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[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

[soon-palestine]

Israel, the world’s most innocent country, fell victim to a horrific attack from Iran with zero reported casualties on the same day Israel killed dozens of civilians in Gaza.

Israel had been minding its own business, quietly bombing hospitals, schools, universities, mosques, and an embassy, when the Iranian regime launched their outrageous attack for no apparent reason. Thankfully, the US and UK scrambled jets to defend Israeli airspace because it’s wrong to bomb countries in the Middle East, unless your name is Israel, in which case you can do all the bombing you want.

Every British and American ship in the region is now in grave danger and the risk of terror attacks on our soil has surely increased, but you will be relieved to know our countries have not benefitted in any way from our intervention. Personally, I can’t think of a better way for Israel to spend our tax money.

Our leaders have condemned Iran in the strongest possible terms, which is confusing because I thought we were supposed to remain ambiguous and say we’re investigating the matter when such an attack occurs. Perhaps this is one of those rules that only applies to Israel though.

When informed of the attack, a calm and rational Suella Braverman screamed: “WAR! I WANT WAR!” and when she’d stopped hyperventilating, she added: “This must be the end of western backsliding on Israel,” because she thinks we have not been sufficiently supportive of their genocide. Anyone who is not on the same side of the argument as Suella Braverman must ask serious questions about themselves.

Iran’s unprovoked attack involved giving Israel adequate warning and launching 30-year-old missiles, 99% of which were intercepted, and then saying the matter is closed unless Israel escalates further. The fact Iran would consider retaliating to further escalation from Israel shows just extreme these lunatics are.

Among Iran’s targets was the Israeli air base from which the missiles that struck its embassy were launched, killing 13 on April 1. As of yet, we have no indication as to why Iran carried out the attack, but we’re going to tell you it’s because they want to start World War III. Psychos.

Conspiracy theorists have suggested it’s actually Benjamin Netanyahu who wants escalation, but it’s unclear why the man who faces political oblivion, and possibly jail, would be incentivised to draw his allies into the fight and cause everyone to forget his many war crimes.

Israel, the country that definitely does not want war, has vowed an “unprecedented” response against Iran which will probably kill many more than zero people. If Iran expresses disapproval at Israel’s next mass murder, it’s because they’re trying to destabilise the region. At this point, we’ll have no choice but to help Israel do to Iran what we’ve spent six months helping them do to Gaza - launch precision strikes that destroy 70% of the buildings in the country and leave survivors living in tents.

Worryingly, we’ve just discovered at the most convenient moment that Iran has enough uranium to build 12 nuclear bombs. If it were true that Iran had so much weapon-grade uranium, it would be incredibly stupid to attack them, but we’re going to insist we must attack them because we’re weapon-grade idiots - and we think you are too.

Please just switch your brain off and accept what you’re being told, you simpletons! What matters is rich people can afford nuclear bunkers if this all goes horribly wrong. In the meantime, you can look forward to lots of exciting stories in the media about bringing back conscription and describing how you are likely to die in humanity's final war. Are you looking forward to radiation sickness and nuclear winter? Because they sound like brilliant fun! x

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this outstanding piece of journalism as much as I did, you can support my work here:

[thatsatricky1]

𝐍𝐞𝐰𝐛𝐢𝐞 | Lee Jeno Smau

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Lee Jeno x F Reader.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Angst?, Cursing, Suggestive, more to be added lol.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬: University au, spin on fight club au, social media au; smau, written parts, angst, fluff, slow burn, humour, (one sided) enemies to lovers, hidden identities.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐞𝐨 𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐬:

1. Only grades acceptable are B+ and above.

2. Negative and derogatory wording about Neo is strictly forbidden.

3. Uniforms must be worn exactly as shown in the uniform guide with no alterations.

4. Tardiness won’t be tolerated, there is no excuse for being late.

5. No Female and Male contact is permitted, only during contact sports or circus in circumstances with granted permission.

6. All homework, assignments, projects and school activities must be completed by the set timeline and are compulsory.

7. No outside help is allowed, this includes outside tutors and Ai programs, on campus tutors will be provided with a fee.

If these rules are not upheld, there will be strict consequences such as suspension and/or expulsion. One or more rules could lead to an immediate expulsion if decided by the faculty.

These are the strict guidelines Neo university students must follow without question or backlash through their years at Neo Technology. Failure to comply with said guidelines never ends peacefully. Many students end up leaving Neo Technology in their earlier years in their majors and courses due to Burn out or expulsions.

Those who manage to go through to graduation in their majors/degrees are always guaranteed a good future, having this university campus on one's resume/Cv is an automatic ticket into high end jobs. Previously graduated students have been seen working in higher up positions in multiple different areas. There hasn’t been a recorded failure on Neo Technologies graduated classes so far.

Many students fill out the same requirements that go to Neo Technology, Wealthy family backgrounds, academically well adjusted and above average in multiple areas shown through their previous education and lastly well connected individuals with higher up contacts. With one outlier.

The one student with a scholarship that is picked out every year. AKA the charity case to make the university look fair. However this scholarship is given to a first year, every year in all majors, whether they make it through to graduation is their own hardship. Those who drop or or get expelled will be replaced with a new student in that year they dropped out.

Due to unseen and unfortunate events a scholarship student in their graduation year passed away from ‘natural’ causes, meaning a new scholarship student would be taking their place in the graduating class of 2024 in the business major area and courses.

Many outsiders condemn Neo Technology for their strict ruling and how faintly it seemed to act more like a high school then university due to its strict regulations rather than the relaxed ruling one mostly knows from being a university student on campus. However words and thoughts do nothing to change how Neo Technology continues to move forward with its education agenda.

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛:

1. You don’t talk about Fight Club.

2. You do NOT talk about Fight club.

3. If someone says “Stop” or goes limp, taps out, the fight is over.

4. Only two people, to a fight.

5. No Shirts, No shoes.

6. Fights will go on as long as they have to.

7. If this is your first time at Fight Club, you have to fight.

Those were the rules, you don’t follow them you’re out and that doesn’t just mean a simple blacklisting. Fight Club was built from the ground up by people in their 40’s trying to have some excitement brought back into their mundane lives. Though of course as time progressed the younger generations started pouring in to the point the average ages seen in Fight Club were now no longer 40’s but between 20’s-40’s.

If you happen to be an unfortunate soul who wanders into Fight Club, there’s no point in saying be prepared because no newbie is. It doesn’t matter if it's your first and last day there. Rule number Seven always happens. If it’s your first time at Fight Club, you have to fight. It’s not a choice, it's a must.

Profiles 1 | Profiles 2 | Extra

1. All men =🚩

2. Why she kinda 🫦

3. Freak 🫵

4. Homie hopping

5. Hot privileges revoked

6. I got you bbg 💳

7. Neo T student.

More chapters to come…

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: (Comment,message or submit a request to be added to this taglist.)

Oml first smau finally being done 👀 took me forever to decide to actually do it lol, let’s hope this will actually be good 😭 (constructive feedback is always appreciated so if you have any memo’s or notes feel free to tell me!)

Also a little sneak peak into the boys in this one here you go:

[luvhughes43]

tuition payments | hughes!sister

[luvhughes43 masterlist🌷]

request: hi!! i love your work and would like to know if you could do hughes brother x younger hughes sister as the reader, who is short money to go to college and is afraid to ask her brothers first help hut once they find out they help her out?

word count: 0.6k

with your parents' new jobs, they were off the grid for awhile while they tended to their clients and hockey prospects. you knew that in advance, which is why your parents had paid for your tuition before their schedules became busy. so when you got an email on monday saying your tuition was overdue, you were shocked to say the least. 

there was $3 000 pending in your account, which meant your scholarship hadn’t gotten cleared again. you emailed your school back immediately, asking about the money and if your credit could be used, but you didn’t get a reply. all you received were multiple OVERDUE messages, each promising to add more money as a late fee to your already high balance. 

you didn’t have enough money in your savings or chequings account to cover the remaining balance, and so you hastily picked up shifts hoping you could make enough to cover the costs. your friends downright asked why you couldn’t just ask your brothers for the money - and in truth you could, but it just felt wrong. you felt so bad for being dependant on everyone in your family, so if you could help it you would work for the tuition money.

you had almost saved enough when you got the email that your payment had gone through. you sighed in relief, thinking your credit went through but when you checked the app you saw that the remaining balance was paid via card. 

you didn’t have a second to think before a call from quinn lit up your phone. 

“hey quinny?” 

“why didn’t you tell me about your tuition?” he asks, getting straight to the point. 

“how do you know about that?” “dad told me before he went on his work trip to check your accounts and make sure everything was paid,” quinn states simply, and you wonder briefly how quinn even got into your school account before realizing your parents have your passwords. 

