#How-to-get-my-business-on-top-of-google-search

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Who broke the internet?

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PITTSBURGH on May 15 at WHITE WHALE BOOKS, and in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG. More tour dates (London, Manchester) here.

"Who Broke the Internet?" is a new podcast from CBC Understood that I host and co-wrote – it's a four-part series that explains how the enshitternet came about, and, more importantly, what we can do about it. Episode one is out this week:

https://www.cbc.ca/listen/cbc-podcasts/1353-the-naked-emperor/episode/16144078-dont-be-evil

The thesis of the series – and indeed, of my life's work – is that the internet didn't turn to shit because of the "great forces of history," or "network effects," or "returns to scale." Rather, the Great Enshittening is the result of specific policy choices, made in living memory, by named individuals, who were warned at the time that this would happen, and they did it anyway. These wreckers are the largely forgotten authors of our misery, and they mingle with impunity in polite society, never fearing that someone might be sizing them up for a pitchfork.

"Who Broke the Internet?" aims to change that. But the series isn't just about holding these named people accountable for their enshittificatory deeds: it's about understanding the policies that created the enshittocene, so that we can dismantle them and build a new, good internet that is fit for purpose, namely, helping us overcome and survive environmental collapse, oligarchic control, fascism and genocide.

The crux of enshittification theory is this: tech bosses made their products and services so much worse in order to extract more rents from end-users and business customers. The reason they did this is because they could. Over 20+ years, our policymakers created an environment of impunity for enshittifying companies, sitting idly by (or even helping out) as tech companies bought or destroyed their competitors; captured their regulators; neutered tech workers' power; and expanded IP laws to ensure that technology could only ever be used to attack us, but never to defend us.

These four forces – competition, regulation, labor power and interoperability – once acted as constraints, because they punished enshittifying gambits. Make your product worse and users, workers and suppliers would defect to a competitor; or a regulator would fine you or even bring criminal charges; or your irreplaceable workers would down tools and refuse to obey your orders; or another technologist would come up with an alternative client, an ad-blocker, a scraper, or compatible spare parts, plugins or mods that would permanently sever your relationship with whomever you were tormenting.

As these constraints fell away, the environment became enshittogenic: rather than punishing enshittification, it rewarded it. Individual enshittifiers within companies triumphed in their factional struggles with corporate rivals, like the Google revenue czar who vanquished the Search czar, deliberately worsening search results so we'd have to repeatedly search to get the answers we seek, creating more opportunities to show us ads:

https://www.wheresyoured.at/the-men-who-killed-google/

An enshittogenic environment meant that individuals within companies who embraced plans to worsen things to juice profits were promoted, displacing workers and managers who felt an ethical or professional obligation to make good and useful things. Top tech bosses – the C-suite – went from being surrounded by "adult supervision" who checked their worst impulses with dire warnings about competition, government punishments, or worker revolt to being encysted in a casing of enthusiastic enshittifiers who competed to see who could come up with the most outrageously enshittificatory gambits.

"Who Broke the Internet?" covers the collapse of all of these constraints, but its main focus is on IP law – specifically, anticircumvention law, which bans technologists from reverse-engineering and modifying the technologies we own and use (AKA "interoperability" or "adversarial interoperability").

Interoperability is at the center of the enshittification story because interop is an unavoidable characteristic of anything built out of computers. Computers are, above all else, flexible. Formally speaking, our computers are "Turing-complete universal von Neumann machines," which is to say that every one of our computers is capable of running every valid program.

That flexibility is why we call computers a "general purpose" technology. The same computer that helps your optometrist analyze your retina can also control your car's anti-lock braking system, and it can also play Doom.

Enshittification runs on that flexibility. It's that flexibility that allows a digital products or service to offer different prices, search rankings, recommendations, and costs to every user, every time they interact with it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

It's that flexibility that lets tech companies send over-the-air "updates" to your property that takes away functionality you paid for and valued, and then sell it back to you as an "upgrade" or worse, a monthly subscription:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

But that flexibility cuts both ways. The fact that every computer can run every valid program means that every enshittificatory app and update, there's a disenshittificatory program you could install that would reverse the damage. For every program that tells your HP printer to reject third-party ink, forcing you to buy HP's own colored water at $10,000/gallon, there's another program that tells your HP printer to enthusiastically accept third-party ink that costs mere pennies:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

In other worse, show me a 10-foot enshittifying wall, and I'll show you an 11-foot disenshittifying ladder.

Interoperability has long been technology's most important disenshittifier. Interop harnesses the rapaciousness of tech bros and puts it in service to making things better. Someone who hacks Instagram to take out the ads and recommendations and just show you posts from people you follow need not be motivated by the desire to make your life better – they can be motivated by the desire to poach Instagram users and build a rival business, and still make life better for you:

https://www.digitaltrends.com/mobile/the-og-app-instagram-alternative-ad-free/

And if they succeed and then recapitulate the sins of Instagram's bosses, turning the screws on users with ads, suggestions and slop? That just invites more disenshittifying interoperators to do unto them as they did unto Zuck.

That's the way it used to work: the 10-foot piles of shit deployed by tech bosses conjured up 11-foot ladders. This is what disruption is, when it is at its best. There's nothing wrong with moving fast and breaking things – provided the things you're breaking belong to billionaire enshittifiers. Those things need to be broken.

Enter IP law. For the past 25+ years, IP law has been relentlessly expanded in ways that ensure that disruption is always for thee, never me. "IP" has come to mean, "Any law that lets a dominant company reach out and exert control over its critics, competitors and customers":

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

The most pernicious IP law is far and away "anticircumvention." Under anticircumvention, it is illegal to "break a digital lock" that controls access to a copyrighted work, including software (and digital locks are software, so any digital lock automatically gets this protection).

This is mind-bending, particularly because it's one of those things that's so unreasonable, so very, very stupid that it's easy to think you're misunderstanding it, because surely it can't be that stupid.

But oh, it is.

One of the best ways to grasp this point is to start with what you might do in a world without digital locks. Take your printer: if HP raises the price of ink, you might start to refill your cartridges or buy third-party cartridges. Obviously, this is not a copyright violation. Ink is not a copyrighted work. But once HP puts a digital lock on the printer that checks to see if you've done an end-run around the HP ink ripoff, then refilling your cartridge becomes illegal, because you have to break that digital lock to get your printer to use the ink you've chosen.

Or think about cars: taking your car to your mechanic does not violate anyone's copyright. If your car, you decide who fixes it. But all car makers use digital locks to prevent mechanics from reading out the diagnostic information they need to access to fix your car. If a mechanic wants to know why your check engine light has turned on, they have to buy a tool – spending 5-figure sums every year for every manufacturer – in order to decode that error. Now, it's your car, and error messages aren't copyrighted works, but bypassing the lock that prevents independent diagnosis is a crime, thanks to anticircumvention law.

Then there's app stores. You bought your console. You bought your phone. These devices are your property. If I want to sell you some software I've written so you can run it on your device, that's not a copyright violations. It is the literal opposite of a copyright violation: an author selling their copyrighted works to a customer who gets to enjoy those works using their own property. But the digital lock on your iPhone, Xbox, Playstation and Switch all prevent your device from running software unless it is delivered by the manufacturer's app store, which takes 30 cents out of every dollar you spend. Installing software without going through the manufacturer's app store requires that you break the device's digital lock, and that's a crime, which means that buying a copyrighted work from its author becomes a copyright violation!

This is what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business model." We created laws – again, in living memory, thanks to known individuals – that had the foreseeable, explicit intent of making it illegal to disenshittify the products and services you rely on. We created this enshittogenic environment, and we got the enshittocene.

That's where "Who Broke the Internet?" comes in. We tell the story of Bruce Lehman, who was Bill Clinton's IP czar. Anticircumvention was really Lehman's brainchild, and he had a plan to make it the law of the land. When Al Gore was overseeing the demilitarization of the internet (the "Information Superhighway" proceedings), Lehman pitched this idea to him as the new rules of the road for the internet. To Gore's eternal credit, he flatly rejected Lehman's proposal as the batshit nonsense it plainly was.

So Lehman scuttled to Switzerland, where a UN agency, the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) was crafting a pair of new treaties to create a global system of internet regulation. Lehman lobbied the national delegations to WIPO to put anticircumvention in their treaties, and he succeeded – partially. WIPO is a very bad agency, since the majority of delegations that are sent to Geneva by the world's nations come from poor countries in the global south, and they're made up of experts in things like water, agriculture and child health. The vast majority of national reps at WIPO are not experts in IP, and they are often easy prey for fast-talking lobbyists from US-based media, pharma and tech companies, as well as the US government reps who carry their water.

But even at WIPO, Lehman's proposal was viewed as far too extreme. In the end, the anticircumvention rules embedded in the WIPO treaties are much more reasonable than Lehman's demands. Under the WIPO treaty, signatories must pass laws that make copyright infringement extra illegal if you have to break a digital lock on the way. But if you break a lock and you don't infringe copyright (say, because you refilled a printer cartridge, took your car to an independent mechanic, or got some software without using an app store), then you're fine.

Lehman's next move was to convince Congress that they needed to pass a version of the anticircumvention rule that went far beyond the obligations in the WIPO treaties. In this, he was joined by powerful, deep-pocketed lobbyists from Big Content, and later, Big Tech. They successfully pressured Congress into passing Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act in 1998 – a law that protects digital locks, at the expense of copyright and the creative workers whom copyright is said to serve.

Lehman has repeatedly, publicly described this maneuver as "doing an end-run around Congress." Once America adopted this extreme anticircumvention rule, the US Trade Representative made it America's top priority to ram identical laws through the legislatures of all of America's trading partners, under the explicit or tacit threat of tariffs on any country that refused (the information minister of a Central American country once told me that the USTR threatened them, saying that if they didn't accept anticircumvention as a clause in the Central American Free Trade Agreement – CAFTA – they would lose their ability to export soybeans to America).

Canada took more than a decade to enact its own version of the anticircumvention rule, which was the source of public outrage by the USTR and US industry lobbyists. These neocolonialists found plenty of Parliamentary sellouts willing to introduce laws on their behalf, but every time this happened, the Canadian people reacted with a kind of mass outrage that had never been seen in response to highly technical proposals for internet regulation. For example, the Liberal MP Sam Bulte was challenged on her support of the rule by her Parkdale constituents at a public meeting, and had a screeching meltdown, screaming that she would not be "bullied by user-rights zealots and EFF members." Voters put "User-Rights Zealot" signs on their lawns and voted her out of office.

