#she is not hiding her true nature well

[rainybraindays]

I'm legitimately still not over this.

[hannibalismos-jaaneman]

will wasn't crying for himself in ko no mono, he was crying for hannibal.

[kathaynesart]

Took a bit of time to myself to finally sketch out my vision for Frida based off Andy Suriano’s Farewell. More design thoughts under the cut.

I know some were wary of her appearing too feminine, but honestly I enjoyed the challenge of finding a way to feminize the base turtle model and stay true to Andy’s wonderful design. I don’t want her to just look like her brothers in a show that embraces their differences.

The biggest thing I added to her design was an exposed heart. My own little twist inspired by a real life issue some turtles deal with as well as a fitting ode to the artist she is named after, Frida Kahlo, who often drew herself with her heart floating outside of her body. (And yes I made the creative decision to keep her heart at her center as with many turtles.)

This deformity occurred during her mutation where the sudden growth spurt tore open a hole at the seam of her plastron. She has survived as long as she has because of Big Mama who uses mystic wards to keep her heart physically safe and emotionally numb. If you look closely to her plastron in the show it’s not actually a natural body part but rather seems to be an attachment of her trench coat. Likely a false cover to hide her obvious weak spot (or at least that is my head canon!)

I love the idea of her and Donnie having something they can relate to and I’m sure he’ll be happy to design chest armor for her down the line once she’s free of Big Mama. Maybe someday I’ll figure out her full Mad Dogs outfit, but for now this is just her base and bandana.

As each of the boys embodies a shape, I found it all too fitting to have Frida’s be a heart. It’s honestly a cool shape that uses both rounded forms and sharp points, which I think would encapsulate her character well. Prickly on the surface but a softy deep down. I tried to find less typical ways of feminizing her. Sharpening her beak and digits while retaining the style of feminine eyes present in most of the female cast but matching it more closely to the unsettling shape of the eyes on her assistant’s mask.

Her markings are a color flip of Mikey’s, where as his are yellow spots with orange outlines hers are orange with yellow outlines. Coupled with her yellow eyes to match Donnie and Raph, it gives her this fiery vibe that I think still sets her far apart from Mikey.

The mask was honestly the hardest part. I love that it further accentuates her heart motif and made her more expressive, but just giving her the obvious bow and calling it a day did not sit well with me. I decided to try more of a high ponytail look, but I think it still needs some work. I’m pretty sure I like her with yellow though, both as a nod to Jennika and the idea of April giving her something of her own to help form the bond between the two.

Would love to flesh her out further but back to my usual stuff first.

[wireddless]

Addict

pairing: Coriolanus Snow/Reader

cw: 17+ hate. fucking. dubcon, possessive behavior, corio is emotionally abusive, vaguely implied Plinth reader, p in v, unprotected sex, nsfw below the cut,

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i just know hes so hung you guys i want him so bad

Living in the shadow of Lucy Gray was never an easy feat. That’s all she was after the erasure; a shadow, soon to be only a whisper on the sleeping breath of Coriolanus. The closest he could ever feel to real love was with the District 12 songbird, and had she been more than just a district animal, a member of the Capitol, there was no doubt in your mind he would have married her instead.

Your days at the academy, a few years his inferior, were spent in the naive mindset that he was fully capable of love. However, the only true love he would ever feel was towards the power in his cold-handed grasp. After your graduation, you continued living with your family, their prized figurehead of poise and beauty, until they managed to propose your hand to him, only a year or so before he became president.

Coriolanus, living on top of his family’s hidden debt and poverty, accepted nearly immediately, driven by the thought of the millions that came with your name. Your family, so charmed by the icy man, was manipulated into paying for the lavish ceremony. A Capitol wedding was a spectacle to behold, a sea of colored heads and garments, textiles in unique patterns decorating the spectators in a myriad of colors. An insipid eye-sore, in his opinion.

And there you were, the pale lavender of your dress cascading down your body like the drapes that covered a window in a lonely mansion, baby fat gone. The bright light in your eyes that has now long-since faded, the happy expression you held, truly believing the facade he had put on to convince your family that he was a perfect match, it all fueled a fire of satisfaction in his psyche. He remembered the young girl from their studious days, the sneaky glances shot his way from a face framed by baby fat, it was so easy to take advantage of a schoolgirl crush, to charm his way right into your heart. He’d never go hungry again, and he could finally focus solely on his rise to power.

Or so he thought. When you managed to pick his intentions apart and discovered the cunning and manipulative nature of the man, you became defiant, fucking petulant. Your once tender and loving gaze, seeking to nurture and care for him, hardened like the calcium deposits on the well pumps in the poorer districts of Panem. He heard in passing from the workers of the house about your violent fits of tears late at night. It wasn’t like he cared, hell, the idea of your reddened face damp with tears and snot amused him to no end. But fuck if it didn’t annoy him when Tigris became your closest friend and confidant.

Coriolanus kept you locked away in the golden cage of his home, not permitting the men of his staff to go near you, forcing you to discuss with him the simplest task of visiting your own family. You were still the key to his now inherited wealth, a prize that he had won with cunning and malicious tactics, and the thought of you straying into the arms of another man, who could take you, who could take even a bit of the control he held, it infuriated him to no end.

It took almost a year for you to realize that without your family, he was completely broke, and it took almost two to realize he never once held even a glimmer of fondness towards you, that he was using you. Tigris, who had spoken to you during her regular visits, had become the arms you fell into when the agony of your situation first befell you. Her hands wrapped around your body as she shushed and hummed quietly were a solace to you as the pain dawned on you. Three years after your marriage, you would speak in hushed tones over cooling tea, not bothering to hide your glare when Coriolanus bothered joining. He was no longer the subject matter of your conversations with Tigris, instead discussing gossip that had spread through the yammering mouths of Capitol citizens, and the newest trends to pass around them. She had become your dearest friend, one he couldn’t find a valid reason to hide you from. Though he never would admit while his heart was still beating, despite your shared animosity, you were still his favorite accessory.

The Reaping ceremonies for the next annual Hunger Games would begin soon, which became a sensitive topic between you and Coriolanus. It was no secret to you who Lucy Gray Baird had been, who she had been to him. What the hunger games meant to him. You resented her. Not for the place she held near his heart, but for managing to escape him before he had caged her.

The fire of your arguments was always sparked by her name, the tinder and fuel having already been prepared by the years of building resentment. Almost always in his office, your hands would shove him back as he rapidly approached you after you provoked him with harsh and unforgiving words, only fanning the flame of hatred he felt towards you. Then he would corner you, your back against the wall as one hand found your neck and the other found your hair, his fingernails digging at your scalp. His minty breath falling out of his mouth in heavy gasps as he fought the urge to kill you right there. You made him feel as though he was an animal from the districts, dirty and foaming at the mouth. And he hated that.

“You know I would never harm you.” He’d always reassure you when his grip on your throat finally loosened, his eyes taking in the way you would suck in air he had prevented from reaching your lungs. Coriolanus considered what little he allowed you, even the air you breathed, a favor. He thought himself generous, benevolent even. He wasn’t of course, and you were always quick to point that out.

Today's argument was only different in setting, within the walls of your shared bedroom rather than his office. You had shoved him, predictable, and turned to storm away, wanting to find a guest room to sleep in instead. But before you could reach the door, his hand had yanked you by your hair back towards him before nearly throwing you on the bed. When you sat up to scramble away, he shoved you back down by your shoulders and crawled on top of you, effectively pinning you to the mattress, an echo of your frequent taunts. It was rare that you two would actually be in such a position, as neither of you particularly craved intimacy with one-another, yet the way one hand slid up your negligee and gripped the curve of your thigh conveyed a much different message tonight.

“I just wish you’d shut up for once, you know that?” He growled. Coriolanus Snow was an aggressive lover. He put all his weight on his forearm strung across your chest to keep you pinned down as his fingers left their place on your thigh and slid up to the junction of your legs, cupping your heat rather aggressively before shoving them aside and sliding his fingers over your folds to find the sensitive and rather neglected bundle of nerves. You could hardly hide the shudder that overcame you as you responded.

“Fuck you!” You spat at him, writhing under his touch. Your head fell back on the luxurious sheets and you bit back a moan as he swirled his fingers in a circular motion over your clit, stirring the lust you had repressed to life. How he loved to see your eyes rolling back into your skull as you fought surrendering to his ministrations. The edges of his mouth lifted in a smug little smirk when your arousal became more evident, making your cunt slick and pliable.

Oh, how he adored to see his poor, neglected wife fall victim to her own human nature. It made him want to consume you whole, like you were a treat he got all to himself. Coriolanus’s mouth fell to your collarbone and his teeth scraped over the thin skin as he slipped his middle finger inside your sopping hole, earning an earnest mewl from your normally argumentative lips. He bit down rather hard at the junction of your neck and shoulder as he slowly, teasingly pumped his finger in and out. This would be easier than he thought.

He tilted his head back up to take in the sight of your demeanor flickering to something more vulnerable, before taking your mouth with his. He kissed you like you provided the air he needed to breathe, and you couldn’t help but reciprocate. You’d be a fool to say you didn’t still crave him after the years of strained marriage. His teeth clashed with yours as you both attempted to deepen the kiss. When he pushed another finger inside of you, hooking them and speeding up, your mouth fell open with a shaky moan, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth.

When your mother described to you what sex was like, she explained it like an intimate dance, where two souls would merge with love and passion. But it was never like that between the two of you. It was always a battle, aggressive and antagonistic as one of you sought to take something from the other. For Coriolanus, it was a display of his authority and control. His fingers quickened in pace and your hips bucked up into his hand, searching for more friction that would aid in your release. And he was benevolent wasn’t he? Who would he be to deny such a rare and primal pleasure? His fingers continued their attack on the spongy roof of your walls, pushing you closer and closer until your hand tore at the skin of his back with the intensity of your orgasm. Still seeing stars, he pulled his lips from yours and hovered them over your ear, his cheek brushing against yours, damp with tears.

“See how easy everything can be when you just stop resisting me at every turn?” You opened your mouth to respond, to bite back when the arm that pinned you down quickly shifted so his hand could cup over your mouth. He loved shutting you up. His silent voice hissed in your ear with a lingering promise. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

So focused on his words and hot breath on your ear, you almost didn’t notice when he pulled his fingers from inside you to tug down your panties, discarding them somewhere behind him before fumbling with the breeches he slept in, the cold air of the room hitting his stiff cock. He brought that same hand up before him, spitting in it and spreading the wetness of his saliva over his hardened length. Barely giving you a second to process all that was happening, he pressed himself inside of you, his eyes squeezing shut and his brow furrowing as your tight, wet heat engulfed him entirely.

Having not been intimate with him in so long, it was like he was splitting you open, and you cried out with pleasure into his hand, your own lashes pressing together as you took his total length. Coriolanus didn’t remain still for long, and his hips soon began setting a bruising pace, his balls slapping against your ass as he fought the urge to moan himself, not wanting to appear any less in control than he was. Your muffled gasps spurred him on, practically driving him mad as he pummeled into you. The volume difference when he removed his hand from your mouth and forearm from your chest was quite noticeable, and his fingers wove into your hair once more, holding your head back against the bed as he swallowed your moans with his mouth.

The stinging pain of your nails in the skin of his back when they flung around him was dulled by the sheer thrill he felt taking you like this. The hand that coaxed your orgasm out of you found its way to your thigh again, pushing it up over your torso to rest on your shoulder, allowing him to thrust deeper inside of you as his fingers dug into the hot and tender skin. You nearly screamed into his mouth from the change in sensation as his hips came flush with yours over and over again. For a brief moment, he pulled away from the kiss to bite and suck at the skin of your neck, letting you sing out unmuted by his hand, as he imagined his songbird would so many years ago.

Coriolanus hated you. He hated almost everything about you. He resented you the way you resented him, but he was still addicted to you. Addicted to the control you allowed him as he fucked you stupid, to the way your pitful moans were brought about by him, to the dumb fucking look on your face as your body managed to make his hips stutter and falter as he came inside you with a low moan. He didn’t care about pulling out. You were his wife, a state figurehead, it was part of the job description to give birth to his children. Maybe getting you pregnant would even do him the favor of shutting you up. He didn’t bother helping you clean up as you readjusted your nightgown, instead opting to wipe the sweat from his brow and tuck himself back in the satin pants he intended on sleeping in.

Coriolanus Snow was not capable of real love. All those close enough to him were well-aware of that fact, including you. But when he crawled into the bed and pulled you, still breathless and trembling, up next to him, when he tucked your head into his chest in a possessive manner, your hands pressed against his heated chest, when he fell asleep holding you like you’d run away too, you momentarily convinced yourself he might have been able to love.

[yzzart]

౨ৎ⊹. BOYFRIEND!KENJI HEADCANONS! ── PART TWO.

── content warnings: F!reader, mention of emiko, mina, emi and professor sato, Kenji and you being Emi's parents, ultraman form and first part here!

── word count: 683!

⭑.ᐟ Becoming a warm routine, you and Kenji watched his old matches together, which were recorded by his mother, and it was, devoutly, impossible not to be moved by little Kenji in the presence of his teammates and Emiko's screams of celebration; who offered support and support for his son.

⤷ So, whenever you noticed the momentary change in his posture, caused by the commotion and emotion that was moving in his chest, leaving him vulnerable, you would rest your head on his shoulder and wrap one of your hands around his arm, signaling that you would always be there. supporting, loving and respecting him.

⭑.ᐟ Kenji, at every moment, in fact, always looked at your lips while you spoke, explained or even hummed something; it was automatic, he didn't know how to control it or moderate himself about it. — And he didn't even hide it, casually, he had given up trying to hide the action. — Well, it's not his fault if your mouth is so irresistible.

⤷ Yes, every time you opened your mouth, telling him how your day was or scolding him for getting hurt during a battle, there were Sato's eyes traveling over your lips.

"Emi's reflexes are improving, and Mina will examine her once more." — You said, correcting your posture on the sofa to admire the baby, who was playing with Mina, and finding it adorable. — "Oh! And she's learning another dance, you've got to see it." — Turning your head towards Kenji, you find his eyes, completely, immobilized on one part of your face, specifically, on the region of your lips. — "Ken? Can you hear me?" — No answer. — "Kenji?"

⭑.ᐟ During the beginning of your relationship, Kenji occasionally referred to you as his wife; he simply loved calling you that. — Because he felt, in his heart, that, in the future, it would be true and, in fact, official; he believed it. — Soon, it had become something so natural and special, also, very deep.

⤷ There were times, and some press conferences and magazine articles, when Sato mentioned you as his wife and didn't worry about questions from journalists. — Mainly, in his interview with Ami, when asked who he attributed his important change to.

"I wouldn't be here without my family, simple as that." — He explained, with an air of confidence and determination, focusing on his words. — "My dad, mom, wife…"

⭑.ᐟ Furthermore, Kenji refers to you as the mother — temporary, or also the second mother — of Emi; and Mina reinforced the insinuation, showing photos and videos of you to the baby, just like she did with Ken's. —Usually, when she didn't obey his orders or refused to learn something new, like a child, Kenji would declare that you wouldn't like to know about her stubbornness.

"Listen here, young lady!" — In the form of Ultraman, lurking and trying to reach the baby lizard, which was running and having fun around the base, Kenji didn't like the current situation. — "If your mother knows you don't want to take a shower, she won't be happy with you. — The robotic voice exclaimed from the place. — "And not even with me."

⭑.ᐟ You know that scene where he, in his Ultraman form, is sleeping with Emi and his father? This keeps happening between you! — Due to tiredness, exhaustion from the care you are taking with her, you and Kenji fall asleep with the big baby. — With Ken around, holding and protecting you from everything.

⭑.ᐟ When he woke up, with his clothes wrinkled and his hair completely messy and unruly, accompanied by the mug "I hate mornings", Sato found you and Mina watching Emi, who was sleeping peacefully. — After hours of singing an old and graceful lullaby, your voice had captivated the child. — He was still dazzled, but not surprised, by this situation.

"So, she fell for your charms?" — His morning voice, so hoarse and pleasant, compromising with good humor, even if a little exhausted. — "Huh?" — Arriving from behind, he rested his head on your shoulder, fitting in, as usual.

"Oh, yeah." — You answered, with conviction and grace, moving your hands to his messy hair, stroking it.— "Just like you one day fell!"

[faebled-stories]

Finding True Beauty

Kinkvember Day 4: Mirror Sex

Park Jihyo x Male reader

6.8k words

AN: I really adore this photo, It fits so well and she looks absolutely stunning

Jihyo had always felt the weight of expectations pressing down on her, unyielding and relentless. In Korea, beauty was revered to an almost mythic degree—a cultural ideal that demanded flawlessness, leaving little room for individuality. It wasn’t just about looking good; it was about embodying perfection, fitting neatly into a mold that felt impossible to achieve. Living in this reality, she spent her life feeling like an outsider, always just short of the ideal.

Billboards and magazine covers showcased faces with flawless skin, bodies that seemed more sculpted than human, impossibly slender and toned. She knew, logically, that many of those images were enhanced, that even those models weren’t perfect in real life. But logic didn’t ease the ache. The pressure she felt wasn’t only social; it was deeply internal, a voice that echoed with every glance in the mirror, whispering, “Not enough.”

Jihyo had done her best to fit the mold, adopting a skincare routine so meticulous it consumed her evenings, each cream and serum a silent plea to feel closer to the ideal. She followed strict diets, counting calories, always conscious of her figure. Even though her natural build was curvier than the thin bodies praised in magazines, she was constantly trying to slim down, to soften her edges, hoping one day she’d look in the mirror and feel like she belonged.

But no amount of dieting or creams could erase her natural curves, and her chest—fuller than most—often felt like a burden. She knew others saw her figure as attractive, yet she couldn’t shake the discomfort it brought her. Sometimes, she’d catch herself staring longingly at the clothes in store windows, delicate dresses and slim-fit tops that seemed to be designed for someone else. On other women, they looked effortless, perfect. On her, they stretched awkwardly, pulling tight across her chest in a way that made her feel out of place. No matter how she adjusted her posture or tried different sizes, those clothes never felt quite right.

And there were the comments. The lingering glances from strangers, the sly remarks from acquaintances, and especially the words from men who seemed to think her curves were an invitation. Compliments rarely felt complimentary; instead, they left her feeling exposed, as if her body were the only part of her that mattered.

In her most vulnerable moments, Jihyo found herself retreating, creating a barrier between herself and the world. She’d wear loose clothing, hiding her form beneath baggy sweaters and oversized coats, each piece carefully chosen to let her slip unnoticed into the background. The fabric became her shield, a buffer against curious glances and unspoken judgments. There were days she wished she could disappear completely, blend into the crowd without a single gaze finding her.

At home, she rarely ventured near mirrors, looking away from reflections that felt like harsh reminders of everything she felt was wrong, everything she couldn’t change. The mirror seemed to amplify her perceived flaws, highlighting the parts that felt too different from what she imagined beauty to be. Even a quick glimpse of her own face or body sparked a familiar pang—a longing to be smaller, softer, to have the delicate features she thought the world admired. Each time, she’d feel herself shrink inside, as though her very presence were too much, her reflection a sight unworthy of admiration.

Yet, beneath those pangs of self-doubt lay something else—a glimmer of yearning that refused to disappear. She wanted to see herself differently, to look in the mirror and find beauty staring back at her. Part of her longed to shed those layers, to one day strip away the loose clothing and stand openly, seeing herself as more than her insecurities. Still, that dream felt distant, like a hazy mirage on the edge of her vision, just out of reach.

This quiet, unspoken longing stayed with her, hovering in the back of her mind, whispering that there was more to be found beneath the layers she used to shield herself. It was as if a part of her knew that her reflection held a depth she had yet to discover—that beyond the clothes, beyond the guarded glances, lay a woman capable of seeing her own beauty, of embracing her own strength.

But for now, she pushed the thought aside, choosing the comfort of concealment. Yet even in these hidden moments, a faint desire lingered—a hope that one day she could look into her reflection unafraid, finding acceptance and maybe even beauty.

These insecurities shadowed her into intimate moments as well. She could never fully let go, fearing that any of her partners would silently compare her to an idealized version of beauty. The fear gnawed at her, holding her back from fully embracing her desires. In those moments, she couldn’t help feeling betrayed by her own body, as though it were keeping her from the experience others seemed to find so effortlessly.

