#Practical Money Saving Tips

[borngeniusworld]

A healthy relationship with money

Healthy relationship with money Maintaining a healthy and positive relationship with money involves a combination of mindset, behaviors, and practical strategies. Here are key aspects to consider:1. Mindset Shift: – Abundance vs. Scarcity: Adopt an abundance mindset, focusing on opportunities and possibilities rather than a scarcity mindset centered on limitations. – Gratitude: Acknowledge and…

[animakis]

Where can you reduce clutter in your life?

Do you ever feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of “stuff” in your life? Maybe it’s that closet you’ve been avoiding, a storage unit draining your wallet, or even the mental clutter of too many commitments. Reducing clutter isn’t just about making physical space—it’s about creating breathing room for peace of mind and freedom. If you’re ready to tackle the “visual noise” in your life, this…

[manojnaironline]

What are your favorite brands and why?

I’ve never been swayed by flashy brands or big-name businesses. To me, they’re often overpriced products dressed up with a recognizable logo. Instead, I shop with a clear focus: finding items that meet my needs, fit my budget, and deliver real value. I don’t chase the cheapest option, nor do I splurge on the priciest. Moderately priced products are my sweet spot—they’re affordable, reliable, and…

[realestateinvesting001]

Managing Money Anxiety: Simple Tips to Overcome Financial Stress 💸✨

Hey, cutie , its Nada (my name lol )! 👋 Ever felt that sinking feeling when thinking about money? 😰 You’re not alone—money anxiety is something most of us deal with at some point. The good news? You don’t have to let it take over your life. Let’s break it down and discover actionable ways to overcome financial stress together! 💪 💡 What Is Money Anxiety? Money anxiety is that knot in your…

[stealthyfinancetips]

Think twice before making non-essential purchases - by Stealthy Finance Tips

[yawnderu]

Colonel!König x Reader

Colonel!König, who knew he wanted to marry you the moment he saw you come back from your first mission, covered head to toe in blood and dirt, yet as beautiful as ever.

Colonel!König, who makes enough money to spoil you with anything you'd ever want, and that's how he managed to win you over.

Colonel!König, who knew just how inappropriate your relationship was, yet all his morals went out the window for you.

Colonel!König, who always looked out for you in the battlefield despite knowing just how capable you are. There's a reason you were recruited for KorTac, anyway.

Colonel!König, who used his experience in the battlefield to teach you new techniques that could save your life when he wasn't on missions with you. He couldn't risk losing you.

Colonel!König, who took advantage of his rank for the first time ever to spend more time with you. Whether it was asking you to assist him with reports or inventory, he'd always have you by his side.

Colonel!König, who was teased about his little crush on you by Horangi, earning him a dirty look through the mask.

Colonel!König, who painfully had to hide his crush on you in fear of rumors going around and damaging your career.

Colonel!König, who allowed you to work hard for your promotion and didn't have anything to do with it, simply to show just how capable you are.

Colonel!König, who took you out for dinner and shopping after your promotion was announced, hiding it under the excuse that it's what a good colonel should for his soldiers.

Colonel!König, who seemed very polite the entire time of your day together despite the turmoil in his head.

Colonel!König, who practiced in the mirror how to start and keep a conversation with you despite communication being one of his strengths.

Colonel!König, who held in his laughter once your confused face looked up at him, not recognizing him without the mask and eyeblack.

Colonel!König, who had the best day of his life with you, buying you anything you even glanced at despite your protests.

Colonel!König, who was brave enough to put his hand on the inside of your thigh when he was driving you back to base.

Colonel!König, who was growing painfully hard when you made his hand cup your crotch.

Colonel!König, who had two of his massive fingers inside your dripping cunt, his cock already out as you jerked him off with expertise, happy that the ride back to base was long and lonely.

Colonel!König, who had to resist the urge to cum when your tongue was swirling circles on the tip of his dick as you jerked him off, bent over in the passengers seat.

Colonel!König, who insisted on taking you to a nice hotel for your first time together, wanting to make a special memory of what he hoped were more to come.

Colonel!König, who ate you out and fingered you for minutes before fucking you, making sure you came at least three times before he finally pulled his dick out, laying it down on your stomach so you could see how deep he was going to be inside you.

Colonel!König, who bit the inside of his cheek to resist the urge to laugh at your horrified face once you looked down at his length.

"That's it, mein Engel." He praised, rubbing the tip of his cock on the entrance of your folds, mixing your own arousal with his own. He looked at you for consent before he started slowly going inside you, stopping whenever he saw your discomfort only to be reassured that he could keep going.

"More..." You moaned out, and he didn't have to be asked twice. He was delicate and careful with you, your much smaller frame making him feel as if he was handling fine china, and in a way, he was. The bare hands that could murder enemy soldiers were now delicately rubbing and pulling on your nipples as he moved inside and out slowly, making sure your cunt would get used to the stretch of his fat cock.

"Such a good girl." He praised, one of his hands going down to gently rub your hardened clit as he started moving faster, your squelching cunt surprisingly taking him like a champ as his heavy balls slapped against your ass.

"Your tight pussy keeps sucking me in... can barely move." He confessed through gritted teeth, his eyes slightly narrowed as he struggled to move faster, fighting off the urge to cum until he dragged another orgasm out of you. His fingers rubbed your clit faster, groaning and panting once he felt your pussy tighten up, back arching as you welcomed your fifth orgasm of the day, yet there was more to come.

"Scheiße... let me cum in you, please, schatz...?" He didn't even know how he resisted the urge to cum for so long, yet as soon as you nodded your head, he started moving faster and faster inside you, basking in the way your tight hole was sucking him in before he pushed himself balls-deep, releasing his load all the way inside your fertile womb as your cunt milked him dry.

[bxunyx]

𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞

Pairing-ModernAU-Smoke&Stack x Black reader

Summary-You are the twins sugar baby

A/N-Ive never wrote anything like this before so bare with me hun

One twin? Maybe. You’ve dealt with bold men before — men who liked pretty things on their arms, who flashed cash and promises like candy. Stack seemed like another one of those: flashy, cocky, dipped in gold and danger. All mouth, all muscle, all that swagger that made girls stupid.

But two?

Two was asking for trouble. The kind that you don’t just flirt with. The kind that drags you in by the throat and makes you say thank you.

Now you’re sitting pretty in the back of a black Escalade with tinted windows and heated leather seats. Stack’s hand is on your thigh, thumb tracing circles higher than it should while he scrolls through his phone. Smoke’s behind the wheel — silent, always — but you can feel his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, watching. Measuring.

You shift just slightly, tug at the hem of your silk skirt.

And Stack smirks like he knows exactly what you’re doing. Like he’s already planning to ruin it later.

Trouble? Yeah. You’re drowning in it.

But trouble comes with a black card, a diamond tennis bracelet, and your name engraved on the inside of a Louis Vuitton bag.

⸻

Stack spoils you loud.

He’s the type to drag you through the most expensive store in the city and dare the clerk to ask about a limit. Neon signs, loud music, top-floor penthouse parties — he wants you to be seen. Wants people to know who you belong to. “Pick what you want, baby. Matter of fact, pick two. I like you in options.”

He drives too fast. Tips too much. Kisses you like he’s claiming you with every bite.

And when he’s not around? Smoke is.

⸻

Smoke spoils you quiet.

He sends the money before you can ask. The rent’s paid. Your tuition? Covered. Your account balance rises in silence, like a tide — consistent, steady, impossible to ignore. One morning you woke up to a car in your driveway. Not flashy — matte, black, sleek. Clean. Practical. With a note tucked into the cupholder:

“No excuses now. Be on time.”

You remembered telling Smoke how you're always late for the bus

He doesn’t text much. Just enough.

Be home by ten.

Wear the black dress.

Leave the door unlocked.

And you follow every instruction.

Every time.

⸻

You float between them, somewhere in that sweet spot between indulgence and obsession. Draped in designer. Laced in perfumes you can’t pronounce. Lipstick shades picked out by Stack, lingerie sets folded neatly by Smoke.

Marked by both.

Your lips are bruised from one. Your thighs tremble from the other. You wake up with one name in your mouth and fall asleep with the other still on your skin.

They don’t fight. They don’t ask.

Because they both know the answer.

Everyone in the city whispers when you walk into a room. From the street girls to the CEOs — they see the watch on your wrist and the curve of that smirk you always wear, and they know.

Whose girl is she?

The answer’s simple.

Theirs.

⸻

Your phone buzzes at 11:01PM.

Two notifications.

Transfer received: $10,000 — “For being pretty.”

Transfer received: $10,000 — “Because you listened.”

You smile, curl deeper into the plush hotel bedding, and take another sip of wine that cost more than your rent used to.

Then you press Add to savings.

You were never the good girl. Never the quiet one. But somehow, being a little bad never paid so good.

And with both Moore twins wrapped around your finger?

You’re just getting started.

[astrolook]

✨📲From Desires to DMs: The 11th Lord’s Role in Today’s Life 💸🤝

Note: These are just my personal observations and recurring patterns I've noticed over the years. This post is based on principles from Vedic astrology. Take what resonates with you and feel free to leave what doesn’t. I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to share in the comments if any of this resonates or reflects your own experience.