Anticircumvention remained a priority for the US, and they found new MPs to do their dirty work. Stephen Harper's Conservatives made multiple tries at this. After Jim Prentice utterly failed to get the rule through Parliament, the brief was picked up by Heritage Minister James Moore (who liked to call himself "the iPad Minister") and now-disgraced Industry minister Tony Clement. Clement and Moore tried to diffuse the opposition to the proposal by conducting a public consultation on it.

This backfired horribly. Over 6,000 Canadians wrote into the consultation with individual, detailed, personal critiques of anticircumvention, explaining how the rule would hurt them at work and at home. Only 53 submissions supported the rule. Moore threw away these 6,130 negative responses, justifying it by publicly calling them the "babyish" views of "radical extremists":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/15/radical-extremists/#sex-pest

Named individuals created policies in living memory. They were warned about the foreseeable outcomes of those proposals. They passed them anyway – and then no one held them accountable.

Until now.

The point of remembering where these policies came from isn't (merely) to ensure that these people are forever remembered as the monsters they showed themselves to be. Rather, it is to recover the true history of enshittification, the choices we made that led to enshittification, so that we can reverse those policies, disenshittify our tech, and give rise to a new, good internet that's fit for the purpose of being the global digital nervous system for a species facing a polycrisis of climate catastrophe, oligarchy, fascism and genocide.

There's never been a more urgent moment to reconsider those enshittificatory policies – and there's never been a more auspicious moment, either. After all, Canada's anticircumvention law exists because it was supposed to guarantee tariff-free access to American markets. That promise has been shattered, permanently. It's time to get rid of that law, and make it legal for Canadian technologists to give the Canadian public the tools they need to escape from America's Big Tech bullies, who pick our pockets with junk-fees and lock-in, and who attack our social, legal and civil lives with social media walled gardens:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/15/beauty-eh/#its-the-only-war-the-yankees-lost-except-for-vietnam-and-also-the-alamo-and-the-bay-of-ham

"Understood: Who Broke the Internet" is streaming now. We've got three more episodes to go – part two drops on Monday (and it's a banger). You can subscribe to it wherever you get your podcasts, and here's the RSS feed:

https://www.cbc.ca/podcasting/includes/nakedemperor.xml

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/08/who-broke-the-internet/#bruce-lehman

[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

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER ONE

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, late-night facetime calls, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash

playlist: spotify

“Okay, let’s go over this one more time—”

A chorus of groans erupted around you, loud and exaggerated. Se-Mi flopped dramatically onto the couch, Ji-Yeong threw her head back like you had just sentenced her to death, and No-Eul simply sighed as she scrolled through her phone.

“I mean it,” you said, crossing your arms as you stood in the middle of the hotel suite. “This is a BuzzFeed interview. They’re going to ask easy, fun questions, but you guys still need to sound like you have at least half a brain between the four of you.”

Sae-Byeok, sitting on the arm of the couch, smirked. “That’s a lot to ask.”

You shot her a look, and she just raised her hands in surrender.

“This is why you’re our manager and not our PR rep,” Ji-Yeong said, grinning. “You actually care if we sound stupid.”

“Yes, and I’d like to keep my job,” you shot back. “So please, for the love of everything holy, just try not to say anything that’ll get us trending for the wrong reasons.”

Se-Mi, still sprawled on the couch, waved a hand lazily. “Relax, sweetheart. We’ll be fine. It’s just BuzzFeed.”

“Yeah,” Ji-Yeong chimed in, “worst case scenario, we end up in some ‘Dumbest Celebrity Interview Moments’ compilation on YouTube. Free promo.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I hate all of you.”

No-Eul, ever the voice of reason, finally spoke up. “They’ll behave,” she said, barely looking up from her phone. “Mostly.”

“That’s not reassuring,” you muttered.

Sae-Byeok, watching you with an amused expression, nudged your side with her foot. “You worry too much.”

“Because one of us has to,” you shot back.

She smirked. “And that’s why you’re our favorite.”

Before you could process that (did Sae-Byeok just call you their favorite?), a knock on the door interrupted the conversation. Their stylist popped her head in, clipboard in hand.

“Alright, you guys,” she said. “Time to get dressed. Interview’s in an hour.”

Se-Mi groaned as she sat up. “Ugh, do we have to?”

“Yes,” you, No-Eul, and the stylist all said at the same time.

Ji-Yeong snickered. “Alright, alright, let’s go.”

As they shuffled off to get ready, Sae-Byeok lingered for a second, watching you.

“You’re really stressed about this, huh?” she asked, tilting her head.

You exhaled. “I just want this to go well. You guys are blowing up, and interviews like this can really shape how people see you.”

She was quiet for a moment, then—

“…We’ll be fine.”

You looked up at her.

There was something steady in the way she said it, something that made you believe her.

You sighed, shaking your head. “You better be.”

She smirked and, with that, disappeared into the dressing room.

And you? You just prayed they wouldn’t give you a heart attack on live camera.

You stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching as the girls got settled in the bright, modern-looking BuzzFeed studio. Cameras were being adjusted, mic packs were clipped onto their outfits, and a giant board with pre-written search questions was placed in front of them.

Ji-Yeong, of course, was already messing with it. “Ooooh, the mystery,” she teased, wiggling her fingers dramatically over the top of the board.

Se-Mi grinned, leaning forward. “I love these types of interviews. People Google the weirdest shit.”

No-Eul sighed, adjusting her mic. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Sae-Byeok, as usual, looked completely unbothered, sitting back in her chair with her arms crossed, waiting for things to start.

The interviewer, a cheerful BuzzFeed staff member, smiled at them from across the table. “Alright! Welcome, HOT DIVISION!”

A chorus of greetings followed, with Ji-Yeong and Se-Mi being the loudest while No-Eul and Sae-Byeok gave more subdued nods.

“We’re going to be doing the ‘Most Searched Questions’,” the interviewer explained, patting the board. “Each of these has a commonly searched question about you guys, and you’ll take turns peeling them off and answering.”

Ji-Yeong rubbed her hands together. “Let’s go.”

You prayed they wouldn’t say anything that would give your PR team a migraine.

Ji-Yeong, naturally, was the first to go. She dramatically peeled off the first strip of paper, reading it aloud.

“‘Is Kim Ji-Yeong… actually as chaotic as people say?’”

She gasped, clutching her chest. “I am offended by this question.”

Se-Mi snorted. “You shouldn’t be. It’s true.”

Ji-Yeong turned to the camera, dead serious. “I am a delight to be around.”

No-Eul, without looking up, muttered, “That’s a lie.”

Sae-Byeok just smirked, shaking her head.

Ji-Yeong sighed dramatically. “Fine. Yes. I am chaotic. But would you all love me if I wasn’t?”

Se-Mi threw an arm around her. “Exactly. Chaos is in our brand.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose from the sidelines.

Sae-Byeok lazily reached forward, peeling off the next strip. She read it, then raised an eyebrow.

“‘Is Kang Sae-Byeok single?’”

Ji-Yeong and Se-Mi exploded into laughter.

“OH, THIS IS GOOD,” Se-Mi cackled, slapping the table.

Sae-Byeok just sighed, giving the camera a blank look. “Yes.”

Ji-Yeong leaned forward, wiggling her eyebrows. “And are you—”

“No.”

Se-Mi pouted. “You didn’t even let her finish.”

Sae-Byeok shrugged. “Didn’t need to.”

You watched from the sidelines, carefully keeping your expression neutral. (Not that you were thinking about it. Not at all.)

No-Eul peeled her question off, scanning it briefly before exhaling.

“‘Is Kang No-Eul the mom of the group?’”

The response was immediate.

“Yes,” Se-Mi said.

“Absolutely,” Ji-Yeong added.

“The only responsible one,” Sae-Byeok confirmed.

No-Eul, unimpressed, just stared at them. “I hate all of you.”

Ji-Yeong grinned. “See? Mom behavior.”

Fourth Question: "Is Han Se-Mi…?"

Se-Mi eagerly peeled off her question, reading it with interest.

“‘Is Han Se-Mi the flirtiest member?’”

You already knew what was coming.

Se-Mi gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. “Me? A flirt? How dare you.”

Sae-Byeok rolled her eyes. “You literally flirt with the camera.”

Ji-Yeong nodded sagely. “She flirts with air molecules.”

Se-Mi turned to the camera, giving a slow, knowing smirk. “I just like to make people feel special.”

From the side, you muttered under your breath, “Menace.”

Se-Mi heard you and shot a wink in your direction.

Ji-Yeong peeled off the last question, reading it aloud.

“‘Is HOT DIVISION the next big thing in rock?’”

The girls exchanged glances.

Then, Sae-Byeok leaned forward slightly, looking straight into the camera.

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No doubt. Just raw confidence.

Ji-Yeong smirked. “Damn right we are.”

Se-Mi grinned. “Hope you’re all ready.”

No-Eul nodded. “Because we’re not slowing down.”

From the sidelines, you felt something warm bloom in your chest.

They had come a long way. And they were just getting started.

taglist: @everly-summers-solace @knfthxv @madebysae @knfthxv @katieschry1 @imlackingsleep @lyzem @stellssxo @wiltingconquest @peelover25

[kitsuneplushie]

LOST IN A ROOM

“boy, what did I tell you? love makes you a dead fool.”

— #RAFAYEL: LOVE AND DEEP SPACE

— PAIRING, GENRE, WARNINGS: rafayel x gnc!reader, mainly fluff, with a bit of flirting and banter, implied nsfw things but nothing specifically stated, no warnings!!

— SYNOPSIS: after a work trip, you return to a pouty and dramatic rafayel. you attempt to make up for your absence by surprising him with a sudden visit. but end up… having a different way of catching up.

— WRITER’S NOTE: long time, no post. hiii besties, i found this in my google doc’s and decided to finish it. i haven’t been too inspired to write lately so my bad. i stole the title from a song by rome hero foxes. uhhmmm not proofread per usual. enjoy and take care of yourself, mwah mwah ♡

It had been a while since you were able to go to Rafayel’s studio. It wasn’t intentional, it had just been a busy week. A week that was quickly reaching two and he wasn’t shy to remind you almost constantly.

“Aren’t you my bodyguard? You’re supposed to be checking up on me too.”