One night, feeling restless and weary from her own thoughts, Jihyo found herself alone in her apartment, scrolling aimlessly through a website filled with romance and erotica novels. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for—maybe a distraction, maybe a world far removed from her own. She just needed to escape, to silence the internal dialogue that repeated on loop, reminding her of everything she thought she wasn’t.

A story caught her eye, a tale of a woman’s journey to self-confidence. Intrigued, she clicked on it, drawn to the description of a protagonist who found her beauty not in someone else’s gaze but in her own. It was an unfamiliar idea—finding worth, finding beauty, without needing validation from someone else. She read on, her curiosity sharpening.

As Jihyo delved into the story, she found herself captivated. The protagonist wasn’t flawless; she struggled with body image just as much as Jihyo did. Yet there was something extraordinary about the woman’s journey, the way she slowly reclaimed her confidence by seeing herself through new eyes. It wasn’t a partner who helped her—it was her own gaze, her own acceptance.

The most powerful scene lingered in Jihyo’s mind, describing how the woman used mirrors to confront her reflection, watching herself from every angle as she explored her body. There was no shame, only an unfiltered appreciation of her curves, her shape, the way her body moved. The protagonist allowed herself to see the beauty in what she’d always considered flaws, to find grace in the moments she’d once avoided. It was a complete reversal of everything Jihyo had felt, and the idea left her breathless.

She read the passage again and again, her heart racing as she tried to imagine doing the same. Could she really use mirrors to look at herself with that same gentle gaze, to confront her own insecurities and find beauty in her own body? Could she bring herself to face her reflection without feeling that familiar discomfort, without the weight of shame?

The thought was both terrifying and exciting. It would mean standing before herself, unclothed and vulnerable, allowing every curve, every flaw, to come into full view. But if the woman in the story could do it, maybe she could too. Maybe it wasn’t about changing anything but about shifting her perspective, seeing herself in a light that allowed room for acceptance and even love.

That night, as she lay in bed, Jihyo couldn’t stop thinking about the mirrors. She could almost picture herself standing in front of them, the soft light catching the lines of her figure, casting shadows that highlighted her natural curves. The idea made her pulse quicken, a rush of anticipation mingling with her nerves. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, that it might be painful at first to face herself so honestly. But the thought lingered, insistent, tugging at something deep within her that longed for release from the weight of constant comparison.

In that moment, she made a promise to herself: one day, she would stand in front of a mirror and see herself as something beautiful. Not because she was flawless, but because she was real. Because she was enough.

Jihyo closed her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, her heart felt lighter. She didn’t know how long it would take, but she felt a spark of hope—a small, precious ember that maybe, just maybe, she could learn to see herself through kinder eyes.

The thought lingered with her long after she set the book aside. It wasn’t just the story that captivated her but the idea of seeing herself fully, without judgment, without filters. What would it be like to stand in front of a mirror and not automatically focus on flaws or imperfections, but on the beauty in each line and curve? Her mind swirled with the possibilities, turning over an idea that felt equal parts thrilling and terrifying. For once, her fantasies didn’t involve someone else—they revolved around her, a vision of discovering her own body and beauty on her terms.

That night, a strange mix of curiosity and nervousness pulsing within her, Jihyo decided to try it. Pulling a small mirror from her drawer, she set it by her bedside, feeling a bit self-conscious. The mirror was small, only able to capture fragments of her, but that seemed fitting—a tentative first step. Slowly, she undressed, her heart racing as she slid beneath the sheets, both eager and hesitant. Her eyes flitted between the mirror and her body, unsure of what she’d see or feel, unsure if this would unlock something within her or merely deepen her insecurities.

As she lay back, the coolness of the sheets sharp against her skin, her hands moved tentatively, her fingertips grazing her collarbone, her curves, the softness of her thighs. A gentle shiver ran through her, and her eyes fixed on the mirror, seeing only pieces of herself—the arch of her neck, the swell of her chest, a hand tracing the curve of her hip. The mirror reflected these moments, capturing a quiet intimacy that she wasn’t accustomed to sharing, even with herself.

The sensation was undeniably alluring, her breathing quickening as her hands moved more freely, each touch intensifying the connection between her mind and body. But as her pleasure built, she found herself distracted. The small mirror offered only glimpses, incomplete flashes that couldn’t fully capture the experience. Even as waves of pleasure washed over her, a deeper yearning remained—the desire to see herself completely, to confront every insecurity, every aspect she had avoided for so long.

The realization struck her hard: she needed to see all of herself, every angle, every detail, without hiding. The mirror had given her a taste, but it wasn’t enough. She yearned for a space where she could truly explore, where her reflection could reveal her without judgment.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced—a flash of an ad she’d seen a few weeks earlier while online shopping. It had been one of those pop-ups, something she’d quickly close or scroll past, but now the words came back clearly. It was for a place called The Pleasure Paradise Hotel. Her pulse quickened as she hurriedly pulled out her phone and found the hotel’s website. The tagline read, “Where every fantasy blooms in paradise.” She chuckled at the phrasing but clicked on the “Fantasies” tab.

And there it was, nestled among the long lists of fantasies: the Mirror Rooms. The description made her breath catch, detailing spaces crafted for self-exploration, adorned with mirrors that reflected every part of her from every angle, allowing for a judgment-free discovery of self. This was precisely what she had been craving—a sanctuary where she could be alone with her reflection, liberated from the societal expectations that weighed so heavily on her.

Her hand hovered for only a moment before she clicked the “Book Now” button, her nerves quickly overtaken by a rush of excitement as she filled in her information. After a moment, a confirmation screen appeared, thanking her for choosing the Pleasure Paradise Hotel.

The day of her booking arrived faster than she’d anticipated. Entering the luxurious lobby, Jihyo felt a blend of anticipation and nerves. The hotel exuded a quiet elegance, with soft lighting, subtle hints of jasmine, and decor that made the space feel intimate and indulgent. Her heart raced as she approached the front desk, where a poised woman greeted her with a warm, professional smile.

“Good evening. Welcome to the Pleasure Paradise Hotel. How may I assist you today?” the receptionist asked, her tone calm and reassuring.

Jihyo hesitated briefly, lowering her voice. “Hi, I… I’ve booked a stay in one of the Mirror Rooms,” she said, glancing around to ensure no one else could hear.

The receptionist’s smile deepened knowingly. “Ah, the Mirror Rooms,” she said, her voice laced with understanding. “A popular choice for guests looking to explore and connect with themselves more intimately. We offer a few packages, each designed to provide a unique experience.”

Jihyo’s hands fidgeted slightly, the receptionist’s gentle confidence helping to ease her tension as she listened.

“Our first option is a private experience,” the receptionist continued, gesturing toward a sleek tablet on the counter. “In this package, you’ll have the room entirely to yourself, with mirrors arranged to let you see yourself from every possible angle, creating a safe space to explore your desires alone. It’s very popular for first-time guests.”

Jihyo nodded, intrigued, but a faint restlessness lingered—something told her she needed more than just the mirrors. She wanted something deeper, though she wasn’t yet certain what that might be.

“Our second option,” the receptionist went on, “is similar to the first, but you may bring up to five partners to accompany you, giving you the chance to share your experience with others, if that’s something you’d like.”

Jihyo nodded again, appreciating the variety but feeling a stronger pull toward exploring alone, without an audience. The thought of including others felt premature. She wanted the experience to feel wholly her own.

“And finally,” the receptionist said, her smile widening ever so slightly, “we offer a guided experience. Here, you’re joined by a professional guide who assists in your exploration, offering support, guidance, and whatever level of interaction you’re comfortable with.”

“A guide?” Jihyo’s voice was a soft whisper, barely audible.

“Yes,” the receptionist confirmed, turning the tablet toward her. “Should you choose the guided experience, you can select from a gallery of experienced guides, each highly trained to ensure that your experience is everything you desire. Whether you’re seeking gentle encouragement or someone to help you delve deeper, there’s a guide to match your preference.”

She tapped the screen, bringing up the gallery of guides. The display featured a diverse array of men and women, each with their own unique energy. Some wore inviting, gentle smiles, while others gazed intently at the camera with a more intense, brooding expression. Each image seemed to convey a distinct presence, as if each guide held a different key to unlocking the experience.

Jihyo’s gaze lingered as she took in the faces on the screen. Some were soft and nurturing, others exuding strength and confidence, each inviting her into a different possible experience. She felt the tension between choosing solitude and allowing someone else to witness her vulnerability, to help her confront her insecurities in a way that felt both terrifying and thrilling.

Then, her eyes fell on one photo—a man with an aura of quiet confidence that stood out from the rest. He wasn’t overly posed; he looked relaxed, a calm strength in his features softened by a warm, genuine smile. Something about the ease in his posture and the spark of curiosity in his eyes made her heart skip. He looked approachable yet held an unmistakable air of control, someone who could help her feel both seen and safe.

Underneath the photo, your name appeared.

A quiet thrill shot through her as she clicked to read his profile, each detail deepening her intrigue.

“He seems…” Jihyo began, her voice trailing as her gaze lingered on the photo of the man she’d chosen.

The receptionist smiled knowingly, sensing her indecision melt into interest. “He’s one of our most popular guides,” she explained warmly. “He has a gift for making guests feel at ease. Intuitive, patient, and incredibly thoughtful, adapting to whatever you need—whether it’s gentle guidance or firm direction. He’s here to help you explore at your own pace.”

Jihyo swallowed, feeling a new spark of excitement flare in her chest. A sense of reassurance steadied her as she nodded. “I think… I’d like him,” she replied, her voice soft but resolute.

“An excellent choice,” the receptionist confirmed, tapping a few buttons on the tablet. “your guide will meet you directly in your room. If you wish to adjust the experience or set any new boundaries, just let him know. His sole focus is on your comfort and fulfillment.”

Jihyo nodded, feeling both reassured and anticipatory. The idea of having a guide through this exploration—someone attuned to her desires and limitations—was thrilling yet calming. Somehow, it felt right.

“I’ll take care of everything else. You can head up to your room whenever you’re ready,” the receptionist said, handing her a sleek key card and a small, discreet goodie bag. Inside, she found tiny bottles of lube and a couple of condoms. “And remember, this is your experience. You’re in control of how it unfolds. If you need anything replenished, just call the front desk.”

As she headed toward the elevator, her heart raced. Her decision was clear now; she was ready to step into this unknown space of self-discovery.

The room was exactly as advertised, but the reality of it was more powerful than she’d imagined. Four mirrors framed the bed, each offering a unique angle. But it was the ceiling mirror that drew her attention, catching her off guard. A surge of vulnerability washed over her, seeing herself reflected from so many sides, so exposed and open. Yet with that vulnerability came an undeniable power—a sensation of strength in being fully seen, even if only by herself. She let herself take in the room slowly, breathing in the potential it held, the beauty of the setup that invited her to confront herself completely.

“Hello, Ms. Jihyo. I’ll be your guide this evening,” you say, your tone friendly, though your gaze holds a depth, a quiet intrigue that mirrors her own emotions. Her cheeks flush as the experience becomes tangible, their connection palpable.

With calm confidence, you enter the room, carefully closing the door behind. “Have you done something like this before?” you ask, your voice gentle and curious, free of any judgment.

Jihyo shakes her head, her own voice barely a whisper. “Just Jihyo is fine… and no. I’ve thought about it, but… I haven’t gone this far.”

A soft smile crosses your lips. “Curiosity is a wonderful place to begin.” Moving with unhurried grace, you gesture toward the mirrors surrounding her. “This space is yours to explore, to experience however you choose. There’s no rush, no expectations. I’m here solely to support you.”

The warmth in your voice deepens the intimacy of the moment, your presence both soothing and emboldening. As you move around the room, adjusting the lighting and taking subtle cues from her, Jihyo feels ease settle over her, tension gradually dissipating. The mirrors no longer feel like mere reflections; they become invitations—portals into her own depth, her own truth.

Taking a steadying breath, Jihyo reaches for the edge of her clothing. She hesitates, fingers hovering as she catches her reflection in the mirror. Slowly, she begins to undress, her movements almost tentative, as if each piece removed exposes more than just skin. Her gaze remains fixed on the mirror, her eyes tracing the curves and lines of her body with a mixture of scrutiny and reluctance. There’s an involuntary judgment in her stare, her expression tinged with dissatisfaction as she examines each perceived flaw with a familiar, critical eye.

As she glances at the reflection beside her, she notices you undressing in the background, your movements natural and unguarded. Your frame, by contrast, seems to fit easily within the accepted ideals she’s grown accustomed to seeing, adding a new layer to her own self-consciousness. A quiet comparison arises, unbidden, and she finds herself thinking how effortlessly you seem to belong in your own skin. Her shoulders stiffen slightly, insecurities whispering reminders of all the ways she feels she doesn’t measure up, each perceived flaw amplified as she stands there exposed.

She shifts slightly, as if hoping another angle might soften the imperfections she’s focused on. Yet, she allows herself to remain fully bare, lingering in the vulnerability despite the discomfort that rises within her. She feels the weight of her own self-consciousness, and though the impulse to cover herself hovers, she resists it, reminding herself that here, in this space, she doesn’t have to hide.

Still, the unease doesn’t quite fade. Her eyes remain cautious, holding onto traces of the self-doubt she can’t seem to shake. The familiar instinct to take control tugs at her, but there is another part—hidden, quieter, and long-buried—that yearns for release, to feel what it might be like to let go, to be seen as she is.

“Can you… take the lead?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, soft with uncertainty.

You meet her gaze with understanding, your expression gentle and reassuring. “Of course,” you reply, reaching out to touch her shoulder with a steadying presence. “Let me guide you. You’re safe here. Just relax and be exactly as you are.”

Her heart pounds as she nods, releasing her defenses for the first time in a long while. As you move behind her, hands tracing gently along her sides, Jihyo turns her attention to the mirrors. In their reflections, she sees herself in a new way—open, vulnerable, fully visible from every angle. A tremor of anticipation runs through her, magnified by the warmth of your touch, which sends ripples of sensation down her spine.

Each movement is deliberate, a steady rhythm allowing her to lose herself in the feeling. Your fingertips skim over her shoulders and down her arms, grounding her in the present, reconnecting her with her own body. She watches, captivated, as you guide her, your touch both tender and commanding, knowing exactly where to linger, allowing her to ease into herself.

Her breath quickens as you continue, each touch more intentional than the last. Glancing from one mirror to another, she sees her own body reflected from every angle. The ceiling mirror above captures her in the most vulnerable, raw view possible. Seeing herself like this makes her heart race, each angle revealing parts of herself she’d never fully embraced.

With every trace of your fingers across her skin, her breath hitches, anticipation building. The sound of her own shallow breaths, the sensation of your presence, and the reflections encircling her all merge into a heady, intoxicating mix. Every sigh, every subtle movement, mirrored back to her—a tangible reminder of her own beauty, her own strength.

The intimacy of the moment deepens, warmth spreading through her with each gentle touch, every lingering look at her reflection. You adjust her posture ever so slightly, positioning her to meet her own gaze from every angle. There is no hiding, no escape from the image of the woman staring back—her beauty raw, her presence powerful and real.

Each touch, each mirrored glimpse, becomes a quiet yet profound invitation for her to embrace herself fully, to revel in a beauty she’d often overlooked. The control she so often held onto now slips away, leaving only the freedom to feel, to see herself as she truly is. With you there, guiding her with a steady hand and calming presence, the weight of expectation and insecurity begins to dissolve, replaced by a deep sense of acceptance she has rarely felt.

The tension between you grows, thickening the air with anticipation. You slide your body onto the bed, beckoning her to sit Infront of you, Jihyo slowly gets on the soft sheets and leans her back on your chest.

Your hands move with practiced precision, each touch making her skin feel like it’s coming alive beneath you. Starting at her hips, your fingers brush lightly along her thighs, stirring a subtle ache that resonates deep within. You trace upward, skimming the sensitive inner thigh, your fingers moving closer to her center but stopping just short, building her anticipation with every teasing pass.

Your fingers drift to the edge of her folds, each movement languid and measured—never quite giving her what she wants, but keeping her hanging on each touch. You press the pad of your thumb over her clit in a slow, circular motion, firm enough to draw her hips forward, her body instinctively urging you to go further. But you don’t rush; your touch expertly coaxes her reactions, guiding her to match your rhythm. The gentle circles over her clit send waves of pleasure through her, a steady pulse that grows with each pass of your hand.

Her breath quickens, her fingers curling as she sinks into the pleasure you weave around her, the tension winding tight within her as you keep her on edge. Your eyes meet hers in the mirror again, your gaze holding a subtle command, urging her to comply. “Look at yourself,” you murmur, with a tone low and warm. “See how beautiful you are.”

As she gazes into the mirror, her reflection captivates her. Her cheeks are flushed, a deep rosy hue that contrasts beautifully with her soft skin, her breath quickening as she watches the way her body responds to your every touch. There is an aura of pure bliss surrounding her, a glow that highlights the ecstatic expression on her face. The way her chest rises and falls, the subtle arch of her back, all blend into a portrait of surrender that sends a thrill through her. It’s a sight that makes her pulse race, the beauty of the moment wrapping around her like a warm embrace.

With practiced patience, one hand travels up her side, pausing just below her chest. You meet her gaze in the reflection again, fingers ghosting over her skin. “May I?” you ask, your breath warm against her neck. A shiver runs through her, and she replies, breathless and quick, “Yes,” her voice trembling with eagerness.

With her permission, your hand slips over her breast, your touch firm yet gentle, sending sparks across her skin. The other hand remains at her core, circling slowly, pressing just enough to make her hips tilt toward you. Your mouth traces a line along her neck, your breath hot just behind her ear, unraveling her composure further. Her breaths grow faster, soft and uneven, each exhale mingling with the quiet hum of the room, enclosing you both in your own world.

Your hands work in tandem, the deliberate squeeze and tug on her breast blending with the rhythmic pressure below. Her mind grows hazy with need as you hold her close, every movement perfectly timed to her building tension. Her fingers tangle in the fabric beneath her, grounding herself as she climbs higher, each sensation building on the last.

Finally, with the combination of your hand possessively gripping her chest, the other pressing into her core, and your lips igniting her neck, her climax surges. It begins as a slow, shivering wave, rising from her center and spreading outward, consuming her in pulses that leave her breathless. Her back arches, pressing into you as the tension within her snaps, transforming into a raw, rolling pleasure that seems to echo through every inch of her body.

Her gaze stays locked on the reflection, and as she watches herself surrender, it amplifies everything—the sight of her flushed cheeks, the quiver of her parted lips, the rise and fall of her chest. The intensity of watching her own body unfold in pleasure makes her climax feel endless, a powerful rush that pulls her deeper with each second. Her hips buck in need, her fingers clutching at the fabric beneath her, grounding herself as she rides each wave. She can’t look away; the vulnerability and beauty of her reflection hold her captive, amplifying the sensation, making her feel as if she’s both inside her body and observing herself from a distance, awash in her own surrender.

As her breathing steadies, she looks back at the mirrors, feeling a newfound determination stirring within. This experience was hers to claim. Meeting your gaze in the mirror, her expression shifts, her resolve clear. “I want to take the lead this time,” she whispers, her voice steady with newfound confidence.

A smile of admiration softens your expression, your eyes alight with encouragement. “Then take it,” you reply gently, leaning back to give her the space to step into her own power. “This is your room, Jihyo. It’s yours to explore.”

A pulse of excitement thrums through her as she positions herself over you, her legs framing your hips, her posture upright and commanding. Facing away, with her gaze fixed on the mirrors in front of her, she’s fully absorbed in the view—a woman confident, unashamed, with every angle of her form magnified in the glass surrounding her. For the first time, she feels the full thrill of being in control, the power in shaping her own pleasure. The image is intoxicating, each movement captured from all sides, revealing a beauty she’d rarely allowed herself to see.

With a shared, silent understanding, she lifts herself slightly, giving you the space to reach for protection. You slip on a condom as she steadies herself, her breath quickening with anticipation. She then takes you in her hand, guiding herself, and slowly lowering her hips, placing your length inside. A shallow gasp escapes her lips as her eyes remain on the mirror while she moves, watching herself take control and savoring every second of the connection.

She begins to move, her hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm that sends shivers of sensation through her, intensifying with each shift and sway. Every part of her feels alive, attuned to the heat building between you, her body becoming the focal point, the center of her awareness. Each curve, every subtle arch of her back, every sway of her hips is captured in the mirrors that surround her. She feels more real, more tangible, than she ever has before.

