple gesture heavy with unspoken promises.

“Yes,” you reaffirmed, your voice soft but resolute. “Always yours.”

Wanda closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When she opened them again, a determination shone in her gaze that hadn’t been there before. “I’m going to fight for this. For us. I’ll never let you go again.”

And so, in that room where time seemed to have stopped, you found each other once more. After five years of pain and distance, nothing felt more certain than the promise you now shared.

[...]

The irresistible aroma of roasted turkey wafted through the house, mingling with the scent of pumpkin pies and spices that promised a memorable dinner. Through the window, the golden light of an autumn evening softly spilled onto the dining room walls, painting everything with a warm, cozy glow. Sparky, ever vigilant for any sign of food, lay at the foot of the table, watching everyone’s movements like a little guardian.

“Tommy, if you put one more olive on that plate, I swear you won’t get dessert!” Wanda scolded, her voice filled with exasperation, though her eyes betrayed an amused glint.

“Mom, olives are the best part of dinner!” Tommy retorted, stacking a fourth olive in the corner of his plate as if building a tower. Billy, seated next to him, leaned in with a teasing grin.

“Let him be, Mom. At least that way he’s eating something, considering he always skips the vegetables.”

“I don’t skip them! I… selectively eat them,” Tommy corrected, raising an eyebrow.

Wanda ran a hand over her face, clearly resisting the urge to say more. She looked like the epitome of an exhausted mother: wrinkled apron, hair tied back in a hurried bun, and a furrow between her brows that revealed her struggle to keep everything under control. Watching from the kitchen as you sliced bread, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“Relax, love. They’re just excited. It’s part of the holiday,” you said gently, crossing the space between the kitchen and the table with a plate of salad. Wanda turned toward you, her shoulders subtly relaxing at the sound of your voice.

“They’re going to drive me insane, that’s what’s going to happen,” she grumbled, though her words were tinged with affection.

Leaning in, you kissed her cheek, ignoring the muffled teasing coming from the boys.

“It’s only until dinner. I promise, after that, they’ll be calm and polite as angels.”

“Doubt it!” Billy called out loudly from across the table, laughing as Wanda narrowed her eyes at him.

Finally, everyone sat at the table, the golden turkey shining at the center, surrounded by colorful dishes: gratin potatoes, sautéed vegetables, pies, and sauces that completed the feast. Sparky, realizing it was mealtime, lay down again with an exaggerated sigh.

“Okay, kids, let’s give thanks for today,” you suggested, taking Wanda’s hand, who in turn took Tommy’s. The chain was formed. Billy glanced sideways at his brother before offering a small smile.

“I’m thankful for this new house and for Mom’s cooking,” Tommy said first, surprising everyone with his sincerity. Wanda blinked, clearly moved, but held herself together.

Billy, ever practical, smirked and said, “I’m thankful Sparky didn’t eat my snack this week. And for that pumpkin pie over there.”

Everyone laughed, breaking the momentary seriousness. Wanda squeezed your hand gently before speaking.

“I’m thankful for the family I chose and for the peace we have here. None of this would be possible without you.” She looked directly at you, her green eyes full of a tenderness that seemed to envelop her entirely.

You smiled, feeling your heart warm. “And I’m thankful for all of you. For being together, healthy, and happy. That’s all that matters.”

That night, as the boys slept in the room next door and Sparky snored at the foot of the couch, you and Wanda found each other in the small space of your new home, cups of tea in hand. The soft lights of the room illuminated only your faces, creating an intimate and cozy bubble.

“Do you realize we’re here now? Together. Like a family,” Wanda murmured, her voice tinged with a sweet incredulity. “I never imagined my life could be like this.”

“You deserve this, Wanda. You deserve love, you deserve peace.”

She smiled softly, her eyes glinting with some distant memory. “That trip to Paris… it was the best surprise I’ve ever had.”

You laughed, fondly recalling the moment. Wanda thought you were taking her just to celebrate your vacation, but both of you had a secret plan. On the first night, under the illuminated Eiffel Tower, you took her to dinner, pulled a ring from your pocket, and knelt before her. Wanda’s smile and tears were enough to calm any nerves.

What you hadn’t expected, however, was that she also had a ring hidden in her bag.

“It’s funny how we proposed to each other at the same time,” you said, laughing softly.

“I knew we were meant to be; I just needed a ring to make it official,” Wanda joked, leaning into you.

The memories mingled with the present: family dinners, the twins’ laughter, Sparky’s innocent antics, and the love that overflowed in every touch and shared glance between you. Life went on, and that moment was just a snapshot of a story that would continue long after the readers’ eyes closed.

Destiny is a quiet and unpredictable force, weaving invisible threads between souls that, somehow, were meant to find each other. Sometimes, it acts as a whisper in the wind, a shared glance in a church that grows into a grand story, the kind so impactful they become unpublishable.

The best love stories are the ones eyes can’t read, the ones words aren’t enough to tell. They are the stories that are felt or dreamed.

Some loves are born as sparks: they shine brightly but end in the same breath that started them. Others, however, carry eternity in the eyes of those who live them. They are built over years, with patience, courage, and even silence. These loves withstand time, crossing generations, and when life ends, they find a way to continue. Perhaps in another era, perhaps in another skin, but never in another heart. Because there are loves that don’t belong to just one life. They belong to destiny, and destiny, however whimsical, always finds a way to perpetuate what was born to be eternal.

We are all like pieces of coins that children break in half as keepsakes—turning one into two, like flounders—and each of us is always searching for our corresponding half.

And so all this commotion is a relic of that original state of ours, from when we were whole, and now, when we long for and pursue that primordial wholeness, we say we are in love.

And that was it. You had found your other half. Wanda was your primordial wholeness, and you were hers. The world might change around you, but that—that silent and secure love between you—would remain, unbreakable as velvet chains.

~*~

Thankiuuu so much for you read Velvet Chains!!! YEYY

I hope the ending met your expectations!

I dunno if i'll write anything before Christimas, so... MERRY CHRISTMAS you gayyys!

Inspired by Love Thy Neighbor by @lowkeyerror ❤️

Tag list <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @bees-for-brains @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @sheriffswan-blog @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000

[mynicosensesaretingling]

Lost in the moment (part 1)

Nico Rosberg x fem!reader

Summary: Throughout her career as a motorsport journalist, (Y/N) has established a special relationship with Nico. But what happens when unfortunate circumstances keep her from being there for him during the most important moment of his career? (part 1 of 2)

Warnings: Other than some angst there isn't any, female reader

Note: Noticing the lack of Nico fanfiction, I've decided to turn my dreams into an actual story. No worries, there will be a second part!

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/mynicosensesaretingling/734355288476565504/lost-in-the-moment-part2

Hope you enjoy it <3

Life as a journalist was not exactly a quiet life, especially for (Y/N), who worked as a reporter live on location for a motorsport journal called Countdown Magazine. Having been a dream job for the young woman since childhood, however, the stress that came with working in the motorsport industry seemed only half as bad to her.

But this year, the atmosphere had changed as the intense rivalry between Nico Rosberg and Lewis Hamilton, known as the “Silver War”, had captivated the world of Formula 1. As a dedicated and well-reputed reporter, (Y/N) had secured herself, what you could call a front-row seat, which allowed her to immerse herself in the high-stakes drama that unfolded throughout the season and enabled her to follow every twist and turn with unwavering dedication.

However, even though the feud between the Mercedes drivers provided great headlines and stories, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel tense whenever Lewis and Nico had a go at each other.

Having been covering the sport for multiple years now had created a closer bond between her and several of the drivers and none more so than Nico Rosberg. The German Mercedes driver had always struck (Y/N) as a fascinating character. 

Over the years, their paths had crossed countless times during press conferences, pit-lane interviews and post-race debriefs. She had covered his journey from the earlier days of his Formula 1 career, watching him develop from a promising talent into a championship contender. His approachability and genuine interest in connecting with those around him were what had set Nico apart from the other drivers. Beyond the professional facade, the driver was a thoughtful guy, cracking jokes, sharing gossip, discussing the intricacies of the sport, the pressures of competition and even personal anecdotes from his life. 

Before she knew it, (Y/N) had found herself staying behind after work, searching out any chance to connect with the German. It didn’t take long before he invited her to join him at whatever he was planning on doing next, be it a walk around the track, getting something to eat or simply hanging around the paddock. Each time she accepted his offer the unique bond between them grew stronger, forging a friendship that transcended the typical reporter-athlete dynamic.

"Sometimes I really wonder why you spend so much time with me." the young reporter once mused, resting her chin on her hand as she leaned against the counter. Nico, who was standing next to her at the whirring coffee machine, shrugged his shoulders calmly, "I have to make sure I'm always presented in the best light. After all, we don't want any scandalous headlines or such, do we?." his cheeky laughter was quickly interrupted when (Y/N)'s foot found his shin. "Ouch." the blond man exclaimed overdramatically, pointing at her with his silver spoon in an accusing manner, but his narrowed eyes were sparkling playfully. "I swear one day I'm going to lose my ability to drive because of you. And then we'll both be out of a job." (Y/N) couldn't help but laugh at his antics. "There are plenty of other Formula 1 drivers I could report on." "Mhm." Nico was nodding while picking up his cup from the coffee machine. "But apparently these drivers must be boring as hell, otherwise you wouldn't be spending so much time with me." He winked at her whilst stirring his coffee, getting an eye-roll from (Y/N) in response. "Oh come on, I know you love me." Nico chuckled. "Oh shut up," the young woman laughed, waving her hand in a dismissive manner, purposefully ignoring the way her heart skipped a beat.

One of (Y/N)’s favourite memories, which she had made in her friendship with Nico, was when after a long, rainy qualifying day and countless press conferences, the driver had waited for her in the pitlane, an umbrella in his right hand as he wordlessly motioned for her to join him with his free one. “It’s raining.” she had expressed, pulling her jacket tighter around her body in hesitation, eyes darting to the dark clouds above. “And I have an umbrella.” Nico had simply countered matter-of-factly, shaking the umbrella for emphasis, scrunching his nose as his gesture led cold droplets to land on his face. (Y/N) suppressed a laugh, finding the sight utterly adorable. “I can’t just leave you standing there in the rain, can I?” her voice was filled with amusement, as she mustered the man, before quickly making her way over to Nico. “I mean,” he chuckled, as she ducked under his umbrella “You definitely could, but I’d find it incredibly rude.” (Y/N) huffed a laugh, linking her arm with his. “Well, how kind of me to join you then.” She hummed, eyes fixed onto the moon’s reflection in one of the puddles below. “ What are we doing anyways ?” she raised her brow, looking up at him with curiosity. Nico turned his head, a sparkle in his eyes. “We’ve never walked a track at night before, so I figured we’d make it a first. And now that I am thinking about it, I don’t think we’ve ever walked in the rain before either.” his gaze turned mischievous as he shook the umbrella once again, sprinkling water into both of their faces. A hearty chuckle left his lips as he watched (Y/N) scrunch her nose, just like he had done earlier.  “Why did you even bother getting an umbrella?” (Y/N) huffed lightheartedly, as she wiped her face with her sleeve. “Cause I know you wouldn’t have joined me without one.” he grinned down at her before pulling her along with him. That night, as Nico and her had spent several hours walking the moonlit track, sharing an umbrella and conversing about everything and nothing, is when (Y/N) had realized that her feelings for the Mercedes driver went far beyond friendship.

In the current tense situation, moments like these were not lost on the pair, but they were becoming increasingly infrequent. With the championship-deciding race approaching, (Y/N) could feel the pressure on Nico becoming stronger by the minute. Being on the brink of realizing his lifelong dream of becoming a Formula 1 World Champion and stepping into the footsteps of his father had led to several sleepless nights thinking about the sacrifices and the relentless pursuit of excellence that had brought him to this pivotal moment. And on top of that, Nico’s biggest rival was his own teammate and best friend, Lewis Hamilton. 

Especially now that the relationship with his childhood friend was slowly but surely coming to an end, Nico found himself drawn to (Y/N)’s presence, even more so than usual. Amongst this utter mess, which he found himself in, she was his lifeline and he clung to it like a desperate sailor lost at sea. 

Particularly in the days leading up to the race, Nico was confiding in the woman about his innermost fears and ambitions, trusting her as someone who genuinely understood the intricacies of the sport and its impact on his life. She, in turn, had found herself awaiting his late-night calls, admiring his determination as she listened to him rambling about whatever was occupying his mind, her heart filling with a sense of pride whenever she’d hear a faint chuckle from Nico as she managed to bring some lightheartedness and humour to their conversations.