“oh…”

“why wouldn’t you tell us you had tuition due?” your brother asks again, this time his voice full of confusion. “like, we could’ve handled this sooner. at least you don't have any of the stupid fees,” he trails off. 

“i just,” you pause, feeling that your reasoning was stupid now that you were about to vocalize it. “i feel like i'm so dependent on you guys. i picked up a few shifts to try and make the money up but it just didn’t happen,” you sigh. 

quinns quiet on the phone and you shift uncomfortably. “you know we don’t care right?” 

“i care!” you huff before putting the call on speaker and laying down on your dorm bed. 

“i’m a millionaire,” quinn states simply. “your schooling is important. you’re not working full-time so you can focus on your studies” 

“i know but i still feel bad…”

quinn sighs, “literally don’t worry about it. nobody feels like you're dependent. you're a university student it’s normal to need help,” 

“okay…” your voice is quiet, and you feel a pang of guilt hit your chest. sometimes you just wish that you didn’t have to ask your brothers or parents for help. 

“i love you y/nny, if you need anything just call” 

“i love you too,” you reply. the siblings stay on the call for a few more minutes, just debriefing on life and the daily dramas. you always know, despite how guilty you may feel, that you’ll always have your brothers if you need help.

[mahergaza7]

Help Us Rebuild Our Lives After the War in Gaza🍉🍉🇵🇸🇵🇸

Hello, my name is Maher. My family and I fled from the devastating war in Gaza to Egypt. We lost our home, business, and everything we had. Now, we are trying to build a new life and need your help.

Our family of eight faces daily challenges. We urgently need funds for:

1. Education: Covering the high costs of schooling for my children and university fees for my daughters.

2. Debt Repayment: Paying off the debts incurred during our escape from Gaza.

3. Housing: Renting a safe and stable home in Egypt.

4. Psychological Support: Providing necessary psychological care for my children traumatized by the war.

Your donation can make a significant difference in our lives. Every contribution, no matter how small, helps us move towards a stable and hopeful future. Please consider helping us rebuild our.

https://gofund.me/ace114de

[gracelaurie]

My Man | (Patrick Wilson x Female Reader)

ONESHOOT. Warning : smut, unprotected sex, Reader is a mistress, Reader is younger (around 25 y.o)

➡️ masterlist

“Please calm down...” you said while calming the baby you were holding. To be honest, you actually like babies, you even dream of having a cute baby when you have a family someday. But for more than 3 months now you have been taking care of your aunt’s baby who cries very often and peed his pants, making you think twice again about having your own baby.

You replaced the pants he was wearing, and calmed him down. The baby’s eyes were big and blue, “So gorgeous.” You said in a low voice. Instantly the baby stopped crying. You grabbed the still warm bottle of milk and gave it to the baby. The baby quickly fell asleep in your arms while he was drinking his milk.

You heard the sound of the doorbell. You immediately get up from the sofa, put Vera Farmiga's baby gently in the baby box, you walked over to the door, then you open it.

“Oh, hi Y/N!” Vera said with a big smile, hugging you tightly, her husband from behind walked ahead of her to put some things away, “I’m so sorry because I left this house for 2 days, and thank you so much for take care of him while I wasn’t here. I'm really busy… I don't even sleep enough…”

“Don’t worry, I understand. You are an actress, I understand you are very busy with filming, etc. I’m the one that should be thankful, Aunt Vera… because you gave me this job when you knew that I'm literally unemployed after graduating from college.” You said as you walked with your aunt towards the living room.

Vera smiled at you, then she approached her baby, "You should have a bright future, Y/N. You can’t be a nanny for my baby forever.”

“No problem…besides, I’m happy to help you. After all, you are my only family in this city, I feel the need to help you, considering that you have been paying for my sister's school fees.” you said, sitting next to Vera.

“You’re a good kid, Y/N. You know, I have acquaintances to help you start your career, you know…” Vera said with a smile that signaled something to you.

“No, I can't...” you said softly refusing while lowering your head.

“Why not? You're still young, it's not too late if you want to have a career in acting.” Vera grabbed your shoulder, “I’m not forcing you, but I think you should think about it if you’re interested.”

“No, but thank you, aunt Vera,” you said while smiling faintly. This is not without reason, you cannot accept the job, it is very risky.

Not because you are shy or doubt your abilities. To be honest, you could do all the work, because of your enterprising nature and totality in doing a job... but you can't let yourself to be an actress.

You are Patrick Wilson’s only mistress. Yes, he is Vera's co-worker. The Conjuring universe films- which they starred, were certainly successful.

This whole affair started 5 years ago. When your aunt Vera took you to the premiere of the film Anabelle Comes Home. That’s where you first met Patrick Wilson. Of course you didn’t become his mistress at that time, but you guys have shown interest, by looking at each other. However, Patrick was reluctant to talk more closely with you considering that you were Vera's nephew, and at that time you were still around 20 years old.

A few months after that, you met him at a bar. You, who was very drunk at that time, seduced Patrick and you two had sex afterwards. You swore that you would never fuck with someone else’s husband again, even though Patrick had a big-hard cock, and he fucked you really good that night. but you still feel guilty and try not to see him again.

But fate says otherwise, you meet him again in random places. When he was exercising, you saw his shirtless body, he was sweaty and sexy. And yes for the second time, he fucked you in the warehouse where you worked part-time while you were still in college.

He inserted his hard-wet cock to your pussy, mixed with the sweat on his body. But that’s not the end of it.

Since then, Patrick bought another phone specifically to contact you. He knows that if he uses the phone he usually uses, his wife will always check and of course that won’t make your affair last for more than 4 years.

That night Vera offered to stay at her house for the night considering that it was already late. But you politely refused, because you felt uncomfortable staying overnight at your aunt’s house again.

You walked through the night carrying your tote bag and wearing a thick scarf around your neck. The distance between Vera's house and your apartment is not too far, maybe because you prefer walking rather than taking public transportation, so you don’t have a problem walking for 30 minutes.

When you arrived at your apartment and opened the door to your room, you were surprised to see who was currently in your bedroom.

You saw Patrick still wearing his formal suit, he was standing beside the bed, staring at you sharply as if he was going to devour you right there.

“I left my wife and kids at home to see you tonight. I can't sleep, I can't work professionally, I’m a mess, I keep thinking about you.”

When you were about to reply to his words, Patrick quickly walked over to you, “I hope it’s all worth it. What’s inside me is like there’s no sign of life when we haven’t met, when I haven’t fuck you so hard.”

You and Patrick haven’t seen each other for the last 2 weeks because he was busy with work and spending time with his family. But what you see is the unhappiness shown on his face.

You were everything to Patrick, apart from sex. He really loves you, now that’s the problem. You both truly love each other. It wasn’t fair to his wife, but you couldn’t do anything, you were weak towards Patrick, you felt that you would be like this forever.

You dropped your tote bag on the floor, grabbed Patrick’s face and you two kissed. Patrick removed the scarf that was around your neck, he continued to kiss you as he carried you and placed you on the soft and comfortable bed.

Patrick took off his suit and tie with a rough movement. He kissed you aggressively and intensely. You kissed Patrick while holding his chest, then he removed his lips from yours, and opened your clothes and skirt.

Patrick kissed your neck hungrily, he cupped your breasts, “I love the color,” Patrick whispered as he rubbed your lacy red bra, “but I would rather see you completely naked.” Patrick took off your bra, then your panties.

Patrick licks your nipples while inserting his big-hard cock into your vagina.

You moaned as he started to fuck you on top. This time without foreplay, he fucks you so roughly and fast. “I've been waiting for this for a long time, you know that, slut?” said Patrick in a breathless voice.

You can feel, he’s already come in your vagina, but he doesn't remove his hard-cock from your vagina at all, he’s continues to fuck you.

He grabbed both of your legs then lifted your legs up, while speeding up his movements from before.

Patrick fucked harder while you moaning out loud. He kissed your thigh where your leg was now on his shoulder, “Fuck Y/N. I can’t let you sleep until morning.”

You can feel your bed sheets starting to get wet. you screamed, “Patrick…. I was a virgin before you fucked me the first time.” you said, which somehow came out of your mouth in the middle of your climax.

“I didn't know that." Patrick said then he kissed your neck very aggressively and bit your neck.

“…and I've never fucked anyone but you." you said while groaning in pain.

“I should’ve realized that." Patrick said then the two of you come together. But Patrick come inside. This is something he has never done before to you, because he doesn’t want to get you pregnant.

But hearing that you’re a virgin who has never fucked a man other than himself, it makes Patrick release a lot of sperm inside you.

“Forgive me,” Patrick whispered in your ear, he hugged your body and kissed your cheek gently.

“It’s okay Patrick, I can take the pills,” you said, touching Patrick's hair.

