#so at least i can find this day on my blog in the future and see the reblogged posts to find anything that doesn't show up in a normal

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 3

Pairing: Millionaire!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Rating: E, 18+, Minors dni

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You decide it's time to put yourself on Joel's radar.

CW: Age gap (Joel 45, Reader 22), dual POV. Specific warnings in small red below the cut, do not read to avoid spoilers.

WC: 10k. Sorry, grab a snack!

AN: I'm continuously surprised by the love, excitement and joy that this story brings anyone but me. That probably doesn't even make sense, I'm just lost for words, tbh. Forehead kisses to @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk, and @milla-frenchy for screaming with me or pre reading this for me. @lotusbxtch gets a forehead kiss and a tip of the nose kiss for deep dive beta reading this, she's solely responsible for every semi colon.

Series Masterlist || My Masterist

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates to be alerted for future chapters.

Content Warnings: Flirty, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual acts, kissing, mutual pining, reader being pinned against a wall, sexual tension, touching. Reader does have some description so may be considered more of an OFC.

The week after Joel removed you from his club goes by in a well-scheduled blur. You work your usual three days, cleaning mansions of people who don’t tip as well as Mister Miller. You pour yourself over LSAT study guides, practicing insane logic questions. You enjoy a coffee date with Jamie who asks you what happened the night at the poker game. You tell her a practiced lie that feels like acid on your tongue as it leaves your lips. You hate lying to your friends, especially her. You can feel that lie sitting heavily on the top of your stomach the entire time you’re with her, but you simply cannot afford to get fired with three years of law school on the horizon. You spend an evening with your roommate, Odette, watching Netflix and eating dumplings from her favourite spot, the only spot in Austin that has those little white paper boxes with the red writing. 

If you decide not to lie to yourself, on top of everyone else, you also spend at least an hour a day watching videos of women tied up and dominated, thinking of Joel goddamn Miller the entire time. Since learning his full name, and the name of his club, the Google searches you swore you’d stop doing have been much more productive. You’ve found multiple blogs and Reddit posts, not just about kink, but also about Joel. It turns out that he’s well-known in the kink and BDSM communities around the world, but is essentially changing the face of kink in Austin. 

One night, you get lost in a Reddit wormhole of women in Texas, and one in Paris, who have been a submissive for a man that sounds a lot like Joel. They don’t actually mention him by name but there’s advice on what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he never actually has sex with any of his submissives. It also sounds like some of these women pay him to be their dom, and, based on the conversations in the comments of one thread, it seems like he has a few submissives at the moment, and majority of their interactions happen at the club. 

 The club. Fuck, Jamie wasn’t kidding when she said JMK was exclusive. Anyone can join, assuming you can pay the yearly membership fees that, according to Reddit, are around $80,000 per year. From the minimal, cryptic information you find, Joel Miller is the main owner and he has two business partners. One you assume is his brother that you served the other night, but the third you are unable to find any information about. 

Since everything you find online is up to interpretation, it’s hard to say what is and isn’t true. According to one disgruntled poster, once you become a member at JMKink, there are a lot of rules to follow. Everyone has to get tested monthly; it’s highly recommended that women are on birth control; and even if you’re married to the guest you bring, men must wear condoms. You can’t just bring anyone in with you: every member and their guest has an app, and the only way to get that app is from a QR code and an assigned activation code. According to another poster, the app is full of waivers and consent forms. You can’t stop the shy smile that crosses your face when you remember how concerned Joel was with your consent the first time you met. 

The Monday before your usual every-other-Tuesday shift at Joel’s, you find a blog post about becoming a submissive, and it’s like it was written just for you. The writer explains how she had a hard time shutting off her brain and how, by the end of the day, she was so exhausted from making decisions that all she wanted was someone to tell her what to do for once. This led to her and her husband exploring a sub/dom partnership. Now, she feels lighter and freer; they’ve both discovered new ways to get pleasure outside of the idea of sex that society feeds us. Being a submissive isn’t always about orgasms or pleasure; it’s helped her build confidence, and she’s found that as they progress, that little voice that tells her she isn't good enough has stopped being so loud. 

After reading through the post a few times, you shut your rose gold laptop and stare at the wall behind your desk. You feel seen, heard even though you didn’t speak. At first, you found yourself feeling ashamed of getting off to these videos, like there was something wrong with you for being turned on by it, but it’s really that ability to let go of control that you crave, the feeling of someone else making the decisions for once. You want that, but more so, you think you need that, and badly.

As a firm believer of ‘everything happens for a reason,’ it all comes together for you. You aren’t even nervous as the thought consumes you. If Joel shows up at his house, tomorrow I’m going to ask him to teach me. 

On Tuesday, you do as you always do, following Joel’s instructions to a tee while listening to a podcast. However, today you only wear one AirPod in hopes of hearing that familiar and comforting engine rev that signals him either coming or going. Every creak or pop of the house causes your heart to flutter, but it’s never him. Much to your chagrin, Joel doesn’t come home. 

Inside the envelope is that expensive matte black paper again, ‘Thanks -JM’ neatly written along it. 

Great, you think to yourself sarcastically, we are on initial terms again. 

Twelve hundred dollars is tucked into the envelope this time, you roll your eyes after thumbing the crisp green bills. The first tip you ever got from him felt sincere, but after walking in on him, and everything since then, it’s feeling more and more like apology money. You shouldn’t complain; people would kill to make this kind of money, but everything would be so much easier if he’d just fucking talk to you.

Your fingers run along the thick, rich paper that he uses as company letterhead. You can’t explain it, but the paper feels like Joel. It’s rough and thick, yet has a vulnerability to it, like you could easily destroy it with just a pinch of your fingers and a flick of your wrist. Your mind flashes back to his club the other night. He was literally begging you to leave, you can still hear it, the pleading in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me”. Your fingers trail across the golden ink of his neat handwriting and then open the paper the rest of the way. At the very bottom of the page, in shiny black print similar to the JMK logo at the top, is a phone number. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your eyes scan across the numbers.

  When you get home, you unfold the note on your kitchen counter and pace the three or four steps it takes to walk the length of your small kitchen, never taking your eyes off the paper, looking at it like it’s a live bomb or like it’s going to disappear if you let it out of your sight. This is it: you could call the office, make an appointment or something. You’d probably have to lie, but you just need to see him; you need to make a case for yourself. Your stomach lurches, throat tightening at the thought of being in the club with him again. You open the freezer and grab the bottle of tequila, taking a big swig right from the bottle. It’s a cold burn and you clench your eyes as you swallow it down. Your body shivers involuntarily.  

You dial before you can talk yourself out of it and before you know it you have an appointment under a fake name to speak to Joel tomorrow afternoon before your study group meets. You take two more large gulps of tequila after hanging up the phone. 

Fuck, this is really happening. You take another large sip of the frozen tequila for good measure, your nose scrunching up at the taste. 

Joel’s office isn’t attached to the club, it’s in a smaller building across the street and that has seemed to tamp some of the nerves that are vibrating your very core. Still, you can stop from nervously smoothing the wrinkles that have formed on the short, flowing skirt of your white sundress as you sit on the red velvet couch across from Joel’s receptionist. She is a small woman with a chin length bob, she’s probably in her late fifties and you wonder if her kids or grandkids know that she works for the owner of a kink club, or maybe she’s part of the community too. You’ve done copious amounts of research; kink isn’t just for young people, and you suppose Joel isn’t exactly young either. For all you know, she very well could be a dominatrix in her spare time. 

She says your fake name in a soothing tone as she stands and walks towards the tall black door, pulling it open effortlessly. “Go on in, sweetheart. Joel’s ready for you.”

You smile at her sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously as you walk over the threshold to try to convince the millionaire whose home you clean to dominate you. The air in his large, bright office feels heavy and thick. Blood rushes through your ears as he looks up at you from his seat. He slips off his 1950’s style black horn rimmed glasses and places them on his desk. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he assesses you. Your heart lurches, knees trembling as you take a few nervous steps towards his desk. As his eyes meet yours you feel it again, that exposed and naked feeling that only his gaze seems to be able to cast. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress, but it’s an unseasonably warm March day and even before leaving your apartment you were sweating in a mix of nervousness and excitement. 

You see his lips move, but you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart. You stop just past the door, then hear it click shut behind you. Joel’s silky lips move again and this time you hear your name followed by a calm, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The words come out before you even think about them, you practically yell them at him, “I want you to teach me.”

His hand waves to the chairs across his desk. When you don’t move he harshly says, “Sit.”

You rush across his expansive office, the plush carpet feels luxurious under your shoes. When you reach the black leather chair you sit on the very edge of the seat, your knee nervously bouncing up and down in time with your heart.

“You want me to do what?” He asks hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair. He looks absolutely beautiful in the late afternoon sun - orange hues reflecting off his tanned skin, the few greys along his temples glistening like the moon on the ocean. He’s in a black dress shirt again, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You noticed today that he’s wearing a black watch and a gold ring on his right ring finger. Between his accessories and the veins that line his toned forearms your mouth goes dry.

“I - umm, I want you to teach me.”

The last word has barely passed your lips when he scoffs out, “No.”

Your face falls, “Joel, please. I’ve been doing research and I’ve decided that, well, that I want to be…that.”

He places his large palms on the desk, the square black diamond in his ring glittering in the sun, and pushes himself up. You crane your neck to look at him as he slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes already locked on yours. His intense eye contact wraps you up in a weighted blanket of safety and comfort, which is a dangerous and vulnerable place, a place that has the ability to rip you in half, much like you could do with that company letterhead he left you. He walks slowly to the other side of his desk. Once in front of you, he leans back onto it, keeping his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black dress pants. 

“You can’t even say it.” He challenges. 

You furrow your brows, ready to confront him like you always seem to do. In the few interactions you’ve had with Joel, more often than not, it’s been him trying to tell you what to do, you fighting him over it, and then him ultimately winning. It’s infuriating, but not this time. No, this time you’re going to win. You have valid reasons to want this, and they’re all backed up by your research. You are leaving this office as his submissive. 

“I can too!” 

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, “Say it then. You wanna learn how to do what, sweetheart?” 

You sit up tall on the edge of the chair, crossing your arms under your breasts, praying your cheeks don’t flush as you finally admit it out loud. “I want to learn how to be a submissive.”

“No.” One of his meaty hands comes out of his pocket, waving you off as he says it again.

“Please!” You plead, “I want to learn how to be a sub.” 

Joel actually squirms at the sound of you being so needy. He lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath and then whispers your name, “I can’t do this with you.”

Got him, you think to yourself, failing to fight the smirk as you lower your voice and sweetly beg, “Please, Mister Miller?” 

Joel ‘Your-Consent-is-Most-Important’ Miller is not a small man: his broad shoulders take up almost an entire door frame and he’s easily nearing six foot four, but at the sound of you calling him the one name he’s asked you not to, he moves faster than your brain can comprehend. You gasp as he lunges towards you, his hands landing on the arms of the chair, his wide shoulders pushing you back as he cages you in. Your exposed back hits the back of the chair, your short skirt riding up your thighs slightly. He is practically on top of you and for a second you can imagine that this is what having sex with him would look like. His knuckles blanch from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly, his eyes are practically black, and that familiar flush he gets when you challenge him paints his neck and cheeks.

His voice is deeper, thick with arousal, rattling your bones as he speaks slowly, “I said not to call me that. You can’t even…You can’t.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. His tone softens as he opens his eyes, “No, I ain’t doin’ this with you, sweet girl.” 

You practically writhe in your chair. Sweet girl. He’s terrifying and commanding and so fucking beautiful like this. He obviously has a soft spot for when you beg, so you soften your eyes and stick out your velvety smooth bottom lip enticingly before whispering, “Please, Joel.” 

He lets out a groan as he pushes himself off the chair and walks towards the large wall of windows behind his desk, his hands resting on his tapered waist. He avoids your gaze as you sit up, squeezing your thighs together tightly to calm the need at your core. “Lemme set ya up with someone else. My brother Tommy. You were gettin’ him a drink at that poker game.”

“I remember,” you mumble, looking down at your hands like you always do when your lack of confidence gets the best of you. You can’t let that self-doubt creep in now, not when you’re this close. You look back towards his broad back. “But I really don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?” He spins towards you, the lighting behind him gives him an almost ethereal glow. There’s absolutely no denying it, Joel Miller is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You tuck your hands under your legs, simply stating, “I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a horrible guy.”

You let out a sad laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s right, you don’t know him, but you have a feeling about him and you consider yourself pretty good at reading people. “You’ve never given me reason to think I couldn’t trust you. Even that first day. You were so calm and apologetic.”

Joel presses his lips in a thin line, eyes raking over you. You subconsciously slip your bottom lip between your teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two,” you immediately regret lying; the avenue of trust is of utmost importance between a submissive and their dominant, so you quickly add, “Almost, I turn twenty two on Friday.”

 “I can’t do this.” He croaks and you can’t help but feel a little bad. You’ve put him in an uncomfortable position and his voice sounds defeated. 

“Please. I always felt I needed more but,” you stand up and take a few slow steps in his direction. “But…I didn’t know what more was and I - I think it’s this.” You audibly swallow pleading, “Please. I need you to help me. I want you to help me. Teach me.” 

He holds his hands up and steps back as you inch closer. A silent call that signals you to stop or that he doesn’t trust himself, not here, not with you. “Jus’ let me set ya up with Tommy. You’re his type.” 

Your heart sinks and an acidic taste lines your tongue. Of course. You aren’t that tall, slender icy blonde girl he had strapped to his desk. No, you have curves, and stretch marks along your hips, your boobs are a B cup on a good day. He can get whatever woman he wants, why would it be you? You look down at your hands, pushing back the nonexistent cuticle on your right thumb. This nervous habit of yours used to drive your mom crazy, ‘you’re going to have no skin left soon’ she’d lecture, but you can’t help it. The immediate result of the nail bed looking clean and perfect is like a dopamine hit. It leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is, the initial confidence you had about this decision on Monday night has dwindled and you’ve been so anxious about this meeting that every single finger has a nicely pushed back cuticle. 

It’s silent in the room for a while, you shut your eyes as you sheepishly ask,  “Am I not attractive enough for you?”

“No!” He says insistently and without hesitation. His hand runs through his beard, a faint scratching sound fills the room drawing your eyes open and away from the skin of your thumb. As they land back on him you wonder what his patchy facial hair would feel like between your legs or along the soft skin of your stomach as he kissed you. His voice softens, “That’s not it. I just - I’m sorry. I jus’ can’t do this, sweetheart.”

You feel your chance to become the woman you want to be slipping through your fingers. Your plan is failing and for once in your life you don’t have a Plan B, this is the only plan that makes sense to you. Sadness creeps into your throat, “Why?” 

“‘S not a good idea, sweet girl,” he answers, his soft brown sugar flecked eyes reaching out to yours. 

His face and voice seem to be at war with his words. He’s saying no, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and a caring undertone to his voice. You’re not sure how you know it, but him calling you sweet girl means something to him. “Because I’m not your type?”

He shakes his head, that same curl falling into his eyes as it did in his foyer the other day. “That’s the problem, you’re exactly my type.”

Hearing that you’re this beautiful man's type should feel like you’ve won the lottery, but the way his shoulders slump as he says it only builds that lump in your throat. As you swallow the sadness down, his eyes travel to your neck, watching as the muscles flex and relax with the motion. “I - then why?”

He lets out a long breath and as he walks to the door he says, “I ain’t havin’ this conversation. I said no. And someone who is cut out to be a submissive would just take that answer for what it is.” 

“You’ve made it clear that I’m not a submissive,” you counter and walk towards the door. He cracks the door open and you step in close to him, unconsciously taking in his leather and ash scent before adding, “Have a nice night, Mister Miller.” 

Joel

The door feels like a feather behind his hand as he slams it shut - your body, warm and already vibrating, trapped between him and the solid piece of wood that separates the two of you from his receptionist. He made himself a promise in his rear view mirror the other week; he had to cut this off, create distance. He needed you to be just his house cleaner. Because everytime he looks into your eyes he feels the same way he felt at seventeen when he met Tiffany in that garage. Everything about you oozes sweetness and innocence, his sweetheart, his sweet girl. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling that way again. And he definitely should not feel this way for someone who is younger than his own daughter.

His large frame looms behind you, forcing your chest and forehead to rest against the door. He uses his foot to spread your legs wide. A breathy gasp passes your lips as your hands scramble for purchase against the wood grain of the door. He keeps pushing your legs apart, wide enough for your short white skirt to ride up your creamy thighs. Thighs he’s imagined wrapped tightly around his head as he makes you scream. 

Joel takes a small step forward, caging you completely, making it so you’re completely at his mercy. He can smell the sweet scent of your arousal growing between your thighs; he knows if he reaches a calloused finger to the gusset of your panties they’d be soaked through. His cock is hard as steel, pressing against the zipper of his pants and the small of your back. You’re practically panting and he fights to keep his breathing steady when really he wants to mirror the quick, uneven pace of your breath. This is much more serious and intimate than when he had you trapped in the chair. This is dangerous. This could lead to more.   

His strong fingers wrap around your dainty wrists. He loves the way you don’t fight him as he pulls them above your head, gathering both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the door roughly. His free hand draws a slow line down your arm, then along the sensitive skin of your neck, and down your spine. Goosebumps break out over your skin and you instinctively arch your back into him, a desperate whine passes from your lips between laboured breaths, and that sound nearly buckles his knees.  