"You'll be okay," she would say to him in a gentle voice, "you've always managed so far." On the other end of the line, the driver would sigh, "But it's never been like this before." His voice was weary and full of thoughtful despair. "And in the future, it will never be like this again." she would say with a shurg, her empathetic smile practically audible through the phone. "So try to enjoy as many of these moments as you can." There was a pause before Nico gave a breathless chuckle, "Oh man, what would I do without you?"

On the day of the race, as Nico prepared for taking on the track, he couldn't help but think of (Y/N) and how she had supported him over the last few weeks, reassuring him and quite literally keeping him sane as the situation within his team steadily deteriorated.

His blue eyes scanned the area outside of the Mercedes garage. Unable to spot his friend in any of the spots she’d usually be in, Nico approached one of the stewards. “Hey, sorry,” he tried to sound nonchalant  “Have you seen the Countdown crew?” his eyes nervously flitted around the paddock, before landing back on the steward. “Countdown Magazine? No, I don’t think I have seen them anywhere on the track today.” the older man answered, a rough hand scratching away at his beard. “Thank you.” Nico shortly nodded, before abruptly turning on his heels and making his way back into the garage with tense shoulders. (Y/N)’s absence from the paddock weighed heavily on his mind. She had promised him to be there today and she’d usually come in amongst the first wave of reporters. Why wasn’t she there yet? Nico combed his fingers through his hair , lost in thought. Shaking his head, he felt his team’s eyes on his form. She’d surely be at the paddock in no time, he thought,  deciding that for now, it would do him better to focus on the race and his strategies, in order to secure the championship.

What Nico didn't know, however, was that just mere moments before the gates to the paddock were opened, the boss of Countdown Magazine had abruptly fired  (Y/N) at short notice. 

With her heartbeat pounding in her ears, the only thing the young journalist had been able to understand through the speaker of her cell phone was that the magazine needed a “breath of fresh air” and therefore had decided to get rid of their motorsport department in the composition in which it had existed until then…or something like that. (Y/N) wasn't entirely sure, as she was overcome with panic as her thoughts flew straight to Nico.

Just the night before, she had promised him on the phone that she would never miss the most important race of his career and now she was sitting in her hotel room, unemployed, with no access to the paddock and no way to get a ticket to the race because the tickets had already sold out weeks ago. 

Had a champion of misfortune been crowned that night, she was sure that no one would have been able to deprive her of that victory. Shaky fingers dialled Nico's number, which she by now knew better than she did her own, the cheap wood of the hotel bed creaking as (Y/N)'s leg bobbed up and down in unease. With each ring of the call, her breath caught in her throat. The ex-reporter knew the driver too well by now to have expected him to use his cell phone so close to the race, but what other option did she have? She pressed the phone to her ear for a few more moments, each second more painful than the last, wide eyes staring blankly at the F1 broadcast on her TV screen. It was only when the drivers left their garages to get into formation that she dropped the cell phone from her ear and threw it onto the mattress behind her with a loud "Fuck!", followed by a strangled sob whilst desperate fingers pulled at her hair. 

As the race unfolded, the tension in the air was palpable. Nico and Lewis were locked in a fierce battle for the championship and every corner, every lap, seemed to carry the weight of each driver’s dreams. When Nico finally crossed the finish line , securing his victory, he felt a mix of euphoria and disbelief. After this particularly demanding season, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief, having  fulfilled his life-long dream of winning a World Driver’s Championship title.

The moment Nico stepped onto the podium to accept the championship trophy, he couldn’t help himself but to scan the crowd of reporters, still hoping to catch a glimpse of (Y/N). She had to be there, after all that’s what she had promised him. Yet, his friend still remained conspicuously absent. 

Nico held the coveted trophy high, the cheers of the crowd a deafening roar, as he smiled down at the sea of people. But even with a championship in hand and hundreds of people celebrating his achievement, there was a strange feeling of emptiness within his heart. As the champagne sprayed and the crowd celebrated, Nico's emotions were a turbulent mix of exhilaration and confusion. He couldn't help but wonder why (Y/N) hadn't been there smiling up at him, especially when she had been a constant presence throughout not only the season, but the majority of his career. The absence of his friend was like a splinter in his heart, casting a faint shadow over what should have been the most triumphant moment of his career. 

Meanwhile, (Y/N) watched the race unfold from her hotel room, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. The news of her abrupt departure from her reporting career had come as a shock, and she had fought bitterly against it. Her job had been her passion, and Formula 1 was her life. To be denied the opportunity to report on the championship-deciding race, and more importantly to support Nico in his most crucial moment, was a heartbreak she struggled to bear.

As she witnessed Nico celebrating his victory, the realization of her absence was a painful weight on both her shoulders and her mind. She had been forced to watch her friend reach the pinnacle of his career from a distance, unable to share this moment of glory with the man who had unknowingly stolen her heart. The tears she shed were a mixture of pride for her friend and a deep sense of sorrow for her own situation. 

Back at the race track, Nico's initial reaction, unaware of the circumstances behind his friend’s absence, was one of betrayal. Finding himself being swarmed by countless reporters fighting for even the smallest of chances to get a word from the freshly crowned champion, he couldn’t help the bitterness he began to feel towards (Y/N). If all of these random journalist could have turned up, then why couldn’t his dearest friend do the same for him. The longer Nico thought about it, the more he questioned his relationship with (Y/N), something which he had valued so highly up until that very moment. 

She hadn’t just used him to boost her journalism career, had she? As much as he wanted to shake the thought, the champion couldn’t stop the idea of having been used solely for thrilling stories and eye-catching headlines to consume him, clouding his mind as the pain of having been abandoned by the woman, whom he had opened himself up to, right when he needed her most, sank in. 

His heart was clouded by hurt, and the insufferable ache of believing he had been manipulated by someone he had grown to trust and even developed some sort of feelings for was something he didn't know whether he could cope with.

How could a person whom he valued so highly and would give anything for, be so selfish and leave him standing there like that, clutching his fulfilled lifelong dream in his hand and yet still feeling a hole in his heart. Had his feelings really blinded him to such an extent that he hadn't realized (Y/N)'s true nature, or had his heart perhaps never wished to recognize it in the first place ?

“Mr.Rosberg!” the shout of his name pulled the driver out of his thoughts. Blinking, his eyes travelled up the arm currently shoving a microphone into his face, before settling on the face of the reporter, whose red lips were pulled into an impatient smile. “I am sorry, I didn’t quite catch your question.” he mindlessly gestured around with his hand, hoping to come across as if he really hadn't caught the question in the bustling scenery. 

He raised his brows, a half-heartedly apologetic smile on his lips as he kept his attentive eyes on the reporter while waiting for her to repeat what she had just asked. The reporter laughed in a put-on fashion and Nico had to wrestle with himself to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"So," the woman thrust the microphone even further into his face, "I'd be really interested to know whether there was anyone who helped you get through this difficult season, or whether it was all down to you?" Almost immediately the driver put on the mask of a cocky smile. "No, all of that was entirely down to me and I dare say I managed pretty darn well." Nico’s hair bobbed as he nodded towards his trophy. His smile grew painful as he was intent on ignoring the extent of the lie he had just told and the pang of pain, that the conscious erasure of his relationship with (Y/N) caused deep within his core.

[agirlwithdemonblood]

The Celebrity Next Door: Chapter 19- Embracing Happiness in Texas

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Chapter Summary: Y/N and Jensen finally have the ending they both deserve.

A/N: This is going to be the last chapter of this series; I decided that the story went exactly the direction I wanted it to, and I think that I'm satisfied with a sweet happy ending, because I think that's what the characters deserve.

Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!

A month has passed since Jensen and I had settled into our new life, our lives were filled with a newfound joy and stability. Day by day, Jensen became brighter, more comfortable with letting love and happiness in.

For a while, I had no idea what to do here, unsure of what career path to take but the more I listened to Jensen and understood his trauma, the closer I was to figuring out my true calling.

I enrolled in school to become a therapist, receiving endless support from Jensen who thought it was perfect for me, and I agreed. My life felt right, it felt like I found my home and my family.

Jensen landed a role in a new TV show, bringing a new found sense of appreciation for his life and himself. Despite his busy schedule, he always made time for simple joys like breakfast with the entire family, and walks in their neighbourhood.

The kids adjusted well to their new life here, half the time with their mom and half the time with Jensen and I. Even Sarah and I got closer, we would invite each other to morning coffee and take the kids to the park, our bound over the love we had for the children blossomed into a genuine friendship that only enriched our blended family.

Under the Texas sky, painted with beautiful shades of orange and pink, Jensen and I sat in our backyard, cuddled into each other, embracing the moment with each other.

"I can't believe we made it here." Jensen whispered, his voice filled with admiration as he looked around at the peaceful surroundings.

I leaned into his shoulder, feeling his warmth against mine. "It feels unreal, doesn't it?"

He nodded in response, his eyes softening as he gazed into mine. "A dream I never want to end."

"You know," she began, her voice filled with emotion, "I never thought we'd go from neighbours who didn't get along to this."

Jensen chuckled gently, brushing a hair from my face and stepping closer. "Y/N." he began, his voice gentle yet filled with emotions. "When we first met, I didn't realize how much you would change my life. I was closed off, pushing away love because I was afraid and hurt. But you, with your constant kindness and openness, your unwavering belief in us, you saved me from becoming a man I really didn't want to be, you saved me from giving up on love all together, and I'm not sure what I did to deserve you, but I'm grateful."

I turned towards him, my heart swelling with love and appreciation for the journey we had traveled together. I took a deep breath and pulled him closer. "You showed me what love truly means."

His head dropped as nerves flowed through him, "I pushed it away, convinced myself I didn't deserve it. But you, you taught me how to love again, how to open my heart and let someone in completly."

I could feel the tears pouring down my cheeks, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words and the genuine love in his voice. Before I could say anything, Jensen reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box and dropping to his knee. He opened it slowly, revealing a gorgeous diamond ring that sparkled in the soft candlelight.

"Y/N, Will you marry me?" He whispered, his voice filled with hope and vulnerability. "Will you continue to be my light, my love, my everything?"

Unable to find words, I nodded and jumped on him, sending us tumbling to the ground, laughter and tears mixed in the air. "Is that a yes?"

I nodded and kissed him over and over, "Yes, of course yes. You're all I want."

In this serene moment under the stars, we hung onto each-other tightly, knowing that we found forever in each-other's arms. The stars above seemed to shine brighter, celebrating our love story and the promise of a future filled with endless love.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[cryptidfuckery]

Hey so you don’t have to reply to this but I’ve been having a career crisis lately and considering other vocational paths. One of these careers just so happens to be hair. I was wondering if you could tell me what made you want to become a hairdresser?

Ohhh this might get long but

First things first my mom is a hairdresser. Me becoming one wasn't a case of "I'm going to take over my mom's business" because she's been a sole proprietor booth renter for probably over 30 years now. She doesn't run a salon with other people under her, it's just her and her clients. If I worked under her I would have just been taking money our of her pocket.

But my mom being a hairdresser definitely influenced me! Getting to watch her work and own her own business my whole life helped me understand exactly what to expect out of the industry, and what I would have to do to be successful.

But me actually deciding to become a hairdresser started with me being absolutely miserable in my third semester of college. I loved studying sociology, but school and I don't mix well. I also realized that while I loved what I was studying, I didn't have any real interest in the professions usually associated with what I was majoring in. (Didn't want to do any kind of counseling, hate math so no stats work, research was the most enticing but too close to how school works and I Know would have been Miserable ultimately)

So one day being absolutely miserable and stressed around finals I sat myself down and forced myself to think about what the next 5-10 years would look like. I realized that if I stayed in college it would be to finish, find a job in my degree, then eventually when I have the time and money again I'd go to cosmetology school. (At the time I thought I was going to be a makeup artist. Holy shit fuck that noise. Not for me.)

And it just kind of clicked for me. Why am I spending all this money on a degree i (while I loved) did not really want? Especially when I could finish cosmetology school in under a year with less money than 2 semesters of college would be? Especially since you can start making money directly out of cosmetology school and continuously build after that as you gain more clients.