You rolled your eyes, hearing his voice vacant your head again. To make up for your absence, you decided to surprise him with a visit. You quietly opened the door, trying your best to sneak through. It was hard to do since it was so silent, the only sound being a soft flutter of a curtain from an opened window. You searched each room, anticipating Rafayel, but was met with disappointment. It wasn’t until you reached his living room where you saw him. He was laid out on his couch, his breath slow and calm. You walked closer, making sure you stayed silent. Your hands hovered over him before caressing his face with your finger tips.

“Hm… you’re cute even when you’re sleeping.” You scoffed, brushing your hand down his face. You moved a stray hair from his face, taking another second just gazing at him. “I’ll let you get your rest.”

You let out a soft breath, going to turn towards the door. You didn’t even make it a step further before, Rafayel quickly grabs your wrist, pulling you back into the couch causing you to fall into his arms. He wraps them around you before gently placing his head into the crook of your neck.

“Y-You were awake?” You gasped, flipping your head towards him. His eyes were still closed, with the same calm expression as before.

“Mm... no need to be so loud.” He grumbled, pulling you even closer. You were basically just his plushie at this point. “Surprised you even remembered that I’m alive.” His eyes remained closed but now accompanied by a pout. Your hands moved towards his, now realizing they were placed on your waist.

“Rafayel… I was busy. I did tell you this time. And I came here to surprise you. Surely that counts for something.” You softly sighed, brushing your thumb across his hand.

“Hmph.” He continued to pout. “What are you going to do to make it up for me?”

“Was coming over not enough?”

“Not at all.” He whined, finally opening his eyes. “That’s your duty, a long awaited one at that.” You shake your head and let out a small laugh.

“Fine. What can I do to make it up to you then?”

“Prove that you're sorry.”

“And how do I do that? I already apologized to you.”

Rafayel huffed, before slightly shrugging. “That’s for you to figure out. It wouldn’t be genuine if I told you what to do, now would it?”

You stayed there in silence for a moment, contemplating on what to do. You managed to turn around to face him. Rafayel made a face at you but continued to look at you curiously.

“You’re such a baby, you know?” You laughed, reaching towards his face. You slowly leaned in to kiss him, but instead placing it on his cheek.

“Now you’re just mocking me.”

“You’re so dramatic, Raf. Do you want a kiss that badly?” You teased, half joking. He suddenly pulled you even closer. You were almost on top of him at this point. Your leg rested on the top of his thigh.

“I do. Is that so wrong?” He asked, sliding his hand underneath your chin to the back of your neck. Your words were caught in your throat, unaware of this side of him. “Can I kiss you, Miss bodyguard?”

Your words continued to be stuck, only able to nod continuously. Rafayel slowly leaned in, placing a soft kiss against your lips. You melted against his softness and the warmth coming from him. You came to after a second wrapping an arm around his neck. You were hungry for more. His kiss was too addicting, you would have gotten mad if you could think straight. The soft kiss evolved into desperation and need. You softly bit his lip, in hopes that he’d slightly part them. And he did. He knew your body language all too well just from the encounters with wanderers.

“Now who’s so dramatic?” He chuckled, pulling away. You pout, looking up at him. “Come on, don’t you wanna tell me about your trip?” Rafayel smirked, sitting up straight. Your brows slightly furrowed. You’d forgot how cocky he could act.

“That can wait… stop acting so unaffected. I can see how flushed your face is! We have… catching up to do.” You muttered, pulling him back towards you. He returned without a second thought. Chuckling on his way down seeing your sudden switch.

[triptychgrip]

Viktor and Yuuri Answer The Web's Most Searched Questions

“I’m Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov!”

“And I’m Yuuri Katsuki Nikiforov!”

They turn to look at each other and grin, attempting to speak in unison.

“And this is the WIRED Autocomplete Interview.”

They’re a little off on the wording, but what is simultaneous is the way they break out into giggles right after saying ‘interview’. It’s only been a few seconds since the cameras have begun rolling, and Viktor is already feeling charmed by the pink tint staining his husband’s cheeks.

“Aww, and we even practiced that a few times!” Yuuri says, now donning a cute little pout.

“It was my fault,” Viktor automatically pipes up, before letting his heart-shaped smile take over his face. “I started speaking a half-beat too late because I was too busy admiring your pretty eyes, love.”

Giggles and hushed whispers immediately break out on the WIRED filming set, but Viktor only has eyes for the way Yuuri’s lips instantly morph, curving into a pleased, albeit shy smile. 

“You’re sweet, Vitya,” he murmurs, before reaching over to hold his hand. 

There’s not much space between them to begin with on the bench they’re seated on, but Yuuri closes that miniscule gap so that their thighs are pressed right up against each other. Viktor hopes the audience is grateful; the slight tension his love is now holding in his leg will give the cameras a nice view of his immaculate, muscular thighs, outfitted in the sleek trackpants that Mizuno specifically designed for him. (After some sleuthing, Phichit had informed the two of them that Kenjirou had gone ahead and bought four different pairs.)

Nyala – the WIRED production assistant in charge of this episode taping – then hands them the show’s distinctive looking question tableau. On it, are Google’s top ten most searched questions containing their names. They’re partially covered, which adds to the fun: they’ll be taking turns reading them aloud, while unpeeling the adhesive covering to reveal each query.

As they’d agreed earlier, he will read and answer the first question, so Yuuri holds the board steady.

“What did Yuuri and Viktor…”

Viktor pauses to draw out the suspense, and then whips off the adhesive in one rapid motion, his enthusiasm almost causing Yuuri to topple over.

“Oops! Sorry, Yuranya!” he exclaims, feeling a bit flustered as he helps his spouse right himself and presses a kiss to his temple. 

Nyala’s eyes are glittering with amusement, so he aims a sheepish smile at her before facing forwards.

“What did Yuuri and Viktor do before they met?” he reads off, feeling quite pleased with this clear opportunity to extol Yuuri’s praises (and, additionally, to lambast certain International Skating Union officials for not recognizing how talented he was prior to that silver medal win at the Barcelona Grand Prix Final).

“Well, the short answer is that we were both competitive figure skaters, but the long answer is more interesting! Let’s start with my Yuuri, because my side of things is boring, not to mention quite sad,” he chirps, not even batting an eye when his husband begins to splutter in protest next to him (“Vitya! Five gold medals at World’s is not sad!”)

But Viktor feigns an inability to hear Yuuri’s counter, and whips his phone out. 

One of the first things he’d done after they’d met at the banquet was to look up as many of Yuuri’s Senior division competitions as he could, hungry to expand his personal archives with any video or photos he could get his hands on. By now, his love is aware of his meticulous culling efforts, because he wears a pained expression as Viktor begins to talk and flip through his photo gallery.

“Where to even begin?” he says, allowing his voice to slide into that grandiose tone that Yurio claims “makes you seem even more punchable than normal”.

“Since we only have an hour for this taping, I will unfortunately have to limit myself to the year of Yuuri’s skating career before he and I met,” he continues on, making sure his annoyance is plain. “And, for those that don’t know, we met in December 2015 at the Sochi Grand Prix Final.”

It’s a testament to their many years of being together, because Yuuri doesn’t even tense at the mention of Sochi. He knows Viktor would never try to embarrass him by contextualizing the event in a way that makes him uncomfortable, and, besides, his spouse now shares the opinion that pole-dancing into your soulmate’s life is a pretty badass meet-cute. Even so, it had taken awhile to convince Yuuri’s anxiety of this, and Viktor owes a lot to their couples’ therapist for that mindset change. 

“Look at this picture of my beautiful Yuuri on the podium at Four Continents’ in February 2015!” he exclaims in triumph, holding his phone up so that the camera operator gets a perfect view. 

Taken in Seoul’s Mokdong Ice Rink is a photo of an adorable, 22-year-old Katsuki Yuuri, wearing a shy smile and holding a bronze medal. Next to him is an obviously ecstatic Celestino Cialdini.

“Now, no offense to anyone, but take it from me: my husband was severely underscored at that competition and should have been standing higher on that podium. Well before he ever broke my World’s winning streak, Yuuri was commanding audiences the world over with his stunning artistry. Particularly, his dazzling interpretation skills,” Viktor states declaratively, his tone brooking no argument.

Well, almost no argument. 

Yuuri makes a barely perceptible noise of disagreement, but it’s enough to make him turn and bestow his most unimpressed expression onto him, as if daring him to issue a rebuttal. 

“Something to say, Yusha?” Viktor prompts, a bit goadingly. “Do you wish to argue with “Living Legend” Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov, who, I daresay, might know a little something or two about judging politics and biased scoring?”

His love gives him a light smack on the bicep, and when he replies, his tone is prim.

“If you want biased scoring to be the focus of this question, then I’ll have to bring up your European Championships score from 2013, where you were unfairly beat out for gold by our good friend, Christophe Giacometti.”

An “oooohing” sort of taunting sound ripples around the set, but far from flustering Yuuri, he just raises a brow and sets his jaw. (Viktor feels quite turned on at the look, as well as his protective instincts.)

“I know how the internet loves to spin things but there’s nothing to spin,” Yuuri continues, dryly. “Christophe, himself, made a big stir at the post-skate press conference about judging bias, and he still regularly tweets at the officials from that competition…so much so, that two of them have blocked him on Twitter.”

Viktor gasps with delight at the memory of this juicy event and his spouse’s answering smirk is all the permission he needs.

“Ok, let me set the scene for you all!” he eagerly volunteers, sitting up straighter on the bench. 

He makes a big show of clearing his throat and Nyala – who, evidently, has the patience of a saint – hides her smile behind her hand. It’s a wonder that she hasn’t redirected their attention back to the question list, yet.

“January 2013: Zagreb, Croatia,” he continues on, in the grave “I’m narrating a documentary” tone that he knows will make Yuuri laugh. “Twenty-three-year old Viktor Nikiforov takes his starting position on the ice of Dom Sportova arena. Unlike present-day, his hair is much more lustrous, and he has not yet needed to start using thickening oil as part of his nightly primping regimen.”

Yuuri smacks his bicep a second time.

—

Hope you enjoyed this ficlet! I adore writing post-canon interview/game content featuring sappy/extra married Viktuuri, so if I get the energy (and need the distraction from my WIPS *nervous laughter*) I may expand this into a proper fic.

If you’re also a fan of this type of thing, you may like my story on ao3 featuring their joint appearance on Vanity Fair’s Lie Detector Game series. It’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever written :)  

[xsweetcatastrophe]

You Broke Me First

part 38

Author note: there’s no cillian in this chapter again (frown) but i had fun writing it so im not entirely sorry but im sorry

also while we’re here this man has no business sitting like this and that’s all i’ll say about THAT

“See, and THIS one he writes ‘nbd’. If he doesn’t know what OMG stands for from the interview we just watched, how would he know what nbd stands for?” Zoe said, pulling up the text.