Her movements grow more purposeful, a quiet confidence driving her, deepening with each slow, deliberate motion. Her breath quickens as she watches herself, captivated by the image in the mirrors—a vision bathed in warm, golden hues that soften her form while enhancing the allure in every line and curve. The room’s gentle lighting casts her skin in a rich glow, accentuating the lines of her body, the sweep of her shoulders, the strength in her arms. She sees herself with newfound respect, a fierce ownership over her form that feels both freeing and grounding. In each reflection, she doesn’t just see her body; she sees the strength she’s beginning to claim as her own. Yet in the end, it’s her eyes, focused and unwavering, that hold her attention the most, her gaze fierce, filled with intent.

A soft groan escapes from you beneath her, your hands resting lightly on her hips, grounding her yet allowing her the freedom to move. She feels your admiration, senses it in the subtle tension of your grip, in the way your gaze never leaves her. You look at her with awe, but she realizes the most powerful gaze in the room is her own.

“You’re absolutely stunning, Jihyo,” you murmur, your voice warm with admiration. “Look at you—so strong, so beautiful.”

A soft flush blooms on her cheeks, but your words only heighten her awareness of herself, fueling the desire pulsing steadily within. She can feel it now—the raw beauty of her control, the unfiltered confidence that has blossomed from the moment she took the lead. The mirrors don’t just reflect her body; they show her strength, her self-assuredness, qualities she has only begun to embrace. Each roll of her hips, every deliberate shift, feels like an assertion of her power, each soft gasp a quiet acknowledgment of her own beauty.

Her rhythm intensifies, movements growing faster as her body responds eagerly, the tension building low and insistent in her belly. Fingers gripping your legs for balance, she leans into the sensation, chasing the release that feels tantalizingly close, riding the wave of pleasure that surges through her with every motion. She can feel it all—the heat, the friction, all blending into a heady mix that sweeps her closer to the edge.

Lost in the rhythm, her head tilts back, and her gaze catches the ceiling mirror. She had nearly forgotten it, too absorbed by the other reflections, but now, seeing herself from above—a fresh angle highlighting the curves of her breasts, the strength in her posture, every movement purposeful and commanding—sends a shockwave of pleasure through her. The image is almost overwhelming. She looks powerful, entirely in control, moving with an instinctive grace as she rises toward her climax.

The sight is intoxicating, and in that moment, her breath catches, her body tensing as the release finally surges forward, consuming her. “Oh—yes,” she gasps, her voice trembling as the waves of pleasure hit her with full force. “I'm gonna cum... Yes! I'm cumming!,” she screams, her words slipping out in between each pulse, each wave of bliss that crashes through her. Her muscles tighten, her voice rising as the sensations build, and she lets out a cry, unrestrained, raw. Her eyes stay locked on the mirror, watching as her face softens in pleasure, her body quivering, her back arching as she succumbs to the intensity.

The sensation deepens, amplifying as her reflection stares back, grounding her in the sheer power of her release. Her lips part as a moan escapes, her body trembling under the force of the climax, every inch of her alive with sensation. She feels herself unraveling, yet within that unraveling is a new, unity with herself, a reclaiming of every part of her. The image in the mirror transforms her, revealing a woman fully unbound, lost in the depth of her own ecstasy, her pleasure radiating outward in waves.

As the final tremors ebb, she falls backwards, her body softening, surrendering as she relaxes against you. Her heartbeat echoes through her chest, her breath slowing in soft gasps as she lets the experience settle around her. She lies still for a moment, savoring the fullness of what she has just felt, the echoes of pleasure still vibrating through her, lingering in her limbs, in the hum of her skin.

The mirror has revealed something far beyond beauty—it has shown her strength, her vulnerability, her raw, unfettered power. She has taken control, and in doing so, she sees herself with a clarity that transcends simple reflection. She isn’t just a body; she is a woman of immense power, a woman capable of holding her own beauty with reverence.

A soft smile tugs at her lips as she lets the last of her tension dissolve, her body still alive with the remnants of her climax. She feels incredible. In this quiet, profound moment, Jihyo knows that she has stepped into a new version of herself, one who can look at her reflection and see the full scope of her beauty and power, unfiltered, unafraid. And that realization, even as her breath slows and her heart softens, is a pleasure all its own.

A warm hand brushed softly against her back, grounding her in the present, and your voice came as a gentle whisper. “I hope you enjoyed your time here,” you said, your tone reverent.

She turned to you, her eyes warm and glistening with gratitude. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice carrying a quiet depth. “This experience… it’s shown me parts of myself I’d forgotten, parts I didn’t even know were there.” Then in a moment of realization a quick panic rushed upon her. "Wait you didn't get to finish"

Your hand brushed softly against hers, grounding her in the present, and your voice came as a gentle whisper. “This was always about you, not me. Its okay, truly” you said, your tone reverent.

You smiled, meeting her gaze with admiration. “There’s such a difference in you now,” you added, a note of pride in your voice. “From the Jihyo I met just a short while ago to the one standing here now… it’s like night and day, even without words. You’re radiant—glowing with a confidence that wasn’t there before.”

Her cheeks flushed with quiet pride, and a soft smile touched her lips as she let herself sink deeper into the warmth of the moment, her body still alive with the lingering sensations that rippled gently through her. She felt incredible, her very core awakened—a part of herself that had always been there, now freed and fully embraced. Confidence, steady and unshakeable, flowed through her, filling her with a sense of wholeness she’d never quite known before. This feeling, this assurance, was wholly hers.

-----

In the weeks that followed, Jihyo found herself returning to the Mirror Room again and again. Each visit became an opportunity to peel back another layer, to delve deeper into her own story, her own beauty, her own strength. Every time she stood before those mirrors, something new awaited her: another hidden facet, another part of herself coming into the light. She found herself lingering in her reflections longer, tracing the lines of her body, absorbing the softness and strength she was coming to know and love. Sometimes, she led the experience, moving with purpose; other times, she allowed herself to be guided, reveling in the sensation of surrender. You had become an intuitive presence, familiar with the subtleties of her preferences, attuned to her every movement without needing to ask. Each time, she left the room with a richer understanding of herself, a deeper acceptance of her own worth, resilience, and beauty.

The mirrors became her companions on this journey, revealing her from angles and perspectives she would never have considered before. They offered her a clearer view of a woman whose confidence and self-love had blossomed from a place of discovery and acceptance. She no longer shied away from her reflection; instead, she looked at herself with a newfound openness, appreciating the uniqueness that made her who she was.

Eventually, Jihyo realized she wanted to bring this experience home, to let this newfound freedom settle into her daily life, beyond the mirrors of the hotel. One evening, after what she knew would be her final hotel visit, she found herself standing in her bedroom, unwrapping an oversized mirror she had ordered just for herself. The frame was sleek, elegantly crafted, its generous size designed to capture every angle around her bed—just like the mirrors in the hotel room that had shown her so much. She traced her fingers along the edge, feeling the cool, smooth surface beneath her fingertips, a soft smile playing on her lips as memories of her journey flickered in her mind.

The mirror was more than a piece of decor; it was a symbol of everything she had uncovered and the confidence she had unlocked. It embodied her courage to embrace not just her desires but her own beauty, her own strength. It was a reflection of the woman she had become—a woman who could look at herself without fear or hesitation, fully aware of her beauty in all its complexity.

After placing the mirror carefully at the foot of her bed, she stepped back, taking in the way her reflection gazed back with clear eyes and a self-assured smile. The sight filled her with a profound sense of pride and fulfillment. She had taken control of her narrative, claiming her own image as beautiful, strong, and worthy. She found herself standing there, rooted and grounded in her own power, savoring the warmth of her own strength radiating back at her.

Later, as she lay down beneath her covers. Jihyo felt a gentle warmth spread through her, a pride she hadn’t known until now. She no longer avoided her reflection or let insecurities cloud her view of herself. For the first time, she faced it head-on, proud of the strength and beauty that had been there all along. What she saw went far beyond appearances; she saw a confidence, a power, and a deep, abiding love for herself, whole and complete.

As the moonlight cast a soft, ethereal glow on the mirror beside her bed, her heart filled with gratitude, her mind resting in calm acceptance. She no longer questioned her worth or doubted her beauty. Her journey had led her here, to a place where she could finally see herself clearly.

And as her eyes fluttered closed, a gentle smile softened her lips, her heart quietly affirming the truth she had come to know:

She is truly and undeniably beautiful.

[firestorm09890]

as more time passes I'm growing less convinced that Outis is actually going to betray us (well, she still might- she'll do anything she needs to- but I don't think she's actively planning to right now) and I'm starting to see her for what she really is: anxious. Some of the bad shit that happens to the crew in The Odyssey isn't actually Odysseus's fault- it was his crew who released the bag of winds, and it was his crew who ate the cows of Helios when Odysseus TOLD them not to. Outis has never mentally escaped the war OR the Odyssey, she thinks she can't trust anyone but herself, and Dante being her manager back when they were... really bad at their job must've been terrifying. A messy crew is difficult enough, but a leader who can't even handle them? They'll never survive. Her reactions to bloodfiends feel like they're born less out of disgust/hatred and more out of fear. She focuses on how Dante and Faust didn't tell any of them about Don Quixote's true nature, because if they're hiding something that important, what else are they hiding that the knowledge of might be the difference between surviving and not? And then what comes later with her asking Dante if they'd really be willing to extend a hand to someone who's killed so many (she's talking about herself) (she's terrified she won't be forgiven) (she doesn't want to be alone)... ohhh Outis

[kittysarchive]

Enhypen with younger s/o

*includes fluff and smut

Poll winner:)

warnings- fluff, age gap (not to big), smut, Ot7 (niki in sfw section), daddy kink, big cock enhypen, begging, bj, hair pulling , lmk if i missed anything

SFW

Heeseung

Nothing much would change with Heesueng!

While he may be more caring or quicker to make sure you feel safe around him, Heeseung would act as he would with a gf his age. Though, his gentleman side will show more since he is the 'more mature' one out of the relationship. Whether that be or true or not, he still plays the role of a gentleman. Walking on side closer to the road, holding your bags, holding you close to him, opening doors for you and more.

Heeseung will also try to be more observant. He may be a year older than you or even five years or more older than you. Whatever the age difference is, he'll always attend to your needs as you come across different stages in your life.

But there's also another side of Heeseung! Since he has a younger s/o, he may feel that he can be more playful! Since his s/o is more youthful then he is, Heeseung not only mucks around, but makes sure to have fun with her and enjoy life.

Jay

We all know Jay will be more protective.

Not to the point of restricting your day-to-day life, but to the point where he will minimize any mishaps in your life. He'll do his best to make sure you don't get physically or emotionally hurt.

Jay also may shower her with affection more. Providing more gifts just to see her youthful smile. This could be done by small gifts, compliments or surprise outings. Jay is more protective of her, but he will always try to hide that, hiding it behind is cheery smile and easy-going personality.

In terms of age gaps, Jay may want a significantly younger s/o. Not only because they look younger or because he loves spoiling and taking care of who he loves, but typically, younger s/o not only have more energy, but provide Jay with many moments of happiness and fun memories. So for Jay he'd be happy with a four year age gap, even six years!

Jake

While Jake does give off huge Noona vibes, pairing him with a younger s/o could bring out more of his playful side.

All of Jakes energy needs to match a younger s/o. Going out on fun dates, creating a mess in the kitchen, possibly getting kicked out of a store from their antics....Either way while Jake is loving, he has a lot of energy, and a younger s/o would be perfect!

Jake will also make his s/o feel special! Because Jake can be playful and slightly immature, a s/o who is younger and has the same personality will not only feel more loved but feel understood as they act the same way.

When it comes to age gaps, Jake wouldn't want one which is to big. Sure he may want a younger s/o, but the age normally ranges from 1-3 age gap. However if we have mature of sugar daddy Jake, he'd love 5-7 years age gap.

Sunghoon

Ever watched 'When I fly towards you'? his relationship with his s/o would be like that (zhang lurang and su zai zai)

Sunghoon is more reserved, but a younger s/o would not only bring out a large smile but be refreshing as it forces to Sunghoon to come out of him shell a bit more. Sunghoon will not only fall in love with her energetic nature, but her cuteness as well!

Sunghoon would also adore a younger s/o who can understand him. Yes, he may fall in love with their cuteness or energy, but he also wants someone who can switch from funny to serious.

On the other hand, Sunghoon will also be supportive of his s/o, their biggest cheerleader! He'll help them get through any troubles with his own experience as well as be there for a shoulder to cry on.

When it comes to age gaps, Sunghoon doesn't mind. You could be a few months younger than him, or even five years, as long as you are able to be mature if the time comes, then that's all he needs.

Sunoo

Sunoo is another s/o cheerleader!

Like his own youthful personality, a younger s/o would best fit Sunoo. Sunoo will give his s/o all of his love! Making sure she not only feels safe in the relationship but respected and cared for.

Sunoo may not be as protective as Jay, but when the time comes, he will step up for his s/o. Whether that is to a stranger, family member or even a boss, he'll always be there to help his s/o.

In terms of dates, Sunoo has to go on one at least once a week! That could be a cute cafe to the cinema to even a pottery class! Anything hands on, or sure to make memories is a must. Sunoo has a lot of energy, so does his s/o so he wants to make the most of it.

Like Sunghoon, age gap doesn't really matter. Although I don't think 4+ years would be good for Sunoo as he is not one to lead (power dynamics aren't his thing) so 1-3 years is perfect.

Jungwon

Already being caring and full of love, a younger s/o would be perfect.

Jungwon, like Jay is someone who loves to spoil and care for people! With his more maturer side, he'll share advice with his s/o and even listen to all of their troubles or tea. Jungwon is always there to talk to, and he makes that known.

But, Jungwon still has a playful side. With a younger s/o he is able to show that side more often. He'll cheer you up, make inside jokes with you, play fight with you and even just muck around together, like splashing each other in the beach!

Jungwon wouldn't be able to handle more then five year age gap, all because not only is Jungwon quite young, but that is a huge maturity gap. 1-4 years is best, when older Jungwon could stretch to 5 years.

Ni-Ki

While Ni-ki is another member who gives off Noona loving vibes, a younger s/o would better suit him.

Ni-ki who is still young, having a younger s/o is better because they would relate to him more. Whether that childhood experiences to high school to even friend troubles, Ni-Ki most likely has also experienced that.

Although Ni-Ki is also younger, he is also mature. Mature enough to keep the relationship balanced. Ni-Ki will show you he loves you by compliments surprise gifts or even just chilling with you.

With a younger s/o, Ni-Ki who is still exploring the world, will do so with his s/o! He'll go to a new country with her, try new foods, try new hobbies and more! A relationship with Ni-Ki will be very easy going, full of love and energy.

At his age, a 1-2 year age gap is best, but when older, Ni-Ki could easily go for 1-6 years if he wanted to.

NSFW

Heeseung

His playboy nature comes out.

In fact, several kinks of his resurface if he has a younger s/o. Heeseung will be mindful of the possible power dynamics in this relationship. But when it comes to a younger s/o who is just as freaky as him and understands the possible dynamics, then he'll let loose.

Nearly every night will end in sex, fucking in the shower, on the couch, in his car, on the kitchen counter, on the floor, even against the mirror...but rarely in bed. Heeseung loves you so much, and he loves your body as well.

But with Heeseungs freaky side, a relationship with him will only work if his younger s/o shares a few of his kinks. Otherwise Heeseung won't enjoy the sex, and neither will his s/o. So heres a small look at a few of his kinks....as the older one in the relationship.

-Daddy kink...of course -Choking....

-Degradation -Breeding

-Hair pulling

Heeseung has a lot to give and he really does love his s/o, but another side comes out of his during sex.

"S-Shit just like that" Heeseung holds a tight grip on your hair, not letting you breath as he pushes more of his fat cock down your throat. "You look so cute" He hums, watching you struggle to take his cock. Eyes dropping small tears, he brings his thumb to your cheek, wiping it away. Pulling his hands off your hair, he holds your jaw softly. Pulling his hips back, Heeseung slowly thrusts forward, careful to not hurt you. "Taking daddy's cock so well....aren't you princess?" Humming on his cock, the vibrations send him closer to his release. Pulling his hips back, he thrusts forward again, his cock pulsing against your throat, but he already knows where he wants to cum, in your tight pussy.

Jay

When fucking his younger s/o, Jay can be pretty vanilla, unless a switch is pulled.

With his small range of kinks, sex can almost get boring with Jay. at night in your cozy bed, or in a warm shower, possibly against the counters in the kitchen? Thats what you get when you've been good.

But if you've been a brat on purpose, then Jay gets kinky. Fucking you rough into the bed, against the cold tiles in the shower, against the wall even in a public space if he really has to put you back in your place.

Sure to wake up with bruises the next day, you pussy won't be the only thing in pain.

"Thought I wouldn't mad, pissed even?" Jay scoffs, pushing his cock deep into your pussy. You squirm beneath him, barely prepped and needy, there was no way you could stay still. "You could have just waited an hour more" Jay hums, before thrusting in your pussy. You squeal from the force. "Wanted you" You cry out, trying to pull Jay's body close to yours. Not letting you, Jay scoffs in response. "So you are a slut" Sliding in and out if your pussy with ease, Jay wasn't even surprised to see his cock glistening with your arousal.

Jake

Like Heeseung, Jake can get pretty freaky. With the power dynamics flowing when he fucks you, Jake is sure to care for you later, after he fucks you good.

But Jake can be a simple man as well. While he also has his kinks and freaky side, there are only a few places Jake actually enjoys fucking you. In his car and in front of a mirror.

If Jake were to have an older s/o, he'd be the one on his knees, the one begging for pussy. But as the older one....Jake not only makes you beg for his cock, but forces you to work for it, if he's feeling mean.

Leaning back into his leather car seats, Jake smirks as you practically cry on his lap, begging for his cock. "Need you so bad Jakey....please" Your hips rut against his growing bulge. Lips pouting, Jake couldn't say no. "You want my fat cock? Want me to break you pussy?" Jake asks, already knowing the answer. You nod her head quickly, hips rutting against his clothed cock more. "Go on then" Sliding off his lap, you pull down his pants, eager to get his cock. Jake slouches more into the seat, just as eager to feel your wet pussy.

Sunghoon

While Sunghoon is quieter and more reserved, he is loud and gets what he wants during sex.

Unlike the others, he doesn't always get pleasure from degrading you, but he does love you begging for him. Not just for his cock, but even begging him to eat you out.

Sunghoon isn't too crazy or freaky when fucking you, but he does like to try new things out with you. If he's seen something while watching porn or heard about something from a friend like Jake, Sunghoon at some point, would want to try it with you.

"You so small" Sunghoon holds back his owns moans. Breathing through your mouth, no words came out as he fucked your pussy hard. "So tight..." He pushes his head into the crook of your neck. Feeling his breath in your collarbone, you whine out, the closet you came to forming a word. "Feel good?" Almost framed as a rhetorical question, Sunghoon didn't need an answer. He knew he was fucking you good, he knew you were in heaven. Pulling his hips back to fuck you tight pussy, he knew he made the right choice to find a younger s/o.

Sunoo

Sex won't change much with a younger s/o.

While he is older, possibly taller then you and possibly stronger then you, most likely you will still lead when having sex.

Like all subs, Sunoo has his moments where he'll want to fuck your mouth hard or fuck your pussy till your oozing with his cum, but more then often, he lies back and lets you ride him. For Sunoo, sex is for pleasure, and that doesn't have to be in a painful way.

"Keep going baby" Sunoo sighs, fingers squeezing into your nails as you ride him. Pussy swallowing his cock, Sunoo was in heaven. "Getting tired" You pace soon slows down. Having ridden him for nearly an hour, you were feeling more then cramps in your thighs. "Want me to fuck you then? Finally fill your pussy with my cum?" Squeezing his cock, you nod you head quickly. Switching position, you now lye on your back. More then ready to enter your already wet pussy, Sunoo wastes no time. "Fuck....been wanting to do this for a while" Sunoo pistons into your pussy, eager to make his promise.

Jungwon

Power dynamics don't always show in your relationship, if anything giving him a blowjob is the only power dynamic.

Yes, Jungwon loves you and he loves to have vanilla sex, but when he's stressed out or just feeling...like he wants be the one in control, he'll want a bj. It's simple, but shows how cute and small you are as you kneel below him, taking everything he gives you.