My final advice is this. There is a hairdresser for everyone and there are clients for every hairdresser. Genuinely the best thing you can do is be yourself and the right people will find you. And then they'll give your their friends, who like you too because you're their kind of people. And you get to choose absolutely what the fuck ever you want to specialize in. You can do exclusively color. Exclusively cuts. You can choose what style of cutting and coloring you want to learn from and you can completely switch that in the middle of your career. You can exclusively do texture treatments (perms, keratins, etc) if you're okay with so many chemicals in your body and bad smells! You can specialize in rat haircuts, which I honestly might try to do. (I have not done one yet. Someone let me do a rat haircut on them. Please. Rat haircut.) You can do everything! Also don't forget barbering!! Whole different school with different subsets and specializations, but many many cosmetologists cross over into both as well! I plan on eventually also acquiring a barbering license so I can truly be a one stop trans chop shop (mainly so I can offer my trans girlies clean shaves between electrolysis/Lazer appointments (iirc one can and cannot. I cannot be fucked to check rn)

So. Yeah. I think trades are absolutely the way to go right now in this economy. We provide services that everybody wants or needs, from hair to plumbing to carpentry to welding to auto mechanics to nail techs. There will always be a broken toilet, an oil change, a haircut needed.

Watch out for pandemics though. Woof.

[namig42]

Hello there, I finally finished the first part of a Wyllstarion fic I started writing ages ago. Please enjoy.

Just One Yesterday (Ch. 1)

Next Chapter >

Read it on Ao3 as well!

Summary: Originally inspired by the lyric "anything you say can and will be held against you, so only say my name. It will be held against you," from Fall Out Boy's song "Just One Yesterday."

This is a modern AU where Wyll is a police officer and Astarion is a sex worker. Despite a problematic start, the two manage to find a connection and have it build in time into something more.

---

Wyll Ravengard was a young rookie on the police force of Baldur City. He's been working the scene for a few years now, but has yet to feel like he has made any real difference. Part of that is due to his chief, Mizora, who makes a point of sending Wyll to do all the more unsavory jobs that are passed down directly from her own boss, Zariel. Early on in his time on the force, Wyll was optimistic and very loyal to the people of the city. Mizora saw this and used it against Wyll, leading him down a dark path of less than legal actions that Wyll now cannot afford anyone knowing. In exchange for her silence, Mizora has now made Wyll her personal pet. She sends him on secret missions to chase down certain felons, detain criminals of seemingly victimless crimes, and on one occasion, even taking the life of someone before things could get out of hand with a case. Wyll detests his career now because of Mizora, but if he stepped out of her shadow, the things that he's done would solely be on his head and he would be seen as the villain, not the hero. For now, he grins and bears his duty, telling himself that at least he can still help people while also serving Mizora’s means.

On this evening in particular, Wyll was sent on a mission to detain some of the countless streetwalkers that have been reported downtown. One too many problematic incidents have taken place with some higher ups in the city, and Zariel has decided that the field needed to be weeded out. Mizora had left this job to Wyll, deeming it unfit for the rest of the force to be seen doing these jobs since it would bring awareness to the drama happening with those problematic higher ups she was supposed to be protecting. Wyll was expected to go undercover for this case and arrest anyone who approached him offering a service without making a scene.

And that is exactly what he planned for, though he already felt a wave of guilt and anxiety at the notion that he needed to allow himself to be seduced and lured. When it came to exploits of lust and love, Wyll was a traditional romantic. He was genuine and authentic and wasn’t interested in acts solely of the flesh. Whether Mizora knew that and decided she wanted to watch Wyll suffer or not or was simply unaware, Wyll still had to deliver on the mission. One step at a time , he thought to himself as he made his way downtown for the evening.

Wyll was dressed in some worn jeans and a burgundy henley that he'd owned since his teenage years. It was an old shirt that was a little tight now, but it still got the job done. He looked like a regular guy out for a late night stroll near the downtown park, as if he was on his way to a bar to meet some friends or play some pool. Just a normal person. That’s all he had to be for now, but Wyll knew that he was anything but a normal guy with casual plans, and it made the guilt surge through his body all the more, leaving his hands clammy and his mouth dry.

His intel had told him that this park was a common spot for a certain gang that was known for its promiscuous services. They were a group of beautiful, pale people that often stalked in groups of two or three, luring people away with their charm and promises of a good time according to the reports. Sometimes the victims came back with empty wallets, but more often, they were never seen again. If Wyll walked around enough, he was likely to find a target or two to detain.

Wyll was feeling nervous about this whole endeavor. He hadn't ever had a job like this before, and he wasn't known for being the best liar. Omitting information, sure, that was understandable, but pure deception? That was something he was afraid of screwing up immediately. He had never had a knack for it, and his father taught him that honesty was the truest way to justice. He had hammered that notion into his son, leaving Wyll without the skillset he needed for this scenario. Wyll knew how much his father would disapprove of him these past few years, but he couldn’t bear to tell his father the truth. His father, Uldur Ravengaurd, the pinnacle example of honor and justice, would arrest his own son on the spot if he knew the terrible things Wyll had done for Mizora, even if Wyll has always tried to mean well and do these heinous jobs on his own terms.

It was as he was thinking about his father and the dread that filled his stomach that Wyll spotted a group of three people standing in the main square of the park, leaning on a fountain and surrounded by street lamps emitting a soft white glow. There were two women and one man, and they were all extremely attractive and fair-skinned. All three were dressed in attire that seemed more fitting for a nightclub rather than a night in the park, fitted with tight pants that left little to the imagination, skin tight tops, and their hair pulled away from their faces. Both women had their hair pulled back in a bun with lips painted ruby red, and the man’s curly hair was short and sculpted to frame his handsome face.

He was still feeling nervous, so instead of approaching the group, Wyll leaned himself against a nearby fence and glanced at the group every now and then. He noticed that the group of three began to stare back and began whispering amongst themselves. Wyll looked down at the ground and tried to calm his nerves as he felt the eyes of the beautiful strangers piercing him. After a moment of pointing and the small sound of soft voices, the handsome man with white, curly locks approached him.

"Well hello there darling~."  The man approached Wyll from the side and casually leaned against the fence. His voice was low and dripped with sex. Wyll had to swallow before looking into the man's red eyes. "Whatever is a dashing thing like you doing in a place like this~?"

"Just out for a late night stroll.” Wyll choked out, sounding fine enough but feeling somehow even more nervous under the predatory gaze of this handsome stranger. “Lovely night, isn't it?" Wyll looked up and gestured to the full moon that sat directly above the two of them. Wyll hadn't noticed it before, but now that he saw the pale glow of moonlight, he realized the color was very similar to the man's hair. It was a lovely color… Wyll began to wonder if the stranger’s hair was naturally that silver.

"A lovely night indeed," the man said, his eyes not moving from Wyll’s face. "What's to say we make it an even better one?"

Wyll made eye contact again before asking, "what do you mean?" He had a feeling he knew, but he didn't want to mess this up and blow his cover so quickly.

"I know a charming little spot not too far from here. Perhaps we could steal away for a bit and… get to enjoy each other's company?" As he spoke those last words, the man's fingers gently grazed the back of Wyll's hand. Wyll wanted to recoil as if he had been electrocuted, but he resisted the urge. This was definitely a target he was supposed to take back to the station. He needed to get this beautiful man alone first, that way the other two in his group wouldn't immediately be on high alert.

Though he was tense, Wyll managed a soft, polite smile. "Lead the way."

The man with the hair like moonlight smiled devilishly before gently taking Wyll's hand and leading him deeper into the park. As they walked in the night air, Wyll got a better look at the man he was about to arrest. They were about the same height, though Wyll's frame looked a bit stronger and more filled out than his newfound companion. The other man was a bit thin and gaunt, as if he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in a while. His skin was almost as pale as his hair, and his eyes were a bright red. Wyll wondered if they were contacts. The silver-haired man wore tight leather pants and a leather jacket with only a top made of fishnets underneath. His nails were painted black, though they looked a bit chipped, almost as if they had been bitten slightly. Wyll looked at the back of the stranger’s head and saw just how soft the man’s curls looked. The front of the man’s hair had looked polished and styled, though the back looked as if the curls had been left in their natural state.

Wyll pondered this mysterious man, but quickly tried to block out the thoughts. He couldn't let himself get distracted or attached. The more he humanized his target, the harder it would be to do his job. A job like this was hard for Wyll to justify for himself already. After all, sex workers weren't offering any services that harmed others. Though it isn't the most honorable line of work, he didn't think that they deserved to be arrested for providing the services they did, especially if they were being pressured by a boss of their own. Wyll could relate a bit with his own predicament, but he shoved that thought right out just as fast as it came into his mind. If he felt himself relating to a hypothetical, he’d have an even harder time following through on the job he was supposed to do. It didn't matter though what he thought in all of this. Mizora told him to do his job, and so his job had to be done. If not… it may not even be worth going back to the station.

After a few moments of strolling in silence, the man led Wyll through a shrub and entered a small clearing near the edge of the park where a little shack was stowed away. It didn't look like more than a storage shed, but that didn't seem to matter. The mysterious stranger led Wyll with that same gentle grip through the door and into the small building. Inside was a bit dusty and barren, save for a few large crates in one corner and a mattress on the ground on the other side of the space. A bit of the pale moonlight seeped into the room from the small windows that lined the tops of the walls along with the remnant glows from nearby street lights, just like the ones back in the main square. Besides that, the room was quite dim.

"Well now, we should introduce ourselves properly before getting down to business, hm~?” The stranger dropped Wyll’s hand and turned to face his client. With a dramatic flourish of one hand and the other on his hip, he introduced himself. “My name is Astarion."

Astarion, little star. A lovely name fit for a gentleman of the night. Gods, it rolled off the tongue so well. Was that his real name, or one he simply used for this line of work? Either way, it was beautiful. 

Wyll was still a bit frazzled as Astarion stared at him with that hand on his hip. He leaned to the side so casually and gracefully, as if he was posing for a piece of art. It was incredibly alluring. Wyll could feel himself falling into the trap that he was sure many others did as well at the hands of this mysterious man. Astarion gestured to him with a relaxed flourish and asked, "what should I call you, darling?"

The way he spoke was like music. He was so captivating, Wyll lost himself almost entirely for a moment, wanting to drop the mission and be engulfed by this stranger of the night. He had a false name that he had planned to utilize for this mission, but before he could even think about it, his mind slipped and he simply said, "Wyll."

"Wyll," Astarion said in that theatrical tone of his. Wyll took a small gulp after hearing his name on Astarion’s lips. "A fitting name for a proper gentleman." Astarion began to step a little closer to Wyll. Wyll took a step back, but after only one step, he felt his back press against the cold brick wall behind him. "It's funny, most people are upon me before we even reach this spot. I appreciate someone with manners and decency. No need to be afraid though…" Astarion began to enter Wyll's space even more, trailing a finger up Wyll’s chest, then his neck, and then his jawline. Wyll could feel the other man's cool breath on his face as the mysterious man leaned in a bit closer. Just as Wyll tightly shut his eyes and thought he was about to be kissed, Astarion leaned into Wyll's ear instead and whispered seductively, "I won't bite."

Wyll had never been with anyone in this capacity before. Yes, he had had sex. He was a young man in his mid 20’s, after all, but that was less about sex and more about making love. There were the few girls he dated seriously in his past and a couple handsome men he fancied, though never approached or engaged with. The women were all lovely at first, but the sex had been mediocre at best. Eventually, they all left Wyll because apparently he wasn’t exciting enough for them. Everyone loved a hopeless romantic until the novelty of chivalry wore off, and they ended up bored and uninterested. They loved the fantasy it seemed, not Wyll Ravenguard. In regards to men, Wyll had never allowed himself to pursue another man before. The culture he grew up in didn’t shame the idea of homosexuality, but Wyll had this feeling that if he didn’t do things traditionally, then his father would’ve resented him, but that was a tale for another time. 

The point was that in all his escapades, nothing had ever been like this. All his other experiences had been so tame, so simple and focused on romance with people Wyll had tried to establish a connection with. Already though, just the way Astarion moved and spoke, it was enough to excite Wyll and send a flush to his dark cheeks. This wasn’t romance. This was lust. Pure, intoxicating desire filled Wyll’s mind, and it was beginning to be too much.

As Astarion’s mouth began kissing down Wyll’s neck, Wyll decided he needed to stop this before things got out of hand. He already felt himself slipping away from control, and there was a part of him that felt… scared? Empty? He couldn’t be sure why, but it was likely due to how unfamiliar this situation had been for him. He grabbed Astarion by the wrist and flipped the man around so that it was Astarion against the wall instead of Wyll, though it was Astarion's front instead of back being pressed against the wall this time. Astarion’s arm was pinned behind him in Wyll’s strong grip, holding the pale man stiffly in place.

"Well, aren't you a cheeky thing~?” Astarion said coyly. “You really know how to lower a man's guard. I didn’t take you for the forceful type.” Though he spoke with that same theatrical style, there was a small anxious tone that entered his melodious voice. Wyll didn’t like how that new tone made him feel, but he shoved the unease to the side of his mind to think about later.