Zoe was in full FBI mode. She unblocked Cillian’s name from her phone, but the texts were still gone. After some research on her cell phone provider’s online portal, she was able to download a receipt of text messages according to phone number. Some of the texts were hard to relive, but she knew something was wrong.

This couldn’t be Cillian.

“Who would it be?” Jen said, still not entirely convinced. “This is some true high school shit.”

“I honestly think it’s Hannah…” Zoe said, deep in thought. “She didn’t like me from the start. She wasn’t happy when she started dating after the contract was over.”

Jen sat up straight. “Do you have any info on her? Any of her social media accounts, anything?”

“Let me check…” Zoe pulled up the PR company official instagram, and found a headshot of her pinned. No tag. “Damn. I thought it would be on her company’s page. Let me type her name into the followers and see if she’s following them….. damn. nope. nothing.” Zoe sighed, defeated. “And of course, she has a common name. If we type her name into the general search-“

“Hannah Woods?” Jen interrupted, looking up from her own phone.

“Yes… how did you find it so fast??” Zoe said, confused.

“Zoe.. she’s tagged. I went to the PR Company’s official instagram page. This headshot, right? she’s tagged right there…look,” Jen said, showing her the photo with the tag. Zoe held up her phone, still on her headshot.

no tag.

“Why does my phone show the tag and not yours?” Jen said.

“SHE BLOCKED ME.” Zoe exclaimed, wide-eyed. “Why the fuck would she block me?!?”

“Alright,” Jen said, in an authoritative tone, as she gathered her hair and put it in a messy bun on top of her head. “You get the wine, I’m digging into this.”

Zoe grabbed a bottle of wine from the coffee table and started pouring. She had faith they would get to the bottom of this.

The girls were on either end of the couch, busy in their phones. Zoe was trying to figure out how to get in touch with Cillian, She went through her email and found an old email with Joseph’s cell phone. She sent him an email asking him to call her. She hoped he would.

“Okay, here’s what I have so far,” Jen said, sitting up.

“I looked up the journalist who wrote those Daily Mail articles about Cillian going out with the cast and Miss Long Legs or whoever the hell she is,” Jen continued, standing up as if she was presenting a sales pitch in a boardroom. “Well, Hoebag Hannah follows her, Tara Russo. Tara posts articles on her feed, and Hannah likes all of them. When Tara posted the article she wrote of Cillian, not only did Hannah like them, but she commented the handshake emoji underneath. Now why would she do that?” Jen said, fanning out her hands for dramatic effect. “Well, I did some googling regarding the relationship between rag mag journalists and PR people.. turns out they work together a lot of the time to get their clients publicity, good OR bad,” Jen paused for dramatic effect. “I, based on the evidence bestowed upon me, am led to believe that Hannah called Tara and tipped off that Cillian would be out and about.”

“This bitch…” Zoe said, in shock.

“Now, why would she do that?” Jen said, puffing her hands on her hips. “While we believe that Hannah is conniving and heartless, she is still, at the end of the day, a woman. And she knows the reaction these photos would pull out of you when you saw them, on top of the subject material being Cillian getting back to dating after he broke up with… i believe the direct quote from the article is, ‘Zoe Parker, journalist’” Jen concluded.

“But that doesn’t explain the texts messages,” Zoe said. “That part all makes sense Jen, but -“

“Zoe, Hannah’s younger than us. There is reason to believe that this was actually her on his phone.”

“That’s ridiculous… I thought that too, but I have no evidence of that.”

Jen sighed. “I know. That, I can’t give you concrete evidence on. But my gut feeling tells me it’s true. Call it intuition.”

Zoe sighed. “I can’t believe this is my life. Hannah never liked me. I think she felt i wasn’t glitzy or glamourus luck for Cillian. Which really made me feel like shit.”

“I know. She’s a mean girl and this is mean girl behavior. No other way to put it.”

“I have some choice words to describe it, believe me,” Zoe muttered.

“….You know what I was thinking about?” Jen said, plopping back on the couch next to Zoe. “Remember all those Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen tapes we used to watch, when they were detectives?”

“Olsen and Olsen detective agency,” Zoe replied. She turned to look at her sister.

“We’ll solve any crime by dinner time!” they said in unison, followed by a laugh.

“We used to run around with our magnifying glasses mom got us at the Dollar Store and try and solve cases, and Dad used to make some up… he’d sprinkle dirt on the floor and call us and say we need to figure out who came into the house with their shoes on, and he’d leave clues around the house for us….” Zoe said, thinking fondly of those memories.

“And we said we would be detectives when we grew up,” Jen laughed.

It was silent for a moment.

Zoe looked at her older sister, who was already looking at her. She grabbed her hand.

“Thanks for being here, Jen,” Zoe whispered.

“Hey, look at it this way, we’re just living out our childhood dream. it’s an honor to have YOU as our first case.”

Before Zoe could react, her phone rang. They both jumped up. “Who is it??” Jen whispered.

“I don’t know,” Zoe whispered back. “Do I answer? why are we whispering??”

“Yes, answer and put it in speakerphone!”

Zoe clicked the green “accept” button and put it on speakerphone.

“Hello?”

“Hello Miss Zoe, it’s Joseph. You asked for me to call?”

Zoe spun to her sister and threw her first in the air, signaling a VICTORY pose. Jen smiled but motioned for her to keep going.

“Hey Joseph! Ohmigod, thank you so much for calling, i’m so sorry to bother you, it’s been such a crazy day, I actually just got out of the hospital, well not just got out, i got out a couple weeks ago -”

Zoe was interrupted by a slap on her arm. She turned and Jen had written on a piece of paper “word vomit, shut the fuck up” and was motioning a “zip it” motion with her hand.

“Uh, anyway, sorry. So good to hear from you! How are you?”

“Joseph chuckled. “I’m okay, thank you. I’m sorry to hear about you and Mr Murphy, and i’m sorry to hear you were in the hospital. I hope you’re feeling better. What can I do for you? Did you leave something at Cillian’s? I'd be happy to drop it off if you’d like.”

Zoe had to think fast. What would the Olsen and Olsen detective agency do?

“I was actually calling because I reached out to Cillian, he got back but now I can’t get a hold of him again. Have you heard from him? Does he have another phone or something? Like a business phone and then a personal phone?”

“No, not that I know of. But if you can’t get in touch with him, I’d check with Hannah.”

“Yea, I don’t have her number…” Zoe said, starting to feel defeated. She didn’t need HER number.

“No, I mean just send another text and let Hannah know it’s urgent,” Joseph continued.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I found out a couple weeks ago, when I reached out to Mr Murphy myself regarding a scheduling conflict, I thought you knew.”

Zoe’s heart stopped. Jen’s eyes were wide.

“Knew what, Joseph?”

“Hannah has been in possession of Cillian’s phone ever since he landed in England.”

can i just say i love writing Jen? lmao she’s so fun. Also, did anyone else watch The Olsen and Olsen Detecvive Agency tapes when they were younger?! I was obsessed!

tags: @lau219 @shopgirl6us @cillianmurphyvevo @bleakmidwinter00 @amelyyyyyyy @teawonderfultea-blog1 @lavender-haze-01 @cillianinlove @supershadowymiraclestudent @allie131313 @borntodiemp3 @kikimurphys

[olinblogin]

Someone requested this but I lost the request so I hope they see this TAT

I also added Mihawk speaking Spanish in this- I’m using google translate so please correct me if I said anything wrong :3

CROCODILE X GN!TIMID/SHY!READER X MIHAWK

Shuffling through your papers, your hands shook and nearly made you drop all of them. It was the first time you’d ever been complicit in a Warlord meeting.

They usually didn’t let you into these kinds of meetings since you were just a lower rank, but still a bit higher than cadets. Only reason you were here is because Sengoku got sick with something and Garp is too busy trying not to choke on rice crackers to deliver this speech.

Sighing, you mumbled words of assurance tk yourself, “it’s fine, I got this. I got this.” you tried and tried, but it only seemed to make you more afraid and aware of you soon being in the presence of the seven deadliest pirates of the sea… well… apart from the four Yonkou’s, that is.

Twisting the knob to the room where they usually held these kinds of things. All seven warlords were sat around a table, some chattering about, some paying zero mind. The babbling consisted of Gecko Moria trying to threaten Bartholomew Kuma… and he wasn’t reacting, only sitting through his Bible he carried at all times.

Thankfully they didn’t seem to pay mind to you… besides two of them. By far some of the most intimidating of the two, Dracule Mihawk, and Crocodile.

Mihawk’s eyes bore into you as you walk past, golden eyes piercing into the back of your head as if he was skimming you with them. Choking back a shudder, you sped-walk towards Garp, who was, of course, eating rice crackers. You two whispered among each other; and thankfully, he had that relationship with you that calmed your severe anxiety. You saw him as a grandfather in a way… even if not blood related..

Letting out a little sigh, you positioned yourself in front of the table, clearing your throat and catching the attention of all seven of the pirates.

“I.. uhm-.. as you all likely know, there’s been a spike in pirate attacks and raiding in the east blue… we’ve tried stationing marine galleons in those areas but there seems to be some that are infiltrated and firing at marine ships that come in. As much as we’d like to limit violence as much as we possibly can and put an end to those pirates reins; we do need your help. We ask you to please, if possible, go into the East blue and search for their marine galleons that have been hijacked. We understand this is likely frustrating we’ve had to call on all of you do many times..-“

Your speech was cut off by Doflamingo, to which you fought back a sneer at his audacity.

“So you want us to go beat around some low-lives, that’s it? Fufufu… and might I ask what you of all people are delivering this speech for. I thought it was supposed to be Sengoku blabbering on. Not a pretty thing such as yourself… such a shame you ended up in the marines, though.” He scoffed. You couldn’t help but recognized the not-so-discreet glares from Mihawk and Crocodile sent his way… they were just oozing with Conquerer’s Haki.

“Please allow me to finish my speech, then we can talk afterwards…” you say meekly.

“But why? I’m just stating how it’s a waste of such a beauty as yourself getting pushed into the Marines like this. Why don’t you come back to my kingdom with me, I promise I’ll treat you right and make you feel bliss you’ve never f—“ with that, Garp had cut him off, “I’d like to ask you to please be quiet as Y/N said; save any questions for after they are done giving their speech.”