"Don't rush yourself" Jungwon laughs at your eagerness to swallow his whole length. Slowing yourself down, you begin to stroke his cock. "Just wanna taste you already" Jungwon nearly melts at the cuteness of your voice. Even if you weren't, you acted so innocent. Wrapping your hand over his cock, you suck his mushroom tip. Making direct eye contact with Jungwon, it was only a matter of minutes before he was gonna fuck your mouth.

no niki smut

[love-byers]

the first time i saw this, when i was NOT a byler shipper, i thought el was running TO mike. i thought we were getting a sweet moment where el runs to mike and he puts an arm around her or hugs her.

then i realized she was running away from him. 

and i was like, why?? they're supposed to be the couple why does she not want his comfort??

and even after will calls her out on doing mike wrong by lying to him, even after she sees that mike is attempting to talk to her and comfort her, that he's not angry at her, she still tells angela to lie to mike. more lies. that's how much she cares about keeping up the persona. had angela lied to mike, el would've continued lying to him the entire week. something she knows in her heart is wrong and not fair to mike.

this is a theme in s4. putting who you want to be seen as before being honest with your bf/gf. going above and beyond to preserve your lie, to be seen as who you want to be.

chrissy does that with jason. who she portrays herself as is completely different than who she really is and what she's really going through. jason has absolutely no idea chrissy is struggling and refused to believe chrissy would buy drugs, because chrissy didn't want to tell him. who knows how jason would've reacted if chrissy was honest, we don't know because chrissy didn't trust him enough to tell him. that's not love at all, that's sad.

this is a point in s2 as well. murray calls nancy out for being afraid to be her true self, and she stays with steve because she doesn't have to be her true self around him. she is her true self when she's with jonathan, and that's why they worked together. that's love.

the exact same thing happens with chrissy. the first time we see her genuinely smile is when she's with eddie. she's sweet and charismatic, and had she lived she totally would've gone to eddie's show, something you never would've expected from her, something her boyfriend, the person she pretends to love, would NEVER do.

robin and steve reinforce this too

you fall in love with the person who makes you feel accepted, the person who makes you feel like you can be who you are. the person you trust with your true self.

mike and el don't trust each other enough, they don't understand each other well enough.

they would have to change their behavior towards each other by leaps and bounds, and we're already at the last season. there is no time for that. stranger things isn't a multi season show about the complexity of romantic relationships and the healthy way to resolve problems. there is no time for that in just about any movie or show, especially a sci-fi show. you know what's way easier and way more likable? pairing your character with someone they naturally click with, who bring out the best in each other and for some reason can't help but be their authentic selves when they're with each other.

did it with jancy, like i said earlier

did it with lumax. when lucas and max talked on the bus max found herself spewing about things she'd never even said out loud before, and she had to stop herself. something about lucas just made her feel comfortable, like she could be herself and tell the truth. she trusted him.

"You're nothing like your brother, okay? You're cool and different, you're super smart, and you're like, totally tubular."

jopper too! joyce constantly had to hide things from bob, she was insecure about their family not being normal.

"This is not a normal family."

"It could be."

though bob had good intentions, the message of the show is not trying to be normal when you aren't. whatever it is about you that makes you weird or different, whatever you've been through that changed you, stay true to it. dont bottle it up and try to be someone else. all of vecnas victims in s4 were doing this, and it didn't end well for them.

they even did it with dustin and suzie. dustin constantly tries to impress max with his teeth, then in season 3 he says suzie thinks kissing is better without teeth. he doesn't have to be insecure about that or try to impress her. she likes him for him.

mike isn't comfortable being his true self around el either. he's insecure about his interests, he feels like he has to act older and cooler to impress her.

you shouldn't be with the person you feel you have to impress. you should be with the person who relieves that pressure, who makes you feel like being the authentic you is enough.

jonathan and nancy, lucas and max, joyce and hopper, dustin and suzie,

cough WILL AND MIKE cough...

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Platonic Yandere Queen Step Sister

She wasn’t always a queen 

Like every queen before she was a princess

But before she was a princess she was a count from a low-class duchy

Her mother had found your father

Old, ill, and enticed by the countess willing to entertain him

The countess herself wasn’t awful

She was civil, for the most part the only problem with her was her daughter

“And this is your new sister—Harley! Say hello!”

“Hmph just because your Dad’s the King doesn’t mean I have to like you!”

“Harley!”

Harley was a menace

Snooty and rude

Every time she spoke to you it was like liquid acid spraying specifically at you

She was typically spoiled but she never mistreated the servants 

She was decent to your father 

But to you, it was like she hated your guts from the very beginning

“I’m glad I spilled all that cranberry juice on you! The little outfit you were wearing before matched your ugliness a bit too well.”

“That was a gift from my late mother!”

“Hm figures.”

Of course in turn you hate her too

And you don’t bother hiding it from your father when he weakly asks you to hang out with her

“Did you hear what she said to me? I honestly couldn’t care less if that horse she spooked stomped her flat.”

“(Y/n)! Hold your tongue, she’s your new sister.”

“She might be your daughter but that thing is not my sister.”

He doesn’t seem convinced as he continues putting you together with her in hopes it will strengthen your bond

It does not

And it will never be as your father succumbs to his illness

Naturally, you prepare to take on the throne despite your young age

But alas nothing goes the way it should since she’s been forced into your life

“As the former partner of the King, I gladly will take up the role until our child is ready.”

It’s infuriating as the advisor reads a part in his newly written will about this

How he ordained that his second wife have you in her care and the kingdom in her control

And of course decency dwindles as she becomes drunk on the social power

Fueling her gremlin of a daughter

“Mother’s forbidden you from leaving your room. So I figured I’d give you some of my company! You're welcome.”

“Go jump out the window.”

“How dare–MOM!”

It just gets worse and worse

You do think for a moment things will get better as The substitute Queen keels over her wine at a banquet

Thanking the heavens for whoever poisoned her, you’re prepared to take the throne

“I am so sorry (Y/n) but the council has ruled that for your safety as the kingdom’s only true heir, it’d be dangerous to let you take the throne. So we’ll give the role of Queen to Harley.”

It takes you everything not to stab the brat as she puffs her chest and flips her hair

“Won’t you congratulate me on my coronation!”

It’s agony that ripples under your skin as you have no choice but to flee the castle grounds to escape her stabbing presence and that only works for a day at most

With her mother no longer ruling she isn’t forced to take etiquette lessons away from you

Now she can demand your attendance for any minor meeting

“I don’t think we should mobilize our militia on that border. It’s far too much of an overreaction.”

“What about the villages that have been burned there? The people who need medical attention?”

“Hush (Y/n) I didn’t say you could talk in this meeting.”

It's all so frustrating feeling trapped

But you’re not the only one 

Harley is incredibly frustrated because of what keeps her trapped

And that’s her inability to say anything that she truly means

Especially with manners of the heart

Underneath layers of cruel insults, stifling rules, and personal jabs 

Is a step-sister who adores your very being but is stuck with her thorny exterior

She is forced to stick her nose up and sneer at you when you look her direction

When she’ll say “You look like death with the new family brooch. You might do better to just leave it off.”

What she means “I think you look even more gorgeous than usual with the family brooch, don’t ever take it off.”

If she wasn’t as backward demented as she was it probably wouldn’t be so hard to try being nice

To switch her compliments to insults for just a day to give you a kind compliment

But she hates actually making it so that

Naturally, this is why she killed her mother

She’d gotten in the way of her free time with you 

On top of looking down on you which she absolutely hates the most

Granted she’s certain you hate her with how much time she spends attempting to bring you down expressing her affection the only way she can

Sometimes she’s tempted to put it in writing 

just explain her condition so that she can jump into your arms as you connect the dots

But every time she’d written something out, she couldn’t help but confess how obsessed she was with you 

How happy she was that her whole job now was protecting you

She wasn’t exactly fond of the kingdom other than it being an inheritance for you

She hopes you’ll forgive her as she’ll  prioritize you and your safety above all else

No one but your father’s trusted advisor may see past her biting personality

Convinced with the council that it’s best to have her temporarily rule

If only until they get to the bottom of both the King and the Queen’s deaths

Should any council member question her or her motives 

she’d be quick to shut that down

She can’t have these old nobles get in the way of her dominion over you

“I hope you enjoy the joys of being accused of fraud. It’ll be nice to look back on your time when on the council when you’re rotting in jail.”

She has no mercy for anyone but you

[just-aake]

Dyeing to See You Again

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary:  The need for a change of style brings about a reunion between Natasha and her old friend.

Warnings: light fluff, light angst

Words: 6659

Ohio - 1995

Three years ago, in the heart of the Midwest, a typical family of four moved into the ordinary suburban home next to yours.

Naturally, as their neighbor, you became interested in learning about the new family, especially since you found out that one of their daughters was similar to you in age. 

Initially closed off in the beginning, you slowly chipped away at the girl’s cold exterior until eventually the two of you became inseparable friends, forming a close bond with her over the three years they’ve lived here so far.

Currently, you find yourselves in the bathroom of her home amidst a chaotic mess of scattered bottles of hair products and dyes, the result of two young teens messing around without supervision.

You watch as Natasha removes the towel from her head, revealing the experiment that the two of you have been working on, and your eyes widen in shock at the sight.

“Uh oh, Nat, I think we might’ve mixed up the wrong bottles,” you exclaim in a slight panic as you rush around to pick up the different dyes, trying to find the one that was applied to her hair.

“I’m so sorry, Natasha,” you apologize as you try to figure out where you two went wrong.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Natasha reassures, her voice distracted in awe as she examines the strands of her newly colored hair in the mirror.

“It’s blue,” you state plainly in disbelief at her untroubled state. 

“Yeah, but…it was my choice,” Natasha says with a widening happy grin.

You drop the bottles in your hand and tilt your head at her in confusion.

“I thought you said that your mom was okay with this.” 

Natasha makes an unsure sound before shrugging, “I’m sure she will be..I think.”

You twist your lips skeptically at her words as you stand and return to her side. Your hand raises to her hair, but before you touch it, you pause and look at her with a questioning look, silently asking for permission. 

Over the time you’ve known her, you’ve learned how much Natasha values her personal space. The first time you patted her back in a friendly gesture, she pushed you away so hard that you scraped your hands while catching yourself on the ground.

Natasha apologized profusely immediately afterward and supported you home where she helped to tend to your wounds.

That was the first time you saw the true warmth that Natasha was hiding underneath her cold exterior as she cared for you.

At that time, she explained to you how she was not used to such friendly gestures like that from her peers and had reacted instinctively. 

Hearing this, you decide to always ask if she’s comfortable before you touch her.

With her nod of permission, your finger gently threads through her now light blue hair, brushing it in contemplation.

“Well, I guess it’s fine since it’s summer, but you’re going to have to change it back before school starts,” you remark.

Natasha shrugs, unconcerned, before flashing you one of her rare teasing grins.

“I’ll just have you dye it for me again. Maybe next time it might actually be the right color.”

You huff in disbelief at her, but before you can point out she also contributed to the mistake, the sound of the front door opening and the call from Natasha’s mom, Melina, causes both of your eyes to widen. 

Within the next second, the two of you scramble to clean up the mess in the bathroom, laughing with each other the entire time.

You never did get a chance to change her hair color back to normal. 

Natasha and her family vanished without a trace before the end of that summer. 

There was no note. No warning. 

She was just suddenly gone from your life.

And though many years pass, you’ve always held onto the hope that someday you can see her again.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Ohio - 2016 (21 Years Later)

The peaceful ambiance of the late evening is pierced by the gentle chime of the bell hanging above the entrance to the hair salon, announcing the arrival of an unexpected visitor.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” you call out, your eyes still fixed on the task of sweeping the floor.

A familiar voice responds, breaking through your concentration. 

“What about for an old friend?”

Instantly, you freeze in your movements and look up at the visitor, disbelief flooding your senses as you recognize the voice and then the face of the woman. 

"Nat?" you utter in disbelief.

Natasha stands before you, a soft smile gracing her features as she greets you. 

“Hey, Y/n.”

Abandoning everything in your hands, you rush towards her, only to stop short of barreling into her when you remember how she felt about her personal space. 

To your surprise, Natasha pulls you into her arms for a tight hug, breaking the barrier herself.

Momentarily stunned, you quickly recover and return her warm embrace, tucking your head against her shoulder and letting out a breath of disbelief that she’s actually here in front of you.

The two of you stay in that position, reveling in your reunion with each other, before Natasha breaks the silence with a soft murmur against your shoulder.

“So, about that haircut?”

You chuckle, nodding in response to her request.

As Natasha settles into a chair, you move to secure the salon, locking the door and closing the blinds, shielding the two of you from prying eyes. 

Despite the late hour and remote location, you’re not taking any chances. 

Even though it has been years since you last saw Natasha in person, that doesn’t mean you didn’t eventually discover who she really was, recognizing her immediately through the news during the attack in New York and now with her current predicament.

But that’s her business. 

You’re not going to bring it up unless she wants to talk about it. 

Here in this moment, she's not a spy or the Black Widow. She’s simply Natasha, your friend. 

And right now, she wants to change her hair.

Taking your position behind her, you place your hands on the back of the chair and meet her eyes in the mirror. 

“So, what are we thinking?”

Natasha ponders for a moment before a teasing grin lights up her face, and she turns her head to look at you. 

"We could attempt the platinum blonde again, maybe without the blue this time?"

You roll your eyes and shake your head with a laugh of disbelief at the memory of your past failed attempt at dyeing her hair.

Before you begin, you give her the same questioning look as when you were younger, silently asking for permission to touch her.

A small smile forms on her face at the familiar request, and Natasha nods to you before facing forward once again to give you access to her hair. 

With her consent, your fingers gently thread through her hair, delicately brushing out the tangled areas as you go. 

As you continue your actions, Natasha’s eyes flutter closed, and a relaxed expression crosses her face as the tension in her shoulder eases with every movement.

A happy smile tugs at your lips when you see this, so you continue your soothing actions as you inspect the condition of her hair.

“What did you do?” you ask in concern when you realize the state of her hair. “The ends are all burnt up. Did you light your hair on fire or something?”

Natasha chuckles lightly, her eyes still closed as she responds.

“Not exactly. I jumped off an exploding secret evil base that was floating in the sky.”

A brief pause follows as you process her words before you release a huff of disbelief at her casual explanation. 

“Well, obviously one of us has chosen the more exciting career.”

You finish your assessment of the extent of damage to her hair before shaking your head with a resigned sigh.

“I don’t think these are salvageable. We might need to cut most of it off.”

“That’s fine,” Natasha answers calmly, unconcerned by the news.

“Seriously?” you ask, making sure she sees the length of how short her hair will be.

She meets your eyes in the mirror and gives you a reassuring nod.

“It’s not like I haven’t had that style before,” Natasha reasons before letting out a tired sigh. “Besides, a different look for me is probably better at the moment anyway.”

Understanding what she’s referring to, you don’t press further, replying with a soft, “Okay.”

You proceed with the transformation, draping a cape around Natasha’s shoulders before delicately combing through her hair.

With each snip of the scissors, you work meticulously with care, shaping Natasha’s hair into a style that would best complement her features. 

Lost in your task, you can’t help but be captivated by her beauty, understanding how she came to be described as the spy who captures the hearts of all those who encounter her.

As you finish up with the haircut, the peaceful atmosphere of the moment is shattered by an alert from the tv, interrupting the currently airing program. 

The late-night news anchor appears on the screen, delivering the all-too-familiar message that has become a nightly ritual.

“The search efforts are still ongoing for the fugitives Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff, also known as Captain America and the Black Widow. The two are currently on the run for violation of the Sokovia Accords. Any information regarding their possible whereabouts should be reported to—” 

With a frown, you swiftly reach for the remote and shut off the tv. 

Turning back, your frown deepens when you find Natasha rising from the chair.

“What are you doing?” you question, puzzled by her sudden action.

Natasha shakes her head with a grave expression as she removes the cape from her shoulders.

“This was reckless. I shouldn’t be here,” she answers, her voice filled with regret. “I’m just putting you at risk.” 

Realizing her intention to leave because of the possible dangers of her presence, you interject firmly when she strides past you toward the exit. 

"I'm glad that you did."

Your unexpected words cause her to pause in her tracks, confusion flickering across her face as she turns to meet your gaze.

"I don't care about the risks, Nat," you say, your tone unwavering and softening with a small smile at her. 

“I’m glad that I got a chance to see you again.”

Natasha’s eyes widen slightly at your words, but a hesitant look still remains on her face, so you offer another reassurance.

“If I didn’t want you here, I would’ve told you to go already.”

Her gaze focuses on you in contemplation, and you know she’s almost convinced, prompting you to continue, your hand turning the chair around to her in invitation.

“Besides, I’m not finished yet. I still have to dye your hair and show you that I can get the color right this time,” you tease lightly.

A small smile tugs at Natasha’s lips, and a hint of amusement appears in her eyes as they soften into a fond look at you. 

With one final contemplative glance to the exit, Natasha comes to a decision and gives in, settling back into the seat again.

“Alright, show me what you got.”

With her permission granted, you proceed with the dyeing process, your fingers moving with practiced ease as you bleach and tone her hair, removing the remnants of her signature vibrant red locks, before applying the blonde dye. 

Your brows furrowed in concentration as you carefully coat each strand of her hair to ensure an even color in the end. 

Meanwhile, throughout the process, Natasha watches you intently through the mirror, a tiny admiring smile pulls at the corner of her lips when she sees how focused you are on your work.

Once all that’s left is to wait for the dye to set, you disappear into the back of the salon in search of some snacks and return triumphantly with a tub of ice cream. 

Offering Natasha a spoon with a playful grin, you both indulge in the sweet treat, the casual banter flowing effortlessly between you as if the years apart had never existed.

“So do you still live in the same neighborhood?” Natasha asks between spoonfuls.

You shake your head, explaining, “My parents are still there, but I moved out here years ago after fixing up this building for myself. My place is actually next door, though sometimes it’s hard to tell these are two separate buildings. You have no idea how many packages I end up never receiving because the mailman can’t find my home.”

The two of you share a laugh and continue reminiscing about past adventures and mishaps and then about your current lives.

Throughout the entire time, your questions to her remain light-hearted, carefully avoiding any mention of her current situation or her mysterious past.

Despite the happy atmosphere, your consideration for her only makes the sense of guilt within Natasha grow with each passing moment, reminding her of what she put you through.

Eventually, the room falls into a comfortable quiet as you clean up the empty containers and move to throw them away. 

When you return, Natasha decides to address her mistakes and the role she played in the fracture of your friendship.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

You look at her with a perplexed look, tilting your head in confusion.

“For what?” you ask.

“For not telling you who I was…for leaving without any warning,” she confesses, her eyes closing briefly with remorse. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You lean back against the counter, arms crossed, your gaze dropping to the floor as you contemplate her words. Your thoughts and feelings about her apology remain inscrutable on your face. 

After a brief pause, you finally meet her gaze again with a serious expression.

“Was it real?” you ask.

At your question, Natasha furrows her brows in confusion, causing you to elaborate.

“Our friendship,” you clarify, gesturing between the two of you. “All the times we spent together…was it real?”

Natasha pauses as she thinks back to her time undercover. The mission was to pose as a normal family to infiltrate and gather intel from a research lab nearby. 

That didn’t necessarily mean she needed to form such a close relationship with you at the time. 

So was her friendship with you genuinely her choice?

As Natasha contemplates her answer, you take a step closer to her, causing her focus to return back to you.

“The way I remember it, I wanted to be your friend,” you admit before giving her a knowing look. “And I’m guessing you didn’t have to be mine, at least based on all your brooding and glares that you gave me in the beginning.”

Natasha grimaces sadly at the memory of how distant and cold she was initially before giving you a curious look.

“So why did you try to become friends with me?”

You shrug, a nostalgic expression appearing on your face. You recall the first time you spotted the lone girl curled up into herself underneath the shelter of the branches of the trees.  

“When I first saw you, you just…looked like you needed somebody on your side for once,” you admit softly before tilting your head at her. “And I thought… maybe I could be that person for you.”

Natasha’s mouth parts slightly in surprise at your answer. Before she can respond, her stunned silence is abruptly broken by the sound of the timer. 

With a gentle shake of your head, you return your focus to her hair, positioning yourself behind her.

“You don't have to apologize, Natasha,” you assure her, your voice steady and comforting, as you delicately begin to unwrap her hair. 

“Odds are I would’ve still chosen to be your friend whether I knew if you were a spy or not. And as for leaving…”

You recline her chair, her head now hovering above the washing station, as you let out a soft sad sigh and begin washing her hair.  

“People come and go throughout our lives all of the time. And most of the time, we can’t stop it from happening.”

Your voice wavers slightly, the memories of the devastation you felt when you found out Natasha had left come flooding back. 