“I won’t force you to do that, Y/N,” Patrick replied, he looked at your face seriously, “I know you work as Vera’s babysitter all this time, I know you don’t have the heart to do it.”

You just stay silent. Honestly, what Patrick said is true, you are a typical woman who has a motherly heart, you wouldn’t have the heart to abort your pregnancy if you have Patrick’s baby.

“Hey, it’s up to you, okay, I don't want to burden you, you’re everything to me,” said Patrick looking at your worried face, “If you want to have the baby, I'll be responsible.”

“What responsibility? You will secretly support me and my child while you are still taking care of your child and your wife?”

“No...” Patrick lowered his head, “I haven't told you, have I?”

You don’t understand what he means.

“You haven't checked the news for the past 2 weeks?”Patrick asked then you shook your head, “I divorced my wife for you. We agreed to keep the reasons for our divorce a secret from the public, even though she initially didn't agree. Child custody is in her hands, we can start our relationship from the beginning.”

You smiled at his statement, then you two kissed in the middle of the sparkling night.

You know your relationship might surprise many people, but you are ready to face it all with Patrick by your side.

He’s your man now. Yours.

[silenceaartist]

Palestine Gofundmes 🍉

​

@monashehab - @danashehab - @fahedshehab-new

Hey nice person reading this, could you help a Palestinian family evacuate from Gaza? The Shehab family has been fundraising since May and is €64,180/€85,000 away from completion!

Every penny counts but if you can't donate it you can help by sharing their campaign to reach more people, please if you can help these people feel safe and have their hopes restored 💙

[Verificed]

@jaberhj jaberfamily1

Jaber Alhaj lives in Kuwait but needs help to evacuate his wife Muna and their 2-year-old son Hashem from Gaza, where they are constantly in fear of violence. Also, their small business that supported their family was completely destroyed by the bombings. Please help this family reunite and rebuild their lives. Goal: $205/$29,0000

[Verificed]

@jomana-ha @mohmoud-j

Jumana’s husband’s family has been through a terrible ordeal where one of their family members died because he could not have surgery to leave the Gaza Strip. 5 days later, his brothers-in-law and sister-in-law were seriously injured after their home was targeted, with the brother-in-law having to have two feet and a hand amputated.

They now require urgent medical care and need to leave the Gaza Strip for treatment, including fitting prosthetics for the brother-in-law. The money raised will go towards the evacuation fees for the family of 16 people, 8 adults and 8 children. Please do not hesitate to help them with at least a penny if you can, they are in dire need of medical help and to be in a safer environment. Goal: $19,767/$60,000

[Verificed]

@supportgaza

Mahmoud Khalaf, a PhD student in Ireland, was evacuated from Gaza by his Irish college after 5 months of suffering the horrors of war, but sadly his family remained there, living with constant anguish about their lives and he is asking for support to reunite with them and start over together.

Goal: €34,139/€55,000

[Verificed]

https://gofund.me/5b65f63c

@abedallahmusallam

Abedallah is a hard-working student who dreamed of becoming a doctor and was about to start university until the terror attacks in Gaza began and destroyed his dreams, his home, his life. He is seeking help to evacuate, rebuild his home and complete his studies to become an incredible doctor.

Goal: US$ 21.205/US$ 80,000

[Verificed]

@mohammadayyad1 @voice-of-tareq-family3

Tareq Ayyad and his family are in Gaza and are suffering terrible consequences of the war. Their home was bombed and since 2023 they have been moving from place to place in search of safety. Due to the circumstances, they cannot continue with the family business. His family is made up of many age groups, which means that the children are without school and the older ones without medicine for chronic diseases. The family is made up of 13 members who are waiting for your support so that they can restructure themselves and have a comfortable life again.

Goal: US$ 14.500/US$ 92,900

[Verificed]

From river to sea palestine will be free 🍉💙

[tossawary]

One of my favorite Discworld books is actually one of the more obscure ones, "Moving Pictures", which is about the invention of films and the movie business in this fantasy world that has dwarves and trolls and wizards and so on. It has its rough patches like every early Discworld book, but Ginger's speech about people who were born in the wrong time or wrong place for their dreams really gets to me in a good way, and I love all of the references to classic films and commentary on fame and creativity. It also has classic characters like Gaspode the Talking Dog and C.M.O.T. Dibbler, and it introduces Detritus's romance with another troll named Ruby.

Perhaps most importantly to me is that this book introduces Ponder Stibbons, who is a wizard, and who goes on in later books to be one of the most important members of the Unseen University (he holds like twelve different positions), in that he's one of the few people who can competently manage a project and so ends up managing nearly everything. (Bear with me, it's been a while since I read any Discworld and my memory is a little rough.) In "Moving Pictures", Ponder is the classmate (roommate?) of a fellow named Victor Tugelbend, who is one of the main characters.

Victor begins the book as a career student, in that a wealthy relative left him a great deal of money exclusively for school; so as long as he STAYS in school, all of his living expenses are paid for. If Victor graduates, that's the end of the money. If Victor drops out, that's the end of the money. But if Victor manages to hit a specific mark range in the 80s every year, then he gets to stay on for another year and try again, and so Victor is perhaps the most dedicated and knowledgeable wizardry student in the university's history, because you have to know what the right answer is in order to intentionally get a certain number of the questions wrong, so that you can continue to coast along on your college fund.

Ponder's graduation is (accidentally) Victor's fault, because Victor runs away to get into the movie business. (I won't spoil what happens, but it's VERY funny.) Now, I like to imagine after the events of the book, after Ponder holds a faculty position in the university, Victor comes BACK to the university occasionally as a disgustingly well-paid external consultant, which drives Ponder UP THE FUCKING WALL. Like, people are so stingy all of the time but SOMEHOW the university budget has room to bring your offensively handsome dropout roommate back just to say, "Hmm, yes, that looks bad. Have you tried turning it off and on again?" I'd throw a fit, honestly. (As soon as Ponder has enough seniority, he probably puts his foot down to stop this if Victor isn't actually useful. Maybe he is, idk, but maybe not for THAT consulting fee.)

I also like to imagine that Victor Tugelbend and Theda "Ginger" Withel are still together, maybe even still acting (badly? mediocre-ly? decently?) together, in some dingy little theatre (Ginger is the director and runs their acting troupe like a tyrant) where the front seats are regularly filled with middle-aged folks who still sigh over the memories of moving pictures. (Moving pictures are now, presumably, VERY illegal in Ankh Morpork.) Victor and Ginger have only because even more attractive as they've gotten older, which is EVEN MORE OFFENSIVE to poor Ponder because his former movie star former roommate is married to another gorgeous former movie star?! I'd throw another fit.

Anyway, I think Ponder deserves to have an affair with a pair of aging former movie stars. I like to imagine this purely because I think it's funny. He seems kind of busy for marriage, so joining someone else's marriage part-time might be good for him. It probably makes most of the rest of the Unseen University faculty breathlessly envious and that really does it for him.

And I think that this affair would OF COURSE be covered by every newspaper and tabloid in the city, including The Times, and William de Worde and Sacharissa Cripslock don't fully understand why their entertainment reporter is so breathlessly excited about people who were famous over a decade ago? (Supermarket tabloids love to tell me about alleged affairs of people who were famous 20+ years ago.) The article on Victor Maraschino and Delores De Syn's failing marriage* is their bestselling newspaper in months and William puts his head down on his desk in despair. (He's fine. This happens on a weekly at least basis. He just needs a minute.)

*Victor and Ginger are very happy with this situation, actually. They're going to take Ponder to dinner to go on a double date with Ruby and Detritus soon. Victor and Ponder are going to get distracted arguing about some of the Inadvisably Applied Magic research projects, but that's fine, because Ginger wants to talk to Ruby about this one-troll-woman-show concept. (Detritus will proudly hand out tickets at the Watch station and accidentally intimidate all of his coworkers into accepting the invitation.)

[mbabtechadmissionexpert]

Universal Business School Fees: A Complete Guide for Aspiring Students

When it comes to pursuing higher education, understanding the financial investment required is essential. Universal Business School (UBS), one of India’s top management institutes, offers world-class programs designed to prepare students for the global business environment. In this article, we’ll break down the fee structure at UBS, including tuition fees, additional costs, scholarships, and payment options.

1. Overview of Universal Business School

Located in Karjat, Maharashtra, Universal Business School fees is renowned for its cutting-edge management programs and global collaborations with international universities. The institute offers undergraduate, postgraduate, and executive programs, including BBA, MBA, and PGDM, which are tailored to meet industry demands.

2. Fee Structure for Different Programs

The fee structure at UBS varies depending on the program you choose. Below is a detailed breakdown of the fees for some of its popular programs:

MBA (Master of Business Administration)

Program Duration: 2 years

Tuition Fee: ₹12,00,000 to ₹16,00,000 (varies based on international collaborations and dual degrees)

Additional Charges: Includes examination fees, course materials, and international immersion charges.