"You're under arrest," Wyll spoke firmly, regaining his composure and sense of duty. Astarion sighed, sounding more annoyed and disappointed than worried. "Of course, the handsome ones are always too good to be true…"

Wyll tried to ignore that comment as he continued. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you-"

"’Anything,’ you say?" Astarion interrupted, that playful coyness coming back to him. Wyll paused in the middle of his speech, taken aback by Astarion’s interjection. What kind of question was that?

"What if I were to only say your name~?" The tone of voice filled with sex came back as Astarion asked the question. He moved his hips back and grazed Wyll's front with his ass, grinding ever so gently on the officer. Wyll jumped back, beginning to lose his composure again at the prospect of what was just said. Astarion took the opportunity of freedom to turn himself around and step away from the wall, leaning towards Wyll and giving him that same devilish grin from earlier. Wyll hated to admit how well it was working.

"Wyll, would you hold yourself against me this evening~?" Astarion asked the seductive question with such ease, as if it wasn’t the first time he had said those words. Wyll noticed now that Astarion’s actions were so perfect in this moment, as if he was performing in some kind of film. Every action and word was so perfectly alluring and so flawlessly executed, as if he had performed this scene a million times. Wyll, not knowing the script that Astarion was working with, took a step back once more and felt himself lean against one of the larger crates on the other side of the shed. His hands moved back to grip the edge and support himself as Astarion stepped closer and moved into his space once again. The pale man put one hand on the crate behind Wyll, leaning into the younger man and using his other hand to gently caress Wyll's chin. With the most tender of touches, Astarion pulled the officer in for a kiss.

As much as Wyll should’ve resisted, he allowed himself to be kissed. His hands dug into the wood of the crate as he felt the erotic sensation course through his body. The soft, cool feeling on his lips felt like a shock, sending waves of strange, terrifying pleasure through him and down to his lower half. He had never kissed a man before, and no other kiss had ever felt like this. Though it wasn’t all that different from kissing a woman, this scenario felt more exciting and terrifying than anything he had ever felt. The charming stranger seduced him so effortlessly. Perhaps Wyll was weak, maybe even a bit lonely, but he allowed himself to be swept off his feet for a moment. Astarion pressed his body against the cop’s, using the hand that wasn’t supporting himself on the crate to move gently down Wyll’s side and to his lower back, pulling the young officer even closer. He could feel Wyll’s excitement starting to build in his jeans, and Wyll even heard a moan escape his own lips as he felt Astarion’s cold body press against his.

Astarion broke the kiss and moved to whisper Wyll’s name in his ear again, this time a bit softer and filled with quiet desire, as his hand trailed down Wyll’s side once more and moved to the front of his pants. At the sensation of being palmed, Wyll inhaled sharply and his whole body jolted. In his panic, he grabbed Astarion’s wrist that had just grazed his front and pulled it to the side, gripping it tight. Astarion made a small, pained noise as Wyll tried that same flip again, though Astarion was better prepared and resisted this time around. He pulled his arm towards his chest so Wyll couldn’t twist him around as easily. Instead, Wyll used his leg and hooked it behind Astarion’s ankle, sending the pale man falling onto the mattress behind him. Wyll quickly flipped Astarion over while the man was still surprised and sat firmly on Astarion’s lower back, that way he couldn’t flip over again. Now that he had the advantage once more, Wyll didn’t hesitate to pull out his handcuffs that were stashed in his back pocket and begin cuffing his newfound companion.

“Wait, please!” The cool, seductive confidence had left Astarion’s voice. Wyll did pause, surprised by the quick change of tone. He kept his grip tight on Astarion’s wrist, but had only cuffed one hand so far. The pause didn’t last long though as Wyll regained his sense of duty and began cuffing the other wrist. Astarion’s breathing began to quicken, almost like a cornered animal. “I’ll give you anything you want, I’ll do anything, just please don’t take me away.” He was panicked, but there was still some sense of composure behind his words.

“You’ve committed solicitation of sexual acts and prostitution. As an officer of the law, it is my duty to take you in.”

Astarion wriggled under Wyll, the sensation of his squirming body sending a guilty wave of pleasure through Wyll as the friction in his pants rubbed against him, but Wyll held out strong. As he tried to break free, a thought clicked in Astarion’s mind and he went still under Wyll. “What evidence do you have?”

Wyll froze. “I’m sorry?”

“What evidence do you have that I have charged money for sex?”

Wyll opened his mouth to speak, but then realized that he had none, not officially anyway. All his assumptions this evening have been based on the intel he received from Mizora, but he had no actual proof that Astarion was one of the members of the group he came to this park looking for. Though he made a slew of incriminating remarks, there was nothing that would work as evidence in a court of law to accuse Astarion of prostitution. All he had as of now was speculation and conjecture. As Wyll pondered this new set of circumstances, Astarion continued, “all I’ve done is offer a bit of fun, which you consented to. The only crime I’m guilty of is being a whore, but there’s nothing illegal in what I’ve done tonight.”

Wyll sat there, still holding Astarion’s wrists in place and pinning him against the mattress, though his grip began to soften. God, did he already screw this job up? He didn’t even think to try to get evidence. He was so inexperienced with work like this, with interactions like these, he hadn’t even thought past allowing someone to lure him to a secluded area. After that, his plans fizzled out. God… I’m such a fool.

He didn’t confirm or deny Astarion’s accusations, but he did move to uncuff Astarion. Once he was free, Wyll rolled off of Astarion and to the side. Astarion moved to his knees and stretched his back, then rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had dug in and left faint, red lines on his fair skin.

“I’m sorry,” was all the rookie could muster up, pulling his knees to his chest.

“Oh, no need to apologize. I’ve been handled much rougher than that.” There was a lingering, awkward silence that thankfully Astarion broke quickly. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” The question was sincere and non-judgemental. The bluntness of it turned Wyll’s face a new color that he didn’t even know he was capable of.

“No!” he said, a bit louder than he intended.

“I see,” Astarion said dismissively, turning and sitting back against the wall to face Wyll as he continued his questioning, “but I take it you’ve only been with women?” The flush that burned Wyll’s face only got deeper at the accusation, but he couldn’t deny it. He turned and buried his face in his knees. “Is it that obvious…?”

Astarion giggled. It sounded so light and playful, ringing in Wyll’s head afterwards. That may have been the first sound that Wyll heard from Astarion all evening that didn’t sound so rehearsed. “You’re not as subtle as you may think, officer.” Astarion moved his foot and nudged Wyll’s leg with it. Wyll’s face immediately lifted from his knees and turned to look at Astarion, who had another smirk on those lovely lips of his, though this time, it seemed a bit more relaxed. His eyes were softer, and there was a sense of desire in them this time that seemed more genuine than before. Would he still want an inexperienced fool like Wyll after all that?

“Would you still like to hold yourself against me this evening, Wyll?” Astarion asked, a new, softer, more genuine tone appearing in his voice. There was a bit of exhaustion and sincerity that was now apparent on his face as well.

“I… I don’t know…” Wyll said, the nerves returning. He had to turn his eyes away from Astarion’s face again. The nerves were coming back, and he still had a job to do. He couldn’t do something like this. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. Astarion was incredibly attractive, that wasn’t the problem, but there was a hollow feeling in his stomach, one that left him nervous and worried. What would Mizora do to him if he didn’t come back with at least one arrest tonight? Would he be committing a felony if he slept with Astarion, even if he technically didn’t have any solid evidence against him that proved he was a prostitute? Why would Astarion want to spend the night with an officer anyways?

As the questions ran wild in Wyll’s mind, Astarion nudged Wyll’s leg again to get his attention. Once Wyll finally met his gaze again, Astarion asked, “what would you like then, darling?”

Wyll stared at the man of the night blankly. Astarion had a soft, exhausted expression that resonated with something in Wyll. He had thought of Astarion as handsome and alluring all evening, but that soft expression was something that he could only describe as beautiful.

“Maybe, for now… we could just… talk?” Wyll said, his voice shrinking in embarrassment. Thankfully, Astarion didn’t seem put off by the suggestion. Instead, he moved to lie down on the mattress and stretch out his legs. “Alright, we can talk. Did you have a topic for discussion in mind?”

“Well… can I ask why you invited me to this place?” Wyll asked, not comfortable enough to lie down. He remained in his fetal position towards the foot of the mattress.

Astarion sighed, “well, to have a little bit of fun, obviously. I thought that was fairly clear.”

“Well, yes, but… why me? Why didn’t one of those other women you were with invite me somewhere instead?”

“Well,” Astarion began, rolling on his side and resting his head on his hand to get a better look at Wyll. “I thought you were adorable, sitting and showing interest while nervously dodging our stares. You’re a handsome young man, you know.” Wyll blushed at the compliment, averting his gaze again. He had never had the chance to flirt with another man before, and Astarion had so much experience that left Wyll feeling like a babe in the woods. Astarion was amused by Wyll’s darkened cheek, then posed a question of his own. “Did you not intend on having a bit of fun this evening? Were you simply a good officer trying to do your job?”

“It’s… complicated, but yes, I was out here solely for work.” There was no point in trying to be coy about it. He had already tried to arrest Astarion, so he already blew his cover.

“Well, darling, in the future, if you’re scouting for workers of certain occupations, might I suggest trying to pay them first or requesting their rate?”

“Yes… I didn’t… think about the details before jumping into this…”

Astarion scoffed playfully. “Clearly.”

Wyll wanted to curl in on himself in embarrassment and his lack of experience. Astarion saw the reaction and only felt moderately guilty. He rolled onto his back once more and decided to be courteous enough to change the subject. “Well, what do you enjoy doing in your free time then, Officer Wyll?”

“I enjoy reading…” Wyll couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious about his hobby, but the new topic relaxed him a bit. His shoulders softened and his knees relaxed away from his chest a bit.

“I do as well,” Astarion admitted. Wyll was a bit surprised, honestly. Astarion continued the conversation. “What do you like to read?”

“Stories of fantasy and… romance, mainly.”

“Of course you’re a romantic,” Astarion said with a tone of pseudo judgment, unsurprised by Wyll’s taste.

“And what’s so wrong with that?” Wyll asked with a curious grin, turning his body to face Astarion a bit better.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” Astarion said with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “It’s just so predictable that someone as polite as you would be a hopeless romantic. Let me guess,” Astarion turned on his side again and began to gesticulate even more as he proposed his theory of Wyll. “You love a good fantastical story where a vigilante of justice comes in and saves a poor heroine, and the two of them fall deeply and madly in love and live happily ever after?”

“And if I did?” Wyll said, managing to regain some composure and enjoying the turn of conversation. It wasn’t the first time he had been teased for his taste, though he had to admit, it was more fun coming from Astarion. Astarion scoffed and fell on his back again, waving his hand above his face and dismissing the comment. “It just means you’re horribly predictable, but there’s no shame in that, darling~.” The last statement had that playful snarkiness return, and it put a smile on Wyll’s face.

“Alright, then what do you like to read, Astarion?”

“Oh, nothing in particular. Fiction, non-fiction, histories, whatever I can get my hands on, really.”

“Well, what kind of stories are you fond of? I take it you’re not one for romance?”

“I don’t mind a good deal of romance,” Astarion said, a bit offended, “but I much rather prefer stories of adventurers, revenge, and deception. They are much more interesting reads, if you ask me.”

The two continued on like this for hours, talking about stories that they were fond of and wanted to share. Wyll even admitted to his appreciation for more promiscuous types of fiction, and Astarion was impressed that Wyll managed to even quote one particularly bad erotica that they had both happened to read at one point in their youths. As the conversation continued, Wyll felt more and more comfortable around the beautiful stranger. He wasn’t comfortable enough to lie down, but he did move to rest against the wall at the head of the bed, sitting right next to Astarion’s face and watching the man’s dramatic expressions as he talked about one of his favorite stories, The Count of Candlekeep . It was the story of a man who was falsely arrested after being accused by four other men and forced into prison for over twenty years. During that time, he met a wise man and learned about a hidden treasure that, after escaping the prison, he found and made his own. Soon, he became one of the richest men in the world, and through the power he gained for himself, he was able to get terrible, gruesome, satisfying revenge on all four of the men who had betrayed him. As Wyll watched Astarion passionately recount the tale, he couldn’t help but admire him. The smile that appeared as Astarion talked about the Count and how fascinating his character is, the way his brow creased slightly as he recounted more intense scenes, the way his hair fell to the side on the bed and slowly became a bit messier throughout the evening as the mattress ruffled it. He really was handsome, but he seemed to grow more alive as the night continued, and it captivated Wyll immensely.