Even though she wants to, Natasha can’t see what kind of expression you have on your face, your hand covering her eyes to shield the water from her face.

Shaking off the sad memory, you dry her hair and reposition Natasha upright. Your fingers glide through her newly shortened locks, combing them as you continue with a lighter and more upbeat tone.

“But the one thing we can do is hope that the people who truly mean something to us are the ones we’ll get to see again.”

Satisfied with the results of Natasha’s new hairstyle, your hands settle on the back of the chair, turning it so she faces the mirror.

Bending down, your head hovers beside hers as you meet her eyes in the reflection.

“And look, I got to see you again, didn’t I?” you say with a happy grin.

Natasha is stunned, her heart warmed by your words. She gazes at her reflection, admiring her new look, but her eyes keep returning to you, your words still echoing in her mind.

Oblivious to her awed stares at you, you return your focus to brushing her hair and examining it proudly.

“Do you like it?” you ask eagerly with anticipation when you finally look up back at her. 

“Yeah,” Natasha responds honestly, her gaze fixed on you. “I do.”

You give her a beaming smile at her answer, causing the corners of Natasha’s lip to quirk up fondly at the sight. 

After you do your finishing touches and declare that she’s done, Natasha stands from the chair and reaches into her pockets for the remaining money she still has on hand.

“How much do I owe?”

You wave your hand in refusal, shaking your head.

“Nothing, consider it a gift from a friend,” you insist, giving her a resolute expression, daring her to argue.

Huffing lightly under her breath at your determination, Natasha gives you a small smile as she relents with a soft, “Thank you.”

Her eyes glance at the darkness outside, seeing how late into the night it is, and she turns back to you, tilting her head in question.

“Can I at least walk you home then?” she offers.

You raise an amused brow at her, probably because your home most likely only takes less than a couple minutes walk from here. 

Still, you agree to her request with a nod, unable to resist the opportunity to prolong this time together with her.

“Alright. Let me just close up.”

After you lock the shop, the two of you walk side by side along the sidewalk to your home before you suddenly stop and point to the lone motorcycle parked across the street.

“Is that yours?” you ask curiously.

“Yes, it is,” Natasha says proudly.

“It’s nice,” you compliment before you shoot her a teasing smirk. “It’s definitely cooler than that bicycle you used to ride.”

Natasha lets out a playful offended scoff in disbelief.

“Hey, you’ve always loved it when I let you ride on the back of that bike with me,” she points out.

You chuckle at her exclamation in defense of her precious bicycle, but you don’t deny her accusation.

Your heart warms at the memory of wrapping your arms around her waist, clinging to her from behind as Natasha rides her bicycle down the neighborhood streets.

Your eyes linger on her hand at her side, wanting to feel that warmth again, but you resist the urge to reach for her. Instead, you tuck your hands behind your back as the two of you continue your path.

Once you reach your front door, you turn back around to face Natasha, a somber expression settling over you.

“Will you ever come to visit again?” you ask with a tinge of hope in your tone.

Natasha hesitates, wanting to tell you ‘yes,’ but she knows better than to make promises that she can’t keep, especially with her current situation. 

“I don’t know,” Natasha answers honestly in a soft whisper. 

You dip your head slightly, a sad smile on your lip.

Natasha swallows her own desires in her heart and gestures awkwardly behind her.

“I should…probably get going before someone sees me,” she says with a small grimace.

You nod at her in understanding, moving to unlock and open your door.

“Stay safe, Natasha,” you tell her, your voice thick with longing. “If anything, I do hope I’ll get the chance to see you again one day.” 

When you enter your home and close the door with a dull thud of finality, Natasha's hand rests gently against the solid barrier separating you. 

Leaning her forehead against the cool wood, she whispers sadly, "Me too,” before finally turning away.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Ohio - 2016 (2 Months Later)

It was late one evening again when the bell above the door chimed just as you were cleaning up for the day. Looking up, a surprised and excited expression forms on your face when you see who it is.

“Can you take one more?” Natasha asks, a small smile also appearing on her face when she sees you.

With a light chuckle, you approach her, your hands clasped behind your back.

“For you, always,” you reply warmly, stopping in front of her with a fond tilt of your head.

Natasha bites her lips lightly to keep her grin from widening at your words. Just as she’s about to step closer, a gentle knock on the door behind her reminds her of her original reason for coming to see you.

“Actually, it’s not for me though,” Natasha explains before opening the door again and waving someone in.

A brown-haired girl cautiously steps into the salon at Natasha’s invitation. Her eyes look around, examining the room before falling on you with a wary gaze.

“This is Wanda,” Natasha introduces. 

The girl gives you a timid wave in greeting from her crossed arm, but she subtly retreats to a position slightly behind Natasha. 

Her expression is pinched with apprehension as if she’s anticipating some sort of reaction from you.

You recognize Wanda quickly from the nightly tv alerts, her picture now featured alongside Natasha’s after the news broke about a high-security prison break a month ago.

Before you can offer her some reassurance, another familiar face walks in.

“The perimeter is secure,” the man announces before focusing on you and extending his hand in a greeting. “Hello, I’m Steve.”

Reacting instinctively to his polite greeting, you shake his hand and introduce yourself. 

“Hi, my name’s Y/n. I’m Natasha’s friend.”

Steve raises a brow at that and gives you a skeptical look.

“Just a friend? With the way Nat talks about you, I thought she was going to pull the same move as Barton and introduce us to her secret family.”

That draws a curious look from you as you ask him.

“What did she say?”

“Well—”

A loud cough from Natasha interrupts your conversation, drawing your attention before he can continue further.

Natasha’s subtle glare silences Steve, her arms crossed in disapproval, as she grits out to him, “Didn’t you say you wanted to see if you could find a place to resupply?”

Hearing this and wanting to offer some help, you raise your hand to get their attention and interject, “Most places around here are closed at this time, but…” 

You pause as you go to the back and retrieve your keys and offer them to Steve, explaining, “...there is a convenience store around the corner that belongs to my ex’s grandparents. They gave me a spare key for if I ever need something. Just write down what you take and leave the money behind the counter. Oh, and the security cameras don’t actually work, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Steve takes the keys from you with a grateful nod. 

“Thank you, this’ll help us out a lot.”

He then turns to Natasha and Wanda.

“I'll meet up with you two when you finish up here then,” he says, heading towards the door.

“I can come help you,” Wanda offers, moving to follow Steve, but Natasha blocks her path with a knowing expression.

“You said you wanted to change your look since we’ll be going into hiding,” she reminds Wanda who twists her lips in disappointment when she realizes she failed to escape.

“I didn’t think that meant we would be forcing someone to do it for me,” Wanda says, still glancing at you with apprehension.

You wave your hand in reassurance, interjecting quickly, “Oh, I don’t mind. Natasha’s not forcing me to do this. I’m happy to help.”

“Well, that’s settled then,” Steve declares with an acknowledging nod to you. “Thanks again, Y/n.”

After a pointed gesture from Natasha, Wanda settles into one of the chairs with a small sigh.

Natasha leans against the counter facing you and Wanda as you move to your position behind the chair.

“So, what color did you want to dye your hair?” you ask her.

“It doesn’t matter,” Wanda replies with a resigned tone, her eyes downcasted and focused on her hands in her lap.

You frown slightly in concern at her defeated attitude, and you look at Natasha, giving her a meaningful look.

“What do you think, Natasha? I believe I got some new colors recently. Maybe purple or green would fit her,” you ponder out loud as if actually considering those options.

Wanda’s head shoots up in shock as she sputters incredulously, “Green?”

Natasha grins, catching on to your intentions, as she shrugs casually at your suggestions, adding, “You could never go wrong with blue.” 

You laugh at her comment, nodding in agreement.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Wanda says quickly, a hint of exasperation in her voice. She points seriously at the two of you. “No to all those. I don’t want it to be that big of a change.”

Her voice lowers to a sad but determined tone.

“I don’t want it to be as if they succeeded in forcing me to change who I am,” Wanda admits as she stares down at her hands where a red ball of mist flows between her fingers in a gentle pattern.

“Well, the great thing about changing your hair is that ultimately whatever you decide, it’s your choice to make,” you say, your gaze meeting Natasha’s slightly widened eyes, before continuing firmly, “No one can take that decision from you.”

Wanda contemplates your words for a moment and then nods at you decisively.

“Can you lighten my hair into an auburn color?” she asks.

You give her a gentle smile and nod, replying, “Alright then. Auburn it is.”

Before you touch her hair, you give her a questioning look and ask, “Are you comfortable for me to touch your hair and start?”

Wanda blinks at you in surprise, and her tense posture relaxes slightly when she realizes you’re asking for her permission.

With a nod, she responds softly, “Go ahead.”

As you work on Wanda’s hair, Natasha watches you intently with a fond look in her eyes, lost in her thoughts at the sight of you and glad that she had this opportunity to see you again.

Before she knows it, you’re already finishing up applying the last coatings of the dye on Wanda’s hair when you suddenly speak up.

“You know, I’ve always had a soft spot for redheads,” you state casually before meeting Natasha’s eyes with a teasing smile.

“Are you trying to say that you don’t have a soft spot for me now that I’m blonde?” Natasha asks with an amused raise of a brow.

You shrug nonchalantly and hum in thought as if having to contemplate the answer.

Natasha huffs in disbelief and rolls her eyes slightly at you.

However, your words remind her of what you mentioned earlier to Steve, and Natasha can’t help but ask curiously.

“Was your ex also a redhead?” she asks, her tone seemingly casual.

“Impressive, your deduction skills as a spy must be really good,” you tease, chuckling lightly, as you return your focus to Wanda’s hair.

“The two of you must’ve been pretty serious for their grandparents to still trust you like that,” Natasha says, unable to hide the slight bitterness of the thought slipping into her tone.

You laugh and shake your head quickly in denial.

“No, definitely not. She moved away years ago, and our relationship didn’t really end on good terms. My close relationship with her grandparents is kind of like my revenge on her. Plus, they’re actually a sweet old couple.”

“Oh,” Natasha says, a small breath of relief releasing from her.

“I’m not really seeing anyone at the moment,” you admit softly.

“Natasha’s single too,” Wanda chimes in, her focus originally on the sitcom playing on the tv but now looking between the two of you with interest.

“That’s a surprise,” you say with a laugh as you go into the back to retrieve some things.

Natasha chuckles lightly as you leave before giving Wanda the same warning glare that she gave Steve. Unfazed, Wanda just gestures with her head encouragingly in your direction.

However, Natasha shakes her head resolutely in a silent reply to her, and before Wanda can attempt to convince her further, you come back and begin doing the last steps on Wanda’s hair.

With one final brush of Wanda’s newly red hair, you declare happily, “All finished.”

“Thanks, Y/n,” Wanda says as she stands from the chair and goes to examine her hair in the mirror.

You watch as a small smile appears on her face, and you let out a breath of relief, glad to finally see Wanda in a moment of happiness. 

Natasha comes up next to you and holds out some money in an offer. 

“Thank you for doing this,” Natasha says.

You shake your head in refusal, your hands folded behind you as you face her.

“I’m sure you all need this more than I do,” you say resolutely.

Natasha chuckles lightly and huffs in disbelief.

“You know, you can’t always give me free passes like this every time. You should be paid for your work,” Natasha points out.

You hum in thought before tilting your head at her with a questioning look.

“How about dinner?” you suggest.

A surprised expression appears on Natasha’s face, but she hesitates to answer, facing the same situation again of wanting to accept your offer, but a beep at her side along with the message that comes with it reminds her why she can’t.

“Steve’s on his way back. I have to take Wanda back to the safe house and then we’re moving right after,” she explains sadly with regret. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Nat. I know,” you say gently in understanding, taking a small step back from her and changing your tone into one lighter. 

“But if you’re ever in the area again, you’re always welcome here.” 

You turn to look at Wanda, adding, “All of you.”

“Can I walk you back home at least?” Natasha asks.

Before you can respond, the sound of a car pulling up outside catches your attention, and based on Natasha’s disappointed expression, you know that’s probably Steve.

“It’s okay, Natasha. You can go,” you reassure her, offering a comforting smile.

Wanda gives you a small wave goodbye as she exits, but Natasha lingers at the door, her gaze fixed on you.

“About before…” she starts before hesitating and trailing off into silence as she presses her lips together in contemplation.

When her shoulder drops slightly in defeat and disappointment, you know she’s decided against whatever she’s about to say.

“You can just tell me later,” you suggest. “You know, whenever I get to see you again.”

Though you both know that you don’t know when that’ll be.

“Right,” Natasha agrees, her smile tinged with sadness as she gives you one last glance and moving to leave. “I’ll see you next time, Y/n.”

After closing up, you head home, the events of the evening replaying in your mind.

Though the goodbye was bittersweet, you’re still happy you got a chance to see Natasha again so soon and even meet the other important people in her life.

As you step out of your bathroom, just finished with a shower, a knock on your door interrupts your thoughts. 

You check who it is before quickly unlocking and opening the door for them.

“Hey…” Natasha’s voice trails off, her gaze taking in your appearance. 

Remnants of water from the shower still remain on your exposed skin since you decided to wear some light clothing to counter the warm temperature outside.

Leaning against the doorway, you greet her with a curious tilt of your head at her sudden silence.

“Hey,” you reply in greeting.

Natasha shakes her head lightly as if coming out of a daze and gestures in a direction behind her.

“So, uh, Steve said that he can take Wanda back to the safe house. She really loves her hair by the way. Um, she also told me that I should..uh..I should see you again before we leave…”

Your lips twitch in amusement at Natasha’s endearing ramble, your gaze softening as you continue to listen.

“…but it looks like you’re probably about to go to sleep, so I should just go,” Natasha concludes, turning to leave.

“Wait,” you call out, your hand instinctively reaching towards her, but you stop yourself before you touch her, your hand retracting back to your side, a mixture of hesitation and longing in your movements.

Natasha pauses at your request, and when she sees your hesitating action, her features soften in understanding.

Stepping back closer to you, she extends her hand in invitation.

“You can touch me, Y/n,” Natasha reassures you. “I never have a problem if it’s you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, touched by her trust. 

Tentatively, you reach out, your hand finding hers, before checking for any signs of discomfort but end up seeing none from her. 

Your hand then trails up lightly to her shoulder and then to the back of her neck, your fingers play with the strands of her short hair as you watch her carefully.

Natasha closes her eyes at your touch, the same serene expression appearing on her face as before.

Seeing this, you bring your other hand to cup her cheek as you urge gently.

“What was it that you wanted to tell me earlier?” 

Natasha opens her eyes and meets your gaze with an affectionate look, her hand moving up to hold the back of yours as she responds.

“That it was real,” she confesses softly.

You furrow your brows lightly in confusion, prompting Natasha to clarify.

“Your question from before,” she explains. “It was real for me too.”

Natasha lets out a shaky breath as she continues, “I loved that I had you on my side back then, and the truth is…I’d love to have you by my side now.”

Surprised by her admission, you search her eyes but only find genuine warmth and sincerity in her gaze. 

Natasha’s smile softens, and you find yourself drawn to her at the action, unconsciously leaning in closer.

Even though Natasha gave you permission earlier to touch her, this desire that you have is different, so you give her the same questioning look that you always have before and ask hesitantly in a breathless whisper.

“Can I kiss you?”

Natasha chuckles lightly under her breath at your question, resting her forehead against yours.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

With a gentle pull, you close the small distance between the two of you, sharing a tender kiss with her. Her lips are soft against yours, fitting perfectly and enveloping you with the same warmth that you've always felt from her.

When you finally pull away, your breath still mingling with hers, Natasha gives you a teasing grin.

“So, about that dinner?” 

Laughing, you roll your eyes fondly and wrap your arms around her to pull her into your home.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Ohio - 2018 (2 Years Later)

The soft rustling of movement reaches your ears, pulling you from your sleep. You glance at the clock on the nightstand, its dim glow showing the late hour, before turning your gaze to the familiar figure standing beside the bed, quietly slipping her shirt over her frame with practiced ease. 

“Nat?”

At the sound of your voice, Natasha turns back to you, her expression reassuring as she moves to sit beside you. Her hand rests gently on your shoulder, stopping you when she sees that you’re about to sit up.

“Go back to sleep, moya lyubov,” Natasha whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your head. “Wanda and Vision missed their check-in, so Steve and I are just going to check up on them real quick.”

A flicker of unease flares within you at the news, coupled with the realization that Natasha intends to go straight toward potential unknown dangers.

Your hand reaches out and grips her arms, a surge of unsettling fear tightening in your chest. 

“Natasha, don’t…” 

Don’t go 

The words are trapped in your throat as you stare at her. 

Holding your gaze, Natasha’s eyes reflect both love and determination. 

Love for you…and for her makeshift family.

And as much as you wish for her safety, you know you can’t keep her from her loyalty and duty to them.

With a bittersweet smile, you cradle her face in your hands, suppressing the selfish urge to ask her to stay.

“Don’t take too long to come back,” you manage, a hint of teasing in your voice as you catch a strand of her blonde hair in your hand. “We wouldn’t want your hair to be two different colors by the time you return.”

Natasha chuckles lightly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss on your lips.

“It’s going to be a quick trip. I’ll be back soon,” she promises.

You pull her close, giving her another lingering kiss, before wrapping your arms around her in a tight hug and tucking your head against her shoulder. 

“And I’ll be here when you do,” you whisper against her in a promise in return.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Ohio - 2023 (5 Years Later)

In the quiet solitude of the salon, Natasha stands alone, the weight of the five years after the snap hangs heavy in the air. 

A mixture of exhaustion and sorrow is etched on her face as she examines the space.

With a weary sigh, she rubs at her eyes, wiping away the stray tears at the memories of you. She remembers vividly her last moments with you, your unspoken words to her. 

The truth is she knew, deep down, what you were about to say to her at that time. And she understood why you stopped yourself. 

Because if you had asked her not to go, she would’ve chosen to stay with you without any hesitation.

Seating herself in one of the chairs, Natasha meets her reflection in the mirror with unwavering determination.

Her hair has grown out to its former length over the past five years. Yet, traces of the dyed parts you did for her still linger at the tips. 

Those strands of blonde color are her lifeline — a connection to the part of her life that she holds dear. 

They serve as a constant reminder to keep going.

To keep fighting for a way to bring everyone back. 

To bring you back. 

Because amidst all the uncertainties of the world and the future, one thing remains steadfast in Natasha’s heart — she would do anything to see you again.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n : Thank you for reading!

Part 2

[writingbuckets]

The Hot Take: Part 3

paige bueckers x influencer!reader

wc: 2.8k

a/n: the only thing i have to say is that i shocked myself with my flirting... enjoy!

**********

After your night at the game, it feels like the internet has exploded. Your mentions are on fire with fans on both sides—some praising your brutal honesty about Paige, others calling you out for downplaying her talent. It’s only natural that you decide to dedicate an entire podcast episode to the experience.

You settle into your recording setup, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves—after all, tonight is a first. Across the table sits Paige Bueckers, cool and composed, though you catch a hint of mischief in her eyes as she adjusts her mic. You take a deep breath and lean in, grinning at your co-host before addressing the audience.

“Welcome back to The Hot Take! And tonight, we’re in for a treat. As you’ve probably guessed, we’ve got a special guest in the studio… the one, the only, Paige Bueckers!” You gesture toward her dramatically, and your co-host plays a quick soundbite of applause and crowd cheers, adding to the show’s theatrics.

Paige laughs, crossing her arms as she glances at you. “The crowd goes wild. I didn’t think you’d actually let me come on here, considering all the things you’ve said about me.”

You shoot her a mock-offended look. “What things? I’m nothing if not fair and unbiased.”

She raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eye. “Oh, totally. Because your comment was so fair and unbiased.”

Your co-host snickers. “Well, Paige, you’re in the right place if you want to get your revenge. Y/N here is known for her ‘brutal honesty.’ But hey, tonight might be a chance for you to change her mind.”

“Is that a challenge?” Paige asks, leaning forward, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Depends. You think you’re up for it?” you reply, meeting her eyes head-on, enjoying the charge of the challenge between you two.

“Oh, I’m always up for a challenge,” she responds smoothly, flashing a grin that has you momentarily caught off guard.

Your co-host breaks the tension with a laugh. “Alright, alright, let’s jump right in. Y/N, you’ve had plenty to say about Paige in the past. Care to share some of those hot takes now that she’s here to defend herself?”

