Pink Aesthetic Pictures

Brianna Lester, with her unusually platinum blonde hair and grayish-blue eyes, is impossible to miss wherever she goes. Her bubbly personality, hyperactivity, innate talent for tripping even while standing still, and her knack for always causing trouble ensure that she immediately catches the attention of the coolest tattoo artist around. Unfortunately, it's not her rather unique appearance that gets noticed, but her clumsiness. The moment she closes the door of the tattoo shop, one of the pictures hanging on the wall-the owner's favorite, and quite valuable-unexpectedly falls down. To make up for the damage, she ends up working at the shop until she can pay off the cost of the picture. It would all be pretty easy if a sexy tattoo artist didn't enjoy teasing her about her bad luck. By now, Brianna has resigned herself to the idea that her life is stuck in the "never a joy" zone, and her birthday is proof of that. Who can be considered lucky if they were born on a day that only comes once every four years? No one. Some people are kissed by fortune at birth, while others are kissed by bad luck. Brianna definitely falls into the latter category.

The day before the semester began, my childhood friend Daniel Carter asked if he could borrow my private jet. Thinking he'd finally changed his ways, I agreed without a second thought. A moment later, he transferred a single dollar, calling it rent because he couldn't stand the thought of freeloading. The quirky amount said more than words ever could. I smiled and accepted it. On the first day of school, I kept things low-key, taking a cab back to campus. But when I arrived, there it was, my private jet parked right in the middle of the quad. The jet had been decked out in bubblegum pink, and students crowded around, their eyes shining with envy. My heart leapt. For once, I thought Daniel had finally figured it out. Beaming, I braced myself for his surprise. But as I drew closer, my smile froze. Sitting barefoot in the pilot's seat, my seat, was Clara West, the campus' queen bee.

After four years of marriage, James Lawson, who had never posted anything on social media, unexpectedly updated his status: "What an adorable little foodie!" The attached photo showed a young woman wearing pink cat ears, eating at a Korean BBQ restaurant. Her cheeks were flushed red from the spicy food as she stuck out her tongue. It was Sophie Jones, a new content creator at his company. Within a minute, our mutual friend commented: "Dude, you forgot to switch accounts!" Just like that, James's new post disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, only to show up moments later on Sophie's feed. Then James's name lit up my phone screen. In the past, I would have already taken screenshots and called him first to confront him. It would have inevitably ended in a heated argument. But this time, I calmly watched his call go to voicemail without answering.

I fall in love with my father's friend, an Alpha 20 years my senior. I'm only eight when I first meet him. It happens at a banquet for the upper echelons of the werewolf pack. My father brings me with him. Layson Romanov instantly catches my eye. He stands tall at six feet and two inches, and his toned figure shows through his black suit. He exudes a natural dominance. My father introduces me to him, and he caresses my hair with a smile. Then, he gives me a pink dress adorned with pearls and pink diamonds. "You'll look beautiful when you're old enough to wear this." Back then, I didn't understand what he meant. … Ten years later, I put on that dress and enter his room. He's drugged after falling into someone's trap, and his wolf is out of control. His usually calm eyes are filled with mania. I know that he'll go insane—even lose his life—if he doesn't have an antidote. So, I give him my pure, untainted body. I become his antidote. We later marry, and he loves me as my father would've done. However, when I'm four months pregnant, I discover that his personal secretary, Grace Parker, is also pregnant. "I'm sorry to have put you through this, Grace. Everyone knows I only married Charlotte out of duty. I'll make sure our child is my only heir," he says. It all makes sense now—no wonder Layson refused to mark me despite us being married. Grace is the one he loves. I'm heartbroken. I ingest a large amount of wolfsbane, leading to a miscarriage. I ultimately die of blood loss. Intense regret washes over me as I breathe my last breath. When I open my eyes again, I find that I've been reborn. I'm taken back to the day Layson is drugged…

Waking up hungover next to my arch-nemesis – the city's most notorious fuckboy? Worst. Morning. Ever. I handled the walk of shame with icy dignity, but fate had a bigger curveball: one month later, two pink lines. My baby. My rules. His involvement? Zero. My flawless plan hit a snag when morning sickness ambushed me in the office restroom. He walked in. His eyes locked onto my still-flat stomach, darkening with something dangerous. Before I could blink, he had me pinned against the cold tile wall. "Who's the father?" he growled. I met his glare with a frosty smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know? Definitely not you." Then it happened: a hot tear hit my neck. His voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Don't... don't leave me. Please." Me: ...Dude. Seriously? THIS IS YOURS!