11th lord in 1H

You come across as witty, charming, and naturally optimistic. You have a poetic way of expressing yourself and a gift for speaking that draws others in. Generosity comes easily to you, and luck often shows up when you need it most. Life may throw you into strange and silly accidents, sometimes even sending you to the hospital unexpectedly. Still, you’re someone who can manifest your desires through personal effort. If you have an elder brother, they might face health challenges. In many cases, you are the firstborn or the only child in your family. Marriage tends to bring more comfort and material happiness into your life. You attract good friends and can rise to success through self-employment. Fame, wealth, and even awards are within reach, especially if you pursue singing. However, if this placement is afflicted, it can bring setbacks, including the rare but serious loss of an elder sibling.

Self-branding, influencer vibes, personal blog, lifestyle reels.

11th lord in 2H

You give off serious PR manager energy. You know how to charm, persuade, and make things happen with your words. Your friend circle is more than just social, it’s profitable. Joint ventures and investments often work in your favor. You might be low-key famous in your circle, whether as the quiet observer, the quirky one, or the center of attention. Careers in sales or banking suit you well and can bring solid financial rewards. Wealth can also come through your spouse, or even through donations if you're involved in activism or run an NGO. You're someone who knows how to turn social capital into actual capital.

Invests in crypto, runs a budgeting YouTube channel, side hustles for savings.

11th lord in 3H

Your elder sibling (if u have one) might become successful or headed that way. They tend to support you, and your bond with siblings in general is strong. There's a chance your sibling is the same gender as you. You're wired for self-employment and can build wealth by standing your ground and outsmarting your rivals. Moving far from home could boost your career and raise your status. Creative fields like writing, poetry, singing, or music are lucky for you. Not only do they bring joy, but they can also lead to real profits.

Content creator, viral tweets, runs a newsletter, digital marketer.

11th lord in 4H

You find joy through your maternal side unless the chart throws a curveball. You might actually feel closer to your father if he’s around. You're a smart worker, not a hard one. If money allows, you'd gladly outsource chores to a maid or even a robot. Investing in vehicles could bring profits, and real estate or agriculture might be other solid income streams. You tend to be practical, maybe even money-minded. Scholarships, higher studies, and awards are well within reach. Your mother is likely kind-hearted, and your spouse could be both fortunate and charming. Parental property might come your way, too, if it exists.

Home decor vlogs, real estate flipping, cozy aesthetic Instagram.

11th lord in 5H

You're or would be the kind of parent other kids wish they had like cool, wise, and totally in control of the future. You may share a strong bond with your father, and your own children will likely be just as attached to you. Gains can come through your spouse and even your kids. You value education and have a natural flair for being classy. The stock market, investments, and even a little gambling might bring in good profits, especially if you play your cards right. You're someone who blends brains with bold moves.

Stock tips on TikTok, sells art/NFTs, runs a fan page, livestreams games.

11th lord in 6H

You may have dealt with health issues or felt betrayed by friends or co-workers at some point. If you have an elder sibling, legal disputes or tensions with them might surface. You're logical, sharp, and a quiet fighter that's more strategic than aggressive. If you dream of running your own business, moving away from home could open doors to success. Loans can work in your favor but always read the fine print. If this placement is afflicted, relationships with elder siblings may suffer, and older people at work might try to undermine you or dump their issues on you.

Posts productivity hacks, LinkedIn power moves, wellness and fitness reels.

11th lord in 7H

You gain a lot through your spouse and their family, often enjoying a strong bond with them. You're naturally sensual, and at times, your spouse may have the upper hand in the relationship. This is a great placement for buying property or investing in a home. Before marriage, you might attract partners with hidden agendas, or you might be the one with them. Your elder sibling or grandparents could live far from you. Working with international clients or in internet-based fields brings success. You build a solid reputation, especially if you work abroad or run your own business. People tend to see you as a leader and may even follow your lead. If this placement is afflicted, it can bring serious challenges, including the loss of an elder sibling or spouse in extreme cases.

Couple vlogs, business with partner, relationship advice account.

11th lord in 8H

You’re built for the long run, but your spouse may not outlive you. You have a strong sensual side and might explore fleeting connections before finding "the one". There’s a magnetic pull toward taboo or hidden things, and you might even turn that into a career like adult content, sex work, or platforms like OnlyFans. You could also attract partners with similar paths, along with fame-obsessed partners, before settling down. Sudden, unexpected gains may come through the loss of close relatives. Fame might hit overnight, too, especially through viral moments or shock value.

OnlyFans, tarot TikTok, anonymous confessions, deep dive YouTube videos.

11th lord in 9H

You're fortunate, wise, and speak with clarity and truth. You're the kind of person who might one day be honored by the government or your workplace for something meaningful you’ve done for the greater good. Knowledge flows naturally to you, and there's potential to inherit property through grandparents or extended family. Your father may be supportive and well-off, or in some cases, you might have a stepfather instead. Recognition, awards, and even fame are likely especially in foreign lands. If your hometown doesn’t get you, the world just might. You’re made to shine beyond borders.

Travel vlogs, spiritual podcast, shares study abroad tips.

11th lord in 10H

You’re naturally wise and speak with honesty. You tend to overcome enemies in every sense, be it social, professional, or mental. You’re likely to care deeply for your mother, especially in her old age, though your relationship with your father may feel distant. Career success grows with age, and you’re likely to settle in a good, respectable neighborhood. Roles tied to the government or authority can bring you recognition, wealth, and a solid reputation. You’re someone who can profit easily from your profession, and multiple streams of income are definitely part of your path.

Career coach, TEDx speaker, shares hustle culture content.

11th lord in 11H

Your knowledge grows steadily as you’re a lifelong learner with an ever-curious mind. You’re likely to want a big family, whether that means many kids, adopted children, or even a house full of pets. Longevity, effortless success, and easy money tend to come with time. You may inherit ancestral property or receive support through an elder sibling if you have one. Your friend circle is a source of gains and opportunities. You carry a natural drive to always want more like more growth, more success, more connections.

Online community builder, event organizer, group chats for networking.

11th lord in 12H

You may unknowingly create obstacles for yourself. You might be surrounded by people yet still feel lonely or misunderstood. Earnings from foreign lands can be highly rewarding, and settling abroad could bring peace. If you have elder siblings, they may face health issues, or in rare cases, pass away early. You tend to connect deeply with outsiders, people from different cultures, or even strangers online, sometimes more than with those around you. You may carry heavy family responsibilities. Health-wise, there’s a possibility of insomnia, migraines, weak eyesight, and in very rare cases, even blindness. Donating to charity and engaging in selfless acts can help ease some of the more difficult effects of this placement.

Soft aesthetic Tumblr, anonymous blog, remote freelancing, ASMR YouTube.

Wanna dive deeper into your chart's layers? ✨🔍 DM me for a full astrology reading, a 5 or 8-year marriage report, detailed synastry, or a kundli matching breakdown 🌙💬 Check out my pinned post for pricing and more info 💫💸

Let’s decode your cosmic chaos together ⭐💖

[quietdeparturesarchive]

Tips On How To Get Your Life Together

make a list of your top priorities: Figure out what actually matters to you right now. This isn’t about what you should care about, but what truly takes up your energy—school, your health, building confidence, relationships, etc. Keep the list short (3–5 things max) so you can focus. ‎

create a morning and night routine: Routines give your brain structure. You don’t need a 10-step ritual—just something consistent. Morning = stretch, drink water, check your planner. Night = wash your face, no phone 30 mins before bed, quick journal. That alone is enough. ‎

check in with yourself and journal frequently: Journaling doesn’t mean writing novels. Just note how you feel, what’s bothering you, what went well, or what’s on your mind. Use prompts if you’re stuck. The point is to stay connected to yourself instead of spiraling in your head. ‎

start saving money: Even a small amount every week matters. Start tracking what you spend. Make a savings goal (emergency fund, a trip, new laptop). Try a rule like “save 10% of what I get” or “no impulse purchases until Sunday.” ‎

learn something new every day: It doesn’t have to be academic. Listen to a podcast, read one article, Google something random. Write down one interesting thing you learned to help you remember it—and to remind yourself that you’re growing. ‎

spend time with the people you love: Text them. Call them. Make plans, even if you’re busy. Shared time matters. It’s easy to get caught up in fixing yourself and forget that love and connection are part of being okay. ‎

keep track of your sleep, hydration, nutrition: Start observing how your body feels. Are you getting 7–8 hours of sleep? Drinking enough water (2L/day)? Eating regularly? You don’t have to go full fitness-tracker, but noticing patterns can help you feel way more in control. ‎

list down your stress triggers: What causes you anxiety, procrastination, or overwhelm? Write them down. Knowing your triggers helps you build systems around them. If social events drain you, plan alone time after. If deadlines stress you, start earlier. ‎

clean your room: Your environment reflects your mental state. Tidy up the space where you spend the most time. It doesn’t need to be perfect—just put things back in place, wipe down surfaces, and open a window. It shifts your mindset. ‎

practice gratitude and/or meditate: You don’t have to be spiritual. Just note what’s good. Try writing 3 small things you’re grateful for, or sitting quietly for 5 minutes. It helps your mind slow down and notice what’s okay, even on rough days. ‎

set boundaries: Say no when you need to. Don’t reply right away if you’re drained. Make rules for yourself about how much you give to others. Boundaries protect your energy—they’re not selfish, they’re necessary. ‎

declutter your phone, laptop, etc: Digital mess counts. Delete apps you don’t use, clear out your camera roll and downloads, organize folders. It helps reduce mental clutter and makes everything feel more intentional. ‎

plan 1 self care act every day: Something small, just for you. A walk, skincare, journaling, no-screen time, reading. Doesn’t have to be fancy or expensive—just consistent and kind to yourself.

xoxo, sally

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[hopeastrz]

STELLIUMS IN SOLAR RETURN CHART tips and tricks on what to avoid and how to benefit from them!˙✧˖°🥮 ༘ ⋆｡˚‧.