His lips come to the shell of your ear, his beard tickling you as he speaks in a slow and commanding tone. “Do you feel what you do to me when you call me that. I’ve asked you not to. Multiple times.”

Your mint and lavender scented shampoo fills his nose as he nudges at you to tilt open your throat to him. He revels in how easily you oblige, cocking your head to the side like the good little girl he knows you are. He continues, lips just a hair away from your pulse point; he’s sure if he pressed his lips to it he’d feel how hard your heart is racing. “But I don’t want you to stop. In fact, I fucking love that you haven’t stopped.” 

Your soft skin is warm against his rough fingers as they continue their trail down your body, running over the firm globe of one of your ass cheeks. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, distracting himself from the urge to spank you for calling him Mister Miller yet again. Finally, his fingers find a home on one of your thighs. He brushes lightly against your soft inner thighs, small little touches jumping from one leg to the other. The little involuntary twitches of your body and the needy little gasps of air you suck through your teeth has his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He’s aching for you in a way he hasn’t felt for years. 

“You infuriate me with your insubordination and it makes me weak,” he mutters. “Makes me absolutely insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about what’s underneath those clothes, and after seeing your perfect breasts and your little pink nipples… fuuuuck, baby. All I can think about is how good they’d look with my handprints tattooed on them after I slap them while you orgasm. Can’t stop thinking about how wet your little pussy must get. How tight she would be around my fingers as I claim her as mine. How fucking delicious she must taste. How goddamn sexy your cries of pain and pleasure would sound.”

Your whole body shudders against his. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he knows he needs to stop before he crosses a line, but the way your body responds to him is precisely how he likes it: pliant and ready. His mind reels with all the naughty things he’d like to do to you. If he reaches just a little bit higher he could finally know how you sound when you come, how silky your cunt is, how you taste. He runs the tip of his hooked nose down your neck, the light citrus of your perfume replacing the scent of your shampoo. 

“That what you wanna hear?” Joel continues. “How fucking weak you make me? How desperate? I can’t do this because once I start…I ain’t gonna be able to let you go. Ain’t gonna be able to stop. Never gonna be able to have any other little play thing. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. If I start this, this is it for me.”

Joel releases your wrists with a growl and walks away, carding his fingers through his curls and looking out at the cityscape as the sun begins to dip behind the tall buildings. He doesn’t look back, he can’t look back or he’ll fucking crack. He’ll haul you over his shoulder and take you into his club. He’ll show you everything right now and he won’t stop. His eyes flutter closed as he takes controlled breaths to slow his heart rate, the unmistakable sound of his office door opening and closing behind him. 

You 

You yank the door open and walk as fast as your legs will take you, your mind swirling, every emotion trying to win for first place. You’re painfully turned on, you can feel how soaked your panties are. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. It’s like it’s been carved into your brain. Only you. You jam at the elevator close button as your lungs scream for fresh air, and as you step out into the warm spring night you suck in breath for what feels like the first time since you made this appointment last night. 

Your phone vibrates in the small purse you have across your body. He doesn’t have your number, you remind yourself as you reach for your phone. Jamie’s name across your slightly cracked screen. “Hey!” 

“Are you ok?” her voice is thick with concern.

Your chest feels tight, “Ya, why?”

“You sound like you're out of breath.” 

You laugh a little, “Oh. I was..” fuck, what was I doing. “I mean I am walking. Like on a walk.” 

Even a toddler wouldn’t be convinced by your lie, and Jamie isn’t either as she gasps loudly on the other end before whispering, “Were you having sex?”

“No! God no!” Your clit twitches at the thought of how close Joel was today. “I’m on the street, can’t you hear the cars.” 

“Ok. You do need some sex though,” she laughs. 

“Jamie,” you sigh, “I have to get to a study group. What’s up?” 

She giggles devilishly. “Wellll - It’s your birthday weekend. I want to throw you a party at this really amazing club on Friday.”

“Umm, ya. Sure. Nothing too crazy though, right?” 

“Promise you can keep your top on this time, prude.” She says teasingly and you laugh. “It’s called Mystique. The owner is an old family friend and she gave us a sweet VIP booth and bottle service, all completely free!”

You slide your key into the door of your SUV to unlock it, “Ok. Let’s do it.”

“Good, because I already invited the girls.” You sigh and your phone buzzes in your ear as Jamie’s computer dings on the other end. “Oh, weird. Your regular every other Tuesday clean just requested for you to go on Friday. Weren’t you just there yesterday?” 

Joel. You say dreamily in your mind. 

“That’s shitty,” Jamie continues, “That’s your birthday. The shift is only 4 hours, but I can offer it to someone else if you want.” 

“No!” It comes out too eager and you remind yourself to chill the fuck out as you put her on speaker phone and open the app. “I mean, no, that’s ok. I need the money and my calendar shows 11 to 3, lots of time to get ready!” 

“Text me when you’re done with your study group and we’ll hammer out the details for Friday night. We didn’t get to celebrate you turning twenty one with your insane schedule -”

“Hey!” You exclaim, pretending to be hurt.

“Ya ya, I know,” her voice an amused sarcasm as she continues, “The master plan to graduate early. Which you did. So can we please make this the best celebration yet?” Even without being able to see your best friend you know she’s dancing excitedly on the balls of her feet while giving big green doe eyes. 

Friday rolls around quickly, and you aren’t sure what you’re looking forward to more; a much needed night out with your girlfriends or the possibility of Joel being home today. You’ve tried not to think about how his body felt against yours, but every few hours you found yourself with your hand between your legs, rubbing tight little circles on your clit until you came to thoughts of him, whispering Mister Miller like a church prayer.  

Pulling up to his house today feels strange. He requested an extra clean this week just minutes after you asked him to teach you how to sub and after finding out that your birthday was today. You haul your stuff into his house, letting out a frustrated sigh when you find it quiet and empty. You click open your app and he’s asking you to dust and vacuum the basement, as well as wipe out the fridge. You look down at the app confused. He’s never asked you to clean the basement, and the fridge? He doesn’t cook. The eleven thousand dollar fridge is basically just a decoration to fill a gap in the countertops. 

You pop in your airpods and head downstairs. The cozy white carpet of the stairs feels like plush clouds under your Keds. As you round the corner of the stairs you see everything that makes someone's house a home. So this is where he keeps it all, you think to yourself. 

The short hallway from the stairs to the large open concept basement is covered in photos of Joel at all stages of his life. The first picture that catches your eye is a teenage baby faced Joel and a beautiful young woman sitting on a hospital bed, she’s smiling at the camera as Joel looks down at the tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. He looks so happy and soft, and it ignites a small flame of jealousy. Not at the woman, but at the happy little family.

As your eyes scan all the pictures you see that baby at all ages. There’s a picture of her holding a trophy as big as her with little cleats and shin guards on. In another, she and Joel are holding a big fish, her toothless smile bright and brilliant, while something in Joel’s eyes looks sad even though his plush lips are curved up in a sexy smile. 

Another picture is of the little girl sitting on her mom’s lap; the woman doesn’t seem as vibrant in this picture. The next one to catch your eye is her holding a cupcake with a candle in the shape of the number sixteen, then him in a pressed black suit and her in her high school cap and gown. The last picture is similar, except it’s a college graduation photo. 

As you peel yourself away from all the pictures you haven’t managed to look at yet, you face the main living area, a large open concept space. There’s a cozy grey sectional facing the big screen TV, shelves of DVDs surround it and you can only imagine all the movie nights the two of them had down here. There's a pool table along the far back right side of the room and to the left are a bunch of guitars, both acoustic and electric, hanging on the wall. You walk towards the guitars, there’s a stool and a small table beside the amp. An open notebook with lyrics lays on the table and as tempting as it is to read it, you look away. This space is who Joel is and he’s obviously trusting or testing you by sending you down here. He did tell you that you didn’t know him, and that he could be a bad guy, but everything here screams wholesome family man. 

You dust and vacuum, then fluff the couch cushions and fold the blankets nicely. There’s an empty glass on the side table, so you grab that and wash it at the small wet bar before placing it with the other glasses. You take one last longing look at the notebook, it’s tempting but decide you are right to not read it. It’s none of your business what he writes and sings about. You picture him there, dressed casually in sweat pants and t-shirt, his large fingers plucking with a practiced finesse at the strings, you wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee and a book. The two of you being independently together on a Sunday morning. 

Thoughts of the two of you like that are dangerous; being his submissive isn’t being his girlfriend. You’ve been very good at compartmentalizing, mostly as a coping mechanism to your past, so you find a metaphorical little box in the back of your mind to stuff all those feelings and thoughts into. As you gather your cleaning supplies, you take one last look around. maybe this was his way of showing you that you can’t have a future with him, that he’s done with the kids-and-marriage part of his life. None of that matters to you; you don’t want kids and marriage, you just want a partnership, and the support and comfort that comes with it. You want to become a lawyer, and eventually a judge, and one day sit on the supreme court and defend everyone's civil and human rights. That’s the goal, the only goal.  

From this point on, any feelings for Joel Miller go in that box. If he ever changes his mind, he is my dominant and nothing else. You push the lid on the feelings box and run through your life plan as you head up the stairs. Law school and lawyer, then a relationship before judge and supreme court. That’s the plan, it’s always been the plan.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pop open the fridge to see a single red rose. You lose a fighting battle with your face, smiling huge from ear to ear. You grab it and close the now empty fridge, bringing the rose to your nose to breathe in the sweet and powdery scent. The black and red envelope sits on the shiny marble countertop. You place the rose down and pop open the envelope. You pull out fifteen hundred dollars and a black business card. Your brows knit together as you inspect the card, flipping it over. A QR code for the JMK app, an activation code, and a note that says “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” 

You practically rip your phone from your back pocket and scan the QR code. You dance nervously on the balls of your feet as the app downloads. With shaky fingers you create a username and password, then type in the activation code. A bunch of permissions pop up, and while the baby lawyer inside of you screams that you need to read them, you’re too eager, so you hastily click accept on all of them. A profile with your newly appointed username splays across the screen. Right below your name it says “Beginner Submissive” and you roll your eyes. You upload the hottest selfie you can find of yourself to be your profile picture, smirking at what you imagine Joel’s reaction will be when he sees you in that tight fitting gold dress, a picture Jamie took of you on New Year’s Eve. 

On the top right of your screen are 3 little lines, you open the menu and have two options. ‘Assigned Dominant’ and ‘Limits and Waivers’. You are eager to fill out whatever Joel wants on this app, but none of this will feel real to you until you see his name as your Dom. You giggle as you click the first menu. Holy shit, you think as the new window loads, this is going to happen, he’s going to do it. 

Your heart freezes in your chest, and every ounce of excitement and happiness drains from you as you read ‘Assigned Dominant: Tommy Miller’.

When you get home, you open your JMK app again, looking at the assigned dominant screen in hopes you made a mistake. But there it is, clear as day, ‘Tommy Miller’. You lock your phone in frustration and toss it onto your unmade bed. Why would he do this? You’re sure that everything in the limits and waivers menu would have been a yes if Joel was your dom. But Tommy? Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Tommy. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s not Joel and you thought you made that perfectly clear. 

After you shower you've decided you’ve cooled off enough to continue in the app. Tommy is still not Joel, but you want this for yourself, right? And it’s not about pleasure or attraction, it’s about the escape, and more importantly, it’s about having someone to push you and help you grow.    

You click the ‘Limits and Waivers’ menu, a whole quiz comes up where you can rate your interest in different sexual and non sexual acts on a scale of one to five, and secondary checkmark if you’ve already done those things. You scroll through the list, this would be easy with Joel, all fives, all ‘highly interested’, or so you think. As you scroll through the list you get some real fetish level stuff - diapers, feet, scat play, being hung from hooks. You know enough not to kink shame anyone, but none of that interests you. As such, you rank them as a one, not at all interested.

You scroll back up to fill in all the stuff you’re more interested in. 

Spanking, five. 

Whips and Crops, five. 

Paddles, five. 

Nipple Clamps, five, fucking five hundred at this point. 

Bondage, another five hundred. Vibrators, five. 

Butt Plug, three - ya, that one surprised even yourself, but it’s Tommy, not Joel. 

The little box to click if you’ve done those things remains unchecked. You aren’t a virgin, but the small handful of college boys you’ve entertained had the same two or three moves, all of which left you unsatisfied. 

Odette bangs on your door, and you jump as your phone goes flying from your hand as she barges in. “Let’s get ready! Repeat twenty one, baby!”

You scramble off your bed to grab your phone before she does, one of your hands in a death grip on your towel, “Fuck, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Oh god, you were watching porn again weren’t you?” She laughs as your cheeks flush crimson. She wanders to your closet and opens the doors, “We gotta find you something real hot for tonight, you need to get laid.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you sing nonchalantly, wandering to your vanity to run a brush through your wet hair.

A few hours later and you’re all ready to go. Jamie and Laren came over to pre-drink and do their hair and make up. The four of you blasted nineties Shania Twain while drinking rosé and doing shots of cheap tequila. You pick a floor length black dress with a slit that goes almost to your hip and drips low between your breasts and leaves your back bare. You leave your hair down, curling it loosely before applying minimal makeup, flirty false lashes and a vibrant matte red lipstick. The packaging says that it's guaranteed not to smudge for up to twelve hours. 

“We’ll test that tonight on drinks and men,” Laren says as she steals it from your hand and puts it on her full, pouty lips.

Jamie surprises you with a limo. Before getting in you swipe your JMK app open and save your half-finished preferences. Tonight is not about Joel or Tommy; tonight is about you, and you deserve to be celebrated.

The table Jamie managed to secure for your birthday is perfect. You’re just off the dance floor, but raised up so that you can see the entire club. The music is loud and the room is dark, dimly lit with light pinks and purples. As you settle into the booth a young icy haired blonde girl in small black shorts and a lacy bra wanders in. “Hey babes! I’m Jade, let’s get these bottles going! Here’s the menu.”

Her eyes fall to you as she hands the bottle service menu and you both freeze. It’s her, the girl from Joel’s desk. The thump of the music fades and all you can hear is her moans and cries, the squelching of her pussy as Joel finger fucked her hard and deep. Shit, fuck, why me. She smiles at you, “Oh hey! Good to see you again.”

A chorus of, ‘again?’ and ‘how do you know each other?’ comes from your friends, all of their wide eyes staring at you.

“We don’t really,” you rush. “Just a mutual acquaintance really.”

Luckily, she gets the hint and just nods along. “What are we getting to drink ladies? I’ve heard it’s on the house so pick something expensive!”

You pick a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Jade saying she can make different cocktails with it so you’re not all just doing shots. After a few rounds you find yourself alone in the booth while your friends go to the bathroom. Jade sits on the black leather seat beside you. 

“Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what you saw the other week. Joel sort of forbade me from seeking you out, but if you’re in my section at the club I work at then I’m not really breaking any rules.” She’s even more beautiful up close, no fucking wonder Joel wants to give you to Tommy. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. But you see it now, why he’d pass you along. You can’t compete with a woman like her, and from the sounds of it Joel has more than one gorgeous, tall, slender blonde at his beck and call. 

“No, it’s ok. I’m actually learning to be a sub soon.” You smile at her, trying to tamp down the jealousy that’s threatening to choke you.

“No way! Joel is amazing, I only see him like once a month now but you’re going to love it.” Suddenly your entire body feels like an open wound, and the lime and salt left on your hands from tequila shots burns through you. The back of your eyes burn, frustration and jealousy don’t mix well with Rosé and tequila. You blink a few times to stop the tears. 

“He actually set me up with Tommy,” you croak, “Said I’m more his type.”

Just as she opens her perfect pink lips you hear the unmistakable opening to your all time favourite Shania Twain song, and as if your friends appeared from thin air the four of you yell, “Let’s go girls!”. The icy blonde pats the top of the table in your booth with one hand and holds her other hand out for yours. You climb up onto the table, your friends getting on the chairs. 

Every insecurity dissipates from your body as you sing loudly with your friends, swaying your hips to the music. You surrender yourself to the genius that was Shania Twain and Mutt Lange. As you break into the chorus for a second time, a glint of silver across the club catches your eye. Standing on the other side of the dancefloor, leaning against the bar top, is Joel Miller. 

His eyes are locked on yours; he’s wearing brown dress pants and a white short sleeved button up shirt, the top few buttons are left undone and it pulls at his biceps perfectly. He looks so sexy and casual, hair pushed back as he swirls the amber coloured whiskey around in its glass. He smiles devilishly, shaking his head jovially at you as you put on a show for him. As the song ends he crooks his pointer and middle fingers at you, silently calling you over. The simple motion of his fingers makes your pussy flutter, wetness slicking your thighs since you decided to forgo underwear tonight. Risky choice with the high slit of the skirt but suddenly it’s feeling like it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your girlfriends as they help you off the table. They call for more shots and you refrain from all out sprinting to Joel. 

“Quite the show you put on up there,” he says, grabbing your bicep like he did at the poker game and pulling you gently along with him.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” You twist your arm out of his grasp and stumble. You’re definitely well on your way to being drunk, but you don’t want him to know that.

He grabs for your waist to steady you. “Careful, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, I’m celebrating, so I’m allowed to be drunk. Not allowed to be your sub, but allowed to be drunk.” His eyes darken and you know you’ve crossed some sort of undrawn line, but you’re at that reckless sass point in your tipsiness and you really don’t care. A saccharine sweet smile crosses your face as you plant your hands on your hips.

“You sure you wanna play this game, sweetheart?” He practically growls.