“Of course there’s romance involved as well, and it’s incredibly well written, but there’s so much more to the story than just that. I can’t believe you’ve never even heard of the book, but you can quote The Salty Mermaid .”

Wyll shrugged. “It never came up in my father’s library, it seems.”

“Well, your father should develop better tastes.” Astarion said, waving his hand dismissively. Wyll laughed and responded, “perhaps you’re right.”

The two sat in a moment of silence for the first time in a while, though this time, it was comfortable. Astarion lay next to Wyll with his eyes closed. He looked so serene. Wyll couldn’t help but stare and take in the delicate yet chiseled features of his companion’s face. His soft, delicate white lashes, his strong, lovely nose, those soft, slightly thin lips… He was truly a vision. Wyll was tempted to reach out and place a hand on Astarion’s head, maybe even petting him and feeling how soft his curls really were, but he resisted the urge. He didn’t want to be too forward.

After sitting in the silence for who knows how long, Astarion yawned and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. “Do you happen to have the time, darling?” Wyll looked at his watch and saw that it was already past three in the morning. Upon hearing the time, Astarion’s eyes shot open and he shot straight up. “Is everything alright…?” Wyll asked, concerned by the sudden shift in Astarion’s demeanor.

“Yes, of course, I simply lost track of the time is all. It’s quite late and I should be getting home,” he then turned and gave Wyll a concerningly serious stare. “As should you.”

“I suppose so… but what’s wrong?” Wyll asked, genuinely worried now. He reached out and placed his hand softly on Astarion’s shoulder. Astarion jolted away from the touch and stood up from the mattress. “It’s nothing… “ he said, brushing off his leather pants. “I just think that it’s late and you should be on your way. You’d be much more comfortable in your own bed, surely.”

“Well, yes, but are you alright?” Wyll asked as he stared up from where he sat.

“Of course I am!” Astarion turned to face Wyll, but that rehearsed feeling returned to his demeanor. His voice lilted in a way like it did when they first made their way to this shed, and Wyll felt a bit nervous. He stood up as well, brushing dust off his backside and looking at Astarion with what must’ve been visible concern. “Wyll, darling, I’m perfectly alright~. I just don’t want a young, handsome thing such as yourself losing out on your much needed beauty sleep. How do you think I kept this face as charming as it is all these years~?”

“Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?” Wyll asked. He couldn’t imagine what he had done, but he had an even harder time understanding Astarion’s new urgency.

“Darling, of course not,” he sighed and placed a hand on Wyll’s arm, and this time, Wyll enjoyed the touch. There was a warmth to the sensation that had been missing earlier. “You’ve been the perfect gentleman all evening. Well… besides our little wrestling match, of course.” Astarion said with a small giggle and a smile that seemed a little too perfect. “It’s just… well…” Astarion paused for a long moment, then finally managed to continue. “You failed in your mission this evening, and so I think it’s only fair that I fail in mine as well.”

“Fail? What mission? What do you mean? Are you in danger?” Wyll asked, a sense of urgency rising in his own throat. Astarion shook his head and made his way over to the door. “No, nothing like that, I’ll be alright.” From the way he spoke, Wyll had a strong suspicion that this new companion of his was lying. Astarion turned his gaze to the door and opened it for his guest, then motioned and smiled at Wyll. “You should go.”

Wyll walked slowly to the door, standing in the doorway for a moment and staring at Astarion. The man with the silver hair couldn’t bear to make eye contact with Wyll, it seemed, but managed to speak. “It’s been a pleasure spending an evening with you, Wyll.”

“The pleasure’s been mine. Perhaps… it doesn’t have to be the only evening we spend together?” This seemed to catch Astarion’s attention. The pale gentleman looked at Wyll’s expression and saw that the young man seemed sincere. There was a softness in his face that made Astarion freeze for a moment. Though he was concerned, Wyll was pleasantly surprised to see Astarion fumble for the first time all evening.

“I’m… not sure if that’s the best idea…” Astarion said tensely.

“Well, I won’t force you, of course, but I’d like to enjoy your company more, if you’d permit me.” Wyll grazed the back of Astarion’s hand with a finger, and Astarion seemed surprised. Instead of running away from the touch, Astarion turned his hand and let Wyll hold his with a soft grip. He sighed, “Wyll, I don’t think it’s a wise decision for us to associate further.”

“Well… could I ask why?”

“My… occupation. It involves certain people that… I don’t like them knowing who I associate with, and I’m afraid if we spend any more time together, they might become curious.”

“Are they often that nosey in your personal affairs?” Wyll asked with a small hint of disbelief.

“You have no idea. ” Astarion said with a deep sigh. Wyll squeezed his hand and offered him a smile. “Well, if I did happen to want to search out your company again, is there a way I could find you?”

Astarion cocked his head to the side and looked at Wyll with admiration and frustration. “You won’t leave me alone, will you?”

“I will if you want me to,” Wyll responded.

Astarion stood for a moment and looked at their entwined hands. After what seemed like a long moment of heavy contemplation, he met Wyll’s gaze. “There’s a bar near the park. It’s called the Elfsong. I tend to spend my Saturday evenings there starting at dusk. If you’d like to search out my company again, then I’d suggest there. For now,” he released Wyll’s hand and motioned to the open door again, “I believe this is where we should say goodnight.”

Wyll sighed and nodded reluctantly. “The Elfsong at dusk, I’ll keep it in mind. Have a good evening, Astarion.” He stood for a moment, wondering if he should offer a handshake or even a hug before leaving. Instead, Astarion leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. Wyll’s eyes opened a bit wider as he stared at Astarion, who was now smiling nervously. “Good night, Officer Wyll.”

With that, Wyll stepped outside the shed and Astarion closed the door behind him. He stood there for a moment and touched his cheek where Astarion had kissed him. It wasn’t like the kisses they exchanged earlier in the evening. This one left a sensation not of nervous electricity, but of something pleasant and ethereal. There was a warmth that lingered on his skin. Wyll never recalled kisses from his girlfriends ever feeling like this. It was something special.

As he began to exit the park the way he came, he had a feeling of something watching him. The feeling made Wyll nervous, but he did his best to maintain his composure and walk just a bit faster than he usually would. It was a Sunday, so if Wyll was lucky, he would get to see Astarion next Saturday. That’s if Mizora or this gnawing sensation of being watched didn’t get him first.

---

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

[scourgefrontiers]

HONESTLY..ive been thinking a lil.

so i started down my path to becoming a professional character designer in 2013, when i designed my very first character who was MEANT to be a character design exercise. i cant exactly remember what prompted me wanting to go into character design--it could have just been that i was passionate about designing characters to the point of where i had looked up if that was a job or not--but it had become such a passion of mine that i would go on to study and practice character design for like 10 years afterward.

in 2018 i started to take this career path more seriously by enrolling in stephen silver's schoolism class, the fundamentals of character design. this was significant for me because stephen was at the time a very recent idol of mine and i admired his abilities--plus this would count as my first "formal" character design learning experience. i didnt feel very good after taking the class; it was critiqued, and i kind of got ripped into lol. but after i recovered, i didnt give up and just worked harder, eventually taking his second class a couple years later. that time i did pretty well and i came out feeling like i was finally ready to apply to jobs in the industry!

unfortunately, erm...the job hunting was not only Not a success, but it only served to kind of kill my passion for character design. every time i applied i was rejected and every critique i asked for gave me something new i had to do differently. one critique in particular hurt me a lot and killed my passion for art overall (obviously not completely, i have the art autism so i could never fully fall out of love for it lol). it got to the point where last year (2023) i made the decision to give up on character design as a career and just do commissions full time.

dont get me wrong, i am very happy doing commissions as my full time job!!! i love drawing people's blorbos :]...but also, its a very inconsistent income, and theres been a couple months where i couldnt make rent without help, and that doesnt feel good at all.

so ive been thinking. i dont rly wanna go back to the industry--it still feels bad to me and right now it seems as though the industry is not in a great environmental situation anyway, so i dont wanna even attempt to try getting a job there again. however........i was honestly reconsidering if i had actually lost the passion for character design because it just genuinely wasnt my true passion, or if i had only lost it because the industry killed it. and i think the conclusion i came to was that yeah it was the industry's fault that made me fall out of love with it because it made me feel like i was doing everything wrong and nobody would like my design style.

so now my thought is like...maybe i dont HAVE to work in the industry to be a professional character designer? sure itd be AMAZING for my work to be on like. cartoon network or something. but i dont think i Have to work at a studio to be happy in that career path?? like..idk. maybe i can be a freelancer or something. if an industry opportunity shows itself i dont think i'll decline, but i wont actively seek them out anymore.

its just that i feel like ive put too much work and time and money and effort and passion into character design yknow? i dont feel right anymore just letting the industry kill that passion. i wanna reignite it and use the knowledge and skills ive gained over the 10 years ive been working at it to make a good living for myself. yeah itd be great to get guild pay lol, but if i can just...figure out how to do freelance character design work, then i think it can be just as good and fulfilling

sorry for the long post i just needed to air some thoughts out as usual <33 i guess this does show that character design still is my passion LOL i talked so fucking much about it after all. if u have any thoughts to share feel free i guess

[fucignwimdy]

just went to a conference for gay professionals in my career path and the vibes were INSANE. Like you had community, mentorship, normal business relations but ALSO there’s an unspoken element of horniness - we’re all in our best outfits and it’s rare to have so many openly gay people in a room, especially ones that will travel far away in a few days

and like, if you’re comfortable in your career and know how to avoid conflicts interest go ahead, fuck! I won’t participate because I’m a student and quid pro quo is a big no no for obvious reasons

But all of this flirting is unspoken and under a veneer of professionalism. Which is a nightmare if you’re already bad at social cues and doing your best to cosplay the world’s bestest job applicant

Like, I had a man tell me he was thirsty and I stepped aside so he could get to water bottles behind me, then he was like “no not that kind of thirsty” and winked - so I pointed out where the bar was across the room. “I am so helpful,” I thought, “I am world’s bestest job applicant.”

After he walked away a witness complimented me for so elegantly dodging his flirtations in a polite but firm manner. I had no clue that was the situation, and while it resolved exactly the same way it would’ve had I known, I was genuinely surprised that was what was happening

And there’s other things like people offering to get coffee “or anything else I want” or complimenting my suit and touching my chest, or offering to show the view from their room, which went COMPLETELY over my head until I finally got home. I walked around all day like the most innocently oblivious lil attendee in existence.

But reader, I am not innocent, I literally had a foursome hours before the conference

I’m gonna get tested for autism

[beauwinsweep]

i think a coping mechanism can be anything, really. id consider the rentry you made to express yourself a form of coping mechanism, but thats just me. i did not assume you hurt yourself, dont worry.

i agree with the notion that emotions are essential to the human experience.

for me, being a system is a lot of derealization and changes in how i treat the world around me. my thought process is hijacked and adjusts to whoever is 'main' front, something i enjoy may now be something i hate, or vice versa. its very difficult.

im not sure if i want fusion or not, ive hit a point where i can function enough to pass off as a singlet without much struggle, only the people who know how specific alters act are able to tell the difference now, unless i want them to know. we'll see what happens.

i can relate to forgetting people to disconnect from a situation. i can barely remember any of the names of my childhood friends because of the trauma that blankets around my memories with them.

its no problem! <3

im not really sure why i am, maybe its just easier for me to try and comfort people i dont know? thats just a guess though.

you can call me whatever you prefer :)

i do like content! very much so. i also like ka//loscope, fo//rsaken & ph//ighting.

hello miser!

❀

I didn’t think of it like that, but you may be right. If I shake up my noggin a little, I think we made that rentry to keep track of our thoughts/possible “switches” (we experience high amount of identity issues sometimes, so in high stress situations we can feel like we’re switching or we’re someone else. But, in reality we aren’t switching it just dissociation mixing with mood swings.) It was probably Milo who did that.

We would sometimes mask/pretend to be other alters/parts to fit in with others… it’s mainly common for us to mask as Milo.. But, sometimes we pretend to be other parts we think someone would “enjoy” to talk too.

I can positively without a doubt say that i am NOT M//picc Milo Rene, I am definitely someone else… As I feel more cheerful today. Also, that happens to us regarding different parts loving and hating certain medias. I don’t really… know how we switch? Or what exactly happens, just I’m here now. I do know that I have a disdain towards bl0ckt4les yet Milo likes bl0ckt4les. (Sorry for the weird censor, I don’t want anyone to find my account here except for my friends.)