You gave a quiet ‘thanks’ to Garp, resuming your speech.

The meeting flew by faster than you thought… and you were thankful for that.

You skittered out of the room… after you have the speech Garp had promised to let you go around town for a bit… you slipped off your uniform and slid yourself into a black tank top and some cargo shorts.

Shuffling out of your room and out of the marine base, you wandered aimlessly around town; not having any goal in mind besides just looking around.

“Hello.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard a voice behind you.

A smooth, soft voice may you add.

Spinning around you nearly stumbled and fell, catching yourself clumsily.

“My apologies for startling you, cosa bonita.” You recognized the man as Dracule Mihawk. His cold, golden eyes were unblinking, staring into your very soul… it was no wonder he was called ‘Hawk-Eye Mihawk’.

“Oh.. uhm. That’s fine.” You’d mutter.

There was an awkward silence.

“Well, uhm… it was nice talking to you..” you turned to leave, shuddering when you felt his cold, calloused hand grab your wrist. “Wait, cariño, por favor. I have a proposition… one I believe you might be interested in.” His words lingered in your mind.

A deal? What was he about to say…

“Don’t scare the poor thing. They’d be better off with me anyhow, considering how freaky your place is.”

This time, a rougher voice. In a gust of sand whirling around, you covered your eyes with your arm, shielding then from the whipping sand until it formed a person, Crocodile. You could see the curl of Mihawk’s nose; offended by Crocodile’s backhanded insult… you felt meek. You were practically sandwiched between these two warlords.

“I’ll have you know.. the gothic architecture of my home is authentic.” You could hear the sass in Mihawk’s voice…

“Wait..- Wait, What Are you two talking about..? Does this have to do with Mihawk’s.. uh.. proposition?”

“The proposition. Right. How forgetful of me, mi amado.” Mihawk said thoughtfully. “I would like you to come back with me.” Your eyes must’ve been wide as saucers… because Crocodile smirked, flicking ash from his cigar. “Seems there’s a bit of a competition. I was going to ask the same thing. You should come with me; I’d shower you with gifts of gold. You’d be the ruler alongside me.” Crocodile spoke sweetly, soothing and convincing, his hand slithering up your arm until he rested a hand on your hot cheeks.

“I don’t believe they would enjoy waking to the hot desert every day. Besides, that would be quite agitating, the sand in your eyes, si, Mi amada?” Mihawk spoke just as smoothly. “I would cook meals for you every night. We could unwind in my study and drink wine… I have the finest server to you.”

“Tch. That’s nothing.” Crocodile mused.

“That does sound lovely, really but..” you cleared your throat and stepped back. “but I’d prefer to stay here, I think. I don’t really want to leave here because I don’t really want to leave Garp behind-“

“That slag will be fine on his own.” Crocodile interrupts, biting down on the cigar in his mouth.

“I know he’ll be fine.. I mean- yeah, he’s more than capable of taking care of himself. It’s more of an emotional attachment than anything.” The two let out a quiet ‘ah’ as they listened intently, softening their posture when you’d back away. After a moment of awkward silence you scooter away, “it was a pleasure meeting you, goodbye.” Before you scurry along the streets, getting lost in the crowd of people who battered the merchant stalls and haggled.

The stress collapsed when you could smell the familiar scent of spices. Even if the streets were as crowded as they were, you still felt a sense of comfort knowing there were people around.

A horrible fear of being alone, you had.

Through the winding crowd you finally made it to your safe space among the cliff side overlooking the vast ocean, a particularly beautiful glint among the oceans currents that the sun beamed down on.

Taking out your rice cakes you packed for your lunch-break you chowed down like a starving dog.

“It seems they don’t give you proper portions of food in the marines,” you nearly squealed out of fear and choked on your rice cake, whipping around to see Mihawk looming over you.

“N-no.. they feed us proper portions—.. ᴵ ᵗʰᶦⁿᵏ..” you spoke after swallowing a large portion of the rice cake that went down quite painfully.

“Is that so. Hm. If that were the case would you not be in the mess hall, and eating the food they provide, cariño?” He questioned smoothly, standing by you, keeping eye contact with you.

It made a flush creep up your neck.

“I get really anxious when being around people—“

“But you seemed to feel quite comfortable in that crowd not much earlier,”

You pursed your lips shut, unsure what to say. When the words finally came to you, they came out much meeker than you’d wished; “I guess I’m just really anxious at work..?”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed, royal golden eyes pierced yours. “I see.” He said simply.

You both say in a somewhat comfortable silence as you—as quietly as you could—finished your lunch. “Where’s uhm..- Crocodile?” You asked, cleaning up your area a bit. “I’m not sure where that oaf has gone. There’s no need to worry for someone as he is, Querida.” Mihawk would hum quietly.

Just as if on cue, it was like Crocodile materialized behind you two. “Don’t taint the dear’s mind, you enigmatic man. We both know they need someone with real emotion.” You had no clue what to say after it clicked in your head.

Were they truly fighting for your affection?

A few comments—mainly from Crocodile—were passed, until both turned to you.

“Well, who will you choose?”

[wonhaz]

break my heart again - y.jw

pairing : jungwon x fem!reader genre : classmates au, hanahaki au, angst, unrequited love, inspired by laufey's song - let you break my heart again wc : 2.2k warnings : child neglect, sickness, hospitals, blood, major character death, eating synopsis : yang jungwon breaks your heart, but you love him, and you'd let him do it again, and again. because you would rather die than live your life not loving him, and you do just that. a/n : i don't know why all my fic ideas from my bias (jungwon) are all so angsty but here you go ig! i put a lot of effort into the meaning of each flower and their symbolisms in the story so u can even google it if you want the full experience or full meanings. this laufey song makes me want to cry my eyes out but i hope u like the fic!

"one day i will stop falling in love with you."

you loved yang jungwon, but he didn't love you back.

he was the only thing you could think of, but you know well that he doesn't care about you. all of your friends told you to move on, to forget about him. you've tried, you really have, but nothing seems to work.

jungwon was everything any girl could ever want, top of the class, kind, funny, and not to mention, extremely cute. you're pretty sure every girl in school had feelings for him at one point, you were no different. you thought it would just be a happy crush, how did it get this bad?

how did you meet him? simple, he was your classmate, that's it. just your classmate. he knew if your existence, but only because of his role as class president, aside from that he had no reason to interact with you. he never saw how you looked at him with your lovesick gaze as he took down notes, he never saw you in the bleachers watching every single one of his competitions, he never saw you clutching your chest in pain, no matter what you did, he never saw you at all.

but you let him do it. again, and again, and again. as long as you were alive, you would let him break your heart again. all because you love yang jungwon.

your parents were busy, always out on business trips, leaving you all alone at home with no one to talk to. all you did at home was day dream and come up with fake scenarios and alternate universes where you and jungwon were a couple. did that help your current situation? hell no. it made it worse.

you sit at the dining table. alone. your plate with pie and your cup of coffee untouched, you were hungry, but had no appetite to eat. suddenly your favorite foods looked disgusting. you've read about this happening.

it's getting worse.

walking to school, you feel a pang of pain in your chest. quickly running to a hidden alley, you clutch your chest in pain. you feel as if you're about to throw up, trying to cough it out, petals fall out of your mouth instead. you watch as they float down to the floor, looking at them with a bitter smile. picking them up, you stuff them into a pocket in your bag.

arriving at school, you walk into the classroom. there he is. sitting on his friend's table laughing. walking to your seat, you lay your head on your table. listening to him laugh made your day better, but worse at the same time. each laugh he let out increased the growing pain in your chest.

you're grateful your teacher doesn't notice.

that nobody at school notices that you keep going to the bathroom. your friends don't notice either, you don't know whether to feel hurt or happy. hurt that they don't know you're in pain, happy that it will make it easier for you to leave this world since they don't pay attention to you. quickly locking yourself in a stall, you start coughing with no end. daffodil petals leave your lips with red stains. your blood. taking out your phone, you search up the meaning of daffodils. "daffodils symbolize unrequited love, rebirth, new beginnings, and eternal life."

eternal life. something you knew you didn't have.

during lunch break, you see jungwon in the halls. he's smiling holding a small bouquet of pink tulips. you look at him with a sad smile, you know it's not for you, it would never be for you. feeling the need to cough again, you run into an empty hallway and pink petals leave your mouth. pink tulips. crazy to think how quickly seeing jungwon could affect you.

finally deciding to see the doctor, you go to the hospital after school. you sit on the cold metal seats in the waiting room, waiting for your name to be called. "shim _______?". quickly standing up, you made your way into the doctors office and greet the doctor. "so what brings you hear young lady?" he asks. "this." you respond, taking the petals out of your bag and spreading them on his desk. you see the doctor's eyes widen and he looks at you. "hanahaki.." you hear him say, "how long have you been coughing up petals?", "about a month." you say and he shakes his head, "this means that you only have a bit of time left, meaning you've had this for months but only started coughing petals until recently. I'm afraid you only have 5 months left.". your heart drops, but it's alright, it was already broken. nodding, you tell him you understand. "do you plan to have the surgery? or is there a chance the one you love will love you back?" the doctor asks with hopeful eyes. you shake your head, "neither." you say, "i don't want the surgery, and the one i love will never love me back.". "______" the doctor says your name softly, "you'll die.". "i know." you say,

"but i'd rather die than live a life not loving him."

you leave the hospital that day knowing you have 5 months left. nothing would heal your broken heart. jungwon could never grow love for you, the only thing growing was the flowers in your lungs. you make your way to your home, if you could even all it one. you didn't even know where your parents currently were, but you do know that "business trips are more important." according to them. laying on your bed, you stare at your ceiling, just a few more months you think, and all this will be over.

you try to make the most of school.

since in a few months you won't have to go, grades are not something for you to worry about anymore. it didn't matter with your current situation. you went to school to see him, and only for that sole reason. sitting with your friends at the cafeteria, you stare at jungwon seated on the opposite side of the room. seeing him smiling makes you smile. seeing him happy makes you happy. one of your friends ask you if you're okay. "are you okay, _____? you haven't touched your food at all.", truthfully, you didn't feel like eating anything these days, but you can't tell them that. "yes, I'm alright, just got a little distracted." and they nod. they continue their conversation and your eyes find your way back to jungwon. he's getting up to leave, you excuse yourself from your friends and follow him out at a distance.