You clear your throat, trying to hide your smirk. “Alright, let’s get one thing straight,” you say, addressing both the mic and Paige. “As much as it pains me to admit this…” You pause dramatically, shooting a look her way. “Bueckers actually impressed me the other night.”

Paige raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Really? I didn’t think you’d ever admit that.”

“I know, it’s shocking, but credit where credit’s due,” you continue. “I mean, you’re quick on the court, you know your angles, and—dare I say it—you know how to work a crowd.”

Paige laughs, eyes dancing with mischief. “Oh, so you were paying attention. Here I was, thinking you came just to judge.”

“Oh, I absolutely came to judge,” you reply, grinning. “But I also got to see you actually back it up with skill. It was… not as overrated as I’d assumed.” You shoot her a wink, and she laughs, shaking her head.

“High praise,” she replies, feigning a look of being overwhelmed. “I didn’t realize tonight was all about showering me with compliments.”

Your co-host jumps in, clearly amused by the dynamic. “Wait, Y/N, are you actually going soft? Compliments? Feeling a little flustered, maybe?”

You shake your head, grinning. “Don’t get it twisted. I’m just saying, maybe I underestimated you.” You turn to Paige. “Don’t let it go to your head, though. I’m not here to just hype you up.”

Paige leans back in her chair, looking entirely at ease. “Don’t worry. I can handle a little constructive criticism. Hit me with your best shot.”

You take the opportunity, leaning forward with a smirk. “Alright, if you insist. Here’s my take: For all that talent, you could be a bit more creative with your moves. Sometimes it feels like you rely on what’s tried and true instead of taking risks.”

She smirks back. “And sometimes critics don’t realize the importance of consistency,” she counters smoothly. “Winning isn’t about impressing people—it’s about doing what works.”

“Touché,” you reply, though you’re secretly impressed by her response. You decide to press a little further. “Alright, so if it’s all about winning, how do you handle the pressure that comes with it? Isn’t there a part of you that wants to switch things up now and then?”

Paige leans forward, crossing her arms on the table. “I get that all the time. But you know, winning takes priority. Switching things up? That’s for off the court.” Her gaze holds yours, and for a second, you wonder if she’s talking about more than just basketball.

Your co-host notices the silent exchange and interrupts with a grin. “Okay, okay, I feel like there’s a whole vibe happening here that I did not sign up for!”

The comment pulls you back, and you laugh, brushing it off. “Nothing happening here,” you insist, stealing a quick glance at Paige.

Paige holds back a smirk, shrugging. “Sure, whatever you say.” But the gleam in her eye says otherwise.

Trying to keep things on track, you steer the conversation back to basketball, although the flirtatious edge remains. “Alright, Bueckers, one more thing. I’ll admit, you’ve got talent. But do you ever worry about being put in a box? People see you a certain way, and that’s how they’ll always see you.”

Paige pauses, and for a moment, the playful banter takes on a serious note. “Yeah, I get that. People think they know you, based on what they see online or on the court. But the truth is, they’re only seeing one side.”

It’s unexpectedly candid, and you nod, finding a bit of yourself in her answer. “Yeah. I get that. People always think they know everything from what they see online, but there’s always more, right?”

Paige’s gaze softens just slightly, and she nods. “Exactly. Sometimes I think it would be nice if people saw more than the ‘player’ version of me.”

You raise an eyebrow, catching the hint in her tone. “So… what would that look like, Bueckers?”

She gives you a playful smirk, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe you’ll find out if you’re lucky.”

Your co-host interjects, clearly amused. “Did I miss something here, or is this turning into a date?”

Both you and Paige laugh, shaking your heads in sync. “Not quite,” you say quickly, though your heart skips a beat.

Before wrapping up, you give Paige the last word. “Alright, Bueckers, we’ve had our fun. Any final words for our listeners?”

She leans toward the mic, glancing at you with a grin. “Only that this isn’t the last time you’ll hear from me, Y/N. I’m sticking around to make sure you don’t underestimate me again.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Well, bring your best game, then. I’ll be ready.”

The episode wraps up with lingering tension and the audience buzzing with intrigue, speculating wildly in the comments and social media. As you both step away from the mics, Paige meets your gaze with a small smile.

“Nice job,” she says, extending a hand.

You shake it, feeling the warmth of her grip, the playful energy still sparking between you. “Likewise, Bueckers. Just don’t expect me to go easy on you next time.”

She gives you a wink. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

**********

Not even an hour after the episode goes live, the reactions flood in. Your notifications blow up with fire emojis, heart-eyes, and endless comments as fans dissect every word, every sly look you exchanged with Paige, and every playful jab you threw her way. People seem to be either thrilled by your shift in tone or mourning the sharper edge of your usual critique. But there’s one thing they all seem to agree on—your chemistry with Paige was undeniable, and they’re dying to see where this dynamic goes next.

Then come the memes: screenshots of you glancing at Paige with a mix of disbelief and amusement, clips from older episodes where you roasted her, and side-by-sides comparing your expressions with Paige’s iconic moments on the court. One of your favorites is a split image of you with an exaggerated, eye-rolling expression, paired with Paige’s confident smirk from one of her highlight games. People are clearly having a field day, and you find yourself chuckling at the creativity as you scroll through the tag.

But just as you’re considering logging off for the night, a notification grabs your attention. It’s a comment from none other than Paige herself.

@PaigeBueckers: “Glad to see you’re finally catching on, Y/N. Game recognizes game, right? 😏”

You smirk, typing back a quick reply.

@notY/N: “Don’t get too comfortable, Bueckers. I’m just warming up. 😏”

Paige responds almost instantly, and suddenly, it’s a back-and-forth on full display for everyone to see.

@PaigeBueckers: “Comfortable? Nah. Just giving you something to talk about on that next episode of yours.”

@notY/N: “Who says you’re interesting enough for a second episode?”

@PaigeBueckers: “Guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong, then. Challenge accepted?”

The thread quickly spirals as fans jump in, hyping up every comment exchange, adding their own captions, and stirring up theories about your “rivalry.” By the time you close the app, #YNPBChallenge is trending, with people eagerly waiting for your next move. And though you won’t admit it, you’re already curious about hers.

Within hours, sports outlets start covering the “feud.” Clips of your episode circulate, paired with screenshots of Paige’s comments. Twitter is filled with fans trying to decode every little interaction, with hashtags like #PaigeAndY/N and #RivalryGoals popping up as the top trends. Some fans eagerly ship you and Paige, while others are taking sides, wanting to see if your critique holds up in future episodes.

Some of Paige’s teammates even get in on the fun, teasing her about the exchanges. Azzi Fudd, in particular, tweets, “So… when’s the first date, @paigebueckers? 👀”

You laugh when you see it, because of course Paige’s friends would be watching the whole thing unfold. You decide to add your own little stir to the pot.

Replying to Azzi’s tweet, you type, “First date? I think she’d need to step up her game a bit first.”

Not even a minute later, Paige replies to you directly: “Challenge accepted.”

The thread is flooded with reactions, and for a moment, it’s as if the entire internet is watching you two flirt in real time. You know it’s all in good fun, but there’s an undeniable thrill to it.

After the whirlwind of social media reactions, you finally step away from your phone, still replaying the day’s events. There’s an undeniable energy to this back-and-forth with Paige. Even through playful jabs and witty comebacks, there’s something deeper simmering—something that leaves you more curious than you’d like to admit.

Just as you’re about to call it a night, a new notification lights up your screen: a direct message from Paige herself. You hesitate for a moment, feeling an odd mix of excitement and nerves, and then finally open it.

Paige: “So… I’m dying to know—did you expect all of this to blow up the way it did?”

Her message catches you off guard. You’d expected something more competitive, maybe another cheeky comment. But this question feels more open, almost as if she’s genuinely curious about your perspective on all this unexpected attention.

Y/N: “Honestly? Not at all. I mean, I’m used to a little backlash, but this? Everyone’s treating it like it’s the story of the year.”

Paige: “Right? It’s kind of insane, but I have to say, you seem to handle it like a pro.”

A smile tugs at your lips. The words are simple enough, but there’s a warmth there, a hint of respect that takes you by surprise. You hadn’t expected Paige to be this down-to-earth.

Y/N: “I guess that’s part of the job, right? You get used to it, even when it’s… unexpected.”

Paige: “Guess we both know what that’s like. I mean, people see us a certain way, but they don’t really get the whole picture.”

Her message resonates with you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. It’s something you’ve thought about often—the assumptions people make, the way fans and critics alike paint you in broad strokes, not really seeing the person underneath. The more you think about it, the more you realize that Paige might understand that better than most.

Y/N: “True. Everyone thinks they know us based on what they see online, but there’s a lot that doesn’t make the highlight reel, right?”

Paige: “Exactly. It’s easy to play a role, keep it simple. But sometimes, it’s nice to just be real with someone who gets it.”

There’s a pause, a subtle weight to her words that makes you wonder if this is just harmless banter, or something more.

Y/N: “So, you’re saying I’m good enough to get the ‘real’ Paige Bueckers?”

Paige: “I’m saying maybe you’re not as overrated as you think you are, Y/N.”

You can’t help but laugh, the slight warmth of her compliment balanced by her usual dose of teasing. But even as the conversation winds down, a part of you can’t shake the feeling that this might be the start of something… different. The back-and-forth, the playful ribbing—it’s beginning to feel like more than just banter.

You let out a soft laugh, staring at the screen a little longer than you meant to, absorbing Paige’s last message. You’d expected a snarky retort, maybe a playful jab, but this? This is something else, something that has you wondering if she’s just as curious as you are. Before you can overthink it, you decide to keep the conversation going.

Y/N: “Alright, I’ll take that as a compliment—coming from someone who’s probably had a lifetime supply of them.”

Paige: “You’d think so, but it’s funny how most of them don’t mean much. I think I’ve just gotten good at smiling and nodding.”

Her honesty catches you off guard. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability, one that’s different from the playful façade you’d seen at the game and in her comments. You find yourself softening, recognizing a piece of yourself in her words.

Y/N: “I get it. People are quick to build you up, but they don’t always see the work behind it. Or the stuff you keep off-camera.”

Paige: “Exactly. Sometimes it feels like it’s just about meeting everyone’s expectations.”

You feel a pang of understanding. Despite the banter, the jabs, you realize there’s a part of her that just wants to be seen for more than the hype, more than the image fans have painted of her. And, you realize, maybe that’s why this little rivalry-turned-conversation feels different than anything you’ve experienced before.

Y/N: “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m here for the real version of you—whatever that looks like.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, and you wonder if you’d gone too far. But just as you’re about to backpedal, her response pops up.

Paige: “Same goes for you, Y/N. Guess that means we’ll have to see what that actually looks like, right?”

Her words make your stomach do an unexpected flip. It’s an invitation, subtle but clear, to get to know her beyond the rivalry, beyond the image. And suddenly, it feels like this whole thing—the online banter, the “feud,” the unexpected DM—has been leading up to this moment.

Y/N: “Guess so. So, next time we bump into each other… coffee? Or are you more of a smoothie person?”

She replies almost instantly.

Paige: "Coffee works, as long as you promise not to trash-talk me in front of the barista."

You laugh, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the banter and everything to do with her openness.

Y/N: “Fine, I’ll tone it down. But don’t get too comfortable—I’m not going easy on you.”

Paige: “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

There’s a pause after that, a comfortable silence that feels like both a beginning and a challenge. As you put your phone down, a smile still on your face, you realize you’re genuinely excited to see where this goes.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Real Love

Summary: You and Carlos were just supposed to be a PR couple for less than a year but someone decided to catch feelings.

Song: Love Story - Indila

Part 2

Author’s note: I can't write short stories to save my life. I hope you enjoy this long journey which may take a full day to read. Please like, reblog and share this! <3

Word count: 8.6k

It all started as a simple PR arrangement between you, a well-known influencer, and Carlos Sainz, the Formula 1 driver. We were both told it would only last less than a year - just long enough to boost our public profiles and create some buzz. Little did we know, someone had other plans.

At first, it was easy enough. We attended events together, posted cute couple photos on social media, and played the part of the perfect pair. The chemistry between us felt natural, which made the whole charade convincing.

Your routine was simple enough.

You and Carlos would meet up at his house and he would drive you both to the paddock while sharing a small conversation about what happened in your jobs in the last weeks.

The roar of the engines and the excited chatter of the fans would fill the air around you.

As you reach the Ferrari garage, Carlos turns to you. "I've got some meetings with Charles to attend to, but you're free to explore or chat with the other drivers' partners if you'd like. I'll catch up with you in a bit, okay?"

You nod, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "Sounds good. I'll be around if you need me." With a smile, you part ways, ready to take in the bustling atmosphere of the Ferrari garage.

Because of your ‘relationship’, you were able to make friends with your current bestie, Lily Muni.

You and your close friend Lily would often engage in candid discussions about your romantic entanglements, particularly your faux relationship with Carlos. Despite being the sole confidante privy to the fact that your connection with Carlos was entirely fabricated, Lily wholeheartedly embraced the role of your number one supporter and "shipper."

She would enthusiastically encourage you, even though she was fully aware that your purported love affair was merely a façade maintained for the benefit of others.

"So what's going on with you these days?" Lily asked curiously since you hadn't seen her in a few weeks. You knew that she wanted to know more about your relationship but it was still the same.

"Lily, I don't know what you're waiting for," You replied, taking a sip of your coffee. "We're going to be like this until the contract ends."

Lily looked at you with a knowing look, smiling at your denial, "Not until one of you decides to confess, I bet it's gonna be Carlos. I see where his eyes go when you're not looking."

You can feel your cheeks heat up at Lily's teasing words, and you quickly avert your gaze, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Blushing, you try to hide your embarrassment by taking another sip of your coffee, hoping to distract yourself.

Deep down, you couldn't deny the flutter of hope that Lily's words sparked within you, secretly wishing that her prediction would come true and Carlos would finally reveal his true feelings.

"Come on, Lily, you know it's all just for show," you say with a nervous laugh, hoping to dismiss any romantic notions. Deep down, however, you can't help but wonder if there might be some truth to her playful observations.

Lily chuckles mischievously, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, I know, I know. But you can't blame me for hoping, can you? Sometimes, even the most make-believe romances have a way of turning real."

You nodded before thinking of her words, realizing that there were indeed moments when Carlos's gaze lingered a little longer, or when his touches felt a little more intentional. Maybe, just maybe, Lily's playful observations held more truth than you were willing to admit.

As you sat there with your coffee, a newfound sense of curiosity and anticipation began to take root within you, wondering if this faux relationship could possibly evolve into something genuine and heartfelt.

You would be lying if you said that you didn't have a crush on Carlos. His charm and the way he made you feel special were undeniable. It wasn't just the little moments or his playful gestures, it was the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he was near.

Every time he looked into your eyes, it felt like there was something more behind his gaze. And now, with Lily's playful observations, the possibility of those feelings being reciprocated started to flicker in your mind, making your heart race with anticipation.

But you knew that breaking the rules of the PR contract because of your feelings was not an option. You couldn't risk jeopardizing the professional relationship and the project you had been working on together.

Besides, you reminded yourself, sometimes it's better to keep a crush as a secret, unrequited admiration rather than risking the potential fallout that could come from crossing that line.

So, you decided to bury those feelings deep down, focusing on the task at hand and maintaining a professional demeanor, even if your heart still fluttered every time Carlos entered the room.

It was a bittersweet realization, but one that you knew was necessary for the sake of your career and the project's success.

After catching up with Lily, you had to head back to the Ferrari garage to see Carlos one more time before he goes to the first sprint of the race, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to put on your best poker face, to hide the feelings that threatened to spill over.

This would be the last time you allowed yourself to indulge in this fantasy, the last time you let your heart flutter at the sight of him. From now on, it would be all business, all focus, and no room for what-ifs and maybes.

As you entered, you found Carlos focused on preparing for the race, his eyes fixed on the car before him. You couldn't help but admire his dedication and skill, a reminder of why you were drawn to him in the first place.

Taking a deep breath, you approached him, ready to wish him luck and carry on with your professional duties.

But as you stood there, your eyes locked with his, you couldn't help but wonder if there was something more beneath the surface, something that Lily's playful observations had hinted at.

As he smiled at you and gestured for you to come over, a glimmer of hope ignited within you. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for something more between you two, despite the professional boundaries. But you quickly pushed those thoughts aside, reminding yourself of the risks involved and the importance of staying focused on the task at hand.

With a smile, you returned his gesture and walked over, ready to offer your well wishes for the race.

As soon as you got close enough, his hand sneaked across your waist, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced as he pulled you closer, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss.

The world seemed to stand still for a moment as the warmth of his touch and the sweetness of his kiss enveloped you. It was a moment of pure bliss, a confirmation that there was indeed something more between you two.

But as quickly as it happened, reality came crashing back.

You pulled away, your heart pounding with a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

That was normal for you two. It doesn't mean anything.

"Good luck with your race," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

As you glanced from his lips to his eyes and saw that he did the same thing, a spark of connection flickered between you, leaving you wondering if there was more to this moment than either of you were willing to admit.

“Mi amor, I will definitely win with you being my good luck charm,” He said, smirking at the affect his words still had on you.

Reluctantly, you watched as Carlos tore his gaze away from you and focused on the final preparations of his car. With a heavy heart, you knew that this fleeting moment of connection would have to be set aside for now.

He had a race to win, and you had your own professional duties to attend to. As he climbed into the driver's seat and drove off to the starting line, you could only hope that the universe would bring you together again, when the time was right. . . .

Carlos ended up being first in practice 1, which was very surprising for everyone. His skill and determination were evident as he flawlessly maneuvered the twists and turns of the track, leaving his competitors in the dust.

The cheers and applause from the crowd filled the air, but amidst the excitement, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for Carlos. . . .

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As you sat on Carlos's bed, waiting for him to finish dressing up. You couldn't help but feel a mix of nervousness and anticipation. Carlos and you had to go to an event together so you were now sitting on his bed, all dolled up.

The dress you were given to wear to the event was a stunning crimson masterpiece. Its vibrant hue perfectly represented the fiery spirit of Ferrari, mirroring Carlos's passion and determination on the racetrack.

The fabric gracefully hugged your curves, accentuating your figure in all the right places. The bodice was beautifully adorned with intricate lace detailing, adding a touch of elegance to the ensemble. The dress flowed effortlessly down to the floor, creating a mesmerizing silhouette as you walked.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn't help but feel a sense of empowerment and confidence.

You glanced at the clock, realizing that time was running out. You hoped that Carlos would hurry and join you soon.

As you read the Twitter comments questioning the authenticity of your relationship with Carlos, a wave of insecurity washed over you.

Despite knowing the truth of your connection, the doubts planted by strangers made you question your ability to convince fans of your 'love' for each other.

It was disheartening to realize that no matter how real your feelings were, they could still be perceived as fake by those who only saw glimpses of your lives through social media.

"Carlos?" you knocked on the bathroom door, wanting to know what he was still doing as they needed to go.

As you waited for a response, you couldn't help but wonder if he was feeling the same pressure and scrutiny from fans as you were, and if it was affecting his confidence as well.

"Yes cariño, you can come in," you heard his voice and you decided to open the door.

As you entered the bathroom, the sight of Carlos's bare back took your breath away. His muscles rippled under his smooth skin, and the towel that hung loosely around his waist only added to the allure.

His toned muscles glistened with droplets of water, and you couldn't help but appreciate the physical strength and athleticism that made him a champion on the racetrack.

You tried to maintain composure, but it was impossible to tear your eyes away from him. You were suddenly aware of the growing heat in the room, a reflection of the intense chemistry that existed between the two of you.

He turned to face you, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Like what you see?" he teased, causing your heart to race even faster.

You quickly averted your gaze, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Sorry," you stammered, turning around to give him privacy. "I didn't realize you weren't dressed yet."

"It's okay cariño, since you're here, do you mind rubbing my back? It's hard to reach sometimes," He asked, gesturing to the bottle close to you on the shelf but still not turning around and applying some lotion onto his face.

"Sure Carlos," you replied.

You took a small amount of lotion in your hands and began to gently rub it onto Carlos's bare back, your fingers gliding smoothly over his muscles.

As you worked your way from his shoulders down to his lower back, you couldn't help but admire the strength and resilience they represented.

The physical contact eased the tension that had been building up in his back, making him stop what he was doing and sigh in relief.

"Am I that good?" you teased.

Chuckling, Carlos' eyes were still closed in bliss. "Well, cariño, you have magic hands. I've never felt so relaxed. Maybe I should consider hiring you as my personal masseur," he muttered.