CHECK OUT SEPTEMBER SALE: fixed price on any and all of my readings even solar return chart, INSTEAD OF 44, IT'S 17 DOLLARS ONLY.

If you don’t have a 3 planet stellium, see where you have 2 planets, so for example if you have sun and mercury on the 3rd house and mars and saturn on the 7th read about both houses!.

NOTE: enjoy this post and don’t forget to reblog, thank you for your support, lots of love xoxo!! ₊˚⊹౨ৎ🍊.

STELLIUM IN THE FIRST HOUSE:

WHAT TO DO:

TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, get a nice haircut, get to know your approach to life more, get to know your direction in life and what may be the next step for you, it’ll be a year of self discovery journey, and it’s the best year to work on your approach of life, you should focus more on your style, see what suits you and what doesn’t, work on your self concept and build your confidence and also it’s the greatest time to find your passion!.

WHAT TO AVOID:

Becoming aggressive, moody or be hard on yourself, becoming critical/judgmental of others and yourself!, not taking care of yourself, shy away from spotlight don’t hesitate to!, becoming way too self centered and thinking that people reactions are because something you’ve done!.

STELLIUM IN THE SECOND HOUSE:

WHAT TO DO:

Buy new makeup, perfumes, work on your self worth, start investing money I don’t care even if you have saturn on the 2nd house start a business and earn from it!, since it’s a saving year indicator, one where you look for more stability and comfort, take care of your finances and learn more about how money works!, learn to manage your money right and spend it wisely, become strict!, it’s really good time to start giving old things in order to welcome new ones, like old clothes or possessions, since you may have this urge to keep buying new things, and in order to keep balance learn to donate your stuff, good karma and do that especially if you have saturn!, start singing loudly too it’ll be healing!.

WHAT TO AVOID:

Spend wisely so that you don’t cry at the end of the year, don’t waste the opportunity and reconsider you values, set firm boundaries and goals, also don’t waste time and truly buy stuff you only need!, never put your emotional health and security second place, care more about your feelings!.

STELLIUM IN THE THIRD HOUSE:

WHAT TO DO:

Whenever you feel anxious journal, or go on a car ride even if you don’t have a car, call a cab or go on a bus and put your headphones on, but it’s an amazing time to work on how you introduce yourself, or in other words practice how to talk your mind, communicate with people, and how to share your opinions properly!. it’s a great year to learn about the law of assumption, get closer to your siblings or your neighbors, you can buy a new cell phone, get lots of phone calls and even do lots of social activity or finish high school!, if you suck at maths that year is pretty good to learn the basics again and educate yourself on it, also go on short trips find new interests and start a social media account.

WHAT TO AVOID:

DO. NOT. OVERSHARE. learn how to shut up when needed and i know you’ll have an urge to talk to no end but please shut up!, also don’t indulge yourself into gossip it’ll end up being so messy, try to stop overthinking and don’t believe any rumor you hear!, also take care of your siblings!.

STELLIUM IN THE FOURTH HOUSE:

WHAT TO DO:

great time to go back to your roots, aka work on your family trauma or stuck issues with your family and heal from them!, you may start a new family, become a parent, settle down, buy a new apartment or move from your home, so to have a fresh it’s okay to forgive them!, heal your inner child and read more about such topics, focus on your emotional needs and understand yourself more, if you’re a fem then lean into it more, get closer to your mother, decorate your room, also it’s a great time to buy properties and invest or learn cooking and baking yummy yummy!.

WHAT TO AVOID:

getting into fights with your parents because they’ll get on your nerves alot!, so for your mental health pay them no mind!, don’t keep your place messy.

STELLIUM IN THE FIFTH HOUSE:

WHAT TO DO:

EVERYTHING, i love love loveee this placement and not just for the romance nuh uh, as a woman who doesn’t even date I’ve had the most fun on year i had 5th house placements, go to concerts, festivals and arcades, party and enjoy your life really, you won’t feel like you wasted your money on these things trust me, go to an art course, go to movie theater!, just go out and don’t stay at home!, also enjoy your talents and get ready for the spotlight!.

WHAT TO AVOID:

hookups, unprotected sex since it might lead to sudden pregnancies, getting lost at new places, getting a bit over the head, be careful of becoming narcissistic or kinda full of yourself!, also choose your romance partner carefully don’t rush into love, because you’ll see the world in heart tainted sunglasses this year!.

STELLIUM IN THE SIXTH HOUSE:

WHAT TO DO:

Think about getting a glow up, it’s the best time for self improvement, plan a routine and follow it, even if you found it hard to build one before it’ll feel easier this year to stick to it!, greatest time to start a series of new habits, work on your body and focus on your health, try building muscles, bulking, going to the gym or walking more, try to journal, read frequently and heal your skin, do some skin care, also get your body checked, get along with your coworkers and focus more on how to make the best out of your job!, routine will never fail you oh and maybe get a pet too!.

WHAT TO AVOID:

Avoid over stressing/overtiring yourself, ignore your health or hygiene, avoid going into fights with your coworkers, beware of becoming a people pleaser or give more than you take to others, beware of stray animals, don’t go on a very strict diet especially if you have pluto on the 6th house!.

STELLIUM IN THE SEVENTH HOUSE:

WHAT TO DO:

start a business with others, or start your own business, go for that lawsuit, look for that long term partner or take the step for up leveling your current relationship. Incase of getting married enjoy the process of this new era!, it’s the best time to test your partner and see if they’re worthy enough of you!, also enjoy the feeling of becoming extra attractive!.

WHAT TO AVOID:

Beware of getting into useless conflicts, don’t be over concerned of others, beware of love affairs especially if you’re already dating someone, beware of getting scammed i’d say don’t take the step of business partnership if you have uranus or neptune influence on the 7th house.

STELLIUM IN THE EIGHTH HOUSE:

WHAT TO DO:

Embrace new major transformations, get ready for change and allow it!, explore your sexuality more, invest, join the stock market (don’t if you have neptune or uranus), learn spiritual practices because you’ll get more spiritual, best times to learn astrology and tarot, keep secrets, learn more about psychology, do that plastic surgery you’ve had in mind if needed only, also heal your trauma.

WHAT TO AVOID:

Go against the flow and get scared of the rebirth you need to go through, hate the constant change and how intense your emotions could be.

STELLIUM IN THE NINTH HOUSE:

WHAT TO DO:

Choose a different college major, adopt new beliefs and focus on your higher education, travel more, good time to visit your grandparents, try to stay with them more, learn a new language, learn about you religion and just literally learn anything!.

WHAT TO AVOID:

Going to a country without any background of their culture is!, see what’s appropriate to do and what’s not, ignore your university studies or just basically getting distracted!.

STELLIUM IN THE TENTH HOUSE:

WHAT TO DO:

Time to build your legacy, go all out!, also work on your reputation, time to build the public persona you dreamt of, set long term goals and know what you want to be in the next 5 years, fulfill your responsibilities and get ready for recognition!, also fix your problems with your father, get closer to your bosses, network!, build a professional name and really get serious about building your career!.

WHAT TO AVOID:

Doing things that’s harmful or shady for your reputation, avoid suspicious things this year because everyone will have you on the tip of their tongue. Not taking your responsibilities and your work seriously, disrespecting your bosses, procrastinating, not being professional or efficient.

STELLIUM IN THE ELEVENTH HOUSE:

WHAT TO DO:

Networking for your career, become more social, meet new people, change your toxic friends circle, cut who you don’t feel comfortable with!, go out more, learn about the law of assumption, manifest your desires, GET THAT BAG, start a new social media account or an online business and earn from it!, very high potential for success, watch new films, save to buy a new phone or laptop, know what you hope and wish for in the future to aim for it, make your debut in society and share your work and talents, go to parties, donate to some organizations and also join a club!.

WHAT TO AVOID:

Letting toxic people stay in your life this is the best time to cut them, don’t know anything about politics or have any sense of social awareness, be shy and miss lots of opportunities, not knowing you boundaries when it comes to friends and relationships!.

STELLIUM IN THE TWELFTH HOUSE:

WHAT TO DO:

Heal, this is a rest era for you, take some time for yourself and heal, repay your karmic debts, focus more on your dreams and try interpreting them, see the messages they have for you, tame your subconscious mind for your own benefit, become more spiritual and seriously, take this time to explore your emotions more and your inner self, find your peace and find solitude in yourself!, best time to end toxic habits and relationships, basically anything you want to stop, listen to subliminals, affirmation tapes, cherish your privacy and stay private, reflect on the past and break free from what’s holding you back, also sleep more and attempt a healthy sleeping schedule, oh and eat fish lmao.

WHAT TO AVOID:

Repeating old cycle, this is really an opportunity to change!, ignore your dreams, become isolated, become depressed because you’ll trauma will surface so HEAL, ignore your subconscious mind needs and thought patterns, drink or consume alcohol, beware of addictions.