That’s completely fair! We’re deciding on fusion to help lower amnesia barriers and overall just skimming down our possible headcount, we probably have around 40, but we have logged around 100+… I don’t think we HAVE 100 parts, but just genuine identity issues and blurry thoughts caused us to think we’re someone else when we aren’t. I hope that makes sense? Nodders, I get that. We have a huge savior complex sometimes, which has led us to comforting strangers online too, for us it’s the feeling you get when you feel useful/valuable to someone (? Not in a weird way, just a nice positive feeling). it’s what leading us to go down a career path of mental care. It’s something we always wanted to do.

I wanted to play ph//ighting, but I never really did. I remembered we liked uhh the m//dkit and subsp//ce storyline (I think). Ka//loscope was unironically on our watchlist ! But, I didn’t know where to start so I didn’t.

I think Milo is hyperfixtated on F//rsaken we haven’t stopped playing it LOL. I don’t think I personally played much, and if I would, I want to try sh3dletsky.

Also as for the name thing, I will probably just call you anon in my head for now,,, I accidentally been headcanoning you in my head as a he/him user… Do you have any prefer pronouns?

[nat20marketing]

Hello fellow marketers. Welcome to our FINAL session of the Nat 20 Marketing journey!

I just want to ask. How are you? How are we feeling for having come so far? I will be honest here, it is a little touching that we’re seeing the end of this wild adventure on IMC. We’ve covered so many points regarding how to conduct a successful IMC campaign.

When I first started taking business in college, I wasn’t sure what the program would be able to inspire me. I thought business was plain and boring, and had to do with lots of numbers. Sure, as marketers, we still have to deal with numbers every day, but I would like to think that a successful marketing campaign consists of both refreshing creativity and data-supported numbers and statistics. In the realm of business and reality, money (and budgeting) is just far too critical to ignore. This is where we as marketers have to stay grounded when we come up with all sorts of fascinating ideas.

For this final blog post, we’ll look into the aspects of how to deliver a good pitch presentation. At the end of the day, marketers will have to present their BIG IDEAS to people with the capital to invest in these ideas. We are going to cover two major tips I figured out myself when I was preparing for my presentation the other week, hopefully, they’ll prove to be useful for everyone in the future.

First and foremost, you must know your target market inside out.

Research and data collection are sure to bring us insight into how our target markets behave and act. It is the most basic and the very first step to understanding our target market. I am going to take the pitch presentation I recently did for my marketing class as an example. 

My group discussed heavily on the idea beforehand to make sure everyone was on the same page. I think this is extremely important because it can genuinely help each teammate prepare their individual parts at a better level of understanding. I think it is completely fair that each teammate focuses on different parts of the presentation since there are just so many points we have to talk about during the whole pitch. However, having everyone know what is happening exactly opens room for new perspectives, ensuring no stone is left unturned. It helps the team refine the BIG IDEA and allows the team to dive deeper in case there are any unreasonable concepts or objectives. 

I think it is understandable that sometimes we are not completely certain with numbers and we are often left to make educated estimations. On one hand, we want to be logical with our budgeting and projected returns. On the other hand, we also want to be realistically optimistic about the BIG IDEA. If one is unsure of the BIG IDEA in the first place, how is one going to confidently sell the concept to investors and prospectors? How is one going to convince others that their idea is a good one?

Okay, we talked about being confident and thorough with the preparation and brainstorming stage. What about understanding the target market? How does it actually help?

When we reach the stage of complete understanding of our target market, we can shape the tone and energy of the pitch presentation to match the target market. It goes to show that those who come up with the BIG IDEA truly know the wants and needs of the target market well enough to think from their perspective; to consider what they care for; and to provide tailor-made solutions with their best interest in mind. 

Taking the same example, the pitch presentation for my team is for the McDelivery app targeting GenZ gamers. When we think of GenZ, we think of adolescents and young adults. We think of middle schoolers, high schoolers, and university students. We think of young adults who are just kick-starting their career paths. They are a vibrant group with all sorts of interests and personalities. They care about individuality and societal issues. They are attuned to rapid technological advancements and are open to solutions that make their lives easier and more convenient, so they can make time for their hobbies and personal projects. When we think of gamers, we think of video games and entertainment. We think of action games, roleplaying games, puzzle games, horror games, comedy games, cooperative games, competitive games, cozy games, etc. There are so many genres in the market, and it is not a simple task to target all gamers. With a budget in mind, our team narrowed it down to a popular battle royale game in the market for a collaboration campaign. It is competitive and well-known across North America with a stable and large player base. Our team spent time researching the psychology and behavior of gamers who play competitive video games. We finally decided on the tone to be upbeat, energetic, and casual. This leads me to my next big tip.

Knowing the target market and the client should be the key to formulating the delivery format of the pitch presentation. We as marketers want to be close to our target market. We want to be a part of them and make them feel that we do understand their needs and wants. We want them to know that we have just the perfect solutions to their problems. For my team, we brought props to the presentation. We had headsets and console controllers. We had a TikTok video and a live demonstration to reflect how our target audience acts and thinks. We showed that we knew the target market’s priorities and passions. 

I would like to humbly point out that roleplaying in a presentation takes quite some confidence and it may not be for everyone. Rehearsing with the whole team helps, but individual practicing is critical. The more we practice and the more hands-on we are with the group’s whole research and brainstorming process can be very helpful. It can get us to the point where cue cards are not necessary. We can freely move around the stage instead of rigidly standing next to the slides and reciting the script. (If it can be helped, I do suggest memorizing key ideas and terms in place of the script itself. It gives room for improvising on the spot and reduces stammering when we forget the next exact line.)

I do not think there is any standardized answer to how to prepare the perfect pitch presentation, but I think the two tips I leave here with you all today are worth considering and adopting for anyone who is planning for some kind of pitch presentation.

It’s been a wild journey finally practicing what I’ve learned in class in the past few years. Thank you for joining in on this ride fellow adventurers. I hope all your future marketing campaigns run smoothly and successfully. The rocks and bumps on the way are lessons to be learned, and for my final tip of this blog:

NEVER STOP LEARNING.

Thank you, and goodbye!

[mind0fanintellect]

Growth is uncomfortable

Oh gosh it's been a while. But i've been going through this transition and spiraling through thoughts about me and my future. I've become a bit indifferent since working as a property administrator. Going back to customer service is always tough but i've been handling it pretty good, i'd say. The only thing is, developing relationships at the job is what i'm still trying to work on. I have very deep trust issues and i don't let myself get close to people. At work, i probably look stuck up or serious but it's like, i hold that demeaner for a reason. I am serious and don't really want people messing around with me and just saying some shit that'll piss me off. Because only I know how far i've come and only i know how much i need this job to keep myself stable. It's been uncomfortable though. I've been learning how to control my emotions and not let them get the best of me. I don't like swallowing it because i need to release it somehow out my system. Lately, i feel like i've been having to really think about what i'm dealing with and if i've found my career. Every job will be difficult but i want to be good at what i do and i want to show the bad ass i am. One thing i've spoken about in therapy is dealing with my issues and getting past the toxicity i face every day in my household. I want to overcome it and i want to grow from it and i guess i'm just going to face it till i make it. Only God knows how much i want to make myself proud and the security i want for myself.

I've had to rethink some things. I'm in deep need of change and finally just get the hell out of my situation for once and for all. I think i'm going to have to use this frustration to work hard towards my goal and keep myself motivated. I don't ever want to give up on myself and know that the potential i have will go towards the better good. I need to give myself grace and credit in what i've done in my life and keep going. This is a lonely life but i don't think i'd learn how to value myself if i did not face the heart aches and pain. Some people might think it's weakness but i look at it as my biggest strength. I've been pretty focused and i just want a deep understanding of myself and give myself the love that i want. My cousin got married this weekend and it made me think a bit of my situation and how fast life is going. It's actually surreal that she's actually married. She's 28. I hate to compare my life to others but some people are very fortunate to have families that support them and genuinely want the best for their kids. Those are the ultimate parents. I'm very happy for my cousin and wish her all the best. I hope to some day find the love i've been wanting and asking for; but for now, i'll continue to put myself first and make the changes to get to where i need to be.

Even though this life that i''ve been handed isn't exactly fair, I know i can do something about it and work hard towards reframing my mindset. This transition is very uncomfortable considering the depression and anxiety i face on a daily bases. But i will overcome this and will keep myself grounded. On the worst moments, i want you to know this Ariana. You have made changes in your own personal life that deserve the biggest round of applause. You finished your bachelors degree. managed to find a job that offers you good benefits to take care of your health. You faced adversity but still were able to overcome and life yourself up. Remember to never settle for less and continue to fight for what you want but be smart about how you approach certain circumstances. Little Ariana is proud of you and knows that things changed from how life presented itself. But you'll continue on a path of dedication and reward. You're an incredible person and deserve everything that will come your way. Readjust your goals to have them best fit to what you want and leave the rest in God's hands. Be patient and grateful.

Fruit for thought:

What do you look to accomplish in the next couple of months?

What will you do to take on these new steps?

What will you sacrifice?

[citrusfield]

“oh, i don’t know about that. there are plenty of authors out there, so i wouldn’t say it’s the most extraordinary career around, but i do my best. i wouldn’t release anything i wasn’t proud of.” she currently has two novels under her belt and a third one in progress... very slow progress, but it's probably best not to think about that part right now. “if you ever do feel like checking any of my work out though, i’d be happy to sign a personal copy for you. you know, really make it special.” there’s a playful tone to their voice as they smile, even if the thought of her worldbuilding and characters being judged by him definitely sparks a few nerves. “but i have to ask… if you don’t read that often, what exactly do you do for fun?” a look of genuine confusion briefly settles onto their face, as if that’s the only understandable option they can think of to have as a hobby. of course there are some out there who are the complete opposite of emily and would rather eat their own hand than ever pick up a book, but theodore doesn’t seem to fit that picture in her mind. she’s never understood how anyone could feel that way. “well, that’s a very nice way of looking at it and i’m sure they’re all equally as grateful to have you around. animals are supposed to be good judges of character, aren’t they? and considering arlo here seems about ten seconds away from trying to join your little group himself, i’m inclined to believe him… even if he has betrayed me to the very core.” they raise their brows and throw a pointed look towards the dog in question who predictably remains entirely unbothered and continues sniffing around the floor at their feet. it almost makes her laugh until theo is calling her bluff and shifting closer. “oh, god... that feels an awful lot like bait and i’m not sure if i should fall for it. i think i’ve stroked your ego enough for one day, don’t you?” mostly because she’d inevitably end up embarrassing herself if she continued and she’d like to avoid that path for as long as possible. it’s astounding that he’s even entertained them for this long and though he seems to be enjoying himself (or at least enjoying teasing them and watching them squirm), she can’t stop her skin from heating up under his gaze. for someone who specialises in writing romance, they ironically would never count themselves as an expert on the topic when it comes to practical applications. this might be the first time she’s so much as attempted to flirt with someone in quite a while. “oof. you know, some might call this manipulation.” and unfortunately, it’s working just as he planned. looking from their dog, to theo, and back again, they already know what their answer will be. arlo is clearly lapping up the attention from someone he doesn’t get to see very often and for as much as she wants to be offended by the sudden favouritism being shown, she knows she’d kick herself if she turned the offer down now. isn’t this the type of cliche situation that people like her write about? “i would hate to break anybody’s heart though, least of all you two, so… for both your sakes, we can probably make room for one more.” it’s not for her benefit... no, not at all. “we can wait here if there’s anything you need to finish up first. i don’t think he’ll be going anywhere without you.”

"Oh no, I remembered." Theodore stated with a rather casual shrug of his shoulders. "No, I'm not into romance books... but that's mostly because I can hardly find the time to read anything at all these days. But I do hold a lot of admiration for people who can come up with stories... and create these worlds with just their words. Not a lot of people can do that, you know? Whether it's romance, or fantasy, or sci-fi... that's still impressive." He can tell that Emily was being quite humble, and he could not help but admire them even more than he already did for just that thing alone. "I might have to check out some of your work though. Who knows? Maybe you might even convert me into liking romance books." Theo was not just saying that to be nice, because he genuinely meant it. He had always wanted to get to know Emily outside of their work, but he figured that checking out some of her work might still be a good place to start. "Oh... I know what you mean. Most people... regardless of what they do for a living, they might not want to come home to do the same thing that they've already been doing for an entire day. But I guess it's different when you're a vet. Loving animals, and caring for them... it comes in all shapes, and sizes. While I love treating all of my furry friends while I'm at work, there's something about coming home to my little ones that just make me feel better after some of the more difficult days at work. It also helps that they're good company." He added, chuckling softly before he shrugged off her compliment. "Considering how much I work these days, I think three's more than enough... at least for now. But I do intend to keep rescuing for as long as I can. I want to be able to give them a loving home, even if it's for a short time." Truth be told, Theo never would have dared to flirt with a patient's owner like this if he had not believed that it was reciprocal. Clearly, he had not been wrong about that. Clearly, she was flirting with him. "Oh... is that so? Well, I don't think that's weird at all. But I am starting to get a little curious. Tell me, Emily. What else do you find impressive about me?" He asked, a rather mischevous glint settling within his features. "Oh... so Arlo's the one who clearly loves me, got it." Hearing her call him 'charming' caused his smile to grow wider, and he stepped towards her. "Well, I don't have much to do today. I'm not scheduled to see any other patients for the day, and clearly... Arlo doesn't seem like he wants to be parted from me so soon. Would you really want to break his heart like that?" Theo remarked, his own lips curling into a pout as he glanced down at the young retriever who seemed far too overjoyed to even consider leaving the clinic anytime soon. "The only thing that I could be doing is going home to my dogs. But they get more than enough love from me as they are. I think it's Arlo's turn today." He pointed out, grinning down at the dog before he looked up to meet Emily's gaze. "Come on, Emily... Don't break my heart too."