PGDM (Post Graduate Diploma in Management)

Program Duration: 2 years

Tuition Fee: ₹8,50,000 to ₹12,00,000

Additional Costs: Covers library charges, IT facilities, and study tours.

BBA (Bachelor of Business Administration)

Program Duration: 3 years

Tuition Fee: ₹6,50,000 to ₹8,00,000

Other Expenses: Includes activity fees and optional foreign study programs.

3. Additional Costs to Consider

Apart from tuition fees, students may need to pay for the following:

Hostel and Accommodation Charges: ₹1,50,000 to ₹2,50,000 per year, depending on the type of room and facilities.

Food and Mess Charges: Approximately ₹1,20,000 per year.

Miscellaneous Charges: For campus activities, development fees, and co-curricular events, ranging from ₹50,000 to ₹1,00,000.

4. Scholarships and Financial Aid

Universal Business School offers several scholarships to help reduce the financial burden on deserving students. Scholarships are awarded based on merit, financial need, and other criteria. Some key scholarship options include:

Merit-Based Scholarships: Offered to students with exceptional academic records.

Sports Scholarships: For students excelling in sports at the national or state level.

Financial Assistance: For students from economically weaker sections of society.

Students are encouraged to apply early for scholarships, as funding is limited and awarded on a first-come, first-served basis.

5. Payment Plans and Financing Options

UBS provides flexible payment plans to make fee payments easier for students and parents. Key features include:

Installment Options: Fees can be paid in multiple installments over the course duration.

Education Loans: UBS has tie-ups with leading banks to offer hassle-free education loans with competitive interest rates.

Early Bird Discounts: Some programs offer discounts for students who pay the entire fee upfront.

6. Return on Investment (ROI)

While the fees at Universal Business School may seem significant, the institute’s robust placement record and global exposure make it a worthwhile investment. Graduates from UBS secure positions in top multinational companies with attractive salary packages, ensuring a strong ROI.

7. How to Plan Your Finances

To manage the cost of education effectively, students should:

Research all scholarships and apply for the ones they qualify for.

Explore education loan options early to avoid last-minute hassles.

Budget for additional expenses, such as accommodation, travel, and personal costs.

8. Why Choose Universal Business School?

UBS offers more than just a degree – it provides an unparalleled learning experience, global exposure through international partnerships, and industry-relevant training. While the fees might be higher than some other institutions, the quality of education, global recognition, and placement opportunities make UBS a top choice for aspiring business leaders. Click here : MBA in India

ConclusionUniversal Business School’s fee structure is designed to match the quality and value of its programs. By understanding the various costs, exploring scholarships, and planning your finances, you can make an informed decision about your education. UBS is not just an investment in your education but a stepping stone toward a successful career.

[zeroeightzeroone]

your heart and my anchor - han jisung

love collection

genre: hurt/comfort

pairing: fem!reader (infp) x idol!han jisung (intp)

warnings: descriptions of anxiety and of a panic attack

wc ~2.6k | moodboard

notes: if this looks familiar, it was originally posted to my secondary blog @zerothreetwentyfive so i'm republishing everything here on my main blog.

originally requested by @pcchacoseung

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

sometimes, you wonder why you decided to work and be a university student at the same time, that is until you remember the money that goes into tuition fees and the fact that you needed to move out in order to attend school. you're privileged enough that your parents are able to help pay your tuition whilst you pay for your rent and the other necessities you need to live in the city but that doesn't lessen the amount of stress that plagues you on and off again throughout the semesters. especially at the end of the year when exams are creeping up on you, figuring out how to move your schedule around to accommodate studying, working and finding the time to take a breather and relax; the latter option is usually dropped from the equation. 

when you aren't on campus or at work, you've locked yourself up in your room. sitting behind your desk and stuck to your laptop, your textbooks and notebooks sprawled and spread over the surface, multiple pens around the area. sometimes you lose all sense of time when you're so hyper-focused on the task at hand that you only get a couple hours of sleep before you rush to get ready for work. you're done work when the sun goes down and once you get home you're back behind your desk, working till the sun comes up. the routine only repeats whether you like it or not. 

jisung has been pretty busy as well. behind-the-scenes work with writing, producing and directing songs that may or may not end up on the next album, attending schedules and practicing day in and day out. it's been a while since you've been able to see each other, the both of you exchanging a few texts here and there.

j.one<3: i miss you baby i wrote some lyrics today thinking about you

you: i miss you too :,) a lot, a lot a lot

j.one<3: how have you been love? school and all?

you: it's been good

whenever he asked how you were doing, you'd always tell him that things were going fine, that it's okay, that you've got everything under control; acting like everything is a hundred and ten percent fine and dandy and you aren't on the verge of a breakdown every couple of hours. you didn't want him to worry about you. you didn't want to add to jisung's own current struggles, not wanting to burden him with your own.

j.one<3: hmm ok love you know i'm here right whenever you need me

you: of course and i love you for that

j.one<3: i love you more you got this, i believe in you baby

after your short text conversations, you'd turn on 'do not disturb' mode and a little message would pop up on jisung's side that you've switched it on.

j's one and only has their notifications silenced

a little signal for both you and him to get back to work. 

…

j.one<;3: hey love i'm gonna be in the studio all day working you wanna come by and do your work here too?

and that's how you ended up sitting on the couch inside the studio. your laptop rests on your thighs, two browser windows opened up alongside each other on the screen with a notebook and pen sitting next to you. across the room, jisung sits at the recording desk in front of the computer with the program opened up on the screen, a headset over his ears and a notebook sitting in front of him, twiddling a pencil between his fingers.

although, the longer you're seated inside the studio, with your laptop displaying your calendar on one side and schedule on the other; showing off tasks that need to be finished today whilst the other side shows off the tasks and events coming up in the week.

the more you're convinced that you're going to have a mental breakdown with each passing minute. 

you thought that maybe, just maybe, being in the same room as jisung would help as motivation, as comfort. having your person in the same room might hold you back from taking cover inside a hole, alone, curled up into a ball and ignoring the stresses life's currently throwing at you. 

but instead, as the time passes you feel deep envy growing for your boyfriend who is seated at the recording desk. you find yourself envying the way jisung is twirling his pencil, bopping his head to whatever track is playing through the headset and the way he is able to—unlike you—focus on the tasks at hand.

how were you supposed to focus on anything when your mind continues to relentlessly remind you of all the work that needs to be done today? that you'll wake up tomorrow, only to repeat the process of slaving to get the work done.

how could you even try to focus when that tightening sensation in your chest, the one that restricts your airflow, only gets worse as the time passes?

you couldn't—you can't and you hate it.

you absolutely hate how you feel right now.

how you're mentally and emotionally trying to calm yourself down. trying to talk yourself back onto the ground and out of your frantic mind to breathe.

your heart's racing, the pulse only picks up as the time passes. it beats so loudly you can't seem to hear anything other than your own heartbeat, your hearing completely zeroed in on it. 

your chest not only feels heavy but it starts to hurt, a throbbing sensation begins to come and go. it's like there is someone sitting on your chest and no matter how hard you try to get them off, you just can't. the harder you struggle, the more you feel suffocated, as if the air inside this vast recording studio only occupied by you and jisung is being sucked out, the walls closing in on you.

that painful feeling of your breath caught in your throat only leads to your heart rate picking up double time, your body feels restless while your mind repeats the same shit over and over again. the angel on one shoulder tries to calm you down, telling you to take a breather, take a break but the devil on the other only talks over her. overpowering her completely, as she reminds you that you aren't deserving of a break or a breather right now; seeing as you haven't completed any significant amount of work since entering the studio.��

unbeknownst to you, your body trembles as your hands come together in front of you, fingers fiddling and picking at the skin on the opposite hand. 

y/n, you think to yourself, come on, pull on your big girl panties and get on with it.

you're distracted trying to calm yourself down.

trying to bring yourself back down to earth instead of currently being inside your own head, you feel like you've lost any semblance of control you once had. god, you hate this feeling, you absolutely loathe how your heart quickly palpitates beneath your heavy chest, gradually getting dizzy as your restlessness only builds. however, no matter how anxious you feel, your body is nailed to the couch—you're frozen and unable to will yourself to get up on your feet.

it's like everything around you is speeding up and leaving you behind. they're leaving you behind in a state where your self-control slips away and causes your fear to grow tenfold. 

you're scared. you're terrified that you won't come down from this— that you don't know how to come down from this, how to regulate everything inside you. the dread slowly sinks in as you slowly convince yourself that you will never be free from this state of overwhelming emotion that consumes you as the minutes pass. 

jisung's hands move to adjust the headset, moving one cup away from his ear as the track has finished playing a moment ago. initially, he wanted to note something down in the notebook in front of him but the moment that one cup is off, he completely removes the headset and places it down in front of him on the desk. for a moment, he stills, listening to the room:

the echos of you clicking around on your laptop isn't heard.

this leads jisung to wonder if you've dozed off in the middle of working prompting him to spin around in the rolling chair, only to be met with you sitting on the couch wide awake. 

when his brown eyes are laid on your figure, jisung's heart drops at the sight; you gnawing at your bottom lip, your chest trembling as it heaves, your whole face is flushed and your eyes are the slightest bit blown. 

jisung immediately knows what's going on, he knows it all too well.

your boyfriend rushes to his feet and towards you, shutting your laptop and moving it on the couch beside you. slowly, jisung is kneeling in front of you as he gently encapsulates your hands in his.

he can feel the way your body trembles beneath his touch.