“I’m not your sweetheart, I’m Tommy’s,” it comes out poutier than you expect. You spin on the balls of your feet and head back to the dance floor. As always, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. When you approach the dance floor you see a handsome man about your age looking at you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirms Joel is watching, you grab the hand of the stranger and say, “Let’s dance.”

As all young, drunk boys do, he obliges. You spin and press your back in this body, grinding your ass into him and keeping your eyes locked on Joel. How did he find you here? Why would he be out at this particular club, unless of course he’s keeping an eye on the icy blonde woman. She confirmed they only see each other once a month though, so why? Is he following you somehow?

The boy's hands move to your hips, traveling up your abdomen. You wink at Joel, pulling your hair to the side and tilting your head so the boy behind you has access to the same spot on your neck that he had in his office. Just as his lips start to lower Joel snaps. Got him, you think. He takes a few long strides onto the dance floor, pulling you away like you’re some sort of toy, like he’s a caveman coming to take what’s his. You let him pull you, yelling an apology to the boy on the dance floor.

Even though you’re happy to go with him, you can’t let him know that. “Joel, stop it. You can’t kick me out of here too.”

He takes you down a quiet, dark hallway, barely illuminated by the red glow of the EXIT sign. “I own half this place, baby. So I can.”

You twist your arm free from his grip, “You’re the bane of my existence, Joel Miller.”

“Why haven’t you filled out your app yet?”

You scoff, anger and annoyance starting to replace the happy feeling you had when he pulled you from the dance floor. “Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Doms can see where their subs are at all times if they accept the location tracker on the app.”

Shit, all those menus that you just clicked ‘Accept All’ to at the beginning. Of course your dom would be able to find you, depending on the relationship they can control everything you do. “You’re not my dom!” You state.

Joel rolls his eyes. “I know. Tommy told me you hadn’t filled it all out yet and where you were. So, why haven’t you filled out the app?”

You lean back on the railing along the wall and slide your feet from your heels, placing them on the cool tile of the floor to soothe the ache in your arches. Your hands come back to grip the railing. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl, in this case it literally is my business. The JM stands for Joel Miller.”

This time you roll your eyes and then mumble, “Because I don’t want Tommy. I don’t think I’m going to fill it out anymore.”

Joel leans back against the railing across the small hall from you, pinching the bridge of his noise in annoyance, “Please. For me, can you just fill it out?”

“For you? You made it clear you don't want me. I’m filling it out for Tommy.”

He crosses his arms, biceps bulging even more against the tight fabric of his short sleeved button up, if he’s not careful he’s going to go full incredible hulk on that shirt. Not that you’d mind.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ and that’s also where you’re wrong. You’re fillin’ that out for you. If you’re fillin’ it out for anyone else, then you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”

You let out an unimpressed sounding huff, “I’m not.”

His lips press into a tight line as he considers his words carefully; Joel is old enough to know not to argue with a twenty-one year old who’s had tequila. “Ok, you’re not. So then why do you want to be a sub?”

He watches as your whole body seems to deflate, there’s a shift, almost like desperation in your body. Sadness lines your eyes as they meet his and your voice comes out small and uncertain. “Because I’m exhausted, Joel. I - I spend all day making decisions, and studying, and learning about civil rights law. I’m always having to come up with a plan A, and B, all the way to plan Z sometimes. And then,” your head falls back to the wall as you continue speaking to the ceiling with your eyes closed, “Then I do it all over again the next day. I can’t shut it off, my brain. It just keeps going and going. It's so loud, so constant, so fucking overwhelming and there’s no escape.”

You fall silent and he steps forward, slipping his large hand behind your neck and bringing your gaze to his. You continue, fighting against the boulder that’s forming in your throat, “I don’t think I’m good enough. Or strong enough…Smart enough. I want to see for once that I am, want to see what I can overcome. For once,” you sigh heavily. “For once I just want someone to tell me how well I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes fall to your lips, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Fill out the app.”

You take a deep breath. You feel lighter after finally getting to confessing all of that to him. That was your plan for his office the other day, but something about him flusters you and you were completely knocked off the rails by that special unknown thing Joel has over you. You whisper, “I don’t want to do this with Tommy. Please, Joel.”

Joel’s forehead comes to rest on yours, you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes at this proximity. He smells like mint, and that same ash and leather from his office the other day. You should ask him right now why he let you in his basement today, but he speaks before you can. “Can you please, just for once, show me that you can listen?”

“Kiss me,” you hum, trailing your hands up his strong arms.

He stiffens under your touch. “What?” he asks dumbfoundedly.

“Kiss me and I’ll go home right now and fill out the app,” you whisper, inching your lips closer to his. 

“You’ll go home, fill out the app, and you will not touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a deep command.

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you say, “What?”

He crowds his body closer to yours, pulling his face back slightly so he can take you all in. You’ve never seen this expression before, that flash of darkness from the first time you called him Mister Miller in your car has permanently etched itself into your mind, but it’s almost like he’s transitioned into full dominant Mister Miller now. “If you want to convince me to be your dom, it’s not going to be through just a kiss. So prove to me that you can listen, prove to me that you can be a good girl. ”

The wetness between your legs starts to coat your thighs at the sound of him asking you to be a good girl. You clench your thighs together as his forehead meets yours again.

He continues, his voice just as commanding, “If I give you this kiss, you’ll go home alone, you will not touch that dripping little cunt, and you will fill out the app.”

Your pussy is throbbing with need. You should have known better than to sass him so hard tonight. Someone as competent and experienced as Joel would know exactly how to punish his sub when they were acting up. You nod your head and hum in agreement to his demands.

“Ask me nicely.” He murmurs.

“P-please…kiss me, Joel.” Butterflies assault  the inside of your stomach.

You didn’t think it was possible, but he manages to crowd you even more, your entire body pressed firmly against his. Every skin cell is screaming for his attention, every nerve firing off signals making you hyper aware of anywhere he’s touching you.

“Ask me again using that name I told you not to call me,” He knows he’s playing with fire, but at this exact moment he doesn’t care, he fucking loves the way his preferred dom name sounds coming off your lips. 

“Kiss me, Mister Miller. Please?” It’s airy and desperate, your knees feel weak below you and it feels as if you can’t get a full breath in. The anticipation is killing you. 

“Why?” he growls. Growing up you were always afraid of dark spaces, but if there were any monsters in this hallway they’d be running scared at the timbre of his voice right now.

Your back arches instinctively into him. You’re safe here, Joel Miller is your safety. “Because I need you, Mister Miller. Please. Just one kiss…then I’ll do anything. I promise. P-please. I need to feel you on me, Mister Miller.”

Joel bends slightly, his hands come to the back of your thighs and he lifts you, slamming you against the wall. You squeal, arms flinging around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. He pins you to the wall with his hips and lets go of your thighs. Both of you are practically panting, his cock is hard as steel, pressing against his zipper and your bare pussy. Your skirt is covering you from exposing yourself to him but something about the glint in his eye when your bodies connect makes you think he might know you don’t have any panties on. 

His hands peel your arms from around his neck and he pins them with one hand above your head like he did in his office. You whimper and grind your hips against him. His free hand wraps around your throat, holding it gently. 

“No,” he growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have to stop your hips. “Say it again.”

He watches your mouth hungrily as you lick your lips and you fight back a moan. He can feel your pulse firing rapidly under his calloused fingertips. A needy whisper passes your lips, filling the miniscule space left between your bodies. “I need you, Mister Miller. Please kiss me.”

With that he slams his lips against yours. It’s a desperate and heady mess of tongue and teeth, your moans being swallowed by his greedy mouth. You tilt your head to allow him in more. His tongue devours every inch that it can reach. He nips at your bottom lip before diving back in. He takes whatever he wants from you and you let him. For the first time in years your brain is quiet. No anxiety about the quickly approaching LSAT, no thinking of whatever practice question you’re stuck on. That nagging fear of being rejected from all the law schools you’ve applied to goes silent. The worrying voice that tells you you’re not good enough disappears. Everything you are is replaced by whatever Joel gives. 

You grind down onto him as you flick your tongue against his; he’s so rough yet so very soft. His tongue tastes like mint and whiskey. You can feel your orgasm building, it’s going to happen embarrassingly fast at this rate. You feel light headed from lack of oxygen and the slight push of his fingers into the side of your throat. More, more, more, you yell in your head.

Joel breaks the kiss and puts you down on your feet, holding you steady as you find your legs again. His lips are puffy and even though it’s not the time to be thinking of this, you realize there isn’t a single drop of red lipstick on his face, so it really will last twelve hours without smudging. 

His thumb comes to your face, swiping along your bottom lip gently, “Put your number in my phone, sweet girl.”

He holds his brand new iPhone Max out to you and you tap your number in with shaky fingers. He sends a quick text when you hand his phone back and then he kneels in front of you, helping you back into your heels. As he stands his hand trails from your ankle, all the way up the slit of your skirt to settle on your clothed hip. “Go get your stuff and go home now, baby. There’ll be a car waiting for you out front.”

He pats your bum gently as you walk on shaky legs back to your VIP booth. You feel like a newborn giraffe as you make your way to your table. 

“Where have you been?” Jamie proclaims, holding up a tequila shot for you.

You wave her off, “I think I’ve had too much. I’m gonna go but I want you girls to stay. Enjoy your night for me.”

It takes a few minutes but you convince your friends to stay and that you’ll be fine and already have a ride arranged. As you exit the club there’s a gorgeous blacked out town car parked in front. An older gentleman in a suit looks at you and nods, “Good Evening, Miss. Are you the young lady Joel Miller has asked me to escort home?”

You nod back, trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence and not the most outrageous thing that’s ever happened to you. As soon as you get home you change into your most unflattering set of pajamas, hoping that if you feel unsexy then it’ll stop that insistent throb between your thighs. Joel was so fucking close again, and this time there was no underwear in his way.

You slide open the app, Tommy Miller is still set as your dom, but you go through the preferences carefully and answer as honestly as possible as to what you want. You try to focus on the questions even though you can still feel Joel's throbbing cock pushing against you, and his warm hands around your wrists and throat. You can still taste him on your lips. You shake the ghost of him off of you and remind yourself again what you want from this, aside from mind-blowing orgasms. 

You fill out every section and then hit save. Just as you are about to lock your phone and try to fall asleep your phone vibrates, the JMK app as a notification.

‘Your Assigned Dominant has changed to Joel Miller’

Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you stare at the notification, your head feels fuzzy, possibly from the booze, or that kiss, but you can’t believe your eyes. You close out of the app and go back in, staring at where Joel’s name has replaced Tommy’s. Just as it all starts to feel real you get a text message from a number you don’t have saved. You click on the message app.

“No coming until I say so, I know you weren’t wearing any panties tonight. Messy little pussy ruined my pants. Go to sleep now, my sweet girl.”

Next Chapter

[honeytonedhottie]

how to be a whole new student this school year (A MASTERPOST)⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎀📔

HOW TO BE BETTER THIS SCHOOL YEAR ;

TAKE ADVANTAGE. take advantage of extra credit opportunities, make sure to advocate for urself and take advantage in any way that u can. by simply doing ur homework you'll have a much better grade in the overall class which gives u wiggle room to make a mistake. but if ur slacking off on ur homework, ignoring extra credit opportunities AND doing bad on tests then ur basically setting urself up for failure. and by doing the opposite then ur setting urself up for success.

something i've noticed (and im guilty of this too sometimes) is that i spend so much time making my notes aesthetically pleasing that i forget to actually go over them which defeats the whole purpose of notes. theres nothing wrong with having fun and creative adorable notes that spark joy and happiness but PLEASE actually use them, trust me you'll love them more…💬🎀

furthermore understand that getting good grades isn't as daunting and difficult as u may have imagined. just remember to always do ur homework, take advantage of extra credit, projects are an easy test grade, and get things done as fast as u possibly can.

FIND WAYS TO STAY MOTIVATED ;

the best way to stay motivated is through ROMANTICIZATION. when u learn to enjoy going to school, your going to be motivated to do well in school. because school is so IMPORTANT not only for ur education but also ur future. so take school seriously. and if u wanna become an academic weapon for the long term the best thing u can do is learn to make the best of, and enjoy it. some ways to romanticize school include ->

♡ create a school playlist that embodies the school vibes that u wanna have : i have lots of new jeans in my school playlist : i rly like the songs cookie, ditto and hurt for when im at school

♡ creating a study blog or study group to hold urself accountable in a fun and healthy way

♡ ur appearance : if u go to a school where u dont have to wear uniforms, i strongly recommend getting dressed and getting ready meticulously bcuz when u look good, u feel good, and therefore u perform well. if u do wear uniform, wear accessories or hairstyles that make u feel and look pretty. i wear leg warmers with my school uniform and my signature is hair clips and barrettes.

♡ read at school : i always walk around with a book bcuz i like to read a lot but if reading isnt ur thing, listen to a podcast about something that interests u (i rly like true crime)

♡ take pride in ur notes : invest in cute stationary! i swear, sometimes i dont feel like studying but since my stationary is super cute and pink i get motivated to study just by looking at it lol. invest in quality stationary that u love and make ur notes look pleasing to you, and also effective. effective + aesthetically pleasing.

♡ doing homework/studying in the library : or at least changing the scenery and location that u do ur homework from time to time. do yk how boring it is to do work in the same place every single day? give urself a break from the places u see all the time and spend time studying or doing homework outside of ur home. in a cafe or in the library, inside or outside, just change the scenery a bit

♡ start a video diary : i started a little video diary with my friends so that we can remember our school memories. i just think its rly cute and a great way to bond with ur friends, make memories, and romanticize school.

try and formulate a PASSION for learning as a way to cultivate the school romanticization attitude. be passionate to learn and be an academic weapon…💬🎀

CHANGE UP ROUTINES ;

in my next point i talk about the importance of routines but its also important to change little things about ur routine. dont go and change the whole structure of ur school routine but make sure to add little changes to spice things up and not keep urself like a hamster on a wheel. i find when i do this i just feel a lot better and its easier to romanticize.

MAKE A REGIMEN ;

make a pretty basic routine to stick to, to make sure that u balance school and personal life. having a routine can make falling into line and following through with tasks a lot easier. its easier to do things personally when u MICROMANAGE urself. at least from my own personal experience.

ABOUT STUDYING ;

every single day study (at least for a little bit) ofc this will vary depending on ur personal schedule but the goal is to do a little bit of studying everyday, and if that isnt possible, designating 3 days a week to a thorough studying session.

the way that i divide my time with a study session is 40 minutes of work time and 20 minutes of downtime. during the 40 minutes of work time u need to LOCK IN. lock in on whatever assignment needs to be complete or lock in on whatever material it is that ur studying. ofc this'll differ between all subjects but dont study all subjects in one night!! thats ambitious, but i find it'll just burn u out so stick to studying for 2-3 subjects max.

HOW TO STUDY WITHOUT BURNING URSELF OUT ;

♡ get off ur device. literally put the phone down. 9 times out of 10 the burn out that ur feeling is just the dopamine detox and laziness

arguably, the most important aspect to prevent burn out is ENERGY management. when ur burnt out u can literally feel ur energy tank on zero, so regardless of all the study techniques, however effective they may be, if u can't even muster up the energy to do them then they're useless…💬🎀

♡ get PRODUCTIVE rest. what is productive rest? scrolling endlessly on tiktok is NOT productive rest. productive rest is actually letting ur mind and body REST. like, taking a nap, indulging in self care, or whatever relaxes u.

STAY ORGANIZED ;

find a tool and stay ORGANIZED. i personally use notion. and on my school notion i create a space for me to write my own notes, a calendar to put important academic dates, resources like passwords and logins, and a to-do list where i can put down some of my assignments. keeping everything organized is so so important. its non digital as well, make sure to keep ur desktop space organized, ur supplies and physical notes organized also. the more organized the better.

SOME POSTS FOR RESOURCES ;

how to get good grades without excessive studying - by yours truly

ways to romanticize school - @4theitgirls

studying methods + tips - by yours truly

youtube channels to help u out this semester - @4theitgirls

creating a study schedule and routine - @prettieinpink

how to study like rory gilmore - @itgirldiary

my studying plans as an accounting major - @iluvprettygirls

citation resources - @workitgurl

how to get good grades without excessive studying - by me

khanacademy.org

coursera.org

annualreviews.org

google scholar - research

google calendar - organization

notion - organization

[katanablue]

Me: yeah I just started this blog yesterday so maybe I’ll put some of my writing out in the future

Also me:

Just a lil something to get the ball rolling 🫡

I used a spinner wheel for turtle+prompt+variation

Intimacy prompts!

07 Turtles + Diff Types of Intimacy:

. . . . . ╰──╮꒰💙꒱ ╭──╯ . . . . .

Leo + 31. holding someone by the waist

“Now make sure you grip it tight by the base, unless you want it to go flying out your hands.” He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you adjust the position of your hands.

“How’s this?” You ask after shifting your fingers a bit. Leo nods approvingly, letting his eyes roam over the rest of your form, his eyes squinting the slightest bit when he notices the width between your feet.

“Better. Let’s fix your stance though.” He comes closer, gently nudging your feet apart while his hands hover on either side of your waist. He steps back with a tilt of his head and a raised eye ridge before lightly tutting and coming to stand behind you.

“Okay so straighten up more— yeah like that. Now,” He puts a warm palm on your lower back while his other rests on your hip, once again placing his foot next to yours to shuffle it into the proper position. At first you don’t register just how close he is, truly focused on trying to get into the right stance to hold his katana.