[gracetoldmeto]

Happy (fuck) Monday(s)

This is what I googled this morning...

[blainesebastian]

mutually assured satisfaction (pt4)

words: 3,026 ship: austin butler x reader summary: reader’s agent approaches her with a PR stunt to date austin butler and promote both their careers. a mapped out plan, an electric relationship–what could possibly go wrong?   notes: masterlist is on my sidebar! :) previous parts can be found there. if you’d like to be added to the tag list, please let me know warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @kittenlittle24, @slowsweetlove, @namoreno, @strokesofstokes, @callthedarknessdown, @kibumslatina, @al-co-hol-youlater, @frogoerson, @dancer4j 

Time moves forward, another day into a few weeks and things are going completely smooth that you almost forget that none of it is real. There’s dates and events and interviews and you and Austin get along so well together, you enjoy spending time with him, you’re actually starting to look forward to it. But it’s not just you, you can see it on Austin’s face too—at least you think you can? Sometimes it’s hard to gauge, hard to read between the lines. What does it even mean for something to be real between you anyways?

Sometimes you hold hands when no one’s watching, or share a kiss just because Austin is scrunching his nose a certain way or you’re teasing him about a shirt he’s got on. Could be literally nothing and your lips lock.

What’s real? What’s genuine? –Everything about the two of you together is a lie. Why does it matter to you so much that you want to figure it out? You’ll be breaking up with one another at the beginning of next month. Your head is a constant whirling, a washing machine stuck on a spin cycle.

And the more you allow yourself to think about it, the more Elvis’s lyrics make sense to you, a song that’s stuck in your head over the past two days: I’m caught in a trap, I can’t get out.

To Christina’s credit, she doesn’t even attempt to tell you ‘I told you so’; at least there’s that. Regardless, the only thing you’re concerned about is brushing it underneath a rug and powering forward. Once this whole thing is over and you’re out of this rose-colored daze that’s Austin Butler, you’ll start to get your bearings again.

It’s like looking at a few broken pieces of ceramic up close for so long that you forget it’s part of a bigger mosaic.

Glancing at a missed call from your mom, you hover over her name to tap and call her back. There’s this…bad feeling settling low in your stomach that it might have something to do with your grandmother. Or…or maybe it’s nothing, right? Knowing her she’s called to have a twenty-minute conversation about this new recipe she tried or that she watched your latest interview on YouTube.

Nothing that can’t wait.

You slide your phone into your purse and glance over at Austin in the back of a SUV, pulling in across the street of an event you’re going to tonight. It’s been on your calendar for a while, long past the whole ‘plan’ with Austin—a charity event at a museum that benefits an ‘arts in schools’ program. The goal is to auction off children’s art pieces that are in the program and all the money raised goes directly back into the pot. You’ve done it for two years in a row now, you really enjoy the charity and feeling like you’re able to give something back. You loved art as a teenager and even thought you might teach it for a while in college.

Though, you’re not exactly heartbroken about where your path has taken you in life.

Sharing a small smile with Austin, you undo your seatbelt, running a hand through your hair. Austin gently touches your elbow, causing you to pause from getting out of the SUV, “You alright? You’re quiet tonight.”

Despite not being in a ‘relationship’ with you for very long, he picks up on cues incredibly well. He reads people, looks at you like an open book, fingers grazing along words. Regardless, now is not the time to talk about this. And even if you wanted to say something about it, which…you kind of do? —Austin’s surprisingly a good listener, stuff with your grandmother is just not his problem. He doesn’t have to worry about that for you.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just got a lot going on.”

Austin nods softly but doesn’t press, “We don’t have to go, you know.”

Tilting your head back with a soft sigh, you know he’s right but, “We do. It’s lowkey, just buying a bunch of kid’s art pieces. Besides, it’s part of our mutually agreed on dates.” And even though there’s been a lot of random additions lately? you’re attempting to stick to the plan as much as possible.

Austin’s eyebrows draw together and he shrugs. He looks good tonight—a simple outfit; black fitted slacks, a silky white button-down shirt tucked in, and a contemporary cut, casual suit jacket to match. With you wearing a black and white polka dot dress, you compliment eachother really well.

“We’re the dates, right? You and me? We can change whatever we want.”

And you hate how much you enjoy the sound of that, you and me. You cannot believe you’ve let this crush of yours run rampant. While doing something else tonight feels promising, you’ve steeled yourself into moving forward according to plan…and that includes going to this charity event.

“I’m alright,” You promise, leaning over to plant a kiss to his cheek.

That seems to be encouragement enough because Austin doesn’t attempt to argue or persuade you anymore, instead getting out of the SUV and following you across the street to the red velvet covered steps. There’s a multitude of fans for both of you on the outskirts of the event, security attempting to keep barriers up and people at bay so that they don’t overcrowd the sidewalk. This is easy proof that your PR stunt is working, especially for fans of Austin to be waiting for an event you’ve only mentioned in your Instagram story. They knew he’d be here.

While security does their best to usher you both forward, both you and Austin seem to have similar ideas of lingering to speak to people, sign autographs and pose for selfies. You’ve never been greedy with your time, never in a rush when it came to pausing and talking to people—without fans? Your world wouldn’t revolve. Period. It’s nice to see someone else who gets it, Austin is incredibly generous with making sure he talks to as many people as he can. And not just by offering one or two words but holding conversations.

That’s something genuine, special.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, Austin’s hand automatically reaches for yours, lacing fingers together. The action itself has become so second-nature that it almost feels weird when you’re not holding hands.

“Austin!”

You turn to say something to him but a voice to the right at the end of the barricade grabs your attention. A young woman behind the row of barriers calls Austin’s name again—and it’d be so easy for him to ignore her, for him to keep walking with you up the steps and into the event. But he doesn’t, he turns and seeks her out, slowly wandering towards her as she begins talking past the security guards.

“I dunno if you remember me but I worked on a movie set with you,” She’s saying, struggling against the guards. She’s not pushing but she definitely is trying to talk to Austin without the bodyguards blocking her, “It was a long time ago so I understand if you don’t—”

Austin’s face lights up in realization, a small smile on his face, “No I remember you, Meg, right?”

And you can tell it makes this girl’s night. “Yes! Meg, I uh—I didn’t expect,” She laughs, “It’s nice to see you again.” Honestly you’re a little bit impressed yourself. From what you can tell, this girl worked on a movie set but wasn’t someone who was in the main day to day, maybe…delivered coffee or was some kind of extra. Either way, the fact that Austin not only remembers her but then takes the time to reach out and squeeze her hand in a hello?

You’re definitely a bit moved. Just goes to show what kind of person he is—goes out of his way to remember anyone he interacts with. You could probably learn a thing or two from him about being graceful…not that you’d ever admit to that outloud.

Giving him another smile after he waves to Meg, takes your hand again. Leaning down, he plants a kiss on the corner of your mouth, seemingly just because, as you both start walking up the steps. You do your best to ignore (and fail) the heated feeling bubbling in your stomach and butterflying up your chest—something you’re quickly beginning to associate just from being with Austin.

--

Once you both visit the table to sign in and hear how the auction works, what time it’s starting, all the odds and ends, you both wander towards an open bar. Austin leaves you there, his hand lingering along your lower back as he excuses himself to the restroom. Your gaze flutters over him as you watch him go, disappear around the corner—there’s this buzzing in your ears that you feel like is overwhelming, some sort of strong emotion that sits in your chest when you’re together. Being with him is somehow dizzying in the best way. You just…don’t know what it’s supposed to mean, where you want to go with all this, if Austin is even on the same page or if he’s just that good of an actor.

Brushing your hand over your forehead, you order a glass of wine, feeling someone slide up beside you.

“I thought that was you.”

Turning, you recognize Nate’s voice immediately, a soft smile tugging the corners of your mouth. Your ex, dressed in a navy suit, clean sharp lines, dark hair and kind blue eyes. The color is somehow highlighted by the shade of the jacket and his hand gently reaches to squeeze your arm. You have a pretty decent friendship with Nate despite how things ended. The breakup was ugly, but your relationship wasn’t. Neither was what came after—apologies, understandings, removing layers of toxicity that either of you ever intended to be there.

“Yeah, course,” You laugh softly, moving to hug him. “Never miss this event—you know that.” You do not notice a few camera shutters going off, capturing the embrace.

You slowly pull apart, your hand reaching for the glass of wine that’s set on the counter for you. Thanking the bartender with a polite head nod, you take a small sip. Nate gives you a onceover, a not-so-subtle way of checking you out but it doesn’t make you uncomfortable,

“I’ve been meaning to text you actually, especially when I knew this event was coming—did you come with anyone?”

You swallow over what feels like glass in your throat, “My boyfriend, actually, Austin.”

He raises his eyebrows, about to reply when you feel him coming up behind you. He settles against your side, an arm sliding around your waist. When you look up at him, he’s got his eyes on Nate—curious but cautious.

“Speak of the devil,” You tease lightly, a soft laugh leaving your lips. “Austin, this is Nate—Nate, Austin.”

Nate nods his head, reaching his hand out to shake, “Nice to meet you man, heard a lot about you.”

Austin politely hums, offering his hand as well. “Nice to meet you too—wish I could say the same.” And there’s something there to the tone of Austin’s voice, something you can feel in the tenseness of his body. While this is the same sort of skin he slips on to speak to other people, a genuine kindness, you can tell he’s a bit uncomfortable as well.

Nate isn’t sure how to take that comment and well, to be fair, you have not talked a lot about your ex. It’s been a while since you’ve been together, it’s not like you actively hang out as friends. It’s moreso like this—you bump into one another at events, catch up and move on.

He powers through though, clearing his throat as he looks back at you with a smile, “Well you look beautiful.”

A soft blush kisses your cheeks and when you look up at Austin, there’s a muscle working in his jaw as he clamps his mouth shut. What is going on with him? You shake off the tension and reach out to touch Nate’s arm, “Thank you.” And you’re about to say your goodbyes, maybe throw out a ‘see you around’, meaning this event, but,

“I also just…wanted to say that I’ve been wanting to text you about your gram?” You swallow, feeling yourself go cold, “Just…ask how she was, how you are.”

That same feeling of panic wells up in your chest, that unanswered call from your mom, still needing to call her back and ask what’s going on. Wondering…a small voice in the back of your mind telling you that you already know that something’s wrong, that something bad has happened, but not wanting to admit it to yourself.

Austin, sensing your body language, squeezes you around your waist, “We’ll see you around the event, good luck with the auction.”

Nate blinks but then nods, moving to pick up his drink at the bar before giving you a light smile and walking away. Least he’s got the point and it doesn’t turn into this big thing. Austin lets his arm slip away, mostly just to turn a bit so he can face you, your back leaning against the open bar. His body almost creates a cage that feels comforting in a way that you can’t explain.

“What’s goin’ on?”

Shaking your head, you tip your chin just a little to look up at Austin and…you want to tell him, you do, but you’re not sure you even want to know yourself. If you let yourself go there, if…what your mom called about is actually happening? You’re not sure you can face that, let alone let Austin be there for you.

“Nothing,” You lie, “I hadn’t seen Nate in a while so we were just catching up.”

Austin lets out a breath through his nose, patient, “I’m not talkin’ about Nate.”

And you know that? But you scramble to come up with some other explanation, some other thing that you can talk about instead of—your eyebrows draw together as you get a good look at Austin’s face, especially after saying Nate’s name, curling your hair around your ear.

“Are you…” You trail off for a moment, amusement drawing the corners of your mouth up, “Why do you look like you’re suckin’ on a lemon right now?”