"jungwon! when are you asking your crush out? you've already given her tulips!", you hear one of his friends say. "soon, not sure yet." he responds nudging his friend and laughing. "but i found out she likes roses." jungwon says, almost instantly you feel your chest tighten and you know that you need to make a run for it. you run in the opposite direction to the bathroom and lock the stall door. you start coughing, the pain in your chest becoming unbearable. red rose petals with blood on them.

you always thought roses were beautiful, but with beauty comes pain. the thorns growing in your lungs making your breath hitch. you knew that your time was running out faster than expected.

three months left.

you start writing in a journal, in hopes that someone will find it after you leave. that they'll read about your last months loving jungwon. that they'll read about your tragic love story that never even was a love story in the first place. you write about jungwon and all the things you liked about him, about being left alone at home, and about ever single kind of petal you have coughed up, sticking them to the pages and learning about the meaning of each one. you learned that red roses symbolized love and romance, how ironic. two things that you would never experience. not in this life at least, hopefully in the next.

one month left.

you wanted to talk to jungwon before you left forever. even if it was short and made no sense. you knew he got to school early and you made an effort to get there early too. he sat at his desk studying for the test later, mustering up the courage to walk up to him, you stand at the end of his desk and he looks up and gives you a confused look. "hi _____, do you need something?" he asks. "thank you, jungwon." you say and his eyebrows furrow. "for what?", "for everything." you say with a smile. "you're welcome?" he says still confused. flashing him a small smile, you get your bags and walk out the classroom leaving him alone, his eyes follow you as you walk out. he shrugs and goes back to what he was doing. he doesn't care.

that broke your heart again.

one week left.

you thought you were well prepared for your departure. you wrote a letter to your parents, leaving it on their table. you weren't even sure if they would ever come home and read it, but it didn't matter. their not-so-golden only child would be gone and they wouldn't even know. you wrote a letter to each of your friends, it was easy since you only had a few. you gave it to them at school and made them promise to read them in a week. you wanted to go in peace. you wanted to go alone.

3 days left.

you go to school to gather everything from your locker, touching the cold metal door for the last time. you greet your favorite teachers before you leave, you even buy your favorite drink from the cafeteria, you were going to miss how it tasted. you walk out of the school and turn to look at it. it would be the last time you see the school. the school you dreaded going to, the school where you met yang jungwon. you decided you were going to spend your last few days at home before making your way to where you plan to depart forever.

one day left.

you tidy up your room, straightening up your pillows and bedsheets. you clean your messy desk and leave the journal right in the middle. the journal that contained your thoughts, your fondest memories, the memories of your last months on this earth. making your way to the kitchen, the light the refrigerator emits feels blinding. taking out the last slice of leftover pie, you make yourself a cup of coffee to go with it and sit alone at the table. you didn't feel hungry, not anymore, but you forced yourself to eat your favorite foods one last time. you savor the taste of the coffee, the warmth temporarily soothing the pain in your lungs. you felt sick that night, maybe because you forced yourself to eat, maybe it was because you knew your time was running out. either way, you tried your best to fall asleep.

3 hours left.

you make your way to a field deep in your favorite park. it was off limits but you used to go there alone anyways. laying under a big tree, you stare up at they sky, you'll be up there soon. you feel your eyes start to tear up, you're crying. you don't mean to cry, but it's as if your body knows that your time is about to run out.

1 hour left.

"one day i will stop falling in love with you."

you tried to stop loving yang jungwon. heaven knows how much you tried. jungwon would never love you, but you would never stop loving him. you would love him even if you were dead. you would love him as you watched from above.

"some day, someone will like me like I like you."

is what you thought. that wasn't going to happen anymore, maybe not in this life at least. you were classmates. and you would remain classmates for the rest of his life, and your short one.

10 minutes left.

you look at the green grass and trees surrounding you. the sun was setting, painting the sky a mix of purple, pink and orange. you smile. if only jungwon was beside you enjoying this too.

but he wasn't. but the thought of it made your heart flutter.

your heart. your broken heart.

you loved yang jungwon, but he broke your heart. he has multiple times but he never knew. you would still let him do it again in every life, because that's how much you love him.

you begin to feel sleepy, it's almost as if your life is being drained out of you. you bring your hand up to your chest, to where your broken heart lies. the vines in your lungs suffocating you.

you look at the now dark and starry sky and let out one last breathe.

"i love you, yang jungwon." you say and close your eyes for the last time.

epilogue.

10 years later

the wind rustles the leaves of the tree you once lay under. some leaves fall and slowly land on the grass by the base, beside it, a flower has grown. a daffodil. the first flower you ever coughed up. you searched its meaning back then.

"daffodils symbolize unrequited love, rebirth, new beginnings, and eternal life."

maybe, just maybe, fate will let you have your new beginning.

that fate will give you another chance in your next life to be with the one you love.

[raysaitoo]

Fake it till you make it.

-Sero Hanta

You were working on a secret mission to assassinate one of your rivals. There was a schedule for both of you to have a meeting next week and you thought of gifting him a tasty dessert. A dessert that would most likely poison him.. but right now you're stressing a lot because the chocolates you bought didn't have the poisonous substance in it.. This was 100% your fault for buying things while you were half-asleep. Not realizing that you placed an order for a drug called Aphrodisiacs.

"shit." You paced around the living room desperately trying to get a refund for your order.. then the company finally answered. "Yes?" A male voice coming from the other end. "Hey..so the chocolates I bought weren't the same type I was actually looking for. Could I maybe return it and get a refund?" You try to stay as calm as possible to not mess up your plan. "Of course Ma'am, we just need the chocolates to be untouched so you could refund it with ease." He says. "oh alright let me check it first" You hurriedly went to the kitchen to find the chocolates which were placed in the fridge.. You stood there frozen when you found your roommate Sero already munching on it. "Miss?" The sound of the call made you regain your thoughts and realize that this will end badly. "Hello-" The kitchen went silent when you ended the call. When Sero found you looking at him eating chocolates he tried to offer some to you. "Oh hey Y/N! Did you buy these? Cause it tastes delicious." He tilted his head and popped another chocolate in his mouth. "Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" You just let out a sigh trying to not overthink about the outcomes of him eating that, and especially a drug that increases your need for intercourse. "Stop eating those Sero- please" You took them out of his hands and threw them in the trash bin. "Aw" he whined when he saw you waste the food. "You don't understand the situation you're in, Sero." Your brows furrowed in annoyance when he didn't even ask permission to eat what is yours. "What's so bad about eating chocolates?" He said while letting out a scoff.. "Hey it's kinda getting hot here, do you mind letting me use the AC in your room?" He wiped the sweat that was accumulating on his neck. "Go ahead.." After he left you rummaged into the trash bin for the box of chocolates, looking at the ingredients and finding the drug "Aphrodisiac". Hurriedly opening your phone to search it on google.

(--An aphrodisiac is a substance alleged to increase libido, sexual desire, sexual attraction, sexual pleasure, or sexual behavior--)

"Fuck .." You sigh out in relief because you thought it was a deadly substance..but was also concerned for Sero.

You open the door to your room and then was quickly hit by the cold air from your AC.

"Sero?" You try to find him in your room then finally see the obvious human sized lump on your bed that was covered by blankets. "Oh boy.." After grabbing it and removing the blanket from his body you see his flustered disheveled body. His button up white shirt was only buttoned half way, his necktie was also loosely hanging on his neck and his pants were also.. well unzipped. "Y/N please don't look.." He whined and covered his face in your pillow but his hand was still working on his obvious hard length. You must've left him for too long cause you were busy rummaging in the trash bin. "Oh Sero.." Frozen and flustered by the sight offered to you. "I'm sorry Y/N I don't..hah..know what's happening." That little moan he did made your stomach flip..oh no. "Please..This damn dick is so hard it hurts..help me..just do me a favor today.." sighing out from how desperate he looks right now you just nod at him, getting guilty by the fact that this is all your fault. "What should I do?" Climbing on top of the bed while also being hesitant to get closer. He startled you by grabbing your wrist tightly. "Ah my bad.. but ..do anything.. just anything that'll make me cum." He was begging for it right now.. he badly needs some release and you're the only one available at 12 midnight. "Fuck okay.." feeling pressured you put your hand on his member and moved it up and down.. he was so cute right now..every time you squeezed it slightly he let out a breathy moan. Finally you knelt in front of him and put his hard length in your mouth.. "Ngh ah- oh..". Without hesitation he grabbed the back of your head and bobbed it up and down his cock. "Mhh..yeah..sorry.." He likes it whenever you choke on him because the feeling of your throat tightening around his cock feels so pleasurable. "I'm gonna-!" Leaning his head back in ecstasy after you felt his hot load overflowing in your mouth. "Gahh-!". Spitting his cock out and coughing on his warm salty cum.. "Sorry.." He patted your head..trying his best to keep his cool and to not accidentally do anything to you that he'll regret tomorrow morning.. "I'm still not satisfied, Mami." You see how his pleading face turns to a more demanding one.

"oh yeah.." Fucking you raw and hard on your bed. "Y-you're gonna break my bed..!" Moaning and groaning whenever the tip of his cock reaches and touches that specific spot inside your cunt. "I'll buy you a new one. Fuck I'll buy you a hundred more if it means fucking you like this." The atmosphere of that room is cold from the AC but also very hot .. lewd and unholy sounds are echoing inside her room.. both sweat and cum mixing together on that poor bed. "Ahh.."

After that both of you are now in each other's embrace.. Y/N who is resting peacefully beside him.

Chuckling.. "Fake it till you make it right?"

"I'm a superhero, Mami. I don't get tricked by drugs this easily. But thanks for the great time."

He held your waist and put a blanket over you two, kissing your forehead and hugging you closer. "Damn ..I love you"

[adalricus]

Infatuated with you

Cw: yandere themes, kidnapping, manipulation, stalking, gn reader , reader is an amateur model, mafia themes

Pt.2

You had just gotten into the modeling industry, it was hard and full of disappointed trying to get it big. But today was the you would make it big, you walked into your agencies build with such confidence ready for the day. "We're dropping you"..."what?" You answered your manager "You just don't fit the image of our image, and we need to make some cuts on our money and how we use it. Us using our money on you seems extremely futile." Your manager coldly replied. And just like that you sat at home wondering where you went wrong, no you couldn't give up just now you decided to take a chance and search modeling agencies on google, Facebook and Instagram. Hours later you were just about to give up when an agency caught your eye, they were looking for someone who had features just like you. Just your luck, you wouldn't waste your time so you contacted the agency to set up an interview, and send in your resume aswell as portfolio. Finally the day of your interview came, you had driven to the agency and stepped out your car headed for the front just to meet a man who had a very calm yet happy aura. "Hello there I'm Anthony I'll be escorting you to the interview room, and you (f/n) (l/n)?" You nod and with that Anthony grabbed your wrist and you both head to the interview room, "The interviewer will be here in a few moments is there anything you need?" "Uhm.. a cold water please. I'm sorry for asking but I'm just curious who are you exactly?" You replied and asked, "My name is Anthony Davidson, I'm the boss's personal assistant. I usually make sure things go smoothly when he's not around as he is away for business purposes. I'll make sure to get you that water in a moment." With that Anthony left, you sat and admired the rooms interior you noticed turquoise and grey colours with pops of gold. Something deep down in you told you something felt wrong yet you decided to ignore said feeling.Just then the interviewer came in "Sorry for the wait (Mr/Mrs/or what ever you're comfortable with) (f/n) (l/n).