[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

[animakis]

Transform your life: How a No-Buy Year can boost your Finances and Well-being

Embarking on a “no-buy year” can be a transformative journey toward financial wellness and personal growth. By committing to a year without unnecessary purchases, you can gain control over your spending habits, declutter your living space, and discover a deeper appreciation for what you already have. Understanding the “No-Buy Year” A “no-buy year” involves refraining from purchasing…

[strwberri-milk]

hi!!! maybe for a bit of angst, how would zayne and sylus react to the mc's protocore syndrome suddenly getting worse, and she's only given a few months left to live? 💔

Zayne throws himself into research. He feels like he should know the answers to this. To everything. This is what he's dedicated his life to but when he sees your charts and results (by practically begging the staff to release it to him even though he really shouldn't have access to it) he logically knows that there most likely isn't anything he can do about it. It makes him feel horrible and for a while, he's convinced he will find an answer and will do anything to attain it.

He'll accidentally neglect you for the early stages of your diagnosis. He can't comprehend failing when it really counts but when he comes home late one night to tear tracks on your face in the dark, he feels horrible. He starts to cut back on the hours he's working, still looking for a solution but in addition to spending more time with you. He just wants answers and not being able to have them when it feels like it's on the tip of his tongue infuriates them to no end.

He'll try to make your last days comfortable, spending the time you have by your side. He'll book days off, just wanting to be with you in your moment of need. His heart hurts but he does everything he can to keep that from you. His goal now is to let you live in peace, somehow able to hide his pain from you until you're gone.

Sylus pays the most skilled doctors and staff to give you round the clock care. You think it's overkill but you also understand why he's doing what he's doing. He's pouring money into research in hopes that one day you'll be healed but also knows that he needs to prepare for the chance that you won't be.

It pains him every day that goes by without a definitive answer about how to save you. But he also knows that mourning you while you're still alive won't do you any good. He hates having to pretend that everything is fine but this is the best way he can think of to take care of you. You appreciate his efforts definitely, especially since he can't always hide the despair on his face when it comes to you.

[stclaretarot]

PAC ⭒ how will your future spouse show you love?

reminder that this is a general reading and messages found here may not apply to everyone. take what resonates, leave what doesn't, and don't force anything if it does not fit.

BOOK A READING WITH ME · LINKTREE · 18+ PATREON · TIPS ♡ tips, bookings, and feedback are highly appreciated!

GROUP ONE

cards pulled · queen of cups, four of pentacles, four of swords, four of wands, five of swords. 

channelled songs · no name no 5 by elliott smith. night away by taemin. sick, nervous & broke! by jpegmafia. 666 in luxaxa by backxwash. 

my dear group one  ♡ your future spouse may be a busy person with little time to themselves, let alone time for you. however, they never use this as an excuse. 

your future spouse may constantly be away from home, for some, as they are a trucker, or because they moved somewhere with better job opportunities.

however, to your future spouse, effort equals love and love equals effort, and so they will still do whatever they can to show you that they love you. in particular, they will write you long letters that they mail to you. or write you long paragraphs keeping you updated about their life and checking in with you about yours. or they may take the time when they have it to write you what is essentially a newsletter. 

they may also send you long voicenotes when they can, or make the effort to call you, even if only for a few minutes. 

GROUP TWO

cards pulled · the lovers, page of cups, ace of cups, five of pentacles, four of pentacles. 

channelled songs · fever by ateez. bolo by penomeco & ydg. lubie by lous and the yakuza. tender love by exo. 

my dear group two  ♡ your future spouse is the epitome of a romantic. they are just SO romantic. they are romantic to their very core, and is almost certainly the most romantic person that you have ever known, let alone ever been with. 

this may be overwhelming, and also too good to be true. 

they will dance with you, make you playlists, and go above and beyond to take you to all the best events and restaurants in town. this may be to an extreme, where they may not have a lot of self-control when it comes to spoiling you and romancing you. 

GROUP THREE

cards pulled · page of pentacles, queen of swords, ace of wands, three of cups, eight of cups.

channelled songs · man in the mirror - 2012 remaster by michael jackson. suddenly by nct 127. solange by tobi lou & glassface. diet coke by pusha t. 

my dear group three ♡ your future spouse  is practical and has a very level head on their shoulders. they are a careful and cautious person, who will show you love by extending this care to you -- especially in making sure that you are looked after financially. 

but, not just by providing for you, but by making sure that you are able to look after yourself financially. by making sure that you are independent, have financialy knowledge, and are able to look after yourself without them.

they will help you save money in the now so that you can look after and spoil yourself in the future. they will constantly be on the lookout for ways you can make more money. they will also make it a priority to be careful with your money so that you can travel, have nice holidays together, and experience all of lives luxuries.

GROUP FOUR

cards pulled · wheel of fortune, eight of cups, the hierophant, seven of cups, king of cups. 

channelled songs · love this by cosmo jarvis. rose parade by elliott smith. real you by twice. guitare et tambourin by dalida. 

my dear group four  ♡ your future spouse will show you love by being your biggest hypeman. they will hype you up and compliment you constantly. 

you may be somewhat or quite insecure, and so it may be a priority to your future spouse to let you know how beautiful and attractive you are. no, not only that, but how absolutely amazing and incredible you are. 

they will make sure that never a day goes by without complimenting you. they will make an effort to overcome your insecurities with you. for example, if you are insecure about your body and want to lose/gain weight, they will go on that journey with you, supoorting you all the way. or if you are insecure about your education, they will take full responsibility of your household and finances so that you can study full-time. 

nobody believes in you more than your future spouse. 

[dandelionsresilience]

Good News - July 22-28

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my new(ly repurposed) Patreon!

1. Four new cheetah cubs born in Saudi Arabia after 40 years of extinction

“[T]he discovery of mummified cheetahs in caves […] which ranged in age from 4,000 to as recent as 120 years, proved that the animals […] once called [Saudi Arabia] home. The realisation kick-started the country’s Cheetah Conservation Program to bring back the cats to their historic Arabian range. […] Dr Mohammed Qurban, CEO of the NCW, said: […] “This motivates us to continue our efforts to restore and reintroduce cheetahs, guided by an integrated strategy designed in accordance with best international practices.””

2. In sub-Saharan Africa, ‘forgotten’ foods could boost climate resilience, nutrition

“[A study published in PNAS] examined “forgotten” crops that may help make sub-Saharan food systems more resilient, and more nutritious, as climate change makes it harder to grow [current staple crops.] [… The study identified 138 indigenous] food crops that were “relatively underresearched, underutilized, or underpromoted in an African context,” but which have the nutrient content and growing stability to support healthy diets and local economies in the region. […] In Eswatini, van Zonneveld and the World Vegetable Center are working with schools to introduce hardy, underutilized vegetables to their gardens, which have typically only grown beans and maize.”

3. Here's how $4 billion in government money is being spent to reduce climate pollution

“[New Orleans was awarded] nearly $50 million to help pay for installing solar on low to middle income homes [… and] plans to green up underserved areas with trees and build out its lackluster bike lane system to provide an alternative to cars. […] In Utah, $75 million will fund several measures from expanding electric vehicles to reducing methane emissions from oil and gas production. [… A] coalition of states led by North Carolina will look to store carbon in lands used for agriculture as well as natural places like wetlands, with more than $400 million. [… This funding is] “providing investments in communities, new jobs, cost savings for everyday Americans, improved air quality, … better health outcomes.””

4. From doom scrolling to hope scrolling: this week’s big Democratic vibe shift

“[Democrats] have been on an emotional rollercoaster for the past few weeks: from grim determination as Biden fought to hang on to his push for a second term, to outright exuberance after he stepped aside and Harris launched her campaign. […] In less than a week, the Harris campaign raised record-breaking sums and signed up more than 100,000 new volunteers[….] This honeymoon phase will end, said Democratic strategist Guy Cecil, warning the election will be a close race, despite this newfound exuberance in his party. [… But v]oters are saying they are excited to vote for Harris and not just against Trump. That’s new.”

5. Biodegradable luminescent polymers show promise for reducing electronic waste

“[A team of scientists discovered that a certain] chemical enables the recycling of [luminescent polymers] while maintaining high light-emitting functions. […] At the end of life, this new polymer can be degraded under either mild acidic conditions (near the pH of stomach acid) or relatively low heat treatment (> 410 F). The resulting materials can be isolated and remade into new materials for future applications. […] The researchers predict this new polymer can be applied to existing technologies, such as displays and medical imaging, and enable new applications […] such as cell phones and computer screens with continued testing.”

6. World’s Biggest Dam Removal Project to Open 420 Miles of Salmon Habitat this Fall

“Reconnecting the river will help salmon and steelhead populations survive a warming climate and [natural disasters….] In the long term, dam removal will significantly improve water quality in the Klamath. “Algae problems in the reservoirs behind the dams were so bad that the water was dangerous for contact […] and not drinkable,” says Fluvial Geomorphologist Brian Cluer. [… The project] will begin to reverse decades of habitat degradation, allow threatened salmon species to be resilient in the face of climate change, and restore tribal connections to their traditional food source.”

7. Biden-Harris Administration Awards $45.1 Million to Expand Mental Health and Substance Use Services Across the Lifespan

““Be it fostering wellness in young people, caring for the unhoused, facilitating treatment and more, this funding directly supports the needs of our neighbors,” said HHS Secretary Xavier Becerra. [The funding also supports] recovery and reentry services to adults in the criminal justice system who have a substance use disorder[… and clinics which] serve anyone who asks for help for mental health or substance use, regardless of their ability to pay.”

8. The World’s Rarest Crow Will Soon Fly Free on Maui

“[… In] the latest attempt to establish a wild crow population, biologists will investigate if this species can thrive on Maui, an island where it may have never lived before. Translocations outside of a species’ known historical range are rare in conservation work, but for a bird on the brink of extinction, it’s a necessary experiment: Scientists believe the crows will be safer from predators in a new locale—a main reason that past reintroduction attempts failed. […] As the release date approaches, the crows have already undergone extensive preparation for life in the wild. […] “We try to give them the respect that you would give if you were caring for someone’s elder.””