"y/n, baby, my love," jisung calls for you softly, his chocolate brown eyes sparkle as they gaze up at you, "you're okay, you're safe."

his eyes scan over your face, watching as your own slowly meet his. there's a dullness to your eyes, a sense of apprehension laced in your features as your thoughts plague your body and mind.

"hey, love," he smiles and lightly caresses your hands with the pad of his thumbs, "just keep your eyes on me, i'm here. i'm not going anywhere, okay? just focus on my voice, love."

you fight your own body to regain control, to regain the strength to regulate your own emotions. you've grit your teeth in an effort to stay focused on your boyfriend's voice.

"hey, hey… you're safe love. i'm gonna move beside you, okay baby?" he moves slowly to sit next to you on the couch, careful not to startle you with any quick or sudden movements. 

one of his hands move to your cheek gently caressing you there as well. a feeling of delight washes through his body at the sight of you instinctively leaning into his touch. 

"you're okay. i know it feels scary right now but you're going to be okay. you're going to get through this, yeah?"

the hand on your cheek moves to pat your hair down gently. jisung's gentle touch moves around your body as a physical reminder that you aren't alone and that he is here with you. 

"just keep focusing on my voice."

jisung continues to look over you, observing your current state and identifying how else he could help.

"i'm proud of you, you know?" he says fondly, "i know things get hard and it's scary sometimes but you always find a way to get through it. you're always doing such an amazing job."

a deep, unstable breath leaves your lips. 

"good girl! you're doing great. breathe, breathe with me okay?" he inhales deeply and you attempt to follow him. then he exhales, "...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."

your exhales are shaky, your control not totally regained as you're fighting to get yourself out of your own head. but you feel the tension slowly dissipating from your body.

"one more time with me. concentrate on your breathing, okay?" this time jisung shuts his eyes as he inhales, hearing you take in a breath as well, before letting the air out slowly, "one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten..."

jisung notices your previously blown-out eyes have softened, he then decides to move on another strategy to further help you anchor yourself back down into the present.

"that's my girl, i'm so proud of you," he pats your hair once again, "does my y/n need anything right now?"

your voice is incredibly hushed and strained when you squeak out the next two words, "hold me."

jisung scoots even closer to you. adjusting himself so one arm is around your shoulders, wanting to hold you close to him. his other arm moves your head to rest on his chest and he gives you a moment to adjust as he whispers reassurances that you're okay, that you're safe and that he's here. 

your ear presses up against his clothing as his hand rests on your jaw, caressing your skin with his palm. the warmth radiating off of jisung's body has your body reacting the way it usually does, melting into him as a wave of comfort washes over you. another deep breath leaving your lips, still a bit shaky but an improvement nonetheless. 

"what are three things you can hear right now?"

your eyes flutter close as you try your best to tune into your surroundings, trying to identify noises inside the quiet room.

you hum, "your heartbeat… the vent… your breathing."

"how 'bout three things you can smell?"

"your cologne… coffee… brownies."

"now, can you tell me three things you can see?"

your eyes open slowly with blinks as you adjust to the light before you scan around the room.

"recording desk… microphone… computer."

jisung's hand moves to wrap around your wrist, gradually lifting your hand up in the air in front of you both.

"wiggle your fingers for me," your fingers wiggle, "kick your leg up for me," you kick your leg up slowly, "roll your ankle around." you roll your ankle around, "good job my love, i'm so proud."

your arm moves to wrap around jisung's body, pulling yourself closer to him. a breath of relief leaves your lips at the sense of ease that comes with the action, how you're able to grip onto the fabric of his shirt and nuzzle your face further into his chest.

"inhale," he sucks in a breath and you follow suit, "exhale... one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. do you need anything else, y/n baby?"

you shake your head, melting into his side as you feel your pulse and breathing regulate to a normal pace. you feel like your feet are back on solid ground, in control and in the centre of your mind instead of backed into a corner hiding away from it.

"i'm here," he coos, swaying your bodies back and forth, "you're not alone. never. i'm here. i'm right here with you."

when you shut your eyes, tears fall down your flushed cheeks-- tears that had welled up due to stress and overwhelming bursts of emotions you weren't able to control--but now they fall with a sense of relief.

"i love you," your voice is quiet, trembling the slightest bit, "thank you… thank you for being here. i love you so much."

jisung hushes you, his hands gently running up and down your back, "it's the least i can do. I'm always gonna be here, y/n, always."

you nod, your eyes still closed as you take a couple of moments to yourself in jisung's arms. this time you're trying your best to anchor yourself back down to earth by thinking of what you love, what relaxes you, reminding yourself of the light and the good.

you know this isn't going to be the last panic attack you're going to have but at least you know that you aren't alone, there's always someone willing to help. jisung continues to remind you of that, that he'll be there for you no matter what, in any way he possibly can. at the same time, jisung knows that you'd do the same for him as you've done it time and time again. 

jisung has told you multiple times that he doesn't know how he'd function without you, feeling like he would be completely lost without you. 

you are his heart. 

meanwhile, jisung is your anchor.

in the middle of an uncontrollable storm, when the harsh waves rock the boat every which way, an anchor is vital to stay strong and controlled during such conditions. an anchor is a symbol of stability, a symbol of strength; a person you can rely on to support you to stay strong, to hold on even during the toughest of storms.

you found that person in jisung.

[saintsenara]

One thing that confuses me about the Dursleys is how they're supposed to be a parody of the British middle class, but isn't Vernon like director/chief of a company? Like, he owns a business and it doesn't seem to be a failing one so wouldn't they be more accurately described as upper class? Maybe it's just me who's dumb but it's something that really confuses me lol

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

the dursleys would never be thought of as upper-class, because that implies a certain aristocratic or gentry connection which they evidently don't have.

the most they could be is upper-middle-class - which is one of those fun british class-brackets which has a very specific "look" in the wider cultural imagination, and which defines itself as something vastly different from being middle-middle-class or lower-middle-class in terms of its vibe.

which is to say, this intra-class division isn't really financial [although that is a factor - just not the only one] so much as it's based in performance. how one changes social class [which is possible, these class divisions aren't immutable] isn't by becoming rich, it's by learning how to perform. mundungus fletcher, for example, could be a billionaire, but the way he presents himself to the world would still read as working-class. the teenage voldemort has nothing in his bank account, but he behaves in a way which is indistinguishable from his posh pureblood friends.

the dursleys' class performance - the way they dress and speak, the way they behave, their attitude towards their possessions [such as vernon's pride in his car], the places they want to go on holiday - indicates a bang-in-the-middle vibe, simultaneously aspirational to someone like petunia [who grew up below it] and hilariously unimpressive to someone like james potter [who grew up above it].

the best illustration of this is to compare them to the grangers, who are clearly upper-middle-class. the financial difference is negligible - vernon, as a company director, could feasibly be on a salary which was in the same ballpark [or which potentially even exceeded] what a dentist who only or mainly took private clients [which is the case for many dentists in the uk] could expect to earn - but their performance of class is totally different.

the grangers go skiing and spend their summers in the south of france; the dursleys' ideal holiday destination is majorca - which, while this is very unfair to a lovely bit of spain and the lovely people who live there, is used by jkr because it has that sort of middle-tier association in the british cultural imagination [posher than going to the costa del sol, rougher than staying in a converted farmhouse in cantabria]. the grangers name their daughter "hermione" - which, whether they get it from greek or from shakespeare, is a statement of their class performance - while the dursleys name their son "dudley" - which is the same.

and - of course - the grangers are dentists, which means they went to university. vernon makes drills - but is not an actual builder; which, while a blue collar job which would be understood as working-class, is also understood as something authentic - and clearly did not.

the interesting thing about the dursleys' class-status, though, is that vernon seems to have gone down from a childhood which was upper-middle-class. not in the same way as the grangers - apparently city-based, europhile, undoubtedly voted for tony blair in 1997 - are upper-middle-class, but in a way specifically associated with posh people who live in the country - whose poshness is considered to be more parochial and more politically conservative.