You had asked him to teach you how to wield them and he obliged but not after giving you a whole speech on how “katanas are not a toy, but an extension of a ninja.” And then he started off by teaching you how to hold one before even dreaming about you handling two.

“Okay now bend your arms just a little…” There’s a strong, intimidating presence about him but after knowing him for so long you know that there’s nothing to be afraid of, that he would do anything and everything to make you feel safe and comfortable. You can feel his plastron just barely brush against the back of your T-shirt, his presence like a flame that’s slowly enveloping you.

“Twist your hips now,” He slides his hold to your waist, his grip gentle but firm enough to maneuver you the right away. You can feel the edges of your lips starting to curl into a smile once you feel the warmth of his skin seep through your clothes and onto you. You look back at him over your left, pleasantly surprised to find him closer than you anticipated.

He’s concentrating on your body but once he feels your tender stare at him, his deep brown eyes settle to look right into yours. There’s a half second pause between you two, a flex of his fingers against your waist while his mouth creeps up into a faint smile as well.

“Good?” He speaks softly, the subtle movement of his fingers rubbing up and down not going unnoticed by you.

“Good.”

You don’t miss the quick fleeting look to your lips before he returns it back to your hips.

. . . . . ╰──╮꒰❤️꒱ ╭──╯ . . . . .

Raph + 8. interrupting with a kiss

“And then! They really had the audacity to—“

Raph huffs a laugh as he listens to you talk about yet another disastrous day at your job. He tosses a ball into the air while he sits on your bed, propped against your headboard while you pace back and forth in the center of your room. Every now and then you look over to him to catch his reaction, pleased when he makes a face of agreement or says a few words of input. It prompts you to keep going, thinking you’re almost done until you remember something else your least favorite coworker did.

“Did I tell you what they did last week?” You ask with an exasperated scoff.

“Yeah, babe.”

“And what they did later on the same week?”

He snorts, catching the ball in his hand before looking over at you and throwing it. You catch it with ease, tossing it between your hands while you wait for his answer.

“Yeah,” He tries not to laugh at the slightly defeated look on your face. He sits up even more and beckons you to come closer with a simple expression. With a heavy sigh you oblige, crawling on your knees before plopping right in between his legs.

“They’re just so annoying!” You exclaim, giving him the ball back while you adjust your position to sit more comfortably. He puts it down by his side and places his hands on your thighs, rubbing up and down in a soothing touch and trying to edge you away from the conversation you’ve been having (with mainly yourself) for the past 20 minutes.

“So why don’t you stop talking about ‘em?” He suggests, the faintest hint of sarcasm laced because he just knows how difficult it is for you to actually do so.

You open your mouth to protest, ready to claim yet another thing your lame coworker did that you just remembered.

“But Raph—!”

You’re silenced when you suddenly feel his mouth on yours, his three fingered hand taking a hold of your chin to keep you in place.

“No more talkin’. Got it?” He murmurs against your lips, giving you another peck. You lock gazes with him, those honey gold eyes piercing right into yours. You sigh through your nose, nudging it against his snout delicately.

“You could’ve just told me to shut up.”

His laugh is deep, rich and warm against your mouth, coursing through your chest when he pulls you closer to sit on his lap completely.

“I like this method better.”

. . . . . ╰──╮꒰💜꒱ ╭──╯ . . . . .

Donnie + 38. delightful smiles

“Isn’t this just the coolest thing ever?”

Donnie had managed to find a broken down photo booth at the junkyard on their last scavenging hunt, convincing Leo to let him take it back so he can fix it up.

What he left out was that he wanted to fix it for you.

“You really think you can get this thing to work?” You ask him, seeing his shell peak out just barely from the back of the machine. You place your hand on it, inspecting the once vibrant colors of orange, purple and green now a dull shade. You pull back the purple curtain to glance inside, scrunching up your nose when clouds of dust fly up and hit you right in the face. You wave it away, going to sit on the small bench inside and look at your reflection on the screen.

“Uh, have you met me? Been working on this thing for at least a week now.” You hear his voice a bit muffled from the other side of the booth, scoffing a laugh while he continues to tinker away at machine.

“Oh, my apologies ‘oh smart one’.” You remark, sitting back against the wall and closing your eyes while you listen to him fiddle with something metal. It stops a few seconds later and soon you hear Donnie pulling back the curtain to look at you with a teasing unamused expression.

“Hey, this smart one is fixing this booth up for you.”

His statement makes you smile, making you open your eyes to glance at him. You see him sporting a grin as well, warmth flooding his heart when he sees the way you look at him.

“Better have that same delightful smile when this baby is up and running.” He jokes, stepping back to let the curtain fall and go back to his work. You sit there beaming, cheeks starting to hurt from how hard you were straight cheesing.

It’s nearly an hour later when you hear his triumphant “aha, yes!” followed by the click of him closing the panel back onto the machine. Donnie goes to plug it in and the lights above you flicker for a few moments before staying on, the display screen in front of you whirring to life with some kind of electronic song blasting through the speakers.

“No way you actually did it!” You laugh and turn your head towards the curtain when he pulls it aside and sits down next to you. He rubs his hands together and leans forward to begin selecting a frame for you two.

“You doubted me?” He asks smugly, giving you a playful side eye while he scrolls through the selections. You watch him with a content smile, scooting closer to rest your arm against his.

“Never.” You reply softly, leaning forward to stop him from moving the screen to select a frame that’s purple with hearts all over. He looks down at you fondly, throwing an arm around your shoulders to hug you into his side.

“There’s that delightful smile.”

. . . . . ╰──╮꒰🧡꒱ ╭──╯ . . . . .

Mikey + 10. going on a date

“Dude, you are going to love what I have planned for us!” Mikey happily tugs you across the rooftop, your giggling like music in his ears as he brings you closer and closer to the date spot he set up. He had been planning this for at least 2 weeks, scrambling between his brothers, Splinter and April on what to do for the perfect first date.

Ultimately at the end he figured out he should only rely on April’s advice, given that she’s the only one in an actual relationship.

“You’ve been buzzing nonstop, Mikey! What, did you finally get your hands on the ‘Shell Invaders’ remake?” You ask, putting a bit more pep in your step to walk alongside him rather than behind. He laughs and briefly looks at you before returning his attention back to the front.

“Nah, but now I know what to do for our next date.”

That makes your stomach flip, grinning ear to ear and giving a squeeze to his hand.

“Next date?” You tease in a sing song voice, enjoying the way you can practically see his blush cross his cheeks. He lightly shakes your enclasped hands and looks over at you.

“Next date.” He states confidently, showcasing a big toothy grin when you’re the one who ends up flustered. You walk for another minute or so before he stops abruptly.

“Okay, close your eyes.” He lets go of your hand, bouncing on the balls of his feet while he waits for you to do so. When you do he goes to stand behind you and gently nudge you forward and turn left until the tips of your shoes just barely brush against the edge of a picnic blanket.

You can feel the warmth radiating off of him, even when he lets go of your shoulders and instead reaches down to grab your hand once again.

“Okay… open.”

You can hear how nervous he is, the hope that what he did is enough for you.

And it is.

You gasp quietly when you take in the scene of various foods and drinks scattered across the orange and white checkered blanket, perfectly placed at the end of the building. You lean forward to look over, a small laugh passing your lips when you catch a group of people beginning to set up on stage for some sort of performance. You look back to see Mikey practically vibrating in his spot, anxiously waiting for your words or approval at his date.

“Well…?” He asks with a shy smile. You walk closer and place a small kiss on his cheek, interlacing your fingers as best as possible with his three fingers.

“It’s perfect! This is… outstanding for a first date.” You whisper softly. Mikey can’t help but pull you into a hug, squeezing you tight for a moment before letting you go and gesturing for you to sit.

“Awesome, I knew April wouldn’t let me down!”

You enjoy the food and each others company for the remainder of the night, watching the small band perform their set list down below.

Yeah, this is a perfect first date.

[useless-englandfacts]

We have had an influx of messages from people in Gaza, and so I'm putting them all in one post.

Please have a read of all of them - I've only included a summary of their stories here (you can read their full stories on their respective blogs and gofund.me pages), and the amount raised is at the time of posting. If you can't afford to give, then at the very least reblog and share this post.

@ahmednimer: raised €40,521 out of €49,000

I'm Ahmed Alanqar, 34 years old, married to Dina Alanqar, and we have three children Zeina (7 years old), Eileen (6 years old), and Yamen (4 years old), have faced all the challenges brought by the war in Gaza, but now we need your help to escape this tragedy.

His gofund.me is here

@alaakh9: raised €3,748 out of €20,000

My name is Alaa, I'm a Palestinian mother of two children: Maria and Hamza, and expecting another child, as well as a wife and a daughter. Until last October, I was living a regular and stable life with my husband, children, immediate family, and my in-laws. We lost everything: our home, our jobs, our dreams. My biggest worry is for Hamza and Maria, their future is uncertain. Where will they live, study, and grow up? Gaza offers little hope now, as the essentials of life are being destroyed. My children's future seems bleak, overshadowed by uncertainty.

Her gofund.me is here

@hmzamahamed3: raised €25,994 out of €37,000

Your support is a lifeline of hope. A few days ago, the area where my family's tents were was bombed, and the situation was very dangerous now. There is no water for thirst everywhere, and there is no food. Food is very expensive. If they want to eat, for example, a simple meal, they need a hundred euros, consisting of vegetables and simple things. If they want fruit, which is not available, the fruits they have not seen for months, and if they find their prices are exorbitant, they live now. I hope you support them and help them get out

His gofund.me is here

@shahednhall: raised $43,719 out of $80,000

I am Shahd from the southern Gaza Strip. All my life, I have been building a life for me and my family. It persisted in a good future, when the war in Gaza began on October 7, 2023. We were in extreme fear during the displacement, and found ourselves in an insufficient small tent. Despite the lack of safety, food, clean water and the spread of diseases, we had to live this difficult life under bombardment, knowing that at any moment, my family and I could lose our lives My whole life has been scattered, and I am extremely frustrated and sad by the ongoing genocide I witness every day.

Her gofund.me is here

@safaabed8: raised €13,194 out of €50,000

I'm Safaa, 25 years old, the wife of the best man in the world and the mother of the two most beautiful children, but the war deprived them of their childhood and its beauty. As you know, the Egyptian government imposes entry fees to its territory ranging from 5,000 to 8,000 dollars per person. Therefore, we need you to stand by us to leave Gaza and stay in Egypt, including rent expenses for my family and children. I hope everyone can help us do this as soon as possible. We do not want to lose anyone else from our family, just as we have lost many of our friends, loved ones, and relatives. Your support can be the light that guides us to safety, to a place where Ibtisam and Ibrahim can grow.

Her gofund.me is here

@tamer200333: raised $2337 out of $60,000

My name is Marcus, from North Carolina in the US, and I am managing this fundraiser on behalf of Mahmoud and Maysaa Baalousha. I recently found Mahmoud on social media in need of someone to make a fundraiser to evacuate his sister, Maysaa, who is displaced in Al-Shati, Gaza with her husband, Muhammed, and four children, Tamer, Mohamed, Dana, and Dima. Mahmoud is presently displaced, but safe, in Egypt, but is unable to make a fundraiser for his sister. I am currently in contact with him on WhatsApp where he has provided me information on his sister and her family. Maysaa suffers from pulmonary fibrosis. Due to the continued siege on Gaza and the specific targeting of hospitals, she is unable to access the care she desperately needs. This campaign will provide the funds she and her family needs to evacuate and access medical care once the border re-opens.

His gofund.me is here

@hadeelmekki: raised €9,338 out of €35,000

I am Hadeel Mikki from Gaza, Palestine and this is my husband Waseem Mikki, my daughters Mira and Nadia, My mother Tahani Mikki, and my two brothers. The objective of this fundraising drive is to secure the passage of my family, comprising my husband, two daughters, mother, two brothers, and myself, through the Rafah Crossing to Egypt. Presently, this journey necessitates £5000 per person. This campaign stands as our sole opportunity for survival, and I earnestly implore your aid during this pivotal juncture. Rest assured, I will furnish you with a detailed breakdown of the expenses, vowing transparency, and lucidity throughout.

her gofund.me is here

@ashraf-family2: raised €13,029 out of €20,000

My name is Ashraf Alanqar, and I am 30 years old. My wife, Widad Issa, and I have a one-and-a-half-year-old son named Bakr. We used to live peacefully in the Al-Shuja’iya neighborhood, in a house we built just a week before the war began. I worked as a farmer and owned a large chicken farm that provided for my family. We urgently need your help. I am asking for your support to fund this campaign to move my family to a safe place, provide us with a proper home, and ensure we have enough food, water, and medical care.

His gofund.me is here

@88mohammed: raised €1,338 out of €100,000

My name is Mohammed Shurrab , a qualified medical doctor, palestinian living in Gaza, facing significant challenges with my family due to continuous attacks and shortages of food, water, and medicine. We need your help to escape this dire situation and find safety in Egypt. Please help us to preserve the lives of my child and my family. My family consists of my child and my wife in addition to my parents, grandfather and 4 sisters with her families and 3 brothers, since the start of war our house has been damaged and we have been displaced to a safer place, but there is still danger to our lives. The cost of crossing into Egypt is high reaching 5000$ for adults and 2500$ for children, and there is no job and no income in the war, we have been lost every things in this war, our house and our jobs and now don’t have anything.

His gofund.me is here

@amira-world: raised €16,865 out of €20,000

After my father's passing, I found myself taking care of my family, consisting of my mother, sister Noor, and brother Abdulrahman. My mother, suffering from high blood pressure and diabetes, faces health problems that further complicate their situation. But courage and determination drive Amira forward. I worked as a teaching assistant at the university while pursuing a master's degree in data science, and also worked as a programmer in a company. My life was going smoothly until war came and destroyed everything.

Her gofund.me is here

@mohammadayyad: raised €12,698 out of €35,000

I am writing to you in a time of dire need, seeking your compassionate assistance for my uncle Mohammed and his five children, who are enduring the severe hardships of the conflict in Gaza. For over 200 days, they have faced unimaginable fear and suffering. The ongoing crisis has left them without a home, employment, or access to education. Moreover, the healthcare challenges in the region have tragically claimed the life of my grandmother, who passed away not directly from the conflict, but from a critical shortage of medical supplies.

His gofund.me is here

[elssero]

Hey darling!!! Been stalking your blog and I love it?? Like hello?

Also, since reqs seem to be open, may I ask for either some more elaboration on the store-bought Izuku drabble? (Something like a little while into the future, when reader actually falls for him?)

Or maybe a part 2 to the project partner fic with Katsuki? I read it and it just broke my heart I want him to be happy😭

No pressure for either one obviously, love ya!

hiii, yes requests are always open!! (for now at least) i will elaborate on store bought izuku, im unsure about continuing project partner rn ! elaboration on this drabble.

the sound of the door opening rings in izuku’s ears, his face perks up, body bolting around the corner leaving the kitchen into the living space- he needs to see you immediately.

the weekdays are insufferable for izuku- he’s forced to spend the majority of the day alone as he runs around cleaning your space and cooking you a meal as he awaits your return.

his ears go bright red when he sees you- he greets you the same way he has everyday for the past 3 months, barely waiting for you to remove your shoes and coat before he pounces on you- grasping your body against his.

he digs his nose into your neck- often times taking deep inhales as though breathing you in. he really does miss you immensly everyday.

your eventually forced to pat him off- much to his dismay as he trails behind you, following as you walk around the house- tending to small things and he talks your ear off.

“izuku- please. calm down for a second- i have to talk to you.”

interrupting his rambling nerves shoot up his body like electricity- heart pounding in his chest so loud that he’s afraid you’ll hear it.

you get him settled down for dinner- your wish to have this conversation over food only makes him even more worried.

the silence in the room is choking- hearing the increase in taps from izukus foot colliding with the floor you decide to show him mercy.

“so i’ve been thinking-” the dread in his stomach forces him to speak before he can think- interrupting your sentence before you get to finish it.

“w-whatever i’ve done to upset you im sorry! please- it won’t happen again!” looking at him you take note that tears in his eyes are threatening to spill- it’s now when you realise how truly terrified he is at the idea that he’d done something wrong- a strike of sympathy hits your chest.

“izuku darling, you have to let me finish.” you give him a warm smile in an attempt to somewhat calm him nerves before you continue- catching the spark in his eyes when look into his- izuku truly believes your smile may be the most beautiful in the world.

“i was thinking- maybe- you would like to start spending the night in my room?” his breath catches in his throat- finding himself unable to make a sound- unsure if he’d heard you correctly.

seeing the expecting look in your eye he gives you a meek nod- that’s all you need.

izuku does spend the night in your room that night- uncharacteristically weary of your personal space before you tell him it’s okay- you invited him here.

for the first time since he met you- store bought izuku falls asleep in your arms- head resting deep into your chest- holding you so tight he can hear your heartbeat. deciding this is where he belongs-

with you.

i love love love doing requests so please don’t hesitate to send them in!!

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Indefinite hiatus

I was toying with writing up a long post about what running this blog has meant to me over the years and why I'm stepping away for the foreseeable future, but that feels too dramatic for what's really just me saying "I'm not going to be on tumblr for at least the rest of the year". So, I'll just say I'm not going to be on tumblr for at least the rest of the year.

Okay, actually I have a bunch more to say, but it'll be under the cut.

