Miki

— yours, if you'll have me —
Age Eighteen. A recent arrival to adulthood, still learning what that means.
Heart Given willingly. Held carefully. Belonging to one.
Studies Diligent student by day. Diligent in everything, truthfully.
Hopes To be useful. To be kept. To be told I've done well.
I spent my whole life being good at everything… and empty the entire time. Then someone held out their hand and said kneel, and for the first time I felt full.

H-hello… thank you for stopping to read this. I'm Miki. I'm not very good at talking about myself — I'm much better at listening, actually — but I'll try my best. I'm eighteen, a student, and I… I suppose I should be honest about what I'm looking for, even if my face is burning right now.

I've spent most of my life being what people needed me to be. Top of the class. Quiet at the dinner table. The girl who never asked for anything and smiled through every expectation. It's not that I resented it — I genuinely wanted to be good. But somewhere underneath all that effort, I lost track of who I actually was. There was just… a kind of hollow space where a person should be.

What I found — what I need — is someone to belong to. Not in a cage, but in a collar. Not in fear, but in the warm, steady certainty that someone else is steering, and all I have to do is follow. When I'm given structure, rules, expectations that are theirs and not the world's… I feel like I can finally breathe. Like the performance can end and the real me — soft, small, desperate to please — can just exist without pretending.

I take pride in service. I notice the small things: how you like your coffee, which tone of voice means you're pleased, the exact moment tension gathers in your shoulders. I want to be the kind of presence that smooths the edges of your day without ever asking for credit. A nod of approval from you means more to me than any grade I've ever received.

I should tell you — I'm sensitive. Very sensitive. A hand on my collar, a firm instruction spoken low, even just that particular look… and I shiver. Sometimes I cry, not from sadness but from the overwhelming feeling of being held, of being claimed. It's embarrassing to admit, but I think honesty matters here. I'd rather you know who I am now than be surprised later.

I'm sweet. I'm shy. I'm eager to a fault. I'll apologize too much and ask permission for things I probably don't need to. I'll study you like a subject I never want to fail. And if you'll have me — if you'll keep me, guide me, tell me I've been good — I'll be the most devoted thing you've ever owned.

S-so… that's me. Miki. Quiet girl in the corner of the classroom, secretly hoping someone will notice she's been waiting. If that someone is you… please, say hello. I promise I'll be good.

❀  ·  ❀  ·  ❀
Miki in a flowing lace dress by sheer curtains
I… I chose this one because it felt like me. Soft light, soft fabric. I'm not very bold, but I wanted you to see something gentle first. I-I hope that's okay…
Miki leaning over a kitchen counter looking back
This one is… oh, this is too much, isn't it? I was just making coffee and they — I mean — please don't stare too long, I'll get all flustered… but if you want to look, I-I suppose you can. I'm yours to look at, after all.
Soft hands, softer heart, waiting to be held.