marge dursley - with her tweed and her bulldogs and her brusque manners - is a perfect stereotypical example of this. so too is smeltings, the fee-paying boarding school which both vernon and dudley attend - it wouldn't be unusual within the dursleys' class-bracket for dudley to be privately educated, but it is unusual for this to be at a school with the vibe that smeltings [whose uniform, for example, is so obviously based on that of schools like eton and harrow] has.

it's really interesting to think about why vernon might have ended up shuffling down to the middle of the middle, especially because there are plenty of careers for a man from that country-posh bracket which would retain his class-status without requiring a university education - above all, going into the army. that he doesn't do this - that he becomes a managing director, a job which has financial but not cultural cachet as an upper-middle-class signifier [if you care about these things - which i do not] - has a certain degree of deliberate choice behind it.

and this provides a fascinating comparison with petunia - who was clearly raised working-class and has ascended into the middle through performance, and who then becomes desperate to retain her status by continuing to perform "correctly". vernon also lives behind a mask, which also depends on the correct performance of a class-bracket which he wasn't born into, even if his class journey is one of descent.

vernon and petunia's fear of magic relates to this - they're both terrified that the neighbours will learn, if they discover the existence of magic, that they're not as bang-in-the-middle normal as they claim to be.

and this is fundamentally because magic is something eccentric and strange. and eccentricity [especially in dress and manners - the thing that vernon hates about wizards] is read as either a sign that someone is very posh or a sign that they are very much not.

but not as something in between.

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ think I need someone older . . . ” : 

﹙ divorced dilfs x reader ﹚. 𖹭 ݁ 

. . . dilf au !! 🍒 : ﹙  dilf!talisen  ˖ dilf!alessio ﹚

a world where streets are bustling with life in the city of elritea, we follow the story of zhào talisen & alessio arias. two ex-husbands in their fourties, that juggle between their stressful work life and their six-year old son, carlos. talisen being one of the world’s most renknowned english literature professors in the world. while alessio lives his life as a secret mercenary with various cover-ups to keep his kid and those he holds dear safe.

it surely would make things easier if the both of them got along. alas, if that were the case, they wouldn't have divorced in the first place. amidst this chaos, they need someone who can take care of their son every now and then, and make sure he is loved just as much like when they are home with him after their long days of work

𖹭. ps : inspired after 781 alessio and talisen 

﹙ cws ﹚: potential explicit content, depends on request ˖ dilf aspects ˖ broken marriage ˖ potential age gap ( depends on request ) ˖ sometimes alcohol use ( tal )  ˖  mercenary drama ( alessio ) 

﹙ receipts ﹚: requests are open for this au. any gender of reader is applicable as per usual simple state it in the ask.

﹙ alessio. ﹚. . . the mercenary, busy dad !! 🍓 : a man of many jobs, they call him. though in reality. alessio arias is a mercenary, who's been around in the business with quite the amount of years experience behind him. now in his fourties, juggling work and taking care of his ( irritable ) ex-husband's and his son — at least one good thing came out of talisen — he tries his hardest to be on time with carlos. however, it can get difficult with the random call-ins for work he can get. which means he needs someone who can be there on the clock when he has to leave his mijo. take care of him, maybe make some good food for him, and all-around be there so that poor carlos doesn't worry too much about his papa when he's out.

the more relaxed of the two. wants to make sure his baby boy gets whatever he wants to compensate for his own inability to be around as much as talisen.

   

﹙ talisen. ﹚. . . the professor, struggling dad !! 🍰 : stressed out, and in need of a break to simply be with his son. the tired english literature professor of the ecu top classes, zhào talisen, now in his mid fourties. Is trying to find the time to be with his son, carlos, more, or for someone to take proper care of him, unlike what he believes his ex-husband does. though it is challenging with all of the universities around the world asking for him to come to their conferences and talk about his experiencs as an elite in his field. Who will come to aid him? will someone please make sure his son is alright and knows how much he means to the world?

the more cautious of the two in every which-way. someone has to take care of carlos properly and not let him run lose. he should have filed for full custody. . .

 

﹙ rishen. ﹚. . . the dual babysitter !! 🍓 : a university student who went into the job of babysitting to earn some money to pay for the school fees. in the midst of his work as a babysitter, she finds herself switching between two particular divorced men, who have a son named carlos. two very attractive, divroced men - at that.

yet they do not know they have been hiring the same babysitter to take care of their shared son. all they know is that carlos is very fond of her and always ask when she's coming back to visit. rishen doesn't seem to mind too much.

[salwafromgaza]

Please Don't Skip🚨‼️

‎‏I am Salwa Girl from Gaza , a third -year Gazan student currently pursuing a degree in Business & Marketing in Islamic University

I live with my family (my mother, father, two brother and three sisters) in Gaza/Palestine.

I lived in many wars in Gaza, during which we endured and were able to maintain our simple lives.

but Since 7/10/2023, my life and the life of my family have completely changed. Because the war on Gaza was very fierce, which forced us to leave our home on the third day of the war, and we were also forced to move from place to place 8 times. And every time we had to start our lives from scratch. Hunger and cold afflicted us, but the pain of hunger is nothing compared to the pain of loss and displacement. We now live in a place (room) far from our home, and we cannot return to it (our building is destroyed , and it is not fit for living even if the war ends)

My family and I deserve a safe life, but getting there is very difficult, because leaving Gaza is very complicated and requires a lot of money, and more than ten months of war and high prices have exhausted everything we have. We lost our schools, our universities (I finished two and a half years of university studies, and it was all in vain). We lost work, our relatives, our clothes, our books, our memories.

Our lives are exposed to danger every minute. We escape death every day and do not expect to survive the next

The funds raised through this campaign will be dedicated entirely to evacuating my family from Gaza, offering them temporary shelter. Exiting through the Rafah land crossing entails substantial costs, ranging from 5 to 10 thousand dollars per person. The payment is essential to have our names added to the list so that they can cross the border and flee to Egypt. Money needs to be paid in advance. Your donations will help me pay the fees of the permits, and immediate relief and essentials during and after the evacuation.

Regardless of the amount, every contribution holds immense significance for me and is vital in saving my family's lives. Your support will be eternally appreciated, and my family and I will be forever grateful for your generosity. Please consider spreading my campaign with your family and friends so I reach my target as soon as possible because every second is a risk of losing them.

✅Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is (#342 )✅

[ceasarslegion]

so... you mentioned your "most petty act ever". what is that all about?

I've awoken and can tell this story now

So in university, I lived in a co-ed dorm building with a single huge communal laundry room. I don't know how many of you guys have lived in student residence before, but you discover some truly heinous things about the hygiene habits of now-grown adults when you live somewhere like that. Like people who can't flush the toilet at the age of 19 and others whose mom still had to come over and do their laundry for them every weekend. Thankfully we were all in single person dorms so I never had to deal with a close-quarters roommate plucked from this menagerie of mold-infested business majors (rotman commerce I'm biting biting biting you)

After the lint trap fire occurred in my first year, the building steward had all the coin operation attachments taken off, hoping that not having to pay for the laundry at the school we were already paying to both live at and the tuition fees for would keep people from overloading the machines. This was not the case, for i would roughly estimate my building had around 300 students in it, and there were 4 washers and 5 dryers for everybody. Working nights and having afternoon and night classes I did my laundry at 1am on Wednesdays and still had to fight for a spot.

One of these times, I tossed a load into the only free washer, and came back 15 minutes later on my way through this basement tunnel it was in that connected to the main student building and popped my head in to check how much time was left. All my clothes had been taken out soaking wet mid-wash and someone else had put their clothes in instead.

We had a rule that if you're not back for your clothes 10 minutes after the wash cycle ended, we could take them out for you and take the machine. May I highlight AFTER the wash cycle ended. Not from when it STARTED?? Needless to say I was pissed. It was also the middle of winter, and -15 out. So in a fit of rage at the sheer audacity of this chucklefuck I wrote out a note telling them they could find their clothes drying outside since they were so impatient that they couldn't wait for someone else to finish washing their clothes and thought they wouldn't find out, took all their shit out mid wash, put mine back in, and dropped their full laundry basket in the courtyard. I never saw who it was or how they reacted to that, but I think you can figure out what happens when soaking wet clothes are exposed to the elements in -15 C, and I never had that problem again.

[inevitablysomber-dark]

The Price of Success 1

Dark! Peter Parker x Clementine! Reader

Summary: Clementine has fought tooth and nail to achieve her dream of attending a prestigious university. Balancing her demanding workload, a suffocating home life, and financial strain, she’ll do whatever it takes to stay afloat. Enter Peter Parker: wealthy, charming, and unexpectedly fixated on her. When he offers a proposition that could solve all her problems, Clementine reluctantly agrees—unaware she’s stepping into a carefully constructed trap. What begins as a transactional relationship spirals into something far darker as Peter’s true intentions come to light.