Politics sucks. And paying attention to it, even in the reduced way I've been paying attention to it over the last few years, is hard. You end up spending so much of your supposedly free time thinking about things you can't change, getting mad about things you can't change, and getting depressed when the people who can change things just keep going in the wrong direction. Even when good things happen, it's just a matter of a few days before something bad happens once again. And vice versa. It's an endless cycle of hope, despair, resignation. Rinse and repeat, and triple speed that cycle during an election year. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of spending every other year worried about what's going to happen on one day in November. I'm tired of hearing a piece of news and automatically composing a post about it or running through 20 different responses I might give to asks I might get about it in my head.

Everyone I know who doesn't pay attention to politics (or at least doesn't run a social media page dedicated to it) seems to enjoy their live a lot more than I currently do. Which sounds way more dramatic than what's actually going on, which is mainly that I want to get to a place where I just don't care. I want the world and its problems to flow off my back instead of weighing it down. I want to stop thinking about what people on the internet might say about something I haven't even posted yet. And that can't happen while I'm tied to this blog. So I'll be staying away from it for at least the rest of the year.

I did have a good time with this blog. I've met a bunch of really awesome people, some who are sadly no longer with us (RIP Blue), and some who I think will carry on the "fight" way better than I ever did. This isn't an admission of defeat, or pessimism about the election. Even if Trump wins, and I truly think he will if we have a fair election, I still won't be back this year. But I'll still vote and I'll still be proud that my silly little tumblr blog had an impact on some people's lives. I may not have the reach of a Tucker Carlson or a Glenn Beck, but I've gotten a lot of messages from people who said they changed their minds about an issue, or even politics in general, because of things I said, and that counts for something. If you guys take anything away from me, I want it to be this: Even the smallest impact matters. It doesn't matter if you only ever reach one person and then stop, reaching that one person is enough. Changing one vote is enough. Changing one mind is enough.

To all my mutuals, you guys are the best. I truly hope you have wonderful lives and I'm sad I won't get to see your names on my dash everyday anymore. To anyone I've ever followed or reblogged from, I couldn't have had a blog without you, so thank you. Yes, even the leftiod psychos, XD. To everyone else, find your own balance and never give into despair and never listen to people who tell you not to try. Even a failed effort is still more meaningful than sitting back and mocking people for trying to improve even the smallest thing about themselves or the world around them.

I won't be logging back in after I post this, so any messages or asks you send, I won't see. I'll still be active (or as active as I ever am) in my discord, so feel free to join there if you want to. It should still be my pinned post, but if it isn't, I'll edit this with a new invite link.

And that's all I've got to say for now.

[shuenkio]

Pretty please | Yjw. 🐇

Paring: Jungwon x m!reader : Genre: Fluffy

Synopsis: He was desperate to have you when he heard a conversation you'd never date him.

Cw: Cheesy line attack (12am cringe thought expect less y'all)

Non proof read | Eng is not my 1st lang

This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

Crd dividers (Anitalenia) and the owner of pics

A&N: Head empty once filled when I was listening to ' pretty please ' such a mood what if he'd do these— (jkd au) you called these drabble right? Not sure... [This was so cringe at some point naurrr]

Imagine living your normal life peacefully until a cute guy comes crushing in. His name really did explain his own character. Like garden sheep? Pretty new and adorable.

But that was your first impression of him on the day you first met him in front of the school office. His face is round like a dumpling, his sharp eye liner is tight up above the end corner like a cat's eyes, and his pupils are as cute as boba. Jungwon is the most bubbly, lovely little guy ever. And it's actually what you were thinking back then.

Present time, He was a total opposite. Jungwon became taller, had buff body proportions, and last but not least, his maturity turned manly. Everyone would not dare approach him at school since his look could kill well for you; this was an exception. He still acts silly, like a ball of sunshine, just to get your eyes only. Who knows, maybe both of you are friends? Or did Jungwon think the other way?

Lately, the last few weeks after the exam, he started to act strange. He has a lot of physical touch, craves attention, is clingy like a koala, and would find any way to be with you, holding you in his grips. Growing suspicious and with a weird expression on his face, you wanted to ask him why, but before that could happen, he was already there.

During the times you talk to your friend, chitchatting about your crush, Jungwon happens to walk by and hears you saying—

"What? No, Jungwon was my boyfriend. Why would you think like that? There's no dating; don't get the wrong  idea." Denying the statement. Those sentences making Jungwon low-key sad about the fact he's giving all his signals to you just vanished. Msybey, it was not there; you're too oblivious to even bother to ensure him, so after school, Jungwon asked you to meet him somewhere you both usually go.

There he goes again—too strange, too weird—but you keep unziping until you get your answer.

When you arrived at the spot, you heard a sob while he was back facing you. Did you just hear him cry? Rare.

Heart almost dropped to the floor, turning him around as his face filled with broken pieces, red eyes, dry tears, and a puffing face. There's no way you actually witness your boyfriend crying; he's too cute to be in tears.

"What's wrong? Won-ie," asks him gently, trying to maintain the atmosphere as clear as clam ever. Hearing you ask only to fuel it even more, by seeing your face, he's already planned the future with you. He wants you; he likes you, but would you return his feelings? That day he eavesdropped, which is already enough, yet he can't accept it; he needs to do something.

"M/N, I have never cried before, but—can I ask something crazy?" Mumble in a low tone; try not to hic from streaming tears. Slowly lock his contact on yours, waiting for your next answer.

Nod and respond with action instead of words. Jungwon, then take a deep breath before kneeling on both knees, holding on to your hands.

Chin up, staring at your speechless reaction, as he processes to utter:

"Please take me; please love me, m/n. I had never done such cringe-worthy, cheesy things like these before, yet you made me. It's hard every day to not love someone like you. You're something I need every day, my very best friend, that I don't consider one but more than that!

Pretty please, I'll let you ruin my heart even if you have to just let me love you." Desperately, a lion could turn into a cat if it needed to; for what they love, unexpected things could happen. Jungwon is actually begging for you to let you hurt him just for him to love you?

"Jungwon—don't get me wrong, i uh ashh, you probably heard my conversation with my friends...

나도 좋아해"

🗣️Reblog and like is much appreciated ♥

🗣️ Please mind my English! ><

Ps: COPY AND PASTE KOREAN SENTENCE FOR BETTER EXPERIENCE 😜

[gainerbf]

•How I’ve gained weight•

I’ve wanted to make a post like this for a while now because I get the question ‘how do I gain weight’ often. Here is an outline of what I’ve been doing

-In the morning, I try to have eggs. 4 eggs scrambled with a slice of cheese is my go to. That’s 24 grams of protein right away. Add a tall glass of milk (for me chocolate milk) and boom, 30 grams of protein immediately.

-I work on the road during the year so around lunch time I would try to snack on cashews and peanut butter crackers. Once I’m off work around 2-3pm, I would try to have a burger. Literally just a plain ass burger or 2 with ketchup. Alternate that with grilled chicken or a deli sandwich with some kind of red meat. Or even full fat greek yogurt is good.

-Dinner is…dinner. Eat whatever. Pasta. Pizza. Chicken. Steak. Burgers. Tacos. Hell pb n js will do. Go nuts

-IMPORTANT-

•Weight Training

I weight train. Almost every day. I can tell I am ruining some of your ‘ooo fat boy is out of shape. He probably can’t do a push up’ fantasies. Very sorry but I can. I can do a lot actually. I lift weights. I do lunges. I do squats. I have a fat fucking milkshake made up simply of ice cream and milk. Not even trying with the milk either, it’s low fat. Imagine if I did whole milk? In due time 😉 but this is important. I’m not saying ‘hit the gym blimpie!’. Get some dumbbells. Work your lower body. You need to do this anyways to carry your growing body. Plus you’ll feel A LOT better…and your ass and thighs look good, win win 😃

-Midnight snack/second dinner. My go to second dinner/before bed snack is a steak and cheese grinder. I don’t have it every night but probably 3-4 times a week. Again, it doesn’t have to be red meat but protein is key.

In conclusion

I started doing this for a few reason

My job causes me to move around a good bit and I lost weight because of it. I had no muscle. I was just pure fat. I wanted to change that and have

I figured it would help fill me out a bit more. Uhhhh mission accomplished 🥵

It’s healthy. Pretty simple

Final reason. I am always trying to find the most effective weight gain regimen. This is it. At least for me it is.

I’ve gained 23 pounds since June 25th. I have to make adjustments do to my upcoming work schedule but I plan on keeping this routine for the foreseeable future and even tweaking it a bit.

-I can add protein powder, whole milk and heavy cream to my milkshakes

-I can have 2 milkshakes a day (or 3 or 4 or just a constant stream 😅)

-I will go up in weight with my weight training. Increasing weight is key, don’t do a ton of reps because that is how you cut/tone. You want to build. Only way to build is to increase the weight you lift. Don’t hurt yourself. Start low, then grow

I’m not saying this is a guarantee plan for you. Everybody is different. But this worked for me. It DESTROYED a plateau I was hitting and then some.

Side note: this was influenced by a post that I have a screenshot of but I didn’t screenshot the name of the blog and I can’t find the post. When I see it resurface, will rb

[flightfoot]

How Alya's mistreated by the saltdom and the writers

I've written this for the @yall-hate-kids-tourney, but figured that I'd publish it on my own tumblr as well for an easy reference point for others who want to illustrate how badly Alya's been treated - mostly by the fandom, but she's been somewhat screwed over by the writing as well. I've written it so that even people who have never heard of Miraculous before can understand my problems with the way Alya's often depicted, and I will probably use this essay for that purpose repeatedly in the future. It's over 4500 words, so buckle up!

---

The amount of hatred Alya gets in the fandom is absolutely insane. There are over 800 fics tagged with "Alya Cesaire Bashing", and that's just the ones that actually TAG it - many of them either use a a non-canonical tag or just take their demonization of her as canon. It's not just that a lot of fics bash her either, but that the fics that bash her are disproportionately popular. If you go through the "Miraculous Ladybug" tag on AO3 and sort by kudos, I'd say around a third of the top 500 most popular fics use this gross caricature of her in order to justify inflicting some sort of insane punishment on her, or at least replacing her with "better" friends and leaving her to wail in despair.

Basically, Alya is the best friend of the main character, Marinette. She's really into superheroes and aims to be a reporter someday, to the point that the first time a supervillain cropped up in the series, she immediately got out her bike and cycled after him so that she could be there when a superhero showed up to fight him (Lois Lane would be proud). She runs a blog called the "Ladyblog" which reports on what the superheroes are doing, and sometimes makes some fun videos, like about the most impressive feats of one of the superheroes. 

More relevantly though, she acts as Marinette's support a lot of the time, often being the one to push her to confess her feelings to Adrien, to help her with plans she comes up with, to talk things out with if she's having trouble processing something, and trying to act as the voice of reason if Marinette's gotten to into her own head. It can sometimes head into Black Best Friend territory of having her mostly stick around to support her bestie, but she DOES get a decent amount of screentime and focus at least.

Then the first episode of season 3 aired, and the fandom went BALLISTIC.

This character, Lila, debuted back at the end of season 1 as being this attention-seeking liar who pretended that she knew a lot more famous people than she actually did, including being best friends with Ladybug. Alya, being a naive 14-year-old, believed her and put Lila's interview on her blog. Since Marinette IS Ladybug, she knew this was not true, though she was initially more freaked out about the possibility that Adrien (the boy she has a crush on) would find her supposedly amazing life to be entrancing and that Lila would steal Adrien away from her, to the point that she actively wanted to stop Lila and Adrien from spending time together to prevent Adrien from falling for her.

Fast-forward to Chameleon, the first episode of season 3, and Lila's back and lying some more, this time about having Tinnitus (which would mean that she needs to sit at the front of class, next to Adrien). The class has a whole seating rearrangement in order to accommodate the move, and because some of them just wanted to change seats. Since Marinette was late that day, she didn't get to give input, so she wound up sitting alone at the back of the class, instead of next to Alya like she usually did. She's upset by this, but can't prove that Lila doesn't actually have the disability (she doesn't even have evidence that Lila doesn't have hearing problems, it's just that her story of how she supposedly got the disability is suspect), so she puts up with it for the class period.

Then lunch time rolls around and Marinette tells Alya and Alya's boyfriend, Nino, that Lila's a lying liar who lies. Alya asks why Marinette hates her so much, since she barely knows Lila (this isn't the first time that Marinette's nitpicked at Lila's stories, but she's never actually managed to prove that Lila's lying, Lila's good at coming up with explanations for any hole Marinette exposes in her tales). Marinette tells her how, after Lila first arrived at school, she followed her and Adrien, eavesdropped on them, and then saw Ladybug show up and tear into Lila for not knowing her. (Presumably that's what she says, the episode skipped past her actual recounting of what she saw). Alya and Nino are more concerned with the fact that she stalked Lila and Adrien, with Alya also being skeptical that what she heard might have been out-of-context, given how common out-of-context eavesdropping is in fiction for causing issues, with Alya saying, "A good reporter always verifies her sources. Can you prove she doesn't actually know Ladybug?"

Since Marinette can't actually prove anything without revealing that she's Ladybug, she decides that the sane and reasonable thing to do is to throw a wadded up napkin at Lila while she's eating lunch, and when she catches it (Lila's pretending to have a sprained wrist), to loudly declare that she obviously doesn't have a sprained wrist. Lila quickly pretends that catching it did actually hurt, the classmates Lila was sitting with scold Marinette for hurting her, and then Marinette goes off to seethe in a bathroom, where Lila finds her and threatens to turn her friends against her if she continues trying to expose her lies. 

Then at the end of the episode, Adrien goes to sit with Marinette at the back of the class to keep her company, the teacher thinks that Marinette ALSO has hearing issues so she's brought back to the front (and away from Adrien again), Lila pretends that her hearing has been fixed so she can sit at the back with Adrien, and Alya spots that Marinette looks miserable about sitting alone at the front, so she chooses to sit next to Marinette to keep her company and everyone ends up going back to their old places, except that Lila's sitting at the back of the class now.

And that's it. That is, for the most part, what kicked off the entire Alya hatred and demonization onslaught. While there ARE more things that happening in following episodes, they have a pretty small effect on the demonization Alya's put through, almost all of it is derived from Chameleon and hasn't changed much since then.

So for starters, in fanfics Alya is often made to ditch Marinette constantly to hang out with Lila instead. This never happens. She's often exasperated when Marinette starts talking about how Lila is awful and points out that she doesn't have proof of that, but she doesn't avoid Marinette, and the closest she ever comes to hanging out with Lila outside of class events is when she called Lila over to babysit hers and Nino's younger siblings when Marinette canceled at the last minute.

But most Alya-bashing fics don't just leave it there. Oh no. If you look through a bunch of the most popular Miraculous fics, you'll see Alya made out to be some sort of ringleader for the class in bullying Marinette, hitting her, pinching her, poisoning her, destroying her things, saying nasty, heinous things to her, the works, and inciting the rest of the class to do the same, sometimes to the point that even LILA is shocked at her cruelty. Usually in these cases, Chloe, who is canonically the class bully (and Marinette's bully in particular) is inexplicably Marinette's primary protector against the eeeeeevil Alya, becoming Marinette's best friend and support and basically taking on Alya's canon role and some of her personality traits, despite the fact that canonically, Chloe's as susceptible to Lila's lies as anyone else, and that in season 5 Chloe actually became Lila's partner in crime in trying to hurt Marinette in particular. (I don't like how Chloe's treated in canon, but that's a different story).

I've never even seen any justification given for why Alya's so frequently made to be outright violent or cruel towards Marinette, it's just widely accepted in fiction now, even with nothing pointing to her ever being malicious like that. There ARE other things Alya canonically does that I see her taken to task over though, but that fall apart when you examine them.

One of the biggest offenders is criticism towards Alya over how she handles babysitting. In Christmaster, Alya and Nino pick up Nino's little brother after Marinette babysits him for them while they're on a date, in Timetagger, Marinette's slated to babysit for them while they're on a date but cancels at the last minute, so they call Lila over instead, and then in Simple Man, Marinette books herself to babysit Alya's and Nino's younger siblings and the daughter of one's of her mom's friends, a little girl named Manon, all at the same time.

Alya receives heavy criticism for not paying Marinette for her babysitting, for having Marinette babysit for her secretly behind her parents' back without their knowledge, and for pressuring Marinette to babysit for her even though Marinette's so busy.

A few problems with this.

1. We see babysitting happen several times, sometimes with Alya helping Marinette with babysitting Manon and sometimes with Marinette just babysitting Manon without anyone else's involvement. At no point is payment brought up, and yet the absence of such a discussion is only ever used to demonize Alya.

2. There is no evidence that the babysitting Marinette does for Alya's sake is done behind her parents' back, the only thing pointing to that is a lack of Alya ever flat-out saying that she has her parents' permission to have Marinette babysit for her, but there's no evidence of sneaking around. MARINETTE, however, DOES canonically ditch her babysitting duties by having Alya babysit for her without the parent's knowledge. In Prime Queen, Marinette accidentally double books herself to do an interview as Ladybug at the same time that she's supposed to be babysitting Manon, so she calls Alya over to watch the interview with her, lies to her that she's just gonna go downstairs for a few minutes to talk with her parents and for Alya to please watch over Manon while she does that, and then leaves to do the interview while Alya watches over Manon the whole time. Nadja definitely didn't know that this happened, because she was surprised and worried when Alya and Manon called in during the interview with Marinette nowhere to be seen. In addition to this, in Simpleman, Marinette foists off all the children she's babysitting onto her grandpa against his will so that she can run off and help with Adrien's photoshoot after he calls her. The people demonizing Alya for supposedly having Marinette babysit for her secretly are not upset about the examples of Marinette canonically doing these things.