My name is Lucille Roberts wonderful to meet you." She said shaking your hand before sitting down. "So I've read your resume and seen your portfolio and my, might I say I personally think you would be right for this agency." You smiled before thanking her. Lucille continued to ask question as time quickly passed "Well I believe you belong in this company so much infact I'm deciding to hire you on the spot." Lucille announced abruptly and taking a contract with a pen before handing it to you. You read the contract carefully and my, the pay and hours were impeccable almost to good to be true. You were about to sign it before you read "(f/n)(l/n) will work under such conditions provided that they install cameras in their house" How could you accept a job provided you do that! "A-actually on second thought, maybe I won't take the job.." The second you uttered those word Lucille almost snapped "I think it would be in your best interest to work as one of our models especially since we know where you and your family lives. Have nude photos of you on top of that we threatened every other job that would consider hiring you." "What! I'm gonna tell the police how did you get that information!" You demanded to know "The police won't do anything we have all the police stations in this area under our thumbs.. and who want to help someone who got involved with the syndicate?" ... "The syndicate as in the... mafia?" You began to trembled "Mmm-hmm sweetie! You catch on fast, we're willing to let you live a free life mostly, only under our set conditions. So my love don't be a bitch and sign the contract." Lucille demanded before pointing a gun to your head, you obeyed not wanting to get shot and signed. "Good (boy/girl/or whatever you're comfortable with). Now bye bye you start Monday, and if you don't start then say bye to your family." Lucille stated, you could barely stand up and you had to drag your feet out the doors. You got into your care and went home. When you finally sat in your room, you saw a message telling the installation guy would be there tomorrow afternoon at 13:00. You couldn't believe this was gonna be your life now. All you can do is endure it.

adalricus 2023 ©️ you may not steal, translate or post this anywhere but this platform.

[digitalmarketer-amal]

How to Measure Marketing Impact on a Tight Budget

Got a small budget but need to prove your marketing works? Here’s the simple, no-BS way to track what’s actually bringing results:

1. Pick Your Goals

What do you want? More sales? Followers? Website visits? Pick 1-2 key goals and ignore the rest for now.

2. Use Free Tools

Google Analytics: See who visits your site and why.

Social Media Insights: Check which posts get love (likes, shares, saves).

UTM Links: Tag your links (e.g., in bio, ads) to see what’s driving clicks.

3. Track What Matters

Traffic: Are people coming from Instagram, Google, or emails?

Conversions: Are they buying/signing up? (Even just counting DMs counts!)

Engagement: Which posts get the most replies or shares?

4. Double Down on What Works

Found a meme format that gets shares? A hashtag that brings followers? Do MORE of that. Stop wasting time on stuff that flops.

5. Keep It Simple

Could you post a reel? See if it got more followers than usual

Amal PK is recognized as one of the top freelance digital marketers in Kerala, excelling in SEO, Google Ads, and social media marketing. As a skilled SEO specialist and Google Ads expert, he empowers businesses to achieve higher search rankings and maximize their return on investment. With a strong focus on e-commerce SEO and search engine marketing (SEM), Amal PK has collaborated with numerous leading brands, delivering exceptional results.

For more details, contact me on Linked In - amal pk

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[peachhcs]

OMG!! I didnt know you had a gabe au!! Can we have a small fic of Emma watching Gabes first game and seeing him get Player of the Game? 💗

yes!! i started it back in april of this year and then highkey abandoned it because i got busy, but i won't do that again i promise. i love emma and gabe <3. also excuse the google translated french i don’t speak french so i had to use my resources 😔

au masterlist

emma sat up with julianne, olivia, and samy watching the first game of world juniors unfold down on the ice. her boyfriend was right up there with his linemates ryan and james as they passed between one another to shoot a goal past germany's defense. the three had been killing it on the ice back in boston, so it was rewarding getting to see them play together on the big stage.

with it being emma's first time to world juniors, she was excited to watch these top, respectable players compete against and with one another over the next week and a half. the stands were electric and the arena was so loud she could hardly hear herself over all the fans. it was like this in the conte though too. those boston fans were always super rowdy.

the blonde sported her one of gabe's old usa hockey shirts he lent her and her hair was pulled back in two little braids into a ponytail. samy insisted they all wore red, white, and blue ribbons. emma had never cheered harder for her own country and this would probably be the only time she cheered this hard for the usa to win.

gabe was flying across the ice with the puck. ryan and james followed after him if he needed to make a pass, but the dark-haired boy had it under control as he wiggled past germany to score his first goal of the game. the girls jumped up in excitement and the horns blared bringing the score to 5-2. gabe did a lap around the rink as the canadians cheered and smiled up at emma when he passed her section. the girl blushed, smiling back at him as went to celebrate with his teammates.

the game continued and the boys continued their spark. germany was working hard, but the usa boys just had the upper hand on them tonight and kept scoring.

the girls were probably on their feet every few minutes because the boys kept scoring which meant they kept celebrating. when gabe got his second goal, emma was ecstatic. she screamed like crazy and showed off his name on her back to everyone else behind them, screaming how that was her boyfriend down there. gabe blushed seeing her go crazy for him and blew her a kiss on his lap around.

when the game ended, usa won in an overwhelming 10-4, gabe having two of those goals and one assist. the boys were glowing with happiness as they went back down the tunnel and the others scrambled to meet them once they came out.

emma was bouncing on her heels waiting for gabe to come back out. she talked with the girls a bit as they discussed the game, toying with the ends of her shirt in excitement and anticipation.

finally, their rowdiness could be heard when the door opened back up. the blonde stood up on her tip toes searching for her boyfriend, finally seeing him come out with a huge smile on his lips and eyes searching for her too. when they found one another he quickly ran to scoop her up into his arms.

“i’m so, so proud of you. you did so well!” the girl exclaimed, laughing as he planted a hundred kisses on her face.

“all because of you,” he mumbled sweetly making her blush.

“j'adore te regarder là-bas (i love watching you out there),” emma mumbled earning a bright blush on gabe’s cheeks hearing her speak french to him.

“j'adore t'avoir ici avec moi (i love having you here with me),” gabe kissed her lips that time. the couple shared a sweet kiss before ryan’s voice pulled them apart saying they needed to do media.

the boy squeezed her one last time before he had to join the others, “i’ll catch you after media, okay?” emma nodded and she let him go off with the others.

the blonde was grinning from ear to ear as she followed the others back into the main lobby where the boys would come out again. she checked her phone where she caught a glimpse of one of the twitter headlines saying gabe was named player of the game. emma’s eyes widened just as samy showed her the same thing.

“he got player of the game! oh my god!” emma squealed and the other girls joined in with her excitement. she knew that was probably what the reporters were asking him about in the interviews right now and now she couldn’t wait to give him another congratulations.

the boys came out for the last time almost fifteen minutes later. emma caught gabe’s eyes again and she jumped right over to him. “congrats mr. player of the game!” she exclaimed making the boy laugh.

“thank you, thank you. i’m still in shock honestly,” gabe laughed, bringing her into his arms like he did earlier.

“why? you’re hella good. i didn’t expect anything less,” emma praised making his cheeks flush into a pink again.

“you flatter me too much. i love you,” he kissed her cheek.

“i love you too,” she giggled and they made their back over to where the other guys were getting more congratulations.

[genderqueerdykes]

How can i find queer spaces irl? clubs arent really my thing, but its all i can find thats around me

good question!

this one can be tough, as bars/clubs are usually what come up the most readily when searching on google maps and social media. they can and do have days where the atmosphere is calmer but i still don't like being in bars. i think there may be some options for you, depending on your area

i would recommend checking your library if you can, a lot of the time they will advertise queer events if there are any going on in the area. if not they often times have information on local queer organizations. if you are unable to do this, universities usually have good lists of local queer events and spaces. usually people are going to say LGBT (event) so phrasing it that way may help a bit. but regardless universities often have groups that are open to the public so you may be able to find support there, or at least suggestions on where to look

you may have transgender resource or gay or lesbian resource centers in your area. you may have some type of organization that helps local queer folk get in touch with things like HRT, top surgery, drag shows, art/zine nights, when local queer businesses are hosting events and so on. if you use instagram or facebook, they are very good for finding these types of events if you search for lgbt (your area) and "local lgbt events", those kinds of things

you can also try to take a look at if you have a pride parade/event in June, you can try to find the information about who is organizing it and what types of organizations and businesses show up to those kinds of things. you may be able to find local social media pages that post about local queer events. sometimes it's something simple like a queer operated coffee or ice cream shop holding socials with reduced prices, for example. in a lot of places, there are spaces for queer minors who need somewhere to go away from alcohol, drugs, uncomfortable contact with adults, and so on

it can be harder to find spaces for adults that don't involve or contain alcohol which makes it difficult for someone like me who has a lot of trauma with that and bars. however, sometimes you can find small political organizations or even art collectives, who use parts of their buildings as queer hangout and event spaces. it's going to depend heavily on your area, so the best you can do is search for "lgbt events in my area" and "lgbt (your city)", things of that nature, as well as trying to keep an eye out for businesses you see when your'e out and about who have LGBT flags inside or outside. if they have even 1 progress pride flag it's worth asking if they can tell you about other LGBT businesses in your area or if they do any collaborations with other queer places and events

i hope any of that helps or makes sense. some places, people can find queer spaces very easily- in big urban cities in California like San Francisco, for example, has a lot of queer historical locations, political organizations, casual hangout spots, advocacy groups, resource centers, and more. some places may only have one or two spots where they can safely meet, and a lot of people are somewhere in the middle. good luck, i know it's not easy, but i hope you find something that works for you

folks are welcome to contribute any ideas they may have. take care for now!