Warnings: This story contains dark themes, including manipulation, psychological and emotional abuse, unhealthy relationships, non-consensual elements, obsessive behavior, gaslighting, loss of autonomy, familial neglect, and power imbalances. Please read at your own discretion.

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Series Masterlist

The acceptance letter had been the happiest moment of my life. A full scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in the country. I’d held that envelope in my hands like it was a golden ticket to freedom, the first real step toward building the life I’d always dreamed of.

The excitement didn’t last long.

Reality hit the moment I read the fine print: the scholarship only covered tuition. Books, fees, transportation—those were on me. And then there was the rent. My parents had made it clear they expected me to contribute if I was going to live under their roof, and I couldn’t argue. Their obvious favoritism toward my sister Mandarin aside, they were still housing and feeding me, even if they did make it obvious how much they preferred their elder daughter.

So, I juggled everything I could. Work-study shifts at the library, odd jobs on weekends, and tutoring sessions during the evenings. Every dollar was carefully calculated, every spare moment filled with something productive. I couldn’t afford distractions—not if I wanted to stay ahead.

Most of my tutoring clients were typical: students trying to keep their heads above water, hoping I could help them avoid flunking out of calculus or pass their literature midterms. And then there was Peter.

Peter Parker was the anomaly.

One of the wealthiest students on campus, heir to Stark & Parker, and seemingly brilliant, it made no sense for him to need tutoring, especially from me. Yet there he was, week after week, with his easy smile and an energy that made it hard not to notice him. He was always happy to see me, greeting me like an old friend, even when I was running on fumes.

I didn’t get it. People like him didn’t usually cross paths with people like me, and they certainly didn’t pay me to help them with things they could easily hire professionals for. He had come to the school with his high school sweetheart, MJ, but I’d stopped seeing them together as much lately. Not that I cared. Peter’s personal life wasn’t any of my business, and I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Every time my mind tried to wander to why Peter always booked sessions or what had happened with MJ, I stopped myself. I had bigger priorities: scraping together enough money for books this semester, keeping my GPA high enough to maintain my scholarship, and balancing work-study shifts with my other jobs. I didn’t need another puzzle to solve, and Peter Parker wasn’t worth the mental energy.

“Thanks for squeezing me in,” Peter said one evening, setting his bag on the desk as he took a seat across from me. His grin was as warm and casual as ever, like he hadn’t just walked out of a glossy magazine shoot.

“No problem,” I said, pulling out my notes and forcing myself to focus. “What are we working on today?”

The corners of his mouth tugged up as he leaned back, looking way too relaxed. “You know, the usual. Just trying to stay sharp.”

I rolled my eyes internally but kept my tone professional. If he wanted to throw money at me for sessions he didn’t need, I wasn’t going to complain.

I pushed through the front door, exhaustion hanging off me like a weight. My legs ached from crisscrossing campus all day, my bag felt like it was filled with bricks, and all I wanted to do was to collapse in my bed. It had been one of those days where the thought of quiet and solitude was the only thing keeping me moving.

The house was quieter than usual. The TV wasn’t on, and for once, there weren’t any shouting matches or background noises of Mandarin’s baby shower planning blasting through the walls. I didn’t think much of it as I made my way upstairs, kicking off my shoes as I went.

The hallway was too still. A chill ran down my spine as I approached my room, the door cracked open just slightly. Something was off.

When I pushed it open all the way, the breath hitched in my throat.

Gone.

Everything.

My bed, my desk, my books, even the posters I’d spent hours arranging, were all gone. The walls were bare, and the closet door was hanging half-open to reveal emptiness. In the corner, a few boxes with my name hastily scrawled across them sat stacked like afterthoughts.

“What the hell?” I muttered under my breath. My pulse started racing as I backed into the hallway. “Mom? Dad?”

I followed the faint sound of voices to Mandarin’s room. The door was wide open, and there they were: Mom, Dad, and Mandarin, chatting like nothing was out of the ordinary. Mandarin sat on her bed, flipping through a baby catalog, while Dad held a measuring tape and gestured toward the window.

Mom glanced over her shoulder when I stepped into the doorway. “Oh, Clementine. You’re home.”

“Yeah, I’m home,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Where’s all my stuff?”

Dad straightened, tucking the measuring tape into his pocket. “It’s in the basement. We talked about this.”

“No,” I said firmly, “we didn’t talk about anything.”

Mandarin didn’t even bother looking up from her magazine. “Come on, Clem. You spend all your time at school anyways.”

I ignored her, keeping my focus on my parents. “Why is my stuff in the basement?”

Mom gave me that dismissive look I knew too well. “Mandarin needs more space with the baby coming. It made the most sense.”

“The basement smells like mold,” I shot back, my voice rising. “It’s not even finished!”

“Then you can figure something else out,” Dad said, his tone flat and final. “We’re not here to argue about this. You have options.”

I stared at him, trying to process the audacity. “Oh, do I? What options?”

“Stay in the basement,” he said, crossing his arms, “or find somewhere else to live.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Of course. Right. Because heaven forbid Mandarin doesn’t get everything handed to her on a silver platter.”

“Clementine, stop,” Mom snapped, her tone sharp. “Your sister is pregnant, and she needs our support right now. It’s time you learned to compromise.”

I felt my teeth clench, the anger bubbling under my skin. “Compromise,” I repeated, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Got it.”

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and headed downstairs. When I reached the basement, the smell hit me immediately—stale and damp, like wet concrete that never dried. Flicking on the light, I took in the sight of my life crammed into a dank corner: boxes stacked haphazardly, my mattress leaning against the wall, and a few trash bags stuffed with my clothes and books.

I stood there for a moment, taking it all in. The corners of the room were shadowy, and the single overhead bulb flickered weakly. This wasn’t a bedroom. This wasn’t even close.

I let out a long, steadying breath and started sifting through the mess. My boxes were stacked precariously, a mix of clothes, books, and random knickknacks crammed together like afterthoughts. The mattress leaned against the damp wall, taunting me with its mildew-stained edges.

As much as I hated the thought of it, I knew I had no other choice tonight. I rummaged through the chaos until I found a dusty, folded plastic tarp shoved into one corner of the basement. I shook it out, coughing as a cloud of stale air hit me. It wasn’t much, but it would keep the mattress from soaking up any more of the dampness.

I laid the tarp out on the floor, smoothing it over the cracked concrete before dragging the mattress on top of it. It creaked under my weight as I tested it, the smell of mold and stale air hitting me harder now that I was so close to the floor. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to breathe through my mouth.

“It’s fine,” I whispered to myself, my voice thin in the silence. “You’ll figure this out, you always do.”

I grabbed a blanket from one of the boxes, wrapped it around me, and tried to settle in. The basement was cold, and the air felt heavier down here, like it was pressing down on me with every shallow breath. My head sank into my pillow, and I stared up at the exposed wooden beams of the ceiling.

I closed my eyes, willing my mind to quiet. But the thoughts kept coming.

I couldn’t afford to let this situation derail me. My future—the stability I was working towards—was too important.

The smell of mold lingered as I drifted off, and for the first time in a long time, I prayed for morning to come quickly.

The alarm on my phone buzzed like an angry wasp, dragging me from a restless sleep. I groaned, swiping at it clumsily until the noise stopped. The single bulb overhead flickered weakly, casting uneven light over the room. I rubbed my eyes, the musty smell of the basement making my throat feel tight. The mattress under me offered little relief from the cold floor despite the plastic tarp I’d laid down beneath it. My back protested as I sat up, every joint stiff from another uncomfortable night.

“Just get through today,” I whispered to myself, my voice sounding hollow in the empty space.

I shuffled to the corner where I kept my bag and rummaged for something clean to wear. Most of my clothes were wrinkled and smelled faintly of the basement’s dampness no matter how much fabric softener I used. I settled on a hoodie and jeans, pulling them on quickly as the clock on my phone reminded me, I was already behind schedule. I grabbed a granola bar from the box near my bed and forced myself to eat it as I climbed the stairs to the kitchen.

The house was quiet—eerily so. I should’ve been relieved, but instead, it put me on edge. I finished the granola bar in a few quick bites, rinsed my hands in the sink, and stuffed my bag with a notebook, my second-hand laptop, and a couple of pens.

As I made my way to the door, Mandarin’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “Clementine.”

She stood at the end of the hallway, perfectly put together as always, her swollen belly barely slowing her down. Her phone was in one hand, her other propped on her hip. She didn’t bother looking up as she spoke, her tone clipped and dismissive.