The boss's wife, Irene Peters, was insanely hot. She would often just stretch out her soft, stockinged feet and sway them in front of me. I couldn't help myself and snapped a quick photo. Then I ducked into the restroom, staring at it while pleasuring myself. I was halfway through when the door suddenly swung open. Irene stood there, staring at me with her eyes wide. "Wow, how are you that big? And what were you doing, taking pictures of me?" I jumped, scrambling to pull my pants back up. But instead of getting mad, she looked almost amused. "You're done for. I'm telling Fabian." A minute later, my boss, Fabian Peters, showed up. I braced myself, expecting to get chewed out or fired on the spot. Instead, he stuffed a wad of cash into my hand. "My wife hasn't been able to get pregnant," he said. "You're well-built. Help me out."

I’m Daisy Valence. Eighteen. The favorite daughter of the Valence family. I woke up and found myself eight years in the future. Not only was I married to my nemesis, Lorenzo Astor, but we had a four-year-old son. Even crazier, the future me was a stone-cold snake, plotting to gut Lorenzo's operation while planning to run off with her "lover" after the divorce. And this "lover"? Just some nobody from the slums I was bankrolling. I must have lost my mind. Just as I was about to cut ties with all of them and get my free, single life back... I found the love letters Lorenzo wrote me, a secret stash of things I’d used, and a phone filled with my pictures… Then he grabbed me, his eyes bloodshot, and held me so tight I could barely breathe. He growled, "Who the hell gave you permission to leave me?" "I never agreed to any divorce, my wife."

My boyfriend's "best female friend" was angry again. Why? Because for our five-year anniversary, he got a gift just for me—and forgot about hers. Simone Baker threw a complete fit, sobbing and making a huge scene. Scott Tanner immediately blocked me and removed me on Instagram, then changed our matching couple profile pictures. "Girls can be so dramatic," he said. "Once I've calmed her down, we'll switch them back." I reminded him, "That makes a hundred times now." He just smiled and gave me a quick kiss. "I know. I'll make it fast this time." That night, Simone posted a status update: [Your effort was acceptable. You get three days of freedom.] Almost immediately, Scott unblocked me. [Okay, babe. We can put our couple pictures back now.] But then a male account—using my half of the matching photo—sent him a friend request, followed by a single question mark. [Since when are couple photos a group project?]

Penelope’s wedding day should have been perfect—until she found her best friend in her fiance's bed. Running from the ruins of her future, she fell into one night with a stranger whose touch felt like safety. No names. No future. Just escape. Until two pink lines changed everything. Years later, Penelope returns with twins, a stronger heart, and no plans to fall in love again. But fate traps her in close quarters with a ruthless billionaire… who happens to be the man from that unforgettable night. He doesn’t know she’s the bride who disappeared. He doesn’t know the children are his. Old enemies want revenge. Old secrets refuse to stay buried. And the man who swore he would never love… kneels. The billionaire proposed. This time, Penelope isn’t just choosing love. She’s choosing her life.

Hillary unhooks her bra and lets it fall to my desk. I love the sight of it—of my secretary’s pretty purple bra on my desk, heavy breasts spilling out in front of me, her pink nipples taut and needy. Goodness gracious. She’s going to make me lose my mind. ********* I just got a new job working for my fiance’s older brother, Bentley Brown. Bentley’s reputation precedes him. He’s arrogant, rude, and full of pride—all because of his devastatingly good looks and the company he started at twelve that made him a billionaire by twenty-seven. But he is also hot, charming, intoxicating and he has this dangerous pull that can drag you straight to your ruin. I hate my new boss. He gets under my skin… and under my dress too. CONTENT WARNING: Contains & depicts strong degradation kink.