Austin frowns, his one hand drawing along the lower half of his face. “—what?”

Then your eyes widen in soft realization because, oh, oh God. “Oh my god, you’re jealous.”

Now Austin blinks at you, taking a step back, a laugh crawling up his chest. “I’m not—and besides, what’s there to be jealous of anyways?”

A scoff escapes your lips and you almost cover your mouth because that doesn’t sound defensive at all. There’s a brightness to your eyes as you laugh about this because regardless of what’s coming out Austin’s lips, his body language and the tone of his voice are saying things that are very different.

Moving closer to him, your hand rests along his chest, tipping your chin up to look at him, “I think it’s cute.” And at this point you can no longer recognize whether you’re acting or not, whether Austin’s reactions are premeditated or felt in response to you. The line is so blurred that it’s practically nonexistent.

He smiles a little down at you, shaking his head. Austin playfully grabs at your chin with his fingers, drawing you into a kiss, even as you’re laughing.

--

The auction itself goes well—both you and Austin actually buy pieces and donate money to the charity, so that feels good. It’s a night filled with drinks, food, and exploring the art in the museum that’s open during the time of the event, which feels like an extra special treat because you never seem to have time to just look at art in a gallery. You remember how much you love it and learn that Austin has quite the eye for expressionist paintings. It’s easy to fall in love with him when you hover in front of a painting and he talks about color, texture, and brush strokes.

Making your way out of the event, you hover near the SUV as Austin pauses with some fans that waited for him to leave. He’s talking with a few of them, signing autographs, posing for selfies. A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth as you watch him, Nate coming down the carpet walkway to go to his car as well. He offers a small wave to you in goodbye, pausing to follow your line of sight to Austin.

“Austin’s great,” Nate starts, “You seem happy.”

You hum lightly, turning your head to look at him. And you’re not sure what even makes you say it but, “Or maybe I’m just a really good actress.” You tease and Nate…looks at you for a few long moments, his eyes narrowing just lightly before he laughs.

“No, I can see it in your face. Your eyes—there’s obviously something real there.” You have no idea how to take that because…something real? What does that even mean? It couldn’t mean anything, right? This is all just pretend, a connection built on mutual satisfaction.

That’s it.

And yet, you know exactly what Nate is talking about because no sooner than the words leaving his mouth, you feel that same sensation in your chest. There is something real there, and you…are almost certain Austin senses that too.

Which is terrifying.

“Just,” Nate reaches out and gently touches your wrist, “Let him in, alright? Don’t hide yourself away.” You swallow thickly, wanting to take that advice but…always easier said than done. You accept the small kiss that he plants on your cheek before turning to leave.

Austin approaches you a few moments later, opening up the SUV door for you to slide in first. “How does late night pizza sound?”

You smile but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, “You read my mind.”

--

Thank you so much for reading! :) 4 parts left.

[dominant-husband-submissive-wife]

Seven Essentials Dominant Men Want From Their submissive wives

1. Praise and Approval

Men have egos, and Dominant Men attempt to hide Their egos.   A submissive wife must understand that her Husband needs frequent reassurances about His Dominance, His career path, His adequacy as a Husband, His potency in the bedroom, and His attractiveness, to name a few.

The Dominant Husband wants His submissive wife to tell Him what she likes about Him.   The Dominant Man typically needs far less verbal praise than His submissive wife, and however, this differs from the activity that requires keeping a scorecard.   The submissive wife should communicate her praise and approval to her Dominant Husband more often.

As a submissive wife, she should let your praise and approval be known to her Dominant Husband.   she should tell Him exactly what she finds attractive about Him.   she can say to Him what physical features of His are her favorites.   she should tell Him how submissive she feels when He says something in a particular way, when He accomplishes something, or when He takes her out on a date.   Her genuine praise will make Him feel His Dominance and help Him feel loved.

2. Respect

Men feel Respect as love.   Dominant Men especially need Respect to feel loved.

When a Dominant Husband feels like His submissive wife disapproves of Him, His career, or the elements that He believes are basic to who He is as a Man, He will have difficulty trusting and loving her.   His thought process behind this is, ‘If my submissive wife does not Respect who I am at My core, how can she want what is best for Me?’

When a Dominant Husband’s submissive wife does not Respect His path or mission in life, He will find it very difficult to feel anything other than an uneasy need to distance Himself from her.

3. A Sense Of Sexual Connection

Both Men and girls connect through sex and communication. However, girls generally connect better through communication, and Men connect better through sex.   This does not mean that the Dominant Husband needs to have sex with His submissive wife every day to feel connected.   More often than not, Men connect through indicators of sexuality just as much as They do through sex. 

The Dominant Husband will often initiate sex to ensure His submissive wife is still sexually available to Him.   As a submissive wife, when He reaches across the bed for her, showing His willingness to embrace Him, kiss Him deeply, and engage Him can be enough to make Him feel loved.   

The lack of attention to girls needing to connect through words and Men needing to connect through sex frequently turns a relationship into an unfortunate and rapid downward spiral.   A girl does desire to open up sexually until she feels connected to her Man. However, He finds it challenging to communicate with her because T/they have not been physical with each other.   For this reason, Dominant Men and submissive girls are drawn to Power Exchange relationships partly because of the communication the submissive girl needs and the sexual connection the Dominant Man needs, which is a foundation of the dynamic.   

To avoid unintentional standoffs, Dominant Husband and submissive wife need to communicate and discover what specifically the O/other needs for T/them to feel the most loved.

4. Emotional Intimacy

From a young age, Dominant Men are taught to avoid appearing weak.   Perceived ‘weakness’ includes complaining, divulging fears or concerns, and expressing self-doubt or worry. 

As a submissive wife, she is her Dominant Husband’s ‘safe space’ to fail, as He can expose the cracks in His armor and allow her to help Him heal.   Just as girls need to open up sexually within a relationship slowly, Men open up emotionally over time.   The Dominant Husband must know the first time He cries in front of His submissive wife that she will not be repelled or handle it poorly.

As a submissive wife, if she pushes her Dominant Husband away or cannot be nurturing when He needs it the most, He will no longer trust her with His emotions and remove Himself to some extent from the relationship.   

In this event, both Dominant Husband and submissive wife lose as He goes on silently suffering and believing that He is flawed in His imperfection.   she is emotionally kept at arm’s length.

5. Space

Masculine Men are primarily drawn towards independence, and feminine girls towards intimacy.   This is what has been coined the Masculine/feminine divide.   This divide comes down to the Dominant Husband enjoying time spent apart and the submissive wife enjoying more time together.

It is essential to understand that there is no perfect balance to the Masculine/feminine divide.   There will always be a balancing act of closeness and separateness between the Dominant Husband and the submissive wife.   As a submissive wife, suffocating her Man by either failing to allow Him free time or with overly jealous behavior is the fasted way to destroy a marriage.   Men need breathing room in a relationship, and Men need space.   Men need time for hobbies, time with Their friends, and time to toil away on His projects to feel fulfilled.

Traditionally, when girls needed to solve a problem, they would go further into the community, connecting with close friends and family and discussing their issues.   Conversely, when Men have a problem to solve, they leave the community to be alone with Their thoughts.

As a submissive wife, she should not resist His roaming.   Allow Him to breathe.   Leave Him to His own devices.   A Dominant Man will be much happier for His submissive wife to receive Him when He returns, knowing that she trusts Him and the strength of T/their marital bond is enough not to resist Him having His space.

6. Physical Touch

Dominant Men need frequent non-sexual touch and a sense of sexual connection.   As a submissive wife, coming up behind her Dominant Husband and lovingly touching His neck and hair while He sits absorbed in a task can make Him feel as loved as if T/they had sex in the bedroom.

A submissive wife’s touch is interpreted as physical love; the message registered is ‘i love you, and i want you to feel happy all the time.   Know that i am always here for you, and i care for your deeply.’

7. Security

Both Men and girls are attracted to certainty in a relationship.   The more the Dominant Man feels HIs girl is in the relationship for life, the more ready and able He is to open up to her, assuming He is equally invested in her.

However, security is more profound than the fact that His submissive wife will not leave Him.   The security that He feels ties back into several of these essentials.   The Dominant Husband feels secure knowing that his submissive wife approves of Him and where He is in His career.   He feels safe and loved when she touches Him non-sexually throughout the day.   

He feels secure when He is allowed to have His Men’s night away from her, and she does not need to call or text Him every half hour to check-in.   And He feels secure with a submissive wife who takes steps to love Him the way He needs most.

How To Give Him What He Needs

As a submissive wife, this is not about blame, fault-finding, or doing anything wrong.   Marriage is about loving your Dominant Husband the best way He can be loved and opening up a dialogue about emotional needs in the union.

Love Languages

Suppose the Dominant Husband’s way of expressing His love is to whisper sweet nothings into His submissive wife’s ear, or He tends to give compliments. In this case, His love language is ‘words of affirmation,’ according to Dr. Gary Chapman, author of The Five Love Languages: How to Express Heartfelt Commitment to Your Mate.   The book outlines five general ways that romantic partners express and experience love, which Chapman calls ‘love languages.’

The remaining love languages are about showing rather than telling someone how T/they feel.   Helping to fix the car or bake a cake translates to ‘acts of service.’   Huggers and kissers speak the language of ‘physical touch.’   If T/they tend to give special gifts just because T/they speak the love language of ‘receiving gifts.’   Finally, if T/they just want to hang out, T/their love language is ‘quality time.”

[sarangbe]

sarang is learning that, while he often discounts his expertise in image and branding by claiming they're unimportant, they're actually totally valid and worthwhile skills to have in this industry; maybe even more than possessing traditional talent. while he realizes that being an incredible singer, dancer, or rapper is also necessary to stand strong in this career path, being proficient in the world of marketing will give a public figure a specific leg-up; one where they're able to control their own narrative; able to control how their onlookers perceive them; able to sell themselves exactly how they want to.

it's something he's always believed, but started to falter on when he began investing much more time in honing his musical skills, which he's genuinely not confident in at all. what has him remembering his angle with his own idol journey is returning to his roots, so to speak; coming back to next gen and offering any wisdom he can to those who are now walking the same shoes he did roughly one year ago.

that, and well, inho's questions are specifically about maintaining and being mindful of image. sarang would never say this on camera, but what a lot of people seem to forget is that k-pop is heavily manufactured. nothing is "real" in a sense. everything that is released for a fan's consumption has been carefully planned, raked through with a fine-tooth comb, the release of it is specifically timed, and was constructed for their appeal. authenticity rarely enters the picture.

"what they're saying is true, but it's definitely a balancing act—at least in my opinion." every word he says is thought out before he speaks, as he doesn't want to step out of line or have this moment between them edited in a way to paint him in malicious hues. "we don't want to get too caught up in thinking about what we can and can't do. we're human, after all, and we all make mistakes sometimes. i think the most important thing to keep in mind is that there's eyes on us at all times."

he pauses again, calculating the right way to put this. "we all want to present ourselves in the best light possible because of that, and we don't want to let those who adore us down either. so long as your intentions are good, no one can really fault you." it's then when he decides to ask inho a question. "what type of idol or artist do you want to present yourself as? who is ryu inho? what do you want your supporters to know about you, what do you want them to see?"

hard work wasn't a foreign concept to inho. he'd been working his ass off since high school to make sure they had a place to live, and his little sister was cared for while also trying to do well in school and anything else he had to do. it was exhausting. next gen was a different type of hard work. one that didn't always have an immediate gratification or pay off. they still had a few weeks before they found out the winner, and technically, you could be eliminated at anytime.

if he was going to put all this work into next gen, inho was going to try his hardest to get to the end.

inho nodded in agreement with what their coach had to say about their performance. their team had been off to a great start with their chemistry, which had made the creative process much easier as they tossed ideas around. it made practicing easier too since they could be honest with one another. "i think so too," he smiled.

the previous week, inho really was just greeting those he was close with already. he hadn't fully considered that now they were technically his seniors, or how all his interactions might be under a microscope if he pursued this type of lifestyle. sarang seemed to have it all figured out though.

he listened diligently, nodding along as sarang detailed his answer. it was nice hearing that while parts of it came naturally, everyone had to be aware. the realistic part of his brain tried to reason that he was far from the only person ever to have a similar struggle or get called out on something. it wasn't the end of the world.

"a little bit," he admitted, nodding. "the judges mentioned to keep my image in mind and be careful of how i act." it was vague but enough for sarang to understand why he was asking. he didn't need to detail all the thoughts that had accumulated with that after he began overthinking. "people have mentioned you're really good with that image and branding part of all of this, so i figured you would be a good person to ask."