9. An optimist’s guide to the EV battery mining challenge

““Battery minerals have a tremendous benefit over oil, and that’s that you can reuse them.” [… T]he report’s authors found there’s evidence to suggest that [improvements in technology] and recycling have already helped limit demand for battery minerals in spite of this rapid growth — and that further improvements can reduce it even more. [… They] envision a scenario in which new mining for battery materials can basically stop by 2050, as battery recycling meets demand. In this fully realized circular battery economy, the world must extract a total of 125 million tons of battery minerals — a sum that, while hefty, is actually 17 times smaller than the oil currently harvested every year to fuel road transport.”

10. Peekaboo! A baby tree kangaroo debuts at the Bronx Zoo

“The tiny Matschie’s tree kangaroo […] was the third of its kind born at the Bronx Zoo since 2008. [… A] Bronx Zoo spokesperson said that the kangaroo's birth was significant for the network of zoos that aims to preserve genetic diversity among endangered animals. "It's a small population and because of that births are not very common," said Jessica Moody, curator of primates and small mammals at the Bronx Zoo[, …] adding that baby tree kangaroos are “possibly one of the cutest animals to have ever lived. They look like stuffed animals, it's amazing.””

July 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 10

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, attempted assault & smut, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says BYE, SB being a nice and kind human, a bit of humor, fluff, a lot of exes, heavy dose of angst

Word Count: 11.0k

Posted on Patreon May 3, 2025

A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys! Baby boy was not cooperating with me at all this week lol. Ready to say goodbye? Deep breaths, babes 😘 ✨ Chapter title comes from Casablanca (1942)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 10: Here's Looking at You, Kid

The kitchen of the mansion had always run on the domestic diplomacy of Dottie’s sharp tongue, the tireless shuffle of Florence’s feet, and the way Frances could carry an entire roast duck, a tray of petits fours, and a silver bucket of ice without breaking a sweat or a smile.

Today was no different.

At half past noon, it was cooler in the kitchen. Not by much, not in July, but the oven heat was at least a familiar warmth compared to the rest of the house.

The room itself, however, was a whirlwind of flour and steam and shouted orders, while you were tucked into the corner by the island, looking marginally useful with a tray of unfrosted cupcakes in front of you and a star-tipped piping bag in your hands.

Earlier, you’d almost sliced a finger cutting strawberries – not that it would’ve done anything. You probably would’ve only broken the knife.

“Lord save us,” muttered Florence, snatching the bag from your trembling grip with all the grace of someone removing a stick of dynamite from a child. “You’re gonna frost the whole counter with that tremor in your hand.”

She wasn’t wrong.

At least, you looked nice. Your navy A-line dress was crisp, belted neatly at the waist with white that hinted at patriotism. You had even let Dottie do your hair that morning, which explained the intricate braid with a silky red bow in your locks.

Outside the windows, the grounds looked like a dreamscape – white tents rising like clouds against the green lawns, waitstaff in black and white bustling with trays like chess pieces, patriotic bunting draped across columns and fences, and a jazz trio already tuning up near the terrace.

One hour from now, the estate would be crawling with old money – Philadelphian coal royalty and their wives in fox furs and peep toes, oil barons from the Main Line, and of course, the Du Ponts.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in that chair if you keep fidgeting, honey,” Dottie teased, kneading dough with a firm grace that would make a ballerina blush.

“I’m not fidgeting. I’m merely… anticipating,” you replied and twisted your fingers in your lap some more.

“You’re anticipatin’ the way a turkey anticipates Thanksgiving,” Frances muttered with a snort, brushing egg wash over a tray of tiny apple pies.

“She’s calming her nerves, leave her be,” Florence threw in, icing cupcakes with practiced flicks. “I’d be twitchy too if half of Philadelphia came into my house with an eye on my man.”

Comforting.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Frances said instantly. “That dumb boy looks at her like he’s confusing her for oxygen.”

“Like a man lost in the dark sea, swimming toward a lighthouse,” Dottie added, smirking and proud of herself.

You groaned and tilted your head with narrowed eyes. “Why do I like you three again?”

“Because we know where the whiskey’s hidden, and we’ve seen you after two glasses,” Dottie sassed without missing a beat.

When Margaret then entered the kitchen, you didn’t jump, but you did straighten your spine like a schoolgirl waiting for inspection, even though she helped you pick out your dress and coached you as best as she could.

Ben’s mother wore a seafoam silk dress that did something devastating to her figure, her dirty blonde hair in a soft twist. Her peach lipstick even matched the carnations in the centerpieces.

“Oh, haven’t you been busy bees! Good Lord, it smells like Versailles in here,” Margaret said, grinning a little, waving at the heat. “Is there any air left, or did my husband’s ego suck it all up when he came downstairs this morning?”

Frances covered a laugh with a cough. Dottie didn’t even bother hiding hers.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” Florence said warmly, wiping her hands and giving Margaret a look that was almost sisterly. “You want coffee? Or a seat before you pass out in that dress?”

“Both, please,” Margaret sighed. “You’re a vision, Florence. I don’t know how you keep this place from collapsing into ash.” Her attention then swung to you, eyeing you with a raised brow. “Hiding, are we?”

“Obviously.”

Margaret gave you a gentle smile as she gracefully sat down across from you. “Well, you look lovely, dear. Terrified, but lovely.”

You gave her a wry smile. “I thought if I hid in here long enough, maybe the party would be over before I came out.”

“A clever plan,” she said, nodding. “Sadly, it’s no good. The vultures will circle either way.”

As you looked at her, you took note of the strain behind her green eyes as if she had suddenly aged thirty years over the last few days.

“How’s it been? Since he’s back.”

Margaret exhaled sharply. “Stifling. Determined to pretend his heart attack was merely indigestion. He leaves a film on everything like cigar smoke. Nothing like having a man who believes yelling is foreplay back in the house.”

You choked on your spit a little and coughed, not quite sure what to say. The last time the two of you had spoken about Ben’s father, she’d said she didn’t miss him at all.

It reminded you only too vividly of last night’s dream – a fight between Soldier Boy and Crimson Countess and apparently the last straw that made her give him up to the Russians.

And believe it or not, it had been about the fucking chimpanzee sanctuary. More specifically, how she wanted to hold this weirdly heartfelt musical for fucking apes.

And well, Soldier Boy thought it was the stupidest goddamn shit he’d ever heard. Yeah, of course he did because it was. But he didn’t have to be so mean about it:

“Christ, you’re gonna croon lullabies to a bunch of shit-flinging fleabags? Maybe you can teach ‘em to clap when you miss a note. Might be the only audience that don't fuckin’ boo you off stage.”

And God, how he would mock her singing!

“Listening to you sing’s like gettin’ kicked in the nuts by a donkey. Repeatedly. And the fuckin’ donkey still sounds better.”

“If screechin’ brakes and a goat had a baby, it’d still sound fuckin’ better than you.”

“When you hit those high notes, it’s like someone set a dumpster full of possums on fire.”

But the final nail in the icebox was this:

“Go build your little monkey circus, cooch. Maybe I’ll stop by and put ‘em out of their fuckin’ misery.”

Yup, no love lost there either.

Margaret then continued, your thoughts drifting back to her as her tone softened. “He invited the Du Ponts today. I’m sure you already know.”

“I do,” you said and almost chewed off your lower lip. “Any chance they might’ve succumbed to a house fire overnight?”

Margaret swallowed a laugh. “Unfortunately for all of us, no. The storm didn’t wash out those rats. And God knows no party of Richard’s is complete without some psychological warfare against his son. I’ve been preparing for this damn party like I’m heading into battle, not a celebration.”

You smirked a little, lifting a brow. “And what armor are you wearing under that dress? Chainmail?”

She laughed fully this time. “Only metaphorical. Though I did sharpen my wit and rehearse my contemptuous eyebrow.”

“That’s why I like you.”

“But you don’t have to worry about out a thing, dear,” she added and placed a comforting hand on your arm. “Your Benjamin wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Even if the pole had money wrapped around it?”

“He’d only use it to joust his father,” she retorted and sipped on her coffee with elegance.

The kitchen door then swung open with a creak and a flood of sun, and in walked the reason you hadn’t poisoned Richard Brooks’ scotch decanter yet.

Ben.

He was in a pristine white linen shirt rolled to the elbows, collar open, and navy slacks, the kind of casually perfect that makes your mouth dry. His hair was tousled like he’d run his hands through it too many times already. He looked freshly laundered and stupidly handsome.

And very pleased with himself.

He scanned the kitchen like he was looking for you and instantly lit up when he spotted you by the counter. “George, I found her!” he called out through the door, but his sparkling apple green eyes stayed on you, grinning. “Wasn’t sure if you’d barricaded yourself in the icebox or climbed out the dumbwaiter.”

“I considered the dumbwaiter,” you muttered.

He strode straight toward you like you were magnetic, ignoring the polite chaos around him. He slipped an arm around your waist and kissed your cheek. Then your jaw. Then behind your ear.

Behind you, Dottie made a sound like she was gagging. Florence just kept frosting. Frances, always quiet, huffed softly under her breath – her version of a laugh.

And then, Ben got impatient and kissed you fully, fervently, and shamelessly in front of all four women. You squeaked against his lips, giggling.

“Benjamin Brooks!” Margaret gasped but stifled another laugh with a shake of her head.