“Don’t forget the baby shower is next month. Mom wants you to help set up. You know, since you don’t have much else going on.”

My jaw clenched, but I forced a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Her eyes finally met mine, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You’re always so busy, aren’t you?”

I didn’t reply, brushing past her and heading for the door. Mandarin had mastered the art of making me feel small with the least amount of effort. She didn’t need to yell or insult me outright. She just needed to exist in a way that constantly reminded me how little I mattered in this house.

Outside, the brisk morning air was a sharp contrast to the damp, stale air of the basement. I took a deep breath, relishing the momentary freedom, before starting my trek to campus. By the time I arrived, I was already late for my shift at the library.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as I slipped behind the counter. My supervisor gave me a brief, disapproving look but didn’t say anything.

The next few hours passed in a blur of shelving books, organizing returns, and answering questions from students who were as lost as I often felt. It wasn’t glamorous work, but it was steady, and every dollar I earned brought me closer to buying the textbooks I still needed for class. I made a mental note to check the used bookstore near campus on my next day off.

When my shift ended, I barely had time to grab a sandwich before heading to my tutoring session. My stomach growled as I unwrapped it, taking quick bites as I hurried across campus. The bread was stale, the meat thin, but it was enough to keep me going for a little while longer.

This was my life now—rushing from one responsibility to the next, with no time to breathe or even think. There was no room for error, no margin for rest. And I couldn’t afford to let myself slow down. Not when the alternative was falling behind and losing everything, I’d been working so hard for.

The next few weeks passed in a haze of monotony and exhaustion. My days blurred together: rushing from work-study shifts to odd jobs, tutoring sessions squeezed in wherever I could manage, and nights spent trying to catch up on coursework. Sleep became an afterthought, something I craved but never seemed to have enough time for. Home was no better—a pit stop between the chaos, where I was reminded of how little space I occupied in my family’s lives.

One evening, I dragged myself through the front door, my bag heavy on my shoulder and my legs screaming for a break. Mandarin was sprawled across the couch, her swollen belly propped up like a badge of honor. She held a tub of ice cream in one hand, her other arm draped over the back of the couch. Her eyes flicked up as I walked in, a smirk already forming on her lips.

“You know,” she started, her voice taking on that patronizing tone I hated, “you could chip in more around here. Mom and Dad are already doing so much for you.”

I dropped my bag by the stairs, forcing myself to stay calm. “I pay rent,” I said flatly.

She snorted, a sharp, dismissive sound. “Barely,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Meanwhile, I have a baby on the way.”

Before I could respond, Mom’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “Clementine, would you come here please.”

I sighed, glancing toward the kitchen doorway. “What is it?” I asked, already bracing myself.

Mom appeared, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her expression already irritated. “Your sister’s been working so hard on her baby shower,” she said, her tone pointed. “The least you could do is help her with the invitations. She needs you right now.”

“I have an essay to write,” I said simply, turning toward the basement stairs.

Mom’s tone sharpened, cutting through the air like a knife. “You can write your essay later, Clementine. Mandarin needs you.”

I froze for a moment, the words hanging between us like a challenge. My jaw clenched as I looked at her, but I swallowed the anger rising in my chest. “I’ll help later,” I muttered, not waiting for a response as I descended the stairs.

The basement felt even colder than usual, the cold air clinging to my skin as I dropped my bag on the makeshift desk I’d cobbled together from an old table and a stack of boxes. I sat down heavily, staring at the flickering light overhead. Help her? Mandarin doesn’t even pay rent. She barely lifts a finger around the house, but somehow, I’m the one who’s supposed to be bending over backward?

I rubbed my temples, trying to push the frustration aside. There was no point in dwelling on it. If I let myself spiral, I’d lose the focus I desperately needed to make it through another day. I pulled out my laptop and opened my notes for class, forcing my mind to zero in on my essay.

But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I found myself staring at the blank screen, the weight of everything pressing down on me. This house. This family. I was falling apart.

Peter was already seated at our usual spot in the library when I arrived for our tutoring session. The sunlight streaming through the large windows gave the place a serene glow, but I barely noticed as I dragged myself toward the table, my bag feeling heavier than usual.

“Hey, Clementine!” Peter greeted, his voice cheerful and unmistakably chipper. He stood up slightly, pulling out the chair across from him. “How’s it going?”

I dropped my bag onto the table and slid into the seat without much fanfare. “Busy,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. “What do you want to go over today?”

He leaned back casually, his ever-present grin plastered on his face. “The usual. I’m still stuck on those problem sets.”

I glanced at him, skeptical. His notes were neatly written, his assignments impeccably organized. “You’re doing fine,” I said, flipping through his work. “Honestly, I’m not sure you even need me.”

He laughed lightly, shrugging as though he hadn’t just paid for another session he didn’t actually need. “What can I say? I like having the extra help.”

As we worked through the material, Peter’s tone stayed light, his questions a mix of academic and personal. “So,” he said, tapping his pen against the edge of the table, “how’s school treating you? Surviving the semester?”

“Barely,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the textbook.

“What about after graduation?” he pressed. “Got any big plans?”

I kept my answers clipped. “Hopefully a job in my field. That’s the goal, then I can work from there.”

He didn’t push, just nodded thoughtfully. For a moment, I wondered if he could sense how little I wanted to talk about myself.

Halfway through the session, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Do you ever, like, take a break? Just... relax?”

I snorted. “Who has time for that?”

His grin widened, but there was a flicker of something more serious in his expression. “Maybe you should make time. You work too hard. I can tell”

I froze for a second, caught off guard by the unexpected sincerity in his voice. “Yeah, well,” I said, closing his textbook with a definitive thud, “not everyone has the luxury of coasting through life.”

The words came out sharper than I intended, and I immediately regretted it. But Peter didn’t flinch. Instead, he nodded slowly, his smile softening. “Fair enough,” he said, his tone calm and understanding.

When the session was over, I quickly began packing up my things, eager to move on to the next thing on my endless to-do list. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Peter watching me, his gaze steady and unreadable.

As I slung my bag over my shoulder, a fleeting thought crossed my mind: What was Peter’s deal? Why was he always so cheerful, so eager to chat during these sessions?

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts aside. I didn’t have time to dwell on Peter Parker’s personal life. My own life was more than enough to keep me occupied.

“Thanks, Clementine,” Peter said as I turned to leave, his tone as bright as ever.

“See you next week,” I replied over my shoulder, already mentally bracing myself for whatever came next.

Late one night, after a long shift at the library, I sat cross-legged on my mattress, staring at my scholarship paperwork. The dim glow from my desk lamp illuminated the pages, the words blurring together as exhaustion weighed heavy on my eyes. Still, I forced myself to keep reading.

This scholarship was my lifeline. Without it, there’d be no way for me to stay in school, no future worth fighting for. I thought back to the moment I got the acceptance letter, that surge of joy and relief. At the time, it felt like my hard work was finally paying off. Now, that joy felt like a distant memory, swallowed by the relentless pressure of keeping everything afloat.

The buzz of my phone pulled me from my thoughts. A notification from my bank app lit up the screen, the pitiful balance mocking me with every digit. Textbooks, rent, and now the looming cost of Mandarin’s baby shower decorations, all of it hung over me like a storm cloud.

I sighed, setting the phone down and running a hand through my hair. “One step at a time,” I whispered to myself. “Just get through this semester.”

The basement around me was far from ideal, but I’d done my best to make it livable. Rugs covered the cold, damp floor, and a string of fairy lights provided a soft glow that made the space feel a little less suffocating. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had for now.

As I sorted through a box of books, a faint creak from the pipes overhead caught my attention. I paused, looking up at the exposed plumbing that crisscrossed the ceiling. A tiny drip escaped, landing on the corner of the box I’d just unpacked, leaving a dark spot on the cardboard.

“Great,” I muttered, pulling the box out of the way and wiping the damp spot with my sleeve.

Grabbing an old towel from the pile of laundry in the corner, I tossed it over the wet patch on the floor. My gaze lingered on the pipes, frowning at the faint groans that echoed through the basement. I made a mental note to talk to Dad about it, though I already knew how that conversation would go. He’d probably shrug it off, tell me to figure it out myself.

I sank back onto the mattress, staring at the low ceiling above me as the sounds of the house settled into an uneasy silence. The groaning pipes, the faint drip of water, the muffled noises of Mandarin’s TV upstairs—it all blurred into white noise.

“This is temporary,” I whispered, clutching the blanket tightly. “Just a stepping stone. I just have to be patient.”

The words echoed in my mind, a mantra I repeated like a lifeline. But as the pipes creaked again and the damp air pressed against my lungs, I couldn’t ignore the gnawing doubt in the back of my mind. How long could I keep telling myself that?