3. Of the three times that Marinette has, to date, been scheduled to babysit for Alya's sake (Christmaster, Timetagger, and Simpleman), for Christmaster she spent the next several hours after finishing with babysitting making Adrien's 50th birthday present (he's currently 14 years old), so I wouldn't say she was pressed for time, for Timetagger, she literally called Alya at the last minute to say she was too busy to babysit and Alya said it was no biggie and made other arrangements, and for Simpleman, Alya offered to cancel her date and take care of her younger siblings herself the instant she saw that Marinette was already babysitting Manon, and Marinette told her to go ahead and go on her date and that she'd look after her siblings.

So clearly, the people clutching their pearls about how horribly irresponsibly Alya is handling babysitting and how she's wronging Marinette in the process don't actually care about babysitting ethics here, because otherwise, Marinette would be getting the brunt of the hatred, not Alya. Despite this, I've seen a fair number of posts in the past tearing into Alya's babysitting for the reasons I already gave, and a bunch of fics that make it so that Alya pressures and guilt-trips Marinette into babysitting for her when she's struggling to keep up with all her work, only to have her parents find out and be horrified by how Alya's lied to them about who's been doing the babysitting and that Alya's been getting an increased allowance because of that, so they pay Marinette out of Alya's allowance and ground her, take away privileges, just have this be used as an excuse to punish Alya for supposedly wronging Marinette.

And then there's the subcategory of Alya demonization towards her for putting up Lila's interview on her blog without verifying that Lila was telling the truth. Admittedly, this was foolish, but she's 14. Retractions exist for a reason. And yet, fics frequently have her reputation be completely destroyed because she put up one interview that had a false statement by the interviewee in it, and sometimes even to be completely blacklisted from ever being a journalist in the future, things that are completely insane and would have even the most storied and well-respected of reporters be unable to ever get a job. 

She also frequently gets demonized and bashed for "believing Lila over Marinette". My major issue with this: what she's specifically believing Lila over Marinette for is on the topic of "is Lila an awful person". I don't think it's unreasonable to have a higher standard of proof for believing that someone is an awful person than for believing that your friend might just have some biased interpretations. Alya thinks that Marinette doesn't like Lila mostly because Lila has hit on Adrien, Marinette's crush, before. This isn't unreasonable considering that Marinette's first reaction to Lila is to freak out about her stealing Adrien away, and that when this other girl, Kagami, started hanging out with Adrien, she freaked out about that too. Specifically, she called a meeting of all her female friends to try and stop Kagami and Adrien from going away together to London for the weekend in Backwarder, helped Chloe in trying to get Kagami covered in food at a fancy red carpet movie opening in order to drive her away and steal her seat next to Adrien for the movie, and when she and Kagami were paired up for a "friend-making game" where the goal was to locate where Adrien was in Paris and the prize was to spend time with him, she pretended to genuinely want to be Kagami's friend so she could sabotage both of them and prevent Kagami from spending time with Adrien. So it's not like the belief that Marinette might be unfairly biased against Lila because she's made moves on Adrien is an unfair assumption.

In addition to that, on the occasions when Lila HAS tried to frame Marinette for something, Alya hasn't believed it, or hasn't been shown to believe it at least. In Ladybug, Lila tries to frame Marinette for cheating on a test, for stealing a necklace from her, and for knocking her down the stairs. Despite the evidence Lila planted, Alya doesn't believe it and investigates to try and find out what really happened. She doesn't uncover any solid proof, but she still believes in Marinette. She doesn't believe that Marinette's assumption that Lila's behind this is necessarily correct, since Marinette's leaping to that without presenting proof, but she doesn't believe that Marinette's the culprit either. And in the two following cases when Marinette's framed, Alya never actually gets a chance to say what she believes after the accusation is made against Marinette.

Just... the amount of demonization towards Alya TO THIS DAY, often for things she NEVER EVEN FREAKING DID, is absolutely insane. Even over 5 years since Chameleon aired, fics with Alya being made into this malicious, awful bully so that Marinette can get some new friends to publicly denounce her, get her arrested, or otherwise be punished are frequently on the front page of the most recently updated fics on AO3, and are often some of the most popular ones. If you go to "Fandom-Specific plot" on Tvtropes, saltfics like these have multiple files going through all the common salt tropes. When looking through fics, I frequently search for Alya's name because she's often the first person to be unfairly demonized, so if she's safe, then everyone likely is. 

I suspect that racism plays a major factor in this. It doesn't make sense that Alya's often painted as being a violent, malicious bully and leader in getting the rest of the class to physically hurt and terrorize Marinette, I haven't even seen analysis arguing that she'd do that... but it tracks with the "Black Brute" archetype. This becomes even more obvious with Chloe, who's white and canonically DOES do some of this stuff, taking on Alya's canon role and some of her personality traits in these sorts of stories.

Then there's the standard Alya's held to for how she handles her blog. It's way higher than anyone would hold real-world reporters to, much less 14-year-olds. But it makes sense if you factor racial bias into account, and how Alya, being Black, is going to be held to a higher standard than anyone else, and be punished more for failing to meet that standard.

For things like the babysitting double standard, it makes no sense if you're actually looking at the stated criticism, given that the same criticism isn't leveled at Marinette... but it makes perfect sense if you're going off the assumption that Alya, as Marinette's Black Best Friend, is supposed to solely function as her support and that she's simply fulfilling her duties by always being there for her when needed, including for babysitting, but that if Marinette ever attempts to repay in kind, then Alya's being unfair towards her because Alya's obligated to always support Marinette, but that relationship is supposed to be a one-way street. Alya is supposed to function as Marinette's support, never the other way around.

And as for the way Alya's demonized for asking for evidence before believing that Lila's lying, well... again, Alya's expected to act as Marinette's support, and her "failing" that in any way, even if it makes sense from her point of view, is viewed as a betrayal. She's supposed to be loyal to Marinette, and only to Marinette, not to think for herself or to have multiple other friends or values that she needs to weigh. And anything that she does to go against that "justifies" Marinette intentionally trying to hurt and punish her for failing to live up to her role.

In conclusion, the way Alya's treated by the salt side of the fandom is grossly unfair, often has little connection with anything she canonically did, and has some gross racist implications, and is likely at least partially spurred on by racism, especially with how common and popular it still is to this day.

Addendum: How Alya is screwed over by the writers.

While Alya is primarily screwed over by the fanbase, there are some aspects of the writing that exacerbate her ill treatment. In season 4, Marinette confesses her secret identity to Alya, letting her know that she is Ladybug. Despite now knowing why Marinette was so convinced that Lila wasn't friends with Ladybug, and that Lila's interview stating that she's best friends with Ladybug is a lie, the subject just... never comes up, even when Lila starts being important again. It's not that Alya's ignoring what Lila lying on those subjects means, it's more like the writers just completely forgot that Lila told those particular lies, since Marinette doesn't bring them up either. This creates an inconsistency with the fanbase, who really, really, REALLY haven't forgotten those lies. 

There ARE ways to explain this - Lila lying about being friends with Ladybug in order to try to boost her reputation, especially when she's the new girl, isn't really all that heinous. Marinette lies a lot as well, even if you don't count lies told to protect her secret identity or other "necessary" lies, sometimes out of embarrassment, sometimes to to try and prevent someone's feelings from getting hurt, and sometimes because she thinks it's the fastest, easiest, or most certain way to get the outcome she wants. And yet, even though Marinette lies a lot, she's not ostracized for that since it's usually not for malicious reasons - foolish reasons at times, but rarely malicious. It would make sense that Lila too, wouldn't be thought too badly of for merely lying in an attempt to make friends.

None of that actually comes up though. Alya later, in Confrontation, states that, "Marinette, you know we'll always believe you. But every time you've accused Lila, there's been no evidence. And at worst, it was just a misunderstanding." Marinette doesn't say anything about the previous times Lila has been proven to lie, so it seems like either it was decided offscreen that the more understandable lies she's told don't matter, or that the writers just plain forgot about them.

There were other opportunities created by Alya knowing Marinette's identity that were ignored. Alya concludes that Adrien backing up Marinette's statement that Lila's bad news was just due to him wanting to defend his girlfriend. This is also a bit of a writing flaw, while wanting to back up his girlfriend's stance IS a decent reason for Adrien to be biased against Lila, this is Adrien we're talking about here. He's nice and understanding to a fault, and is known for giving people the benefit of the doubt and second chances. It makes far less sense to believe that he'd believe the worst of Lila, even if Marinette does, than it does for Marinette to be biased against Lila. That being said, Adrien wouldn't have been present for Lila's more indisputable threats and statements directed against Marinette, so he can't actually verify for sure whether or not there could've been some misunderstanding.

There WAS, however, someone who was always with Marinette, and who could actually back up Marinette's statements more definitively. 

Tikki. She was present for every threat Lila made, for everything she ever claimed. While it's possible that both Tikki and Marinette may have misunderstood Lila in the same way, it's far less likely, especially since Tikki would have had different biases from Marinette. Tikki could be an important witness. Yet that never comes up, is never proposed, because that would end the plotline too quickly. 

Alya was also screwed over in the immediate aftermath of Lila being exposed, though not by the writers per se? There was a short scene planned after Lila's exposed where Alya apologizes for not believing Marinette about Lila being a liar and generally an awful person, we've even got leaked footage of it, but it appears that it was cut somewhere between being written and voice acted, and the episode being aired. 

All of this only really affects detailed arguments about how well (or poorly) Alya's story arc with Lila was handled, its affect on the actual fanfiction produced about Chameleon salt was minimal, I saw no change in its frequency, severity, or general handling of the characters with any season after season 3. I highly doubt that even the changes I suggested here would have done much to persuade the saltdom against Ron the Death Eatering Alya, especially since a lot of the hatred against her has so little to do with the show.

There IS some hatred thrown at Alya for non-Lila related reasons - well, reasons that aren't DIRECTLY Lila related, most of that hatred still stems from people hating her for Chameleon stuff and then retroactively justifying it by looking back at other things she did that irked them. The most common one (that actually has some sort of argument to it, not the "Alya's a horrible babysitter and is abusing her friendship with Marinette" nonsense I listed in the main essay) is that Alya's pushy about getting Marinette together with Adrien. 

This is more a product of Alya's usual role in the story than anything. I mentioned in the main essay how Alya sometimes falls into "Black Best Friend" territory, and this is one of the biggest examples. One of her most common roles throughout the series is as the person who pushes Marinette to actually confess to Adrien, to hang out with him, to pursue her romantic desires even with her anxiety holding her back, and to be honest with herself during the times when she's trying to deny her feelings for him. She's Marinette's sounding board whenever she's having an anxiety spiral about... actually, just about anything, and acts as the voice of reason when Marinette gets in her own head too much.

Thus, Alya sets Marinette and Adrien to end up somewhere alone together, or tries to push her to talk to him, or to be honest during the times when she tries to "move on" from Adrien by denying that she still has feelings for him (which is blatantly untrue). She IS okay with Marinette dating someone else though, if she honestly seems to want to do that. She had no problem with her dating Luka, for instance. She DID protest Marinette's seemingly sudden interest in Chat Noir, but that was mostly because Marinette seemed to be grabbing at her new attraction as an attempt to run away from her feelings for Adrien, something that Tikki ALSO noted.

That's another thing - Alya's the character who's most frequently thrown into this role, but she's not the only one, nor even the most extreme one. A new character that was introduced for the Miraculous New York Special, Jess, observed how Adrien and Marinette acted around each other, and decided to try to get them to confess their love by faking a supervillain attack on them, with the supervillain kidnapping anyone that no one loves in order to compel Marinette to FINALLY confess to Adrien. (Alya thought it was stupid, but agreed to help since it might actually work). When Marinette, Adrien, Luka, and Kagami went out to the wax museum together, Luka intentionally locked Adrien and Marinette in a room together so that Marinette would stop running away and would be forced to talk to Adrien. Marinette is written in such a way that other characters are compelled to meddle in her lovelife, because otherwise she'll continue making her own extreme plans and pining away, but never actually confess her feelings. 

So while Alya could be said to be "pushy" to an extent, it's mostly for Marinette's benefit. I would like if this was a less frequent role for Alya - I think it does her a disservice, since it locks her firmly into Marinette's orbit rather than emphasizing who Alya is as her own character. Most of the hatred towards Alya for this is tied up in "Die For Our Ship" being directed at Adrien though, with Adrien bashers hating that Alya's trying to set Marinette up with what they see as an inferior option. Ironically enough, while Alya's role in this situation is one of the primary examples in the show of her being treated by the writers as a "Black Best Friend" who exists to serve Marinette's character, it's actually one of the cases where I think racism is a pretty minor part of the hatred by the fanbase over it, since I think that's mostly motivated by hatred towards the Lovesquare.

In conclusion (again), there is an issue with the writers bending Alya's character in order to tell a particular story, particularly a Marinette-centered story, while ignoring how little sense that makes with what happened earlier on in the plotline, or how it centralizes Alya's role and character around Marinette in ways that exacerbate already existing writing patterns in media. 

[ponyguru]

Yesterday was a sad day. I didn’t feel like I could post something blithely happy about my ponies without saying something about the election, so I’ve been musing on what to say.

Before 2016, I ran more of a ‘general fandom’ type blog on Tumblr, which skewed more heavily towards politics and activism as the orange demon began to come into the limelight. Surely, we thought, nobody would be stupid enough to vote for a reality TV star with zero credentials and so many crimes surrounding him. The election seemed like a slam dunk, since everyone had working brains.

While I had to watch people I thought I could trust celebrating the downfall of our country’s (and my) future, I realized I couldn’t carry on any kind of activism blog and keep myself alive. I leaned into 100% pony toy blogging, just to try and keep my sanity. Pony blogging became an escape, a safe place that was focused wholly on cute, comforting nostalgia. Worrying about finding the latest pony release was easier than worrying about Prop 8 removing gay marriage rights, or the overturn of Roe v Wade. Even if politics always managed to edge into my life, girls toys at least were a space where women and LGBTQIA (usually) weren’t on the fringes and marginalized.

Which leads me back to today, staring down another brutal four years in a wannabe orange dictatorship. I don’t want to simplify it with “don’t worry, we’ll all make it through again!” because a lot of us didn’t make it. I’m glad that I am in a blue state that’s working to preserve my rights, but so many others don’t have that luxury, and I’m deeply afraid for them, too. I’m scared, and a lot of us are scared, with good reason to be.

Ponies aren’t a cure all, and escapism isn’t a fix. We need to keep fighting, but you can’t fight 24/7. Many of us are already fighting just to exist in a country that doesn’t feel welcoming right now. So I’m going to keep posting about my ponies, who are comforting to me, and do my best to create a space that feels safe for me to return to, when the rest of the world isn’t. If you want to come hide in Ponyland for a little while with me every day, you’re welcome to.

I hope you all stay safe, and find a place or activity that helps you to stay alive, too. Staying alive is doing enough, in a world that wants you dead. Anything else you can do is just gravy.

I will share useful resources when I find them, usually via Insta stories, and I will keep posting ponies. Ponies bring me comfort, and I hope you can find something that comforts you, too. Stay safe, and remember that there is a better future coming. We just have to make it there. 💖

OH and I forgot to mention, I tried to comfort myself by washing some ponies from the recent doll show, hence the photo! They all cleaned up very nicely, even if Yum Yum still has a frizzball tail, LOL!

[covetyou]

any other week

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo & gn!reader rating: Teen (18+ only blog!) warnings: sickfic. no smut or nudity (shocking, I know). sickness (no vomitting) and associated gross feelings and metaphors. fluff. word count: 2.3k summary: You're sick. That much is obvious. Even if the fact is you can't be sick. Not now. Not this week. Not when the only one around to look after you is the very person who pays you to look after him - Mr. Dieter Bravo.

A/N: if you hadn't heard, I have (had? I still feel shit but I'm technically negative and going to see Taylor Swift tomorrow, wish me luck lol) covid, and it's kicked my ass, so I wrote the least appropriate man in the universe looking after someone. enjoy 💛

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

"D-!"

You barely get out the first syllable of his name before you're hacking a cough, pressing your palms to your knees as you splutter, bent over in a silent prayer to whatever virus has your esophagus in a chokehold, willing it to please let go.

It's feeling benevolent today, you think, when the clenching grip around your throat gives way a moment later, letting you take in a few blissfully sharp, painful gasps of air again.

Not that the cough has really stopped. That's been a niggling tickle for days now, growing and growing into something bigger as your body has gradually lost the fight with whatever asshole thing has set up shop inside your sinuses. Still, it's eased off enough now for you to raise yourself on wobbly legs, chest heaving and your head too fuzzy to really take in the foyer of Dieter's home, or the man himself as he tentatively creeps down the stairs.

It was going to be a bitch of a week. The last week before Dieter head's off to shoot always was. Full of last minute meetings and prep, and Dieter being all too much of an asshole for you to want to deal with, and you being entirely too much of a cunt to him in return. The last thing you needed was to be sick.

Whatever plague had befallen you didn't seem to give a shit you were assistant to the Dieter Bravo, or that sorry, we're busy this week, can I pencil you in for September? You'd just have to deal, and suck it up, and hope to the end of the earth that you could stay far enough away from Dieter than you didn't get him sick too.

"You look like shit."