Giggling softly, you replied, "Well, it seems like I have a hidden talent then. I can give you a massage after your races if you'd like."

"Yes please cariño," He pleaded.

You were taken aback by the intensity of his plea, and the way his voice resonated in your ears sent a shiver down your spine. Your cheeks flushed even deeper as you realized the effect you had on him, and a mix of excitement and nervousness washed over you.

"Y/N? Why did you stop?" Carlos asked, finally turning around to face you, his eyes locked with yours.

The electricity in the room seemed to intensify as you found yourself lost in his gaze, unable to find the words to explain the sudden halt in your actions.

"Carlos, we have an important event to go to. We can't waste time here," you reminded him and yourself. You just remembered the event that left your mind as soon as you stepped inside the bathroom.

Carlos pouted at your words, his disappointment evident. He knew that the event was important, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret at leaving behind the intimate moment the two of you were sharing.

"We can't just spend a few minutes?" Carlos asked, trying his luck.

"Carlos, this event is about Ferrari," You started, going over to wash your hands. "You have to be there and be there early."

Carlos pouted at your words, remembering the event too. "I guess you're right," he said with a hint of disappointment. "But don't worry, I'll hold you to that promise of a massage later."

"You'll get them soon enough," You replied smiling, walking out of the bathroom, leaving Carlos to change into his suit. . . .

You two had made it to the event half an hour before it was going to start, and as you got out of Carlos' car, you were bombarded with the paparazzi.

Flashbulbs went off incessantly as reporters shouted questions and cameramen jostled for the best angle.

Carlos, being used to this, instinctively shielded you from the chaos, wrapping his arm around your waist and guiding you towards the entrance, where security personnel were waiting to escort you inside.

As soon as you two had gotten into the building, you were able to breathe, soaking in the momentary calmness before the storm of socializing began.

You glanced at Carlos, his hand still lingering on your waist, and you exchanged a knowing smile, silently reassuring each other that you were in this together.

Taking a deep breath, you prepared to gracefully navigate the room, greeting and mingling with the various groups of people in attendance.

Taking a moment to compose yourselves, you scanned the room and spotted familiar faces from various racing teams and sponsors.

Making your way over to each group, you exchanged warm greetings and engaged in small talk, ensuring that you maintained the necessary professional connections in the racing world for Carlos.

"Carlos! Y/N!" a voice called you from in the crowd, and you both turned around to see Benedetto Vigna, the CEO of Ferrari, making his way towards you with a warm smile.

It was a relief to see a familiar face amidst the sea of strangers, and you greeted him with enthusiasm, ready to discuss the future of the partnership between Carlos and Ferrari.

"It's so wonderful to see you both here tonight," he exclaimed, extending his hand in greeting.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Carlos replied, giving him a quick hug with a smile.

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Wasn't he the one who wanted to stay at home longer for a massage?

As you and Carlos were about to join Benedetto Vigna for a group picture with Charles and his girlfriend Alexandra, you couldn't help but notice Carlos shooting you a mischievous grin.

"Looks like someone changed their mind about staying at home for massages," you whispered playfully, causing Carlos to chuckle as the camera flashed, capturing the moment of camaraderie between the four of you.

You couldn't help but blush as Carlos leaned in closer, his grip on your waist tightening. "I'm still getting that massage, aren't I?" he whispered playfully into your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

You chuckled softly at Carlos's words, feeling a surge of warmth as his grip tightened around your waist. "Of course," you whispered back, leaning into his embrace.

After the group photo, the two of you were approached by the paparazzi, who insisted on taking pictures of just the two of you.

You obliged, striking a pose with Carlos, your smiles radiating with genuine joy and affection. As the camera clicked, freezing the moment in time, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the incredible journey you and Carlos had embarked on together.

Suddenly, you remembered the comments on your relationship being fake crossed your mind. In an impulsive move, you turned to Carlos and whispered, "KIss me."

With that, you leaned in and planted a passionate kiss on his lips, not caring about the prying eyes of the paparazzi.

Carlos, caught off guard by your sudden boldness, responded by deepening the kiss, his lips pressing fervently against yours.

The paparazzi went wild, capturing the genuine love and connection between the two of you, proving once and for all that your relationship was far from fake.

When you were able to separate from each other, you grinned at the paparazzi, reveling in the moment of rebellion and spontaneity. Ignoring the bewildered looks from the crowd, you confidently took Carlos's hand and led him off the stage, eager to escape the prying eyes and enjoy the rest of the night in each other's company.

The paparazzi's cameras continued to flash behind you, capturing the image of two people deeply in love, unafraid to defy expectations and embrace their own happiness.

And that's what you were hoping for.

You two spent the rest of the event, stuck to each other like glue, while effortlessly navigating conversations with important people.

As you mingled and exchanged pleasantries, it became evident to everyone around that your connection was genuine, sincere, and unbreakable. People couldn't help but be drawn to the magnetic energy between you, as you effortlessly charmed and captivated those in your presence.

Carlos made sure to take extra care of you on the drive home, keeping a watchful eye as he navigated the streets.

He gently helped you out of the car when you arrived at your doorstep, ensuring you were safely inside before bidding you goodnight and heading back to his own place.

As you lay in bed, still buzzing with the excitement of the night, you couldn't help but feel incredibly lucky to have someone like Carlos by your side, always looking out for you and making sure you were taken care of.

If only it was all real and genuine. . . .

You woke up with a pounding headache and a foggy memory of the previous night's events. As you tried to piece together what had happened, you received a call from Carlos.

"Hello?" you muttered into the phone sleepily.

"Oh Y/N, were you asleep? I didn't mean to wake up," Carlos' voice came through your phone and you immediately woke up fully.

When you turned on your TV, the camera panned over to Carlos on the phone, and you were surprised to see him there already.

"Carlos! Why are you there already? You should have called me earlier or something?" you groaned at both your headache and the fact that you would have to go to the paddock by yourself instead of with Carlos.

"Cariño, I already told everyone that you were sick but that you were recovering quickly and everyone wished you well." Carlos stated, making you freeze in the middle of trying to get out of bed.

"You what?"

"You don't have to come Cariño, unless you really want to," Carlos really assured you and you could see his worried face on TV.

"Thank you, you saved me big time," you replied, sliding back into your bed with a relieving sigh.

"You're welcome Cariño,"

During the call, you and Carlos briefly chatted before the race was about to begin.

"Put it on video call for a second," Carlos asked quickly and you did it without hesitation, hoping he wouldn't mind your bed hair.

Carlos gave you an air kiss, and you returned one back, a substitute for the good luck kiss you would always give him before switching off the phone.

You couldn't help but smile at the gesture, knowing that Carlos was trying to be considerate in your absence.

"Okay goodbye Cariño, I'll win the race for you."

"Good luck Carlos."

With your spirits lifted, you sat down to watch the race. You watched attentively as Carlos gave it his all, pushing himself to the limits. To your surprise, he managed to secure second place.

As soon as he was able to, he called you. His voice was filled with a mix of joy and frustration.

"Congratulations, Carlos! Second place is still amazing!" you exclaimed with genuine excitement.

However, Carlos's disappointment was evident as he sighed heavily and said, "I know, but I really wanted that first place. I'll keep pushing harder for the next race."

"You did incredible, Carlos! I'm so proud of you," you reassured him. "Second place is a huge achievement, and it shows how much progress you've made. Don't be too hard on yourself. There will always be another race to aim for that first place."

Carlos let out a small chuckle, his voice filled with a mix of gratitude and determination. "Thank you, Cariño. Your support means everything to me. I won't rest until I reach that top spot."

"Well you can rest at my place with your personal massager waiting for you."

"I can't wait Cariño, I'll see you in the evening," He said happily. A smile could be heard from in his voice and you grinned at that.

You didn't know why you decided to invite Carlos over but now the deed was already done.

As you headed into the kitchen, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. You knew how much Carlos loved your homemade tortillas and croquetas, and you wanted to make this evening extra special for him.

The sound of sizzling oil and the aroma of frying potatoes filled the air as you prepared the ingredients, imagining the look of delight on Carlos's face when he tasted the delicious meal you had prepared for him.

You quickly made your way to the bedroom to pick out an outfit that would make you look presentable for Carlos's arrival. After some consideration, you settled on a stylish yet comfortable ensemble—a fitted black blouse paired with high-waisted jeans and a pair of sleek black ankle boots.

To add a touch of elegance, you adorned your neck with a delicate silver necklace and slipped on a matching bracelet.

With your hair neatly styled and a hint of makeup to enhance your natural beauty, you felt confident and ready to welcome Carlos into your home.

Later in the day, there was a knock on your door. When you opened it, there was Carlos, holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Wow, Cariño, you look absolutely stunning," Carlos said, his eyes widening in admiration.

You blushed, not realizing the effect you had on him. "Thank you, Carlos. That's really sweet of you to say," you replied, genuinely touched by his compliment.

"Wow, these flowers are beautiful, Carlos! Thank you so much," you said, genuinely touched by the gesture.

Carlos smiled warmly, his eyes filled with admiration. "You deserve nothing less," he replied softly.

As you led him inside, you were completely unaware of the way Carlos' gaze lingered on you, captivated by your every move. Little did you know, his fascination with you had only grown stronger over time, and he couldn't help but hope that one day you would see him in the same light.

As you entered the dining room, Carlos's eyes widened with excitement as he saw the table set with all his favorite dishes. The aroma of homemade tortillas and croquetas filled the room, making his mouth water.

The warm glow of the candles and the delicious aroma that filled the air made his heart skip a beat. "Oh wow, you've really outdone yourself," he exclaimed, his face lighting up even more. "I can't believe you remembered all my favorites. This is incredible."

"I had to do something for my favourite driver," you teased, having Carlos pull away the chair for you so you could sit down.

"I must admit, being your favorite driver has its perks," Carlos replied with a playful wink, as he took his seat across from you. "But tonight, I'm here as more than just your driver. I'm here to enjoy this wonderful meal with an even more wonderful company."

Raising his glass, Carlos proposed a toast to celebrate their special evening together. "To us," he said, his voice filled with genuine affection. "May this be the first of many unforgettable nights spent in each other's company."

As you savored each bite of the delicious meal, the conversation flowed effortlessly between you and Carlos. Laughter filled the air as you shared stories, dreams, and aspirations.

The setting and shared moments created a deep connection, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for this enchanting evening together. The hours flew by, and before you knew it, the empty plates and wine glasses were a testament to the delightful feast.

As the night progressed, you offered to give Carlos a well-deserved back massage. He gladly accepted and lay down on your couch, allowing you to work your magic. You applied gentle pressure and kneaded the tension from his muscles, feeling the knots melt away under his touch.

As you continued the massage, Carlos's body relaxed, and his mind became more at ease. The two of you watched the race replay on the television, analyzing every turn, every move, and every decision Carlos made.

It was a bittersweet moment as you both discussed the missed opportunities and what could have been done differently, but it also kind of brought you two closer together.

In that moment, Carlos realized that having someone who not only supported him but also understood his passion was truly invaluable.

"I think I should have attacked more at this turn," Carlos explained to you as he watched intensely at the way he drove on TV.

Suddenly he felt a sudden weight on his back and he peeked behind him to see you.

He couldn't help but smile at the sight of you peacefully slumbering on his back. The warmth of your body against his, coupled with the rhythmic rise and fall of your breath, brought about a sense of tranquility he hadn't felt in a long time.

Carlos gently shifted his position, careful not to disturb your sleep, and decided to stay in that moment a little while longer, relishing in the comfort and contentment of having you by his side.

As he continued watching the race replay, he couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and contentment, knowing that he had found not only a passionate supporter but also a person with whom he could share quiet, intimate moments like this.

You woke up in your bed for the second time in a row without knowing how you even got there in the first place. Confused, you blinked your eyes open and looked around, trying to piece together how you had ended up in your bed again.

The memories of the enchanting evening with Carlos and the comforting massage flooded back, but the details of how you had transitioned from the couch to your bed remained elusive.

It was as if the night had taken on a dreamlike quality, blurring the lines between reality and imagination. . . .

It was the Spanish Grand Prix, and you had the privilege of attending with Carlos for the first time since you've been together.

As you watched from your seat in Carlos' car how the bustling crowd of racing enthusiasts were, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. The vibrant red sundress you wore perfectly matched Carlos' spirited personality and love of speed.

You made your way to the entrance, the sun kissed your skin, and the adrenaline in the air heightened the anticipation of witnessing the roaring engines and exhilarating race. It was a moment you would never forget, a celebration of your shared passion and the beginning of many more thrilling adventures together.

As you two emerged from the car, his hand immediately touched your hips, guiding you through the paddock to the Ferrari garage.

As you walked through the crowded paddock, you couldn't help but notice the sea of red surrounding you. It seemed like everyone was wearing the team colors to show their support for Carlos and his racing team.

The vibrant red sundress you chose seemed to blend in perfectly with the atmosphere, making you feel like a part of the action. Carlos looked at you with a smile, appreciating the effort you had put into matching with him.

Occasionally, he would stop to sign autographs for his adoring fans. The anticipation surrounding Carlos was immense, as this was his home track and everyone expected a lot from him.

Before heading off to his meeting, you turned to him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Your words were filled with warmth and admiration. You assured him. "I'm proud of you, no matter what happens."

"Thank you Cariño." he said smirking at you.

As you watched Carlos prepare for his race, you realized that this time, you would stay by his side instead of wandering off or meeting up with Lily, as you had often done in the past. This time, you understood that he needed more support before this race even started.

Carlos' home track held a special significance for his performance. Not only did it come with a sense of familiarity and comfort, but it also brought with it the unwavering support of the local fans who had been cheering him on since the beginning.

The energy and encouragement from the crowd fueled his determination to push harder and achieve success in front of his home audience.

You watched as he checked his car with the team, catching him glancing up at you multiple times to see if you were still there. It was clear that your presence meant a lot to him, and you were determined to be his unwavering source of support throughout the race.

As the time approached for the race to start, Carlos took you into a private room. As Carlos pulled you into the private room, a sense of urgency filled the air.

With hungry, heated kisses, his lips passionately explored yours, igniting a fiery desire within you. His strong hands tightly gripped your hips, pulling you closer, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

His actions sent shivers down your spine and intensified your longing for him. In that moment, you realized just how much his presence and touch ignited a deep desire within you, making you crave more of his passionate embrace.

You felt a surge of desire and passion, fueled by Carlos' intense affection. The way he held you, kissed you, and expressed his need for you created an irresistible magnetism between the two of you, intensifying your own desire and emotions.

Then, with a final look, he disappeared, leaving you with a mixture of excitement and anticipation.

Minutes later, the roar of the engines filled the air, signaling the start of the race. Your heart raced as you awaited the outcome.

Carlos immediately shot off the starting line, his car a blur of speed and determination. He skillfully maneuvered through the pack, steadily gaining ground on the leaders. As the race progressed, it became clear that Carlos was in a fierce battle for first place with Max and Lando, exchanging positions and pushing each other to their limits.

The crowd erupted with excitement, their cheers fueling Carlos' determination to seize the coveted top spot. Lap after lap, he showcased his exceptional racing skills, executing daring overtakes and defending his position with unwavering focus.

The tension in the air was palpable as the race entered its final stages, and it became a nail-biting fight to the finish line.

And then, it happened. The crowd erupted in cheers as Carlos crossed the finish line, victorious. His car sped past, his smile radiating joy and triumph.

As soon as he stepped out of the car, his eyes immediately sought you out.

You melted into his embrace, savoring the taste of victory and the warmth of his touch. The crowd roared around you, but in that moment, it was as if you were the only two people in the world. Your hands were cupping his cheeks, feeling the roughness of his stubble against your palms, while his hands rested firmly on your hips, anchoring you to the present.

The electrifying chemistry between the two of you was undeniable, and as you looked into each other's eyes, you knew that this victory was not just his, but yours as well.

In that instant, the world seemed to stand still. All your worries and doubts were forgotten. All that existed was the connection between you two.

In that moment, a surge of overwhelming love and pride washed over you. Thoughts of all the sacrifices and challenges you both had overcome flooded your mind, and you couldn't help but feel an immense sense of gratitude for being a part of Carlos' journey to victory.

"I'm so proud of you!" You said loud enough for him to hear over the chants of his name across the platform.

"Thank you Cariño, thank you for supporting me throughout," Carlos said, unable to think straight with the amount of adrenaline coursing through his body.

As the cheers of the crowd continued to echo in your ears, you leaned in and pressed your lips against Carlos' once more, savoring the taste of victory and the sweetness of his kiss. It was a moment of pure bliss, a celebration of their shared triumph.

Reluctantly, you pulled away, knowing that Carlos had to go to the podium to receive his well-deserved trophy.

With a final lingering glance, you whispered, "Go get that trophy, my champion." And with that, he ran off, leaving you with a heart filled with love and pride. . . .

It was the afterparty for Carlos' home win and everyone decided to go to a large club to celebrate.

As the night unfolded, you emerged from the car in a stunning red cocktail dress that hugged your curves in all the right places. The dress featured a plunging neckline and intricate lace detailing, exuding an air of elegance and sophistication.

The silky fabric cascaded down to your knees, swaying gracefully with every step you took. Your outfit was completed with a pair of sleek stiletto heels and a statement clutch, adding a touch of glamour to your ensemble.

As you entered the club, heads turned and whispers of admiration filled the air. The dimmed lights of the venue illuminated the sequins and beads embellishing your dress, creating a mesmerizing sparkle that mirrored the excitement in the room.

As the night progressed, you found yourself drawn into a conversation with the partners of the Formula One drivers.

"We're so proud of Carlos, we can't believe he did it," Lily said proudly, giving you a tight hug.

"Thank you, I can't believe it too," You replied, smiling happily at the memory of Carlos winning a few hours ago.

"It seemed like you were like his main support," Lily teased and your cheeks heated at her words.

"That's- that's not true." You denied it, "I just gave him an encouraging word here and there. It was mostly him that did all the work."

"That's not what Carlos said in his interview," Alexandra said, nudging your shoulder with hers.

Wanting to be a responsible person, you volunteered to be the sober one among you and Carlos. You wanted to allow Carlos to fully enjoy himself without worries, knowing that you would drive him home at the end of the night.

However, the girls in the group had a different idea. They suggested taking shots to celebrate, and despite your reservations, you decided to join the festivities.

As the night went on, the DJ played infectious music, prompting everyone to get up and dance. You found yourself caught up in the rhythm, joining in with the vibrant atmosphere.

Suddenly the music was lowered and you followed everyone's gaze, and to your surprise, there was Carlos walking into the club, holding his trophy high in the air. The crowd erupted into applause, creating a sea of cheering fans.

He made his way through the crowd, making space for himself to pass through. The crowd cleared out, creating a path for him to be in the center, where everyone could see him.

As he stepped onto the stage, the entire club erupted into applause. The cheering echoed through the air, a testament to his dedication and hard work.

You watched from a distance as Carlos delivered his speech, thanking his fans and everyone who had supported him that day. His words were filled with gratitude and humility, and it was evident that he meant every word.

From where you were standing, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in Carlos. He had achieved something extraordinary, and you had the opportunity to witness his moment of triumph firsthand.

Suddenly, your attention was drawn to a man in the crowd. He seemed particularly interested in you, despite it being widely known that you were already in a relationship with Carlos.

"Hello señorita, are you alone here?" The man asked. Some of his words were slurred.

"Umm, I'm not actually, I came with my friends," You said, trying to look for anyone familiar that was close by to help you.

"Well I don't see them so it's only me and you," he muttered amused by you. Everyone was watching Carlos' speech which meant that no one was going to help you.

"I'm in a relationship," you tried to remind him but that got him more angry.

"Lies! Everyone knows that you and him are in a PR relationship." He yelled, smashing his fist on the table he was leaning on.

You jumped at his actions, wishing someone would look and help you but it was never the case. This left you feeling confused and frustrated, unsure of how to handle the situation.

Just as you were contemplating how to respond, you felt a presence by your side.

Just as you were contemplating how to respond, you felt a presence by your side. It was Carlos. He looked concerned for you but angry at the man flirting with you.

Carlos stood protectively beside you, sending a clear message that you were not alone and that he would not tolerate anyone disrespecting you.

He stepped forward, his voice firm as he said, "I think it's time for you to leave."

The man's confident facade faltered, realizing he had crossed a line. He stammered an apology, his words barely audible, before quickly scattering off into the crowd. Carlos, still standing by your side, maintained his protective stance, his eyes never leaving the man's retreating figure.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you, grateful for Carlos' unwavering support in that moment.