“Mother.” Ben tipped an imaginary hat and smirked broadly. “Happy Independence Day.”

“Go get dressed, you scandalous boy,” she told him, shaking her head some more, but the smile on her face was undeniable.

“Already am,” he replied and then whispered in your ear, “Though I’d let you undress me again if you ask nicely.”

You lightly swatted his chest, cheeks flushing. “What are you even doing in here?”

“Why? Am I interrupting the coven meeting?” Ben grinned, his fingers trailing up and down your spine. “Figured I’d find you here when you weren’t in the shed. You do like to snack. Are you hiding?”

“Of course I’m hiding,” you replied.

“I should get back to work,” Margaret said, rising gracefully. “Try not to ravish each other where I can see it.”

“You’re no fun,” Ben called after her, still smirking like a little boy with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I’m married to your father. Of course I’m no fun.”

Margaret then excused herself with another shake of her head and something about wrangling seating charts, dragging the staff with her so fast it was clearly a coordinated escape.

Ben then studied you for a moment, hands settling on your waist, thumb stroking the small of your back. You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, letting yourself breathe.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly.

“No,” you said, eyes closed, inhaling his cologne like it carried memories you hadn’t even lived yet. “But I will be.”

“I’m not leaving your side today,” Ben said, kissing the top of your head. “Unless you push me into the pond.”

“No promises.”

He winked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The lawn behind the Brooks mansion glittered in patriotic spectacle – ribbons in red, white, and blue tied into neat bows on the ends of each table, floral arrangements exploding in bursts of carnations and white lilies, and American flags tucked into the centerpiece of every polished buffet cart and cocktail bar.

It was as if the entire backyard had been scrubbed and star-spangled for the sole purpose of impressing the crème de la crème of wartime Philadelphia.

The party was already in full swing: Servers weaved between groups of people with trays of champagne flutes and crystal bowls of chilled shrimp, there were monogrammed napkins on each table, and the band already played something jazzy beneath a striped canopy. The air smelled like rose water, cigars, and seven different kinds of expensive cologne under the burning July sun.

The guest list was curated – a mix of elite families with names older than the Constitution, sleazy politicians, and military brass.

And you? You were glued to Ben’s side, playing anthropologist among the gentry, clinging to his commentary like it was your first language.

His palm was splayed low on your back, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the silk of your dress, while he pointed out various names and whispered in your ear like a scandalous tour guide.

Because another thing he apparently shared with his mother – the love for high society gossip.

“See the guy with the side part and the fake war injury?” Ben leaned down toward your ear, his hand still snug and low on your back. “That’s Franklin Hughes. He’s been telling everyone he got shot in the shoulder in North Africa, but it was actually skeet shooting in the fucking Berkshires.”

You tilted your head, spotting a puffed-up gentleman shaking hands with Richard near the bar.

“And see that man in the seersucker with the cane? That’s Douglas Fitzroy. His daughter Audrey tried to climb into my lap at Easter when I was seventeen. I think she mistook it for a pony.”

You snorted into your champagne flute before noticing the curious stares of a few guests, mainly from a group of younger women by the buffet. You instinctively tightened your grip on Ben’s arm, even though your outfit gave the illusion that you belonged here as well – fake it till you make it.

You’d been on the Brooks lawn for all of thirty minutes and already counted at least six girls who looked like they wanted to push you into the nearest hedge.

“Over there, that’s the Carmichaels,” Ben continued joyously. “They own the distillery. He’s boring, and she’s more interested in the company of other women from what I’ve heard.”

“Ben!”

He chuckled at your little gasp and pecked your temple. Then his green eyes drifted across the lawn again. “Oh, uh, the girl by the fountain in the green dress? Don’t make eye contact with her. That’s Lucille Sinclair. I took her to prom once. She cried when I didn’t want to go steady.”

You frowned slightly, cocking an eyebrow. “Was this before or after you slept with her?”

He paused, scratching his throat. “During.”

“You’re awful.” You shook your head but couldn’t help the bubble of laughter. “How did you survive this long without getting clocked with a high heel?”

“I have quick reflexes.” He shrugged casually, then grinned that boyish smile again.

“Alright, so what’s the body count here, Brooks?” you asked, glancing around the lawn and still feeling those judgmental stares on you.

Ben played innocent. “How do you mean?”

“How many girls here have seen you naked?”

Ben nearly choked on his drink, then leaned down to murmur in your ear, “Statistically speaking, it’s best if you avoid speaking to anyone between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. Just to be safe.”

You snorted involuntarily. “That many?”

“Listen, I went through a very misguided Hemingway phase. Lots of brandy,” he retorted and then grinned again, completely unapologetic. “There was a time when I was very popular, alright? Rich, handsome, emotionally unavailable… I was basically catnip for that whole row of pearls over there.”

You followed his nod toward a row of young women near the garden steps, watching you with the kind of passive aggression that could only be bred in East Coast boarding schools.

“Besides,” he added, brushing his knuckles down your bare arm, “you’re the only one who ever told me no. And meant it.”

Jesus fucking Christ, this man…

You raised a brow, looking up at him. “Was that your idea of foreplay?”

Ben gave a sheepish twitch of his shoulders. “Look, my twenties were a bit of a blur.”

“You’re only twenty-three!”

“Which just means I’m still in my prime.” Ben smirked and wiggled his brows.

“Yeah, I have a feeling you’re gonna be in your prime for a while…”

“Thank you,” he said and looked so smugly gorgeous about it that you practically forgave him on sight.

“Not a compliment, Benjamin.”

You tried not to laugh, but it surfaced anyway, especially when he pulled you closer, forearm braced possessively against the small of your back like he wanted every silk-and-sequin heiress here to see exactly who you belonged to – or who he belonged to now.

And then, Ben grabbed you and pressed you up against a stone column wrapped in ivy, one hand firm on your hip, the other tangled in your hair as he kissed you senseless like he hadn’t just done the same thing five minutes ago. Or ten. Or twenty. You’d stopped counting.

“Feel what you do to me?” he whispered, grinding just enough for you to know. He kissed you again, rougher this time, fingers playing with the hem of your skirt. Then he smirked lazily. “Already picturing that dress on the floor, baby.”

“You are shameless. Stop it!” You made a noise between a gasp and giggle, slapping his chest again. “Every girl here already looks like she wants to light me on fire.”

“Correction,” Ben said, amused, “They want to light me on fire. You’re just collateral damage.”

Ah yes.

“Comforting,” you said out loud this time.

“You’re the only one here who matters, sweetheart,” he reassured you, cupping your cheeks, forehead touching yours. And then, his eyes flickered sideways for a split of a second. “Uh-oh. The Du Ponts have arrived.”

Cue the Imperial March…

You didn’t have to look. You felt it. The air changed, the sound warped, and everyone straightened just a little as the Du Ponts glided in like a parade of pearls and Protestant guilt. Grace, a fucking vision in silk white, was flanked by her parents.

And Ben? Well, he only kissed you again – one of those longer, deeper ones that curled your toes, lifted your head to the clouds, and made it clear he had no intention of being on his best behavior during this party.

“Well, isn’t that charming,” Grace’s shrill voice screeched behind you.

Ben didn’t turn around, finished his kiss with all the patience in the world. Then he sighed audibly against your neck, mouthed fuck’s sake, and slowly leaned back, finally twisting around – but only halfway. He didn’t let go of you. His hand remained steadily at your waist.

Then their eyes met, and you could feel Hell freeze over.

“Benjamin,” she said primly. “I see you’ve kept up your little… hobby.”

“Watch it,” he growled, shifting a little in front of you, not exactly shielding you but close. His fingers laced with yours automatically.

“I’m not a hobby, Grace,” you replied coolly, your thumb brushing over Ben’s knuckles to keep him calm.

Grace then looked at you – not like someone she’d only encountered once, but like someone she’d spent months privately raging about. Because she had. Ben’s so-called “phase” was supposed to have ended by now. And instead, here you were. Still next to him. Still touching him. Still making him look happy in a way Grace had never seen before.

“We’ve met, haven’t we?” she asked you like she didn’t fucking know, eyes flicking down to where Ben’s fingers were splayed possessively over your hip. “The tea room. I’m surprised you remembered my name.”

“Oh, I did,” you said with the sweetest smile. “It’s the same as the virtue you lack.”

Ben choked on a laugh, and Grace’s spine stiffened like someone had yanked it from above.

“I must’ve seen you two around town a dozen times this spring. Soda fountain, book store, even some little movie theater,” she said with venom in sheep’s clothing. “How… quaint.”

You arched a brow. “Are you making a fucking scrapbook?”

“I assumed it was just a bit of fun.” She ignored your quip, her smile curling like it hurt. “Aren’t you tired of pretending? After all, Benjamin isn’t known for his consistency.”

You took a casual sip of champagne. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s been pretty consistent with me… especially in bed.”

Grace blinked, smile dropped, looking like she choked on a pearl. Ben, on the other hand, coughed out a laugh that sounded downright gleeful.

Her eyes snapped to him with a coldness that exceeded Antarctica’s. “Your father invited me today. He still thinks you’ll come to your senses.”

“Really?” You smiled tightly. “I wouldn’t bet on it. See, his father can marry you two all he wants, your husband’s still gonna spend his wedding night with me.”

Grace’s face flushed a deep red. “I suppose some people cling to delusion when reality doesn’t suit them.”

You simply smiled again. “Exactly what I was thinking. Thank you.”