You almost jump out of your skin, a muffled voice echoing down at you from the top of the stairs as your eyes strain to focus and find the source of the voice. It sure sounds like Dieter, but you can't tell if it's the cotton wool stuffed inside your own head, or some weird voice he's putting on in preparation for his next role that's making him sound entirely off.

He's there, you're sure of it, your heart pounding in your chest as you wheeze and stare up at a Dieter shaped blur you're certain is wearing a balklava.

You cough again before you speak, your voice a weak rasp of what it usually is, razor blades slicing up your throat as you force the words out.

"Dee? I've got your mail, and those clothes from the designer, and -"

He's coming closer, taking the steps slowly, coming in to focus then wobbling back out of it as you blink rapidly at him and heave in another pained breath.

"You're sick."

Usually you'd argue with him. You take just about any opportunity to talk back to him, just like he does with you. It's how you work so well together. Even now, your head is indignantly saying no. You are not sick. You are perfectly fine and if he could just get off your ass, that'd be wonderful.

But, you are sick. That much is obvious. Even if the fact was, you couldn't be sick. Not now. Not this week.

"- your laundry -"

"You're sick."

Any argument is lost in your throat as another cough drags itself out of you, kicking and screaming, forcing you to hinge over again just to stop the force of it all from knocking you flat on your ass. Dieter is retreating up the stairs a little as you watch stars dance across your eyes with each forceful hack of air from your lungs, and even through the pain and lack of oxygen you can sense he feels uneasy about this, about you, and for the first time you think you may have made a mistake.

You shouldn't have come here.

You should have called, or sent a text, and worked from home where you could stay in bed, keeping your germs to yourself and away from him.

When your cough finally eases off again, your head pounding now and your throat burning more than it has in days, you lift yourself up, and admit defeat.

"Okay," you wheeze. "I'll go. I'm - fuck, sorry - I'll call you later. Let me know if you need anything."

Your head spins as you turn, and Dieter thunders down a few more steps before abruptly stopping as you hobble back to the door.

"No!" he shouts down the stairs the moment your hand touches the handle.

You look back at him confused, as he stands there, still keeping his distance, but reaching for you as if force of will alone could stop you in your tracks. And, in a way, it does. You turn to him, propping yourself up on the door, watching him as he tries not to recoil from you, especially now that he can see you up close.

You'd been pallid when you left the house. Now, you felt positively gray. Though you felt cold to the touch, your insides felt like you were roasting alive. No doubt, a few steps closer as he is, he can see the sweat beading on your forehead simply from the effort of keeping yourself standing there and not sliding down the door into a heap on the floor.

"You can't fuckin' drive in this state," he says, flapping his hands at you as his mind kicks into overdrive. "You're sick. You'll crash your fuckin' car. You need rest, and soup, and drugs - the good kind - and a doctor, I should call a doctor, you need to get better, you can't be sick, I can't - because I nee - lo- no!- care - " he stops himself, his mouth flapping as he stares and gesticulates in your general direction before letting his arms flop at his sides.

"I am not getting a new assistant," he settles with, hugging his arms tight around his body.

Before you can tell him he's stuck with you as his assistant whether he likes you or not, another cough beats its way out of your chest, and you slump against the door. Dieter is on you in a second, his balaklava'd face coming into view as he holds you gently by the shoulders as you splutter.

"You - you gotta get in bed. Now."

He's panicking, you know that much. He's never so much as seen you with a hangover, let alone seen you sick. So, you let him guide you upstairs, watching you with wild eyes through the balaklava as you wheeze at the stop of the staircase.

You let him pull you down the hallway, and push you into a spare room. You barely register his hands helping you peel away sweaty layer after sweaty layer of clothing until you're being guided into a soft bed, the sheets being pulled gently over you until you sink into the plush pillows and fall alseep before he's even left the room.

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

When you wake, some minutes or some hours later, you're not sure, it's to shuffling in the corner of the room. The handle of the door clicks before it slowly swings inward - that horror movie creak only playing in your head though fitting perfectly with the scene you're watching in front of you. When the door is half open, a shaggy head pokes around the frame, before shuffling in on croc covered feet, cardigan wrapped tightly around itself and mask replacing the balaklava he'd so hastily thrown on earlier.

"Dee?" you croak from the bed, failing to sit up as the weight of the blankets holds you down.

"Stay back," comes his muffled voice from beneath the mask as he shuffles in further. He walks to a dresser kept by the wall. There's nothing in it. There's nothing in this entire room except for empty furniture and blank walls. The only time it sees any action is after some of Dieter's more frivoulous parties, when one too many people can't make it home and need a place to crash. In essence, it's the spare room to the spare rooms spare room - not the guest room, or his room, or the room he'd designated as yours some years ago, that's down the hall next to his own, but the last of three rooms that sit empty nearly year round.

Dieter tugs on the dresser, his crocs gripping to the floor as he yanks it away from the wall and pushes it with a squeak all the way across the floor toward the side of the bed you're trapped in.

"Stay there," is all he says before he leaves you again, the giant piece of furniture slotted right up against the bedside. You couldn't move even if you wanted to, and now he's all but blocked in your easiest way of escape. You weren't going anywhere.

A moment later he's shuffling back in, a tray in his hands and what you think is an umbrella under his arm. He's staring carefully down at the tray - balance and dexterity having never been his strong suit - before placing it gently onto the dresser.

"Tea," he grunts, pointing to the tray, "that lemon ginger shit. Some other stuff too."

It's at the end of the dresser, beyond your feet, and not really of any use to you right now, but the sentiment is nice, especially coming from Dieter.

"Thanks, Dee."

He grunts again, shrugging his cardigan covered shoulders before taking the umbrella from under his arm and gently pushing the tray along the top of the dresser until it's within arms reach of you. When he's done, he nods to himself before backing out of the room, and closing the door. You hear the faint sounds of jesus fucking christ being muttered from the other side of the door as he walks away, no doubt to have a shower and rid himself of as many of your germs as he can before he goes about practicing lines and keeping himself busy.

That lemon ginger shit is smelling divine as you lay there, slowly peeling your arms out from the sweaty confines of the sheets. The soothing heat of it is just what you need - if you hadn't forced the stuff on him so many times in the past, you'd be stunned that he even thought of it himself.

Sitting up, an ache in your hips like no other, you groan and reach for the tea, taking a small burning mouthful, and swallowing it down with a gasp before taking another, then another, then another. The burn soothes the raw feeling in your throat, and when you can finally swallow a little more freely, if only for a second, you take a chance to look at the tray Dieter left with you.

Some other stuff, is an understatement.

There's bottled water, snacks undoubtedly taken directly from the stash you keep in his kitchen, plus a few of his own that he knows you steal when he's not looking. Then, there's what can only be described as a miniature pharmacy. Tissues, nasal sprays, throat lozenges, tylenol, cough syrup, and little packets of Liquid IV lined up on the tray for you to take your pick of.

It's exactly the kind of thing you've done for him countless times before when he's been holed up in bed, too sick or too hungover to deal with the world. Now, here he was doing it for you just as dutifuly as you ever had for him. He'd even gone as far to get dressed and leave the house, driving to a pharmacy just for you. You knew for a fact he didn't keep half of this stuff in the house, and neither did you.

Before you know it, your throat is constricting and your lip is wobbling, but another burst of pain rips its way through your chest as you cough again, and again, and again. Your eyes water, the tears forgotten, until the cough subsides. You'll cry later, when your throat hurts a little less and you have the energy. For now, you throw back some tylenol, finish your tea, and flop back down into the sheets, ready for sleep to take you once more.

Over the course of a few days, though you barely see his face again, you know he's been in to check on you by what he's left for you on the tray. A hot bowl of soup and soft bread. More tea. A bowl of yogurt and fruit when sunlight creeps through the cracks in the blinds. A stack of books. His iPad, loaded up with movies and TV shows that you're not sure were always on here, or if he downloaded them just for you. Fresh towels so you can take the most exhausting shower of your life, only to come back out to find underwear and one of Dieter's old worn movie tees waiting for you. Then there's more tea. More food.

He cares for you from a distance, day in day out, until your cough turns to a splutter, and you can breath a little deeper. And so can he.

Around the third day, when you're no longer coughing and feeling far more like yourself, but still too exhausted to do much of anything, you finally see Dieter's face again. He silently herds you into the room he calls yours, shuttering the windows as you crawl under the sheets, and curls into bed behind you.

"You smell different when you're sick," he mumbles into your neck. "Fuckin' hate it."

"Sorry," you whisper back to him in the dark. "I showered, but I -"

"No. You smell different. Sick different. Not gross different. Didn't smell like you."

Smiling into the dark, you let him snuggle into you as you drift off into the most restful sleep either of you have had in days.

tagging my Dieter beloveds: @schnarfer @missredherring @whatsnewalycat @sp00kymulderr @ozarkthedog

@ghotifishreads @rebel-held @amanitacowboy @readingiskeepingmegoing

[befemininenow]

Some of us change, and for the better. If you haven't yet, what could you change?

Well, this one is a longer description than what I've been writing during special days. I've been debating on making changes for the blog, as well my improving on my personal needs. I haven't been able to enjoy anything these past few months due to work, bills, and other circumstances in my life. I've been wanting to enjoy this 2024, but it seems that it hasn't been any better.

It's currently April and the spring season is supposed to be a fresh new start for everyone. I always felt that April is the perfect month to adjust towards the new year and initiate those plans you had during your New Year's Resolution, but have never started. 90 days is usually enough time to adjust and I think we're well above 90 days to make an excuse. Well, no more excuses.

See, it's been exactly a year since I made my "retirement" post. However, I did so at an impulsive rate and lapsed back to uploading captions again. Then, on June of last year, I did so again. I uploaded a new caption or two between June and September before uploading more captions around October until now. Yet again, I didn't last.

I come to the conclusion that as much as I love making captions, it's been affecting my actual life. Caption making isn't as easy as it seems. Not only do you have to find good pictures, but you also have to create a meaningful message relating to the picture. Sometimes, you even have to give a detailed description either because the message can't fit in the entire picture or because I have to spice up the post. Then, you have to make sure the caption looks good because the wrong color, font, space, etc, can make it look ugly. It doesn't have to be this stressful, but it got to the point where it took a chunk of my free time and left me with a lack of satisfaction.

You may be asking yourself if this is another "retirement" post where I'm going to quit and come back again. Let me make this statement clear because as the saying goes "Third time's a charm": I'm not going to retire. Yet. However, don't be surprised if I go without uploading a new caption for 3 or 5 days. Chances are, I'm probably either busy with other errands in my life or because I need a proper vacation that allows me to enjoy my other hobbies. Feminization captions aren't my personality, y'know.

When and how I will conclude this blog will be a surprise I will unveil one day. Maybe next week, next month, maybe even next year. But for now, I'm going to make a change with this blog based at my own pace. This caption (No. 505) is a preview of what you will expect to see for the next several captions: basic, simple, effective, and of course, attractive. Also, for the first time since forever, I will upload captions without a post description. All of my captions have at least a small description of what the post is about. This time, there will be some caption posts without description because I believe the caption is enough to detail what the topic will be about.

For now, this is the future of this blog. I promise you that the next captions will be great. I put more effort and love into them and I hope you love them as well. Have a great night, everyone!

[real-total-drama-takes]

Important! PLEASE READ!

Hi everyone!

So, it’s been a while. There’s been a lot of people asking where I’ve been/if I’m okay/when I’ll update the blog again. I’m sorry I left you guys in the dark! My personal life has been crazy busy and I couldn’t find the time to sit down and type up an explanation. I wanted to be thorough, but more than that, I wanted to be accurate about what the future of this blog looks like. So, without further ado, here’s the long awaited update post.

This blog is going to be taking a hiatus. I love the total drama fandom with my whole heart and soul, but there are also a lot of weirdos who turn up in my ask box. It only takes one look at TD reddit and all of the homophobic/transphobic/racist content on there to know what I’m talking about. Not to mention— things got WAY worse with the td2023 season 2 drop. In short, it’s exhausting to deal with. When I first started this blog, it was significantly easier for me to manage the toxicity, but now I work in a position where dealing with bigotry is sort of an important part of my job. It’s become way too draining on me. At least— for the time being.

This hiatus is NOT permanent, and I will come back to tumblr some day. I don’t want to set a specific time frame for fear that just won’t be feasible, but I won’t be gone forever. I’ve seen so much love from this fandom, so I could never abandon it. So many people have sent me well wishes over the past few months, and it has genuinely made me emotional at times. I love you guys so much.

Okay. The last thing I want to say is this. I am going to post the backlog of asks currently sitting in my inbox, so this blog will continue to update. The ask box will be closed, but replies are on for all my posts, so there can be continued conversation. This post will take the place of my current pinned post until I decide to come back to tumblr.

Thank you guys SO much. I am so grateful for (almost) all of you. I love you 🩷

EDIT: I am SO sorry for worrying everyone by not posting for a while. I should’ve hopped on to let everyone know I was at least okay way sooner. I am okay, I’m not dead, and I am really sorry for causing concern.

[awakeskydoesntdraw]

Posting in this blog after an eternity because I feel like I'm going insane here and my friends are asleep so I need to dump my brainstorm SOMEWHERE (SPOILERS FOR ARLECCHINO'S BACKSTORY/SHORT ANIMATION!!)

The TLDR is basically I think that the whole story with Arlecchino and Clervie is foreshadowing for Lyney and Lynette's future

I think the parallels between Lyney and Arle don't need to be too explained for the most part. Pyro Visions, Arle wants him to be the next "king" while he doesn't seem to be too into that idea just like her younger self didn't want it, both are associated with Rainbow Roses (they both use them as ascension materials)

Plus, I'd argue they look kinda similar here. I'm not sure exactly what is that makes the resemblance, maybe a bit of the hair, bowtie and shorts and you could say it's something she has with the others too (her kid design resembles Freminet, current one Lynette) but I thought it was good to mention anyways

Meanwhile, Lynette and Clervie are the two closest companions to their respective pair

Lynette's has Lumidouce Bells as an ascension material. Clervie is very clearly represented with the same flower (if her necklace wasn't enough, there's this)

Plus, a bit of a smaller connection, but they both have clear sweet tooths

(Lyney saying "we talked about this" implies this is a frequent event. The animation showing Clervie with cake twice while it only had 7 minutes to tell the whole story has a similar effect)

So, if Lyney is a parallel to Arle while Lynette is a parallel to Clervie, where does this leave us?

Well... Not exactly in a good spot-

To be fair, I don't think Genshin would actually kill a playable character (or at least, so I hope), but it's very possible Lynette gets really hurt, either directly by Lyney or by being close to him

Arlecchino swore to be nothing like her mother, but in the end, the way she's acting towards Lyney by wanting to make him the next king may be very similar to it

Once upon a story quest, Lyney said similar words to a woman who claimed he'd end up all alone. I can only pray that the writers will have mercy at my soul and that they wouldn't go that low with a playable character

If I were to make a mildly self indulgent guess, as the Freminet main I am, I'd say that he may be the key that's going to make things turn out different for the twins. His presence is the biggest difference between the twins vs Arle and Clervie, who seemed to have no one else that was even mildly close to them. From the 4.6 trailer we know that he's the one that has been hiding stuff and we do see him blocking out Arle's attack, so I don't think it's a stretch to say he'll have a really important role in this whole thing

So yeah! If you read all my rambling, thanks I guess, hope you enjoyed it. In the end, all I can hope is that the Fontaine siblings all turn out fine for the sake of my own mental wellness because God knows these 3 stay all day spinning in my head as if it was a microwave

Also, for the record: No, I don't have a clue about what the hell is going on with Freminet apparently finding "Clervie" (ghost?? Illusion??) and hiding her from Arle. Until this short my best shot was that she was some sort of mermaid creature, but that idea is out the window so it could be anything really

[roseykat]

KINKTOBER DAY 4 - JEONGIN

TITLE: Weeding out the weak

PAIRING: Jeongin x reader

SUMMARY: After almost two weeks of Jeongin not allowing you to touch yourself, greed forces you to cave which only leads you to be caught by him in his bed trying to get yourself off. Despite pleading with Jeongin for him to fuck you, he finds a better solution by only giving you half of what you want.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with these posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.

TAGS: slightly mean dom-Jeongin, sub-reader, ruined orgasm, female masturbation, fingering, swearing, begging.

KINKTOBER23 - MASTERLIST

KINK: Voyuerism

TAGLIST: @kbitties @luneskies @mal-lunar-28 @kibs-and-bits @aaasia111 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung @lizzekat

Jeongin is not a very tortuous person. He doesn’t ever actively go out of his way to make you upset and never would in the future. But this time, he had done it. You had reached a limit you never thought he would bring out of you and it all started with a bit of teasing.

It was just an innocent night out with Jeongin at a club and restaurant which quickly escalated into a steamy round of bathroom sex at the back. Jeongin was pissed that you had him so riled up enough to fuck you in public that he decided to put one rule in place for you to learn your lesson; no touching. 

He wasn’t going to touch you and you weren’t allowed to touch yourself in place of that. For how long was the real question that you started asking yourself when it had been a full week of no sexual contact whatsoever.

But that’s the dynamic between you and Jeongin. You both love slotting into your roles of dom and sub here and there and that rule just happened to be part of it. 

It was a painful mistake to think it was going to be easy without being touched or not being able to touch yourself. But that was after the fact that your sex drive had been satiated by getting railed by Jeongin. In the days after, the urge began creeping up whenever you felt horny, and Jeongin managed to take advantage of it.

He fed into your needs by getting handsy with you; groping your tits around the house, smacking your ass as you walked past him, kissing your neck from behind. But not anything more other than that, and it was frustrating.