Carlos then stood in front of you, holding your hands in his, "Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You shook your head, thankful that the situation didn't escalate further. "No, I'm okay. He was just being aggressive and disrespectful," you replied, feeling a mix of emotions.

Carlos squeezed your hands reassuringly, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and relief. "I'm glad you're safe. Let's stay together for the rest of the evening, okay? I won't let anything happen to you," he said, his protective nature shining through.

As Carlos guided you through the crowded room, his hands firmly on your waist, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and security. It was as if he was determined to keep you close, not wanting to lose sight of you again.

You leaned into his touch, grateful for his presence and the way he made you feel safe in a world that had seemed so uncertain just moments ago.

Eventually, you found the rest of the group and shared with them what had happened. Concerned for your well-being, they all agreed to stick together for the rest of the night, ensuring that everyone felt safe and protected.

As the evening went on, you felt a sense of unity and support among your friends, and the initial fear and uncertainty began to fade away.

Together, you formed a tight-knit circle, laughing, dancing, and enjoying each other's company, grateful for the strength and solidarity you found in one another.

All the boys decided to let the girls let loose and have a few drinks, taking on the role of guardians for the night.

They made sure the girls were safe, monitoring their alcohol intake and ensuring they were comfortable and protected.

It was a gesture of care and respect, fostering an environment where everyone could have a good time without any worries.

"Babe," you whined, clinging onto your boyfriend so you wouldn't fall to the ground.

Carlos chuckled, his eyes filled with both surprise and amusement at your playful whining. He tightened his grip around you, refusing to let you slip off.

"Oh, so you're trying to escape, huh?" he teased, pulling you closer and planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Nice try, but I've got you. I won't let you fall, my love."

"Escape? Who said anything about escaping?" you replied with a mischievous grin, playfully swaying your body to the rhythm of the music.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge gleaming in his eyes. "Well, then show me your best dance moves, and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you off the hook," he teased.

As the romantic melody filled the air, you and Carlos locked eyes, the playful banter fading into a tender moment. With a smile, you surrendered to the music, allowing it to guide your movement.

As the music pulsed through your bodies, you let your inhibitions melt away and decided to be more flirtatious with Carlos. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you began to sway your hips and grind your waist against him, teasing him with your seductive moves.

Carlos couldn't help but be captivated by your playful and alluring gestures, his eyes locked on yours, as the chemistry between you intensified on the dance floor.

The flirtatious energy in the air was palpable, as you whispered teasing promises in his ear, leaving him craving more of your touch.

"Mi amor, you better stop before you start something I won't stop," Carlos muttered into your ear, a playful warning laced with desire.

You laughed softly, feeling a surge of excitement at his words. "Oh, really? And what if I want to start something you won't stop?" you whispered back, your voice laced with a hint of seduction.

Carlos' eyes darkened with desire, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "Then, mi amor, be prepared for a night you won't forget," he replied, his voice low and filled with anticipation

He leaned in and his lips crashed against yours, his kiss lingering for a few moments. You felt your heart flutter and your stomach knot as you melted into him, your body responding to him as if on autopilot.

You felt a wave of warmth wash over you as you gave in to the moment.

The night unfolded in a blur of passion and desire. Your memory of the events that followed became hazy, fragmented, and ultimately, nonexistent.

All you knew was that you had surrendered to the intoxicating connection between you and Carlos, allowing it to sweep you away into a realm where time stood still and only the sensations of pleasure remained. . . .

"Guys, we're going home," Carlos told the others while supporting you, his protective arm wrapped around your waist. As you stumbled slightly, still lost in the haze of passion, you couldn't help but feel grateful for his presence, knowing that he would take care of you every step of the way.

The night air was cool against your flushed skin as you stumbled towards Carlos' car. The events of the night replayed in your mind, a mix of excitement and contentment filling your thoughts.

As you settled into the passenger seat, you glanced at Carlos, a knowing smile passing between you.

As you fell asleep during the drive, Carlos carefully carried you into his house. His touch was gentle and protective. He laid you down on his bed, tucking you in with care before standing back to admire your peaceful form.

The events of the night had left you both physically and emotionally spent, and in that moment, Carlos couldn't help but feel a surge of tenderness towards you.

You woke up in a daze, your surroundings unfamiliar. Blinking away from the remnants of sleep, you realized you were in Carlos' bedroom. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room.

Your heart skipped a beat as you remembered the events of the previous night and the intense connection you shared with Carlos.

As you tried to move, you were slowly pulled into an embrace from behind you, making you jump slightly. Turning around, you saw Carlos half asleep in the bed, shirtless.

Carlos' dark hair was disheveled and sticking up in all directions, a clear sign that he had just woken up. His usually neat and tidy appearance was now replaced by the unkempt look of someone who had been sleeping soundly.

Despite his sleepy state, Carlos' facial features were still prominent. His strong jawline and high cheekbones gave him a rugged, masculine appearance, while his deep-set eyes and furrowed brow suggested a pensive, thoughtful nature.

As Carlos stretched his arms above his head, the muscles in his upper body rippled beneath his skin. The defined contours of his chest and arms were a testament to his dedication to physical fitness, even as he fought against the lingering drowsiness of his slumber.

His tousled hair and sleepy expression only added to his allure, and you couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, feeling a flutter of warmth in your chest.

His eyes fluttered open, and a sleepy smile formed on his lips as he pulled you closer, whispering, "Good morning, beautiful."

"Did we do it?" You questioned shyly, unable to remember anything after they left the club.

"No, we didn't, you fell asleep before we could do anything," Carlos muttered, fighting against the sleep. "We wouldn't do anything either way, you were drunk."

As you remembered what you were doing in the club, you felt embarrassed and ashamed. The intense connection you shared with Carlos had clouded your judgment, and you realized that you were dangerously close to breaking the rules of the PR contract.

If you didn't stop, you knew that the consequences could be severe, jeopardizing not only your professional reputation but also your relationship with Carlos.

"Carlos, this was only supposed to be temporary, you know?"

"What is?"

"Our relationship."

Carlos then woke up more, resting up against his elbow so he could look at you better. His eyes slowly opened, and a soft frown spread across his face as he gazed at you. He reached out a hand, gently caressing your cheek, his touch warm and comforting.

“You’re talking about the PR contract?”

“Yes, this is what they were worried about, us getting too attached,” you tried to stress your concern but Carlos didn’t look bothered at all.

Carlos fully turned to you, a conflicted look on his face. "I know, I know. But I...I don't think I can just pretend anymore. Not with you."

Your heart raced as he inched closer, his warm brown eyes searching yours. "Carlos, we can't. It'll ruin everything if anyone finds out."

"I don't care," he whispered, cupping your face in his hands. "I'm tired of hiding how I feel about you."

And in that moment, any doubt you had melted away. You pulled him into a passionate kiss, all thoughts of the contract and the façade disappearing. This was real - the feelings you two had developed were undeniable.

His lips met yours with a fervent intensity, the heat between you palpable. All the unspoken emotions you had been harboring came rushing to the surface, igniting a fire within.

The world around you faded away as you lost yourself in his embrace, every touch sending electric shocks through your body.

In that passionate moment, there was no more room for hesitation or uncertainty. This connection you shared was undeniable, transcending any obligations or false pretenses.

It was real, raw, and overwhelming in the most intoxicating way. There was no turning back now - you had given yourself over completely to this man and the feelings you shared.

Whatever happened next, you knew you was in this with Carlos for the long haul. . . .

[undertheorangetree]

In The Woods Somewhere

Summary- Coriolanus does not intend on returning to the Capitol alone.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ DUBCON Female reader. TBOSAS spoilers technically. Reader is essentially Lucy Gray. Porn with plot. Toxic relationship. Possessive Coriolanus. Chasing. Biting. Restraint. Choking. Edging. Overstimulation. Fingering. Cunnilingus. P in V sex.

Author’s Note- Happy holidays! This is not our regularly scheduled programming but I have Hunger Games/Tom Blyth brain rot so here’s this monster. Please heed the warnings and link to the full fic on AO3 below

She knows the moment he looks up at her, rifle clutched in his hands, that he will not be coming north with her. Not anymore, not now that he has the one thing tying him to this place well in hand.

She isn't a fool. She knows that his feelings for her played only a small role in his agreeing to come with her but she had been willing to overlook that. When he had cupped her face in his hand and swore that he would join her, that they would escape Panem- and their collective noose- together, she had seen the hesitation there. Coryo was not a man built for nature, no more than he was built for the districts, but she loves him and so she had ignored it. Twisted it into something romantic and noble in her head, that he would give up all this, that he would leave behind everything for her. He had promised her earnestly and she had taken him at his word.

But with the look on his face now, some potent mix of elation and relief washing over him like a wave, she knows she never stood a chance.

"It's the gun," he says, and she hates the tone he uses. The way he almost breathes the words, the way he looks up at her with the ghost of a smile on his face. Had she had doubts about what the guns would inspire in him, the look on his face is enough to prove her right.

"The one you fired at Mayfair," she says with a nod, crossing her arms over her chest. It feels almost protective now, as if she can safeguard her breaking heart. "Spruce must have known about this place too. I guess it's not as secret as I thought. We hide that and you're free."

"No more loose ends."

The way he says it, his hands tightening on the barrel as he looks down at the rifle, makes her blood run cold. This is all he wanted, nothing short of a dream come true. She doesn't like it, her reaction just as much as his own, and she fights to push passed it. Tells herself that there is nothing wrong here, not really, that he is entitled to some semblance of excitement, but she can feel that unease gnawing at her gut. It feels like an omen. A warning.

She grins, hoping to seem more at ease than she truly is, and feels her nose scrunch up teasingly as she says, "Besides me."

It's the wrong thing to do. Immediately, he goes rigid, eyes darting up to look at her and she sees the distrust there, akin to a beaten dog. It wouldn't be as startling as it is if not for their conversation in the woods not even an hour before. He is willing to kill if backed far enough into a corner and is that not what she has just done? Reminded him of the power she held over him with this knowledge? Backed him into a corner? And just like that beaten dog, she can see that he is only a moment away from snapping at her with pearly white teeth.

"You wouldn't... tell anyone?"

She feels her eyebrows draw together, all attempt at joking gone. It hurts a little, what seems to be a complete lack of faith in her, and it's almost surprising. Almost. "Course not."

But would she? She doesn’t really know now. The fact that he believes she could, as if she could exchange his freedom for her own, feels like the final nail in the coffin. She could forgive his dislike of the idea of heading north, the relief on his face when he saw the guns. But what he said in the woods- three’s enough for me- and his distrust of her now… she doesn’t think she’s safe with him. All their talk of trust, of how he agreed it was worth more than love, thrown to the wind all for the sake of a duffle bag full of rifles. Because just as easily as those gun could buy her freedom, they could secure his own too. One small step toward returning to his life back in the Capitol. He was going to leave before killing Mayfair, she knew that. And if there’s no weapon linking him to the crime, he could. Because no matter how badly she wants to believe he wants a life with her, she thinks he wants his old one back that much more.

And she isn’t sure just what he is willing to sacrifice to get rid of all those loose ends.

She feels herself smile again, moving on autopilot to fetch the knife she knows is on the shelf near the door. It doesn’t reach her eyes but she isn’t looking at him, gripping the handle of the knife a little too tightly. “I think I’m gonna go dig up some katniss. There’s a good patch down by the lake, don’t know when we’ll come across it again.”

His suspicion only grows at that, lips parted and head tilted in question, and she knows she needs to go. Though his finger has not yet shifted toward the trigger, it hasn’t moved away from it either. He has been a Peacekeeper for no more than two months, but that was more than enough time to pick up all he needed to know about firing a gun. Even if his aim is shoddy, it wouldn’t take much effort to aim in her general direction and hold down on a trigger. She had said it herself, she is the only one left who knew the truth about Mayfair’s death- her murder. If he wanted to go back to the Capitol, he needed to be damn sure there wasn’t a chance of his time here coming back to haunt him. As it is now, she is the only thing standing between him and the Snow penthouse.

“Thought you said they weren’t ready yet,” he protests, that uncertainty still more than apparent.

She prays her smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels when her eyes flick up to look at his handsome face, doing what she can to seem nonchalant. “The world changes awful fast.”

She pulls the door open, the rain pounding against the porch outside, when he calls her name. Her grip on the knife tightens a hair more before she’s turning back to look at him, keeping her eyes wide and innocent as she tilts her head in question. She knows she hesitated, knows he caught her if the look on his face is anything to go by, but rather than let her panic consume her, she focuses on his eyes. The beautiful, brilliant blue of his eyes. That may be the thing she misses most about him, after all this.

“It’s still raining.”

As if a little rain is enough to stop her from saving her own life.

“Well, I’m not made out of sugar,” she grins, taking one last look at him before shutting the door, placing some kind of barrier between them.

Read the rest here :)

[tlou-reid]

!smut, mdni!

thinking about spencer reid who has had a crush on the pretty BAU agent at the desk across from him ever since she started. she has been so swamped with work and paperwork and life recently and spencer notices the small changes in her behaviors because he notices every little thing about her. he sees the tighter grip she holds on her pens, making the ink bleed through the paper just slightly. he notices the way she starts to slam her coffee cup on the desk as opposed to gently sitting it down. he notices the heavy uptick of the amount of cups she’s having.

and it’s worse when they’re given a case. naturally, since they get along so well and since they’re probably the two smartest people in the world, hotch pairs spencer and his crush up throughout their time in phoenix, arizona. spencer sees the way she’s always cracking her knuckles and rubbing at the small of her back. he hear the tone in which she talks to the officers.

so, when they’ve finally caught their unsub just 6 days later, spencer makes sure to pick up her case files before she can even make it from her hotel room. he tucks them neatly under him as he sits down on the jet, carefully hiding them from her. he holds them hostage, knowing if she doesn’t see them, she won’t worry about them. out of sight, out of mind, as they say. she falls asleep quickly in the seat across from spencer. he can’t help but ogle at her beautiful sleeping form, knowing she really needs the rest.

and, once they returned to the musty bullpen that belongs to the BAU, spencer stays with her. he watches as she starts the paperwork he’d sneakily put on her desk, not letting her catch on to the fact that he’d taken it. he tries his best to focus on his own work, but the way she keeps groaning as she rolls her head back has him completely distracted. he’s barely three pages in when hotch emerges from his office, bidding both of them a goodbye and complimenting their work on the case

that just leaves spencer and the pretty agent across from him in the space.

time moves slower now, spencer thinks, which makes it even more agonizing to listen to her try to work out her over-exhausted muscles by herself. he can’t help himself as he breaks the comfortable silence that had been established.

“hey, y/n,” he inquires, knowing she probably doesn’t want to be disturbed right now. his suspicions prove to be true when she doesn’t look up, letting out a less than enthusiastic “hm?”.

“do you know the benefits of getting a massage?” this piques her interest, wondering where spencer was going to take this. sure, the recent stress in her life had her muscles aching at every hour of the day, but she didn’t think anyone had picked up on it. “i know the basics, spence.” she giggles, finally looking over at him.

he can’t dwell on the fact that this is the first time she’s smiled in about two weeks because his brain starts moving too fast for his mouth to keep up, “yeah, most people know they helps with muscle aches but they actually have a lot of benefits. massages help improve circulation and joint mobility. there’s also research that connects them to cosmetic effects, like improved and more even skin tones.”

he doesn’t expect her to still be paying attention to him, but he’s pleasantly surprised at the small smile spreading across her face. “hm, that sounds amazing. if only i wasn’t trapped here doing paperwork at almost three in the morning.” she answers sarcastically, turning back to her work. “i could give you a massage.” spencer stumbles out.

her cheeks start to heat up as she makes eye contact with him, wondering where he would take this. “i mean,” he backtracks, “i’ve read books on how to do shoulder and back massages. my eidetic memory means i could probably do an almost perfect one, if you’re interested. i’ve noticed the way you’ve been struggling with muscle aches.”

her face feels like it’s on fire with the way he’s making her blush. “um, sure, spencer, if you don’t mind.” she stutters and stumbles as she tries to accept his offer. he excitedly pushes himself of his hair, pulling up a closer one behind her.

his large hands start to knead at the knots at the base of her neck. he can feel the tension she’s built up over the past couple of weeks and tries to recall the techniques he’d read about so long ago.

this quickly becomes a challenging feat, as he moves his hands along the expanse of her back. she lets out light moans when he massages a particularly tight part of her muscle. the moans and grunts she’s making are going right to spencer’s cock. he’s so glad he’s behind her, because the tent in his pants continues to grow as he reaches the base of her back, where most of her pain had been.

her light moans have now increased in volume, and spencer is sure he should stop. he was not expecting to have this reaction from her, or react this way to her. his mind is cloudy and beginning to fill with filthy images that match the sounds she’s making now.

and god, he should stop. he knows he should pull his hands away from her, especially as he feels his stomach tighten and his dick throb in his pants. but he can’t. he needs to reach his release so bad, so he presses his fingers harder into her back, listening to the joyful sounds she’s letting out.

he doesn’t pull his hands away until he finally cums in his pants, too embarrassed to keep going. “thank you, spence. i feel a lot better. a lot less tense now.” she thanks him as he turns away from her, pushing in the chair he’d pulled over. he makes a few exclamations, saying it was no problem at all, before dashing off to the bathroom to try and get himself cleaned up.

[relia-robot-writes]

I am the Princess in the Tower.

You know, people hear that, and they say, "Oh, that poor Princess, she must be so lonesome up there. Some cruel fate must have befallen her, to be trapped so."

It's true, to a certain extent. I am lonesome. There's no shortage of princes and princesses - I have to wonder where they all come from - who come to try to rescue me from my captivity. None of them ever get particularly close, of course. The Tower is surrounded by a dark and tangled wood, monsters of flesh and stone stalk the grounds, invisible barriers and devious traps block all entry, and even if they got to the base of the Tower, they'd have to figure out how to climb up a sheer, frictionless vertical surface while automatically triggered fireballs rained down upon them... it's pretty well defended, is what I'm trying to say. Every single one of them gets sent packing, cursing the wizard who built the Tower and imprisoned me.

Which is, you know, pretty funny, when you get right down to it.

I mean, it's only natural to assume that, right? Wizards are mysterious, they pop in and out all the time. If one decides to suddenly vanish one day, well, he's probably just off calculating the angles of reality, or whatever, he'll be back. And if a girl appears in his Tower, well, of course he kidnapped a Princess for his own unfathomable wizard purposes.

It hardly matters that there aren't any kingdoms missing a Princess.

I don't correct them, anyway. It's safer for me if nobody knows who I am, or how I've changed. Safety was, after all, why I built the Tower in the first place. You think wizards do this for fun? Out in the middle of nowhere, forced to conjure food and water? Having to walk up and down twenty flights of stairs if I feel like going outside?

Wizards build towers when they are scared shitless.

See, I cast this divination spell when I was an apprentice, and I fucked it up. It constantly shows me visions of my own doom...

Not buying it?

Well, there was this devil, see, and I tricked him into thinking I'd signed my soul away, so now he stalks me forever, seeking vengeance through the very shadows themselves...

No good?

Well, I was cursed as a wee babe, and now all the world is my enemy, from the mightiest warrior to the softest blade of grass, and each one thirsts for my blood!

...I would have died to that one, like, immediately, huh.

Okay. Fine. I'm just... a coward. I built my Tower as far away from everything and everyone that could possibly do me harm as I could. I studied magic because it felt like the best way to avoid any and all hard work, conflict, and danger. I held off on telling anyone anything about who I truly was or what I wanted until I felt I could be absolutely safe.

And still, with "rescuers" at my door just waiting for my hand, I can't bear to look at them. The idea of one even getting close enough to attempt to climb the Tower (it's happened more than once) is terrifying. I could ask them to stop, but who would believe me? "Yes, I, the Princess in the Tower, am totes fine, please go away forever thanks, I am not an evil wizard." That'd go over well.

There's another princess that just made her way through the Woods and slayed one of my constructs. She'll be at the Tower base soon. She's got really pretty hair

I wish

I hope that you

Please don't

I'm writing this down here, and then I'm gonna go hide. If you're reading this,

The blue-armored princess flipped the paper over to the other side. It was blank. Her hair smoldered from the fireball she'd almost dodged, and she drummed her fingers on the hilt of her blade as she reread the first side. Aside from the paper, the room - and, indeed, the entire interior of the Tower - seemed completely empty.