Grace didn’t respond straight away. Instead, she looked Ben over one last time, gaze dragging across the flush in his cheeks and the unmistakable impression of his hand on your waist.

Then she smiled – tight, sour, brittle. “Well. Enjoy the fireworks… while they last,” she bit and turned, stomping away with the stiff elegance of someone holding in a tantrum.

Ben let out a low whistle when she’d made it halfway across the garden again. “Christ.”

You glanced up at him – sheepish, innocent. “I was polite.”

Ben met your eyes, visibly impressed, a smile playing on his lips. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

You snorted a chuckle and took a sip from your drink. “Oh, honey, I’m pretty sure you’ll manage it eventually.”

Ben only smiled. That devastating, lazy smile that said he was exactly where he wanted to be. And then he kissed you – slow and possessive, like punctuation at the end of a sentence.

If the Brooks Fourth of July party had a theme, it wasn’t freedom, liberty, or the American dream. It was Richard. Richard Brooks – recovering heart attack survivor, self-declared titan of industry, and, as of today, Philadelphia’s most insufferable comeback story.

The lawn was full now – brimming with silk dresses and summer-weight suits, the clink of crystal glasses, and the low hum of political posturing disguised as pleasantries. The sun slanted through the trees in golden beams, but you were tucked under Ben’s arm in the shade as he charmed the hell out of some War Department colonel. Every so often, he dipped his head to murmur something wicked into your ear, and you laughed, leaned into him more. It was easy until–

A silver spoon clinked against a champagne flute.

The subtle hush that fell over the crowd wasn’t total, but enough that you heard Ben sigh under his breath.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Here come’s the resurrection speech.”

Richard Brooks stood at the head of the steps leading down to the garden, champagne flute raised, suit crisp and face composed in that particular brand of patriarchal smugness only men like him had patented.

“Friends, family, colleagues, esteemed guests,” Richard began, “what a joy to see you all gathered once again for our most cherished tradition.”

A smattering of polite applause followed.

“After my… brief medical interruption this spring, I’m pleased to report that steel doesn’t bend easy. I’ve recovered fully – stronger than ever – and I’m filled with clarity about what matters most. I have been reminded of how vital legacy is. How important it is to see the next generation step up, to carry our name with honor, with purpose. To host, to lead, to build.”

Next to you, Ben groaned under his breath.

“Mortality forces a man to ask: Who will carry the torch? Who will shoulder the mantle of responsibility, of excellence, of vision?” Richard continued, eyes flicking all too deliberately to his son. “I admit passing that mantle is no small task. One must consider not just bloodlines, but merit. Discipline. Readiness. This country rewards resolve. Focus. Clarity of purpose.”

You could practically hear Ben grinding his molars on top of your head.

“And while some among us are still… growing into the shape of that legacy,” Richard said, eyes narrowing now on you in Ben’s arms, “I remain optimistic. And next year, perhaps, we’ll be here not just to celebrate our country’s founding but a new union as well.”

The speech ended with polite applause. Richard basked in it, then descended the stairs with the force of a man who believed the world owed him something.

“I hate him,” Ben muttered.

“He’s practically announcing your engagement with an ellipsis,” you said, brow furrowing. It was almost a word-for-word reenactment of what Dottie had told you once. “Do we think there’s a wedding arch hidden behind the hedges?”

“Not funny,” Ben murmured.

You raised your champagne flute with a wry grin. “To your betrothal, honey. May it be fictional and short-lived.”

Ben eventually let out a snort of amusement and kissed your temple, pulling you closer. But the peace, love, and laughter didn’t last long. He barely had time to recover when Richard marched toward you two like a general surveying his troops, a man with a lapel pin in tow, and of course, Grace floated beside them like a victory prize on a parade float.

“That’s Senator Davis,” you whispered to Ben. “He’s a Republican, but he comes from a working class family and is a supporter of labor laws.”

Ben’s head whipped to you, brow knitting. “How do you know that?”

You shrugged. “I read.”

And then, the group stood before you, Richard and Grace flashing their fakest polite smiles, while Senator Davis looked annoyed at best and exhausted at worst.

Richard then placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder like a branding iron. “Senator, allow me to introduce my son, Benjamin. And this,” he gestured to Grace, “is Grace Du Pont. His fiancée.”

Ben sputtered. “Actually, I’m–”

“Soon to be,” Richard steamrolled. “It’s only a matter of formality. You know how young people are. Always delaying what’s inevitable. But these two? Perfectly matched. Old family. Solid values.”

“Huh.” The senator looked unimpressed by the theatrics, and you knew why.

Know your fucking audience, Dick.

Then Richard turned his chin slightly toward you, almost as if noticing a passing servant. “This is one of the staff assisting the event. Would you be a dear and bring the senator a refill?”

You opened your mouth before noticing Ben was seconds away from losing it.

“She’s not–” Ben started but stopped when you gently placed a palm on his arm.

“It’s okay. Let Daddy have his narrative,” you whispered to him with a wink and then turned to the senator and Richard with the brightest smile. “Of course! I’ll be right back with your drink, sir.”

Grace looked smug and triumphant as hell as she watched you beeline to the bar – but not for fucking long.

Pause.

You stretched your neck, cracked your knuckles. Time suspended and turned the party scene into a Norman Rockwell painting as you swayed easily like a breeze through a garden full of statues.

Waiters paused mid-step. A glass in mid-pour. A hand in mid-toast.

With a diabolical smirk, you let your fingertips graze the fabric of Grace’s white dress before tugging her hem just slightly under the tip of the cupcake stand’s leg.

Oh, this will be fun, Puck said. This party needed a breath of chaos.

You moved on to the delicately balanced champagne tower and nudged the base with a touch. Just enough to make it precarious.

And then, well, your eyes spied Betty Vanderbilt, reaching for a glass near Grace.

Not resisting the mischievous urge, you took a creative liberty and rearranged her path ever-so slightly. You then grabbed a drink for the senator, took a deep breath, and forced the most innocent smile. Angels didn’t wear halos as brightly as you.

And Play.

The scene resumed, and in a few gloriously chaotic seconds, your plan unfolded.

Betty tripped forward and crashed into Grace like a missile. Champagne flutes shattered like glass rain, the toppling tower cascading over Grace’s head in a vintage baptism of golden bubbles. She twisted, staggered, and slammed backward into the cupcake table, ass-first into a heap of patriotic-themed frosting.

“You absolute cow!” Grace shrieked, scrambling to her feet with blue frosting in her eyelashes and a dripping white dress doused in champagne.

“You ran into me, you viper!” Betty huffed, dusting off her dress.

“You’ve been jealous since Benjamin picked me!”

Betty’s eyes flashed. “Picked you? Sweetheart, Ben sampled the tasting menu! I wasn’t the only one. There was a goddamn waitlist!”

Grace lunged. Betty grabbed a champagne bottle like a club. Frosting flew. A small child screamed. Someone’s shoe caught on fire (unclear how). One of the band members dove under a table. You hadn’t even meant for it to get this out of hand, but now that it had?

Delicious.

Next to the senator and Ben, Richard stood frozen in absolute horror, watching the chaos unfold like a man watching his stocks crash in real time.

That was when you decided to return with the sweetest smile.

“Senator, here’s your drink–,” you started and then stopped, feigning a gasp as you clasped your chest with the outrage of a fine lady. “Oh my! What’s going on here?”

Speechless, Ben blinked like he regretted a few decisions again. “Uh…”

Senator Davis took one slow, disapproving glance at Grace, dripping with champagne and rage, before turning to Richard. “Charming girl,” he said dryly. “But not quite the picture of grace, is she?”

Richard’s face turned to stone.

And then, Ben finally stepped forward, pulling you gently and proudly to his side. “Senator, I’m sorry about the chaos. Please allow me to introduce my actual girlfriend.”

Richard’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then clenched shut.

Senator Davis took your hand. You straightened your shoulders and gave him a warm, practiced smile.

“Pleasure, sir,” you said cheerfully. “I read The Iron Puddler when I was sixteen. Made me feel like grit still counted for something, even if you didn’t come from money.”

Davis blinked in surprise but then gave you the warmest smile upon the mention of his cherished autobiography. “Well now, that’s a fine thing to hear. I wrote that book hoping some kid out there’d believe they didn’t need a silver spoon to make it,” he said, sending Richard a look. “That’s worth more to me than a good poll number. I wrote it for folks like you. People can either be defined by their circumstances or use those very circumstances to shape their future. It’s the essence of the American spirit, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely agree, Senator. It hit me like a thunderbolt, sir,” you continued your flattery. “Reminded me that being poor doesn’t mean you’re powerless.”

The senator chuckled happily. “That's all I was hoping for – one person to believe in the long shot. You’ve got fire. I like that. Just don’t go running against me,” he joked with a wink.

“Oh, don’t worry, sir. I’m not planning on running against you,” you said, giggling, and then placed your hand on Ben’s chest, cheekily nodding toward him, “But he might. He’s not one to rely on anyone else’s legacy either. He’s determined to carve out his own path.”

Ben smiled wryly, shooting a glance at his father. “She makes sure I don’t take a single thing for granted, sir.”

“Then you’ve got a good woman and better sense than most in your tax bracket, son,” Davis replied, laughing.

Ben laced his hand with yours and brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “She’s the reason I’ve come this far. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Some think wealth is something you pass down like an heirloom. But there’s something to be said for building something yourself. If ever you two need support, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’ve always believed that anyone with the drive to build something of their own deserves a hand up, not a handout.” Senator Davis then turned to Ben’s father with a smile that was a little too polished. “You’ve raised a fine son with a strong head on his shoulders, Mr. Brooks. It’s rare to see someone so committed to building from the ground up, especially when he’s got the option to take an easier route. It’s commendable. And with someone like her beside him, well, I’d say he’s well-positioned for success.”

Richard looked like he’d bitten through his cigar and someone had drained the bourbon from his blue bloodstream.

And you? You looked up at Ben, grinning smug as hell. “I think I just officially became your father’s nemesis. Should we get out of here before he bursts a vessel?”

“Before you get caught in the crossfire, yes.” Ben chuckled and tugged you away before his father could combust.

The afternoon had been a blur of sunshine, laughter, and clinking glasses. As the day wore on, the party shifted to something quieter and drunker, strings of lanterns beginning to glow against the falling dusk.

You never left Ben’s side, charming every congressman and colonel alike with a trained laugh. You’d made yourself indispensable.

You only slipped away for a moment, excusing yourself inside to the powder room. You smoothed out your skirt, washed away the sticky remnants of stolen cupcakes, and applied a new coat of lipstick since most of it had landed on Ben at this point.

On your way back to the garden, the empty mansion echoed faintly with distant music and laughter from outside. And then there he was:

Richard Brooks was already waiting, posted by the doorway to his study like a vulture smelling fresh meat.

“Miss,” he said, not even bothering to finish your name. “Inside. Now.”

“I was just heading back to the party,” you said, forcing a polite smile.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he said and opened the door with one hand and stepped back, waiting like a man who never heard the word no.

You walked past him, breath shallow, pulse fluttering like a caged bird. And then it was just you, Richard Brooks, and the scent of whiskey and old power clinging to the room like rot.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, absentmindedly pouring himself a glass of bourbon. “Making friends. Charming donors. Wiggling your way in like a parasite.”

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. Careful. Controlled. “What exactly is it you want from me, Mr. Brooks?”

“I want to make this very simple,” he said, stepping closer with the slow gravity of a man used to the world bowing to him. “You want money? I’ll give you money. You walk away from my son. Tonight. I don’t care where you go, but you disappear. And in return, I’ll write you a check large enough to make sure you never have to get your hands dirty again.”

The heat crawled up your chest. You scoffed a disbelieving laugh. “I’m not for sale.”

“You are. You just don’t know your price yet,” he said and took a long sip from his drink, staring at you like you were something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?”

“Excuse me?”

“What’s the game plan? Stick around long enough to get a ring? Or were you hoping for a baby first? Anchor him down, ruin his life properly.”

Your throat went dry. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m realistic,” he snapped. “You think I don’t know your type? You think he’s the first boy with a bleeding heart and a hard-on?”

“Go to hell,” you bit through gritted teeth.

“Oh, don’t play coy now. It’s unflattering. You’ve wrapped yourself around my son like ivy around stone, hoping no one notices what you’re choking.” Richard tilted his head with a smirk, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Don’t think I haven’t seen girls like you before. Pretty. Starved. Sharp enough to keep your legs crossed until the stakes are high enough to spread them. How long did you hold out before you gave my son what he wanted?”

“I love Ben,” you said fiercely.

But Richard only scoffed a humorless laugh, amused. Condescending. His trademark. “Please, let’s not pretend for a second this is love. You needed someone to pick you up off the street, and he was stupid enough to do it. He’s always had a weakness for broken things. He likes the way you moan. That’s it. You’re not the first little stray to wander into our lives, after all.”

Your blood ran cold, skin crawling. “Fuck you.”

“You’re a pretty little thing for a gutter rat. I’ll give you that. Voice like honey, mouth like sin, decent pair of legs…” He stalked forward, sneering.

You took a step back. “Stay away from me.”

“Why?” He smiled, all teeth like a shark. “You’re fine letting my son put his hands all over you. Why not me? I could make it worth your while. Why waste your charms on a boy who’s still wet behind the ears when you could have the man who built everything he’s trying to give you?”

“Don’t,” you warned sharply, hands balling into fists.

He only laughed darkly and took another step toward you, eyes raking you up and down like a lion circling. “Oh, come on. You’re not shy when it’s him.”

And then, his fucking hand came down – bold, calloused fingers grazing your hip like they had every right.

Goddammit!

Like father, like son, like fucking grandson.

But it was his grave mistake to underestimate you.

Your hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his wrist like iron, body moving faster than your brain. You didn’t squeeze at first. Just let him feel the pressure. Enough to make him flinch.

“I suggest you take your hand off me,” you said, sharp as a razor. “Now.”

Then you squeezed. Not enough to break bone, but enough to make his knees buckle. Enough to make him gasp, to panic, to understand that something was very wrong. He tried to pull back, but you didn’t let him.

On the inside, you were terrified. Because for a blink of an eye, you didn’t know how this would end.

“What the hell–” His eyes widened, choking out a strangled sound. “You–… what are you–… You’re–… you’re a goddamn–”

Jesus fuck, please don’t say it.

“–witch!”

Shit. Not again. Why did this keep happening to you?

But this time, you used it to your advantage, leaning in closer with a fearsome snarl. “That’s right, you little Puritan shit. Be fucking scared because if you ever touch me again, Florence will be picking pieces of you out of this leather chair till 1953.”

His blue eyes narrowed as the pain set in. “You crazy little–… Let go of me!”

“Dad?”

Ben’s voice shattered the moment. He froze in the doorway, scanning the room in sharp confusion – his father’s disheveled state, your tense shoulders – and that’s when he saw it. The panic on your face. Your body trembling like a leaf in a storm. Your eyes wet, wild, and locked on the floor like if you looked up, it would all come crashing down. His gaze flicked from you to his father’s twisted face down to the wrist you were still gripping tightly.

That was when you finally snapped out of it and dropped it like it burned you.

Richard yanked his arm away, cradling his wrist like it had been caught in a bear trap. His face was red. His eyes burned.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” Ben asked, brow furrowed.

“I–… Ben, I didn’t–… He–” The words tangled. You’d never stammered in front of Ben before. But this moment wasn’t built for composure. Your heart was pounding against your ribs, ready to crack them on impact.

Richard stumbled back, face contorted with both rage and humiliation, painting on a mask. “She assaulted me. The girl’s hysterical. Look at her! She’s not right in the head.”

Your stomach turned. Your heart dropped. “That’s not what happened, you fucking–”

“She came onto me,” Richard continued, fully drilling his gaze into Ben now like a basilisk. “Started touching me. Got handsy when I told her it wasn’t happening. You really think she’s with you for you, son?”

But Ben didn’t look at him. Not once. His glassy emerald eyes stayed on you. It seemed like he wasn’t even listening to his father. He came closer to you, touched your cheek with a gentleness that almost broke you.

Because he believed you. Because he knew you. Every inch of you.

“Did he touch you?”

You swallowed hard, biting back the stinging tears in your eyes, but you gave him the weakest nod. Silent.

And that was all it took. Something in him snapped.

“You bastard fucking touched her?!”

“Ben, don’t,” you tried to intervene carefully, keep the situation from escalating. You wanted to pull Ben back. Wanted to beg him not to do this. Not to ruin everything for you.

“Watch your goddamn tone, son!” Richard warned, seething with anger. “She’s clearly lying!”

Ben was on his father in a heartbeat, shoving him roughly against the closest bookshelf, hard enough to rattle a few leather-bound works off the shelves.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

“Spare me the dramatics,” Richard said, snorting. “The girl’s been in your bed for weeks. What’s the difference?”

“She’s not yours,” Ben growled.

Richard laughed loudly. “Don’t tell me you actually think this is love, son. You barely know her. You think she’ll stick around once the lights go out? She’s using you. You’ll see it eventually. They always leave. She’ll leave too. She’ll take everything, drag your name through the mud, and walk away. You can dress it up any way you want, boy, but at the end of the day, she’s just your whore.”

Ben’s fist slammed into the sideboard with a thunderous crack. The lamp wobbled. You flinched and tentatively placed your hand on his arm. You could feel how fast his heart was beating, could feel your own panic ratcheting higher.

“Ben, don’t,” you whispered, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Please, just… don’t.”

But Ben didn’t let go of his father or look at you. Not yet. His hand gently pushed against your shoulder to shift you aside. Out of harm’s way.

“Say one more word about her and I’ll make sure it’s your last in this goddamn house,” he threatened, voice more thundering than the summer storm brewing outside the study’s windows.

Richard only scoffed, shaking his head and smoothing out his dress shirt as Ben’s grip finally loosened, hands falling to his sides. “Christ on a cross, don’t romanticize this. What, you’re calling it love because she spread her legs?”

“Fuck you,” Ben spat.

Fuck you.

Something clicked. You stood frozen behind him, heart pounding, lungs too tight to fill, brain buzzing like a bee hive. Somewhere behind your ribs, where your mind met the deeper currents of knowing, a ripple moved through your sense of reality, subtle but cold. That gnawing, familiar feeling was back, a persistent hypothesis creeping with it this time.

What if–… No, it can't be.

Maybe you were never steering anything. Maybe all you’d done was arrive exactly on cue.

“I’m marrying her,” Ben announced, straight to his father’s face and ripping you out of your chalkboard theories.

The silence was only interrupted by thunder roaring outside, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if it wasn’t just the sound of your heart exploding. Like Oppenheimer was throwing a goddamn trial run in your chest.

“No, you’re fucking not,” Richard bit like it was an order his son was supposed to obey.

“I am,” Ben stood steadfast