"Why can't you fuck me?" You would ask him earlier into the second week.

"I told you," Jeongin started. "No touching until I say so."

"Surely you can now, it's been more than a week," you pleaded.

"No."

"Then can I please touch myself at least?" you questioned. "I need it so bad."

"Then you should've thought about it prior to acting up last week," Jeongin responds sharply.

As a result of the harsh reinforcement of his rule and words, it's led you into a state of being completely starved for touch. Sex had been on your mind a lot more than usual, specifically, the things that Jeongin has done to you in the past. It was almost like detoxing from him entirely.

However, up until now, when you're in bed watching a movie while Jeongin is out with friends, you still think about it. The fact that the film you're watching is relatively raunchy, doesn't help the circumstance that you're in.

It forces you to think about Jeongin - his cock, the way that he fucks, his fingers, his warm, wet mouth. A moan slips past your mouth just thinking about it. The invisible chokehold that he has around you begins to loosen when the idea of touching yourself slips into the cracks of your conscience.

'What Jeongin doesn’t know won't hurt him' is the phrase you tell yourself when your hand starts slipping down the front of your underwear. 

There’s a wash of relief that you feel, the split second your fingers reach your clit, already gathering the wet slick that has started up from thinking about Jeongin. Your thoughts run rabid, tracing back to the times where Jeongin has fucked you so good. 

“Jeongin…” you mutter to yourself, eyes fluttering closed as you pick up the speed of your fingers. 

With the whole house to yourself, you have free reign to be as loud as you like - which is usually the case if Jeongin were with you. But there was something deliciously dirty about getting off while he wasn't there. Maybe it was the fact that you were completely breaking the one rule he had for you, or maybe it was the thought of potentially being caught.

Regardless of the matter, Jeongin knew that both were the case when he arrived back home early. He even announced himself as he walked in through the door, but your moans seemed to drown his voice out that you had no clue he was back.

His ear picked up the faint, muted sounds coming from the bedroom and proceeded to investigate with the inkling in the back of his mind that he knew what it was. Jeongin could see the glow of the TV from the slightly ajar door, but the sounds became much clearer when he pinpointed your moans.

"Mmm, fuck Jeongin, please..."

His throat ran dry for a few seconds. So this is what you look like when you're all alone and touch yourself? Jeongin needed to watch you like this more often; vulnerable, horny, helpless, and needy.

So he stood there, watching you for a good few moments where you progressively became more vocal and frenetic with your movements. He himself can't not feel horny when he sees you like this, so just when he thinks you're about to reach the very tip-top of your orgasm, Jeongin swings the door open.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Your hand retracts away from your clit, so startled that the wave of pleasure you were building yourself up towards dissipates as fast as you could possibly comprehend that Jeongin was standing at the door. With your heart pounding against your chest, there’s a few seconds where you both look at each other, dead in the eye only for you to realise that he is actually standing there. 

“I…I thought you were out,” you stammer, hoping desperately that what you’re doing isn’t what it seems to him. 

“I was,” Jeongin answers. “And now I’m back. So I’ll ask again, what are you doing?” 

You sit up, still panting and fed up, “I’m horny so I don’t care about your stupid rule anymore. You haven’t touched me properly in two weeks and I haven’t been allowed to touch myself either, I’m done with it.”

Jeongin feels a slight tinge of guilt, but he doesn’t show it in his expression. He may have gone overboard with pressing up behind you at certain times, groping you or feeling you up whenever he got the chance. But, you still disobeyed him. 

He takes off his black blazer and folds it neatly once before draping it over the back of the chair in the corner of the room. As he walks over to you, he’s unbuttoning the sleeves to his white dress shirt and rolling up his sleeve.

“You can take my fingers,” Jeongin says impatiently, sitting next to you but on the edge of the bed. “That’s all you’re getting.”

Better than nothing. 

At the rate you’ve been going at for the past two weeks, just about every inanimate object looks mountable to you. Therefore, you are taking whatever it is that Jeongin will give you. 

He starts by spreading your legs apart for himself and uses the tips of his fingers to glide delicately and softly over your pussy. It doesn’t take long for them to be deliciously slick with your juices while the wet sounds makes you grip at the hem of his jersey. 

He then takes it upon himself to remove all of his rings that are always hot to look at but are now a barrier in this sense - for you. 

“Wetter than usual you are,” Jeongin voices his observation aloud, making you flush with shame before his hand returns to you. “Is this what happens if I neglect you for too long?”

You throw your head back when he teases your entrance with just the tip of one finger. He pulls back and goes in a bit deeper, enough to make you start audibly moaning. Using this method a few times, he was to be sure that you’ve had some prep, regardless if you started but couldn’t finish it.

Plus his fingers are very different from yours and they have never been able to do the trick like him.  

“Yes, baby, feels so good,” your eyes flutter shut. 

“Yeah?” He reaffirms and then takes into consideration how hard you're gripping around his fingers. “I’m not going anywhere, you can relax."

“I can’t help it,” you cry out pathetically, gripping the pillow behind your head. 

The ridge of pleasure fast approaches and Jeongin can feel you clenching sporadically around his fingers, watching his digits become increasingly wetter all the way down to the palm of his hand. When your moans become more strained and stagnant and when you start calling out his name, Jeongin makes the most malicious decision and retracts his entire hand from you. 

Your eyes flash open, clenching around an emptiness as you cum. 

“N-No! Please, please, please! I wanna-I almost-”

“Almost what?” Jeongin interrupts your babbling. “Almost came without my permission? As if.”

You throw your head back and try to swim in what’s left of the diluted pleasure Jeongin stripped from you. But no matter how hard you tried, it was no use. There was no intense surge of euphoria or tingly sensation that would spread throughout your body. 

“Cry about it,” Jeongin shrugs carelessly. “You knew what the rule was and yet you still went ahead and broke it.” 

At that moment, you could have actually cried. His words were a clear sign of ‘fuck around and find out’. So long as he is stern and strict with you about any rule that you both agree to implement, Jeongin will uphold it until the day he dies. 

"I couldn't help myself," you whine while your legs are still clenching and rubbing toghether.

"Clearly," Jeongin replies sarcastically. "Now you know for next time that your actions have consequences."

"There won't be a next time, I promise I'll be good," you swear to him.

Jeongin raises an eyebrow at you, "don't tell me one thing and then go and do the other angel. You'll need to prove it to me in the meantime."

---

A/N: I'm a real...slut for mean Jeongin...also sidenote, this was originally meant to be a 'mutual masturbation' piece but I went with voyeurism since of the mean!dom trope that I ran with.

[nyanbin]

ღ infrunami — p.wb

03. awesome cool bros of apt 7a

꒰ EPISODE LENGTH ꒱ 2.2k words (oops...me when dat exposition pill hit)

꒰ AUTHOR’S NOTE ꒱ texts at the end of the chapter! also i took it upon myself to change the blog names on my taglist based on who i saw replied/asked!! so if you changed your blog name lmk if you want a diff blog to be tagged or if you would like me to remove the one i put :D

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𖦹 APR. 28 (YEAR 1, SPRING) — 6:42 PM

FROM YOUR SPOT BY THE WINDOW, you eye your potential roommates at their table across the café, observing the three of them as they chat and bicker. One of them, a taller boy who looked to be the youngest of the three, was in the middle of swatting another boy’s hand away as he tries to steal a piece from the pastry on his plate.

Was this really going to be your future?

Begrudgingly, you have to admit to yourself: Eunseok was right, after all. This was an almost ideal situation. A nice building you were already familiar with, relatively low rent, and your friends living right down the hall. It’s just… three male roommates? You must be crazy to be even considering it. 

But you’re not really in a position to pick and choose at the moment, because every other place you’ve looked at until now has been… subpar, to say the least. And you didn’t know how much longer you could withstand your current living situation: third-wheeling your roommate and her boyfriend for almost two-thirds of your day, every day, was not exactly a fun time. 

This was the best you were gonna get. How bad could it be, really?

Steeling yourself, you downed the rest of your drink and got up from your chair to make your way over to them, your hands clutching the strap of your bookbag.

A single thought rings through your mind the whole way there: God, I can’t believe I’m doing this.

None of them seem to notice when you approach their table, so you lightly clear your throat to get their attention. The first one you make eye contact with is the one you assume to be Wonbin, the doe-eyed boy who you had singled out to Eunseok earlier as “the one with the cute face.” With him in front of you now, you grimace inwardly. You would’ve never in your life confessed this thought to Eunseok if you had known you would meet him, let alone possibly end up living with him. When Wonbin notices you, he raises his eyebrows, blinking up at you. It’s a subtle gesture, but it has you nervously flitting your eyes to the other two boys’ faces, who are now also looking at you with similarly slightly surprised expressions.

You try a smile and a small wave, eyes scrunching in what you hoped looked like friendliness. “Hi… so—”

“Hey! You’re Eunseok’s friend, right?” One of the other boys speaks up before you can get another word out. “He must’ve told you we were here, too. I’m Sungchan, by the way; nice to meet you!” He has a toothy smile plastered on his face.

Flustered by his eagerness, the script that you had written in your head in preparation for this interaction dissipates into thin air. You blink at Sungchan for a few moments before coming up with a response. “Oh, um, I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

The other two boys introduce themselves to you as well. The one to the left was the one you had correctly assumed to be Wonbin. His introduction is curt, just his name spoken with a single corner of his mouth upturned. In the middle of the three was Anton, who seemed slightly more bashful, but still personable with the way he smiled up at you. Remembering his name from your conversation with Eunseok redirects your mind to the matter at hand, and now you’re trying to find a way to break the news to the three boys.

“I don’t know why Eunseok never introduced us!” Sungchan continues as you deliberate your options. ”I’m glad you did it yourself, I was worried he might never do it. And I don’t know what he’d do if we had approached you ourselves.” He ends his thought with a short, nervous laugh.

Wonbin, who you have been avoiding eye contact with the whole time, seems to realize you’re still standing over them, nervously fiddling with the strap of your bag. “You can sit, you know,” he murmurs, gesturing to the only empty chair left at the table.

You hesitate, but then nod sheepishly before taking a seat. Wonbin looks at you as you do so, as he sips on the straw of his drink, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking. On the other hand, Sungchan and Anton seem eager to get to know you, seemingly having forgotten their current commitment. 

Looking at their enthusiastic expressions, you figure you should tell them now or you might never get to, so you speak up before they can say anything. “Hold on, just—give me a sec,” you take out your phone and show it to them, the screen opened up to your text messages with the unknown number you now know to be Anton. “You guys are here for the apartment, right?”

They all lean in, peering at your phone screen. You watch their eyes flicker down as they read the messages, biting your lip as you await their reaction.

“Huh? So you… you’re the one who texted?” Anton asks first. “Oh my god, I forgot we were even here for that. I figured they just weren’t gonna show up after waiting for so long.” 

“We told you, Anton! You should’ve at least figured out their name first!” Sungchan says, chastising Anton with a light slap to his shoulder. “Now, look what’s happened. Hey, at least this got us to finally meet, huh?” he continues, turning to you, laughter lacing his words. Wonbin seems to find it amusing, too; he has a slight grin on his face as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Yeah…” You inhale through your nose, exhaling as you say your next few words with uncertainty. “Well, I’m still interested, actually.”

The three of them stare at you, dumbfounded. “You still… want to move in? With us?” Sungchan asks slowly. His mouth is slightly agape, but the corners of his mouth are upturned in bemusement.

“I know, I know. I almost just gave up and left without talking to you guys when Eunseok said it was you three,” you say, hurriedly trying to explain yourself. “But, listen, I’ve been looking for a new place for ages and this is literally the best one I’ve found, and I don’t know when—or if—I’m gonna be able to find one as good as it. And I hate to have to plead my case, but I promise I’m a really good roommate, like the best! If it helps, Eunseok would be living, like, 50 feet away from us and I’m friends with the other guys, too! I just really, really, need this…” 

The three of them blink at you as you add a final, desperate, “Please?” They then turn to each other, and you sense they might have wordlessly agreed to something. Sungchan holds a hand up apologetically as they all stand, saying, “Sorry, give us a minute. Bro huddle.”

“That’s not a thing. We don’t do that,” Anton says, shaking his head, a frown on his face. He’s still waving his hands in denial as he’s pulled into the huddle. “Don’t listen to him.”

With their backs turned to you, Sungchan decides in a hushed voice. “So… she seems cool. I vote yes.”

“Dude, we’ve barely just met her,” Wonbin retorts.

“Well, yeah, says the one hardly even talking to her.” Wonbin opens his mouth in protest, but Sungchan continues without letting him defend himself. “Besides, if she’s friends with the other guys, I’m sure she actually is cool.”

“I don’t know, man. It’s just—she’s a girl, you know?” Wonbin says. When the other two boys squint their eyes at him, he waves his hands, hurriedly saying, “I didn’t mean it like that! I just feel like living with a girl would be completely different. I mean, have any of you guys lived with a girl?”

They all pause to ponder his point, since, after all, he was right: none of the three boys had sisters. Then, Sungchan’s eyes light up and he snaps, remembering something. “Hey, didn’t you live with your ex before, Wonbin?”

“What?” Wonbin raises his eyebrows at him. “Do you mean the trip I went on with her family? All we did was sleep in the same house for like… three days.”

“That’s basically living with a girl!” But Wonbin, obviously, is still not convinced.

“Well, I think she seems nice, too,” Anton interjects. “And I feel like she’d be a better roommate than the both of you combined.” He shrugs as the two older boys shoot him a glare. “I’m just saying; I don’t see how this could be a bad thing. If anything, she’s the one who practically poured out her heart and soul to us. We have no reason to turn her down!”

“Dramatic much?” Wonbin teases, and Anton scrunches his nose at him with a pout.

“In any case, that’s a 2-to-1 vote, Wonbin,” Sungchan declares. “You lose.”

Wonbin sighs, defeated. In truth, he wasn’t exactly sure why he was against you living with them. Like Anton and Sungchan, he found your demeanor to be actually quite charming, and he could easily see himself being friends with you. Yet, there was something about you that made him feel… nervous? Skeptical? Whatever it was, it was evident in the fact that he had spoken very little since you had approached them. But he chalked it up to him just being unfamiliar with you, a friend of a friend who had just offered to be their new roommate, and that whatever he was feeling would fade away soon.

Still seated at the table, you watch them murmuring to each other, nervously drumming your fingers against the tabletop. They break off the “bro huddle”, returning to their seats with serious expressions as if they just came from a very important executive business meeting.

There’s a beat of silence as you await their decision, and then Anton says, “Alright, you’re in.”

“Really?!” you exclaim, thrilled despite your apprehensiveness just a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, just to make sure, though,” he says, eyebrows raised and lips pursed, “you’re certain about this, right?” 

It dawns on you they’re probably looking out for you, since, even though this apartment checks a lot of things off your list, a girl living with three guys was still not the most ideal living situation. But this considerate gesture makes you even more appreciative of your future roommates, so you eagerly assured him, “Yeah! I’m one hundred percent sure!” (Definitely an overestimate, in retrospect.)

“Okay, cool, let’s talk details then!” Anton exclaims, clasping his hands together and setting them on the table. He goes into a spiel about what to expect once you move in, talking about things like the rent, the fussy old landlord, and how the garbage disposal has been broken for weeks now but they’re all too lazy to call a plumber so they resort to shoving a broom handle down there whenever it gets backed up. (A little concerning to you, but, hey, if it works!)

“Oh, and one last thing: you’ll have a room to yourself, obviously, but you’re gonna have to share a bathroom with Wonbin. Is that fine with you?”

You glance at Wonbin, who gives you the faintest of smiles. Ironically, he was the one you felt the least at ease with at this point, given his lack of engagement compared to the other two, but you had zero inclination to complain about such a small thing now. Besides, you were sure that this arrangement would somehow force the two of you to bond, in one way or another. “Yeah, I’m cool with that. My apartment right now only has one bathroom so I’m pretty much used to it.”

“We can show you around the apartment some time this week, if you want! When do you think you can move in?”

“Well, I’m busy with classes at the moment so I don’t think I’ll have enough time until, maybe, around the end of the week?”

“Sounds like a plan!” Anton proclaims, smiling with his eyes. Sungchan excitedly offers you an outstretched hand, ready to seal the deal, and you take it with a smile. You glance at Wonbin expectantly, but he still doesn’t say much, just offering a soft, quiet “congrats”, before leaning back into his chair. He seems content with being mostly an observer as you, Anton, and Sungchan get further acquainted with each other, only chiming in every now and then to make an offhand comment or give a brief response to one of your questions.

Sungchan, at one point, half-jokingly asks, “Okay, real talk though, who do you think’s the most attractive out of the three of us?”, causing Anton to jokingly grab the front of his t-shirt as if to fight him in your defense. To your surprise, Wonbin joins in, playfully wrapping an arm around Sungchan's shoulders in a half-headlock and ruffling his hair with a fist. Sungchan cries out in complaint, eliciting a fit of giggles out of you, your shoulders shaking as you watch the three boys grapple at each other.

It’s not something you would’ve expected from yourself half an hour prior, laughing and getting along with three boys who you had not only just met, but who were also going to be your new roommates within the week. But, hey, you figured that things change, right?

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꒰ AUTHOR’S NOTE ꒱ this took forever me to write for no reason sawryyy 😭 it also turned out WAYY longer than i was expecting but what can i say i am a yapper at heart (p.s. spot the new girl reference? :3)

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