[datamined]

Because it's relevant to the blog: TLDR; The United States' Justice Department have Google in an Antitrust lawsuit over it's ability as a monopoly to corrupt search engine results and more people need to understand what's going on and why this is important. https://www.npr.org/2023/09/12/1198558372/doj-google-monopoly-antitrust-trial-search-engine At work one of my bosses threw a fit (justifably) because Google is doing a lot shittier things with advertising and their algorithm than you think. I feel like most people know at this point that Google search results are essentially bunk- the top searches is influenced by how much a company directly works with and pays google. People bid to make their names or businesses at the top of the search results. But it goes a little deeper in that. Recently, I learned that top bidders do not actually get the top result. Why? Because Google wants to make it look less bad when Amazon always gets the top result for virtually anything you're looking for. Top bidders get second top search, the NEXT top bidders actually get the top spot. I could be wrong, but this is essentially my understanding of it at our office in super simple terms. But the biggest issue right now is that Google actually quietly (but significantly) raised their prices for bidding and nobody has any fucking say in it. This makes large corporations (such as Amazon) more likely to be only ones that can manage to take up these top spots, and smaller companies continue to get shafted because they simply cannot compete and Google is essentially stiffing the competition, so to speak, harder than ever before. BUT ON TOP OF THAT, my boss also found that Google is actively making it harder to find information about this and the incoming huge fucking lawsuits thrown at them. They're trying to make it difficult for their users (and basically, the entire world considering so many devices automatically use google search, as Google has deals with Apple and Samsung) to find out anything about their corporate greed and corruption. When searching for the same thing in a different Search Engine like Bing, the lawsuits are the first things to come up. It's huge fucking news but few people know about it or are talking about it. The results of this lawsuit are going to permanently and drastically change the internet and how people find their information.

[er1th4cz]

Patched up with kisses !

AN: first time writing ever, had to be special for my dookie pie husband Charlie kenton, English isn't my first language so bear with me with any typos or grammar mistakes

It was a long night, getting beaten up by bastards. They were always the same bunch of bastards that bothered you about Charlie, of course, Charlie always told you "They aren't worth your time." But, they were worth your time. They were always talking shit about Charlie, Charlie Kenton. The man you grew up and fell in love with. He told you to stop worrying about those thugs who made fun of him, talked badly about him, and ruined his name. But you knew better than to listen to his ass, even though you knew where it always got you.

Blood was dripping down to your shirt, dirtied, stained, and messed up. The only thing on your mind was to go back, back to him. You stumbled back into the gym, with a soft groan escaping your throat. Charlie, who was working on Atom with his own few frustrated groans, turned to see what the noise behind him was and he stopped with a "What the fuck?" Look in his eyes that soon turned into "Oh, Crap."

"What the hell happened to you?"

He asked, dropping everything in his hands. He made his way over to you quickly, cupping your cheeks with his large, warm hands as he inspected your current state. It made your heart quicken, the added adrenaline wasn't helping.

"Just those thugs I keep telling you about." You shrug, like it was nothing but it was everything to Charlie. You were hurt and damn it, if he continued to allow this to happen to you, he wouldn't forgive himself for not being able to protect someone he loved. He knew better than to deny it was just love for a close friend.

"Those thugs? Those thugs I told you weren't worth your damn time? Are you shitting me?"

Oh, he wasn't happy, no, not at all, his words were laced with worry and deep concern, rather than anger which gave you a little hope that he wouldn't scold you all night long, it happened a few times before and it wasn't pretty.

He quickly but gently pulled you, sitting you in a chair while he grabbed a clean cloth and held it to your gash, which he instructed that you keep a hold of tightly as he went to the first aid kit. He ran back as quickly as he could, opening it in a hurry. He took hold of your wrist and slowly pulled your hand with the cloth away so he could see the wound. Thankfully it didn't need stitching but it was still quite a large laceration. (Me after searching wound synonym on Google.)

So, he got a little close and started to clean the wound on your forehead. A certain tension was rising but neither of you decided to speak on it, too focused on getting you patched up. You can see the way he was looking at you with such care, a cautious hold on your cheek, the lightest touch on your gash you could barely feel it.

The closer you two got, the closer your heartbeats synced with each other. It didn't take long for that to happen. You could feel the brush of his lips on your skin which made you shiver lightly, he didn't notice, or at least that's what you thought. That was something you wanted to feel, but on your lips, is that too much to ask for? The man was too busy with the gash on your forehead to even notice how close he had gotten but you weren't complaining. He started to wrap your forehead in gauze which made you look like a bald man especially with how tight Charlie made it but the kiss he gave you on top of, it was more than enough to silence your thoughts.

He hesitated for a moment, rethinking his actions before he gained the courage and kissed you again, between your brows, then on your nose, the soft of your cheek, and the corner of your mouth. Charlie's kisses were soft, loving, longing for more, wanting for more, wanting you. He stopped right on your lips, before looking at you with his beautiful eyes, asking for permission silently but you beat him to it and your lips met.

finally, after years and years of trying to catch the fish with bait, it's happening on such a night. It was a slow and light kiss, he was afraid to hurt you, afraid he was going to mess up your first kiss together. His hand traveled towards your neck and deepened the kiss, wanting for more, the passion, tenderness, and fondness were overwhelming but it was something you were drinking up like a dog who's been parched with water. Before things escalated, he pulled away, with a soft pant and a smile.

"Feeling better now, I hope?"

"I sure as hell am."

And they lived a gayppily gayever gayfter.

@morgans-hat I don't know how to end a story 😼 heh... you can say I'm just awesome like that. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ONG I'M SWEATING MY BUTTCHEEKS OFF.

[useless-catalanfacts]

I'm pretty sure that ask from a Palestinian family is a bot, i've gotten so many of those in my inbox and I'm 90% sure they're all bots

Look, I'm going to answer this assuming that you mean well and that you're not trying to spread this rumour to take part in genocide and get Ahmed and his family killed.

It is not a bot, it has been checked that he is not a bot. There are people like @/nabulsi, @/el-shab-hussein and @/90-ghost on Tumblr (and others from other organizations and other platforms) getting in touch with all the people asking, checking their national ID card to make sure their names match, and that all their story matches. That's why verification lists exist, because people have put in the effort to verify all these people, even when it's extremely difficult because internet connection isn't stable in Gaza and all of them are already busy enough with trying to survive because Israel keeps telling them to evacuate to "safe zones" and then proceeds to bomb said zones, they have to queue for hours to get some water and some food, and the tents they're being forced to live in reach 50°C. The Palestinians in our ask boxes are doing everything they can to save their families and themselves. Can you even imagine being in that situation? Living a hell on earth, a genocide, your home destroyed, your business destroyed, relatives and friends killed, bombs exploding at any time around you, your hometown in rubble, your school/university in rubble, food extremely expensive and you've lost almost everything you owned, malnourishment and illness all around you and knowing hospitals have been bombed and doctors are being targeted, fearing for your life and the life of your children, your parents, your partner, if they are even alive, hearing how people are getting kidnapped, tortured, and even raped by Israeli soldiers and the state media celebrates it. And on top of this, the only way out is to beg strangers on the internet proving your disgrace with photos and videos of your most vulnerable moments and your children's most vulnerable moments, in a language that's not your own — in some cases, in a language you don't speak or understand, written in a script you can't read, but that someone was kind enough to type a message in for you so that you can re-send it. And on top of all that, people will see your suffering and say you're a bot or a scammer. Can you imagine?

You will never see me post or reblog a donation link to someone who has not been verified, because I know that such risk exists. Most people who are asking and aren't verified are real people in need, because it's difficult to get verified in these circumstances. But I don't speak Arabic, I can't verify myself, so I'm choosing to focus on the ones that we know are verified while those who can speak Palestinian Arabic get in touch with the others and complete the verification process.

I've gotten less on this blog, but on my main blog I've gotten dozens of asks asking for donations and reblogs (I've not counted but my estimation would be around 50) and out of all these, only 2 were fake. The fake ones used PayPal instead of GoFundMe, their stories said they needed insulin (most Gazans are asking for money to evacuate or afford food and medicine, insulin could be needed but it's unlikely to go alone), the photos they used showed up in a reverse image search, and the names once you clicked on their PayPal were not Palestinian or Arab (according to Google, the names of the people I personally got were from Kenya and Uganda, but the same method could be used by people from anywhere else).

Of course it's important to check that any donation you make goes to the person/organization you want it to go to. And that's why I included the verification link. Sending an ask like this to someone trying to get them to publicly post your message spreading the false idea that a very real person with a very real family trying to survive a genocide is a bot or a scam shows, in the best case, that you are careless and didn't think much before acting and, in the worst case, that you are actively taking part in this genocide and contributing to the dehumanisation of Palestinians, to cutting off the little support they get from outside that gives them a chance of survival, and that you are trying to get these families killed. Whether it was on purpose or not, this is what an ignorant message like this —accusing with no proof and where you would have seen it's a real person with only a bit of research—, this is what it does: it contributes to the genocide. It gets people killed. This is a genocide, we cannot afford such mistakes.

If you have a doubt, research before making public accusations. Or ask privately about it. Instead, you chose to send this ignorant ask on Anonymous, meaning that you knew well that I would not be able to answer to you privately and that I would have to answer publicly, using me as a loudspeaker to spread your baseless rumour (a rumour that could cost a family their lives!) with all of my followers.

Of course you've gotten so many of these messages in your inbox. Gaza, even before October, was one of the most densely populated places on Earth because of Israel's apartheid regime and how it pushes Palestinians in an open-air concentration camp. And now they're all getting bombed. What are they supposed to do? Not try to survive? Die in silence? What would you do if you were in their place?

Anyway, let's all go help the family that this ask is accusing. And I recommend you make up for it and donate, too, at least some. They are very close to reaching the goal they need to afford the Egypt travel agency costs to evacuate to Egypt. Help Ahmed and Dina and their children Zeina (7 years old), Eileen (6), Yamen (4), and the baby girl born in June in the midst of war.

(Verification link: number 264)

Let's also help Samer, Shuroq, and their three children:

(Verification link: number 196)

Also please Mahmoud Al Sharif, his wife Soha, and their 4 children (ages 12, 11, 8 and newborn). Mahmoud lost an eye and fingers in the wars he survived before the current one. They are still very far from their goal.

(Verified by 90-ghost here)

"Solidarity is the tenderness of the peoples". Palestine, Catalonia always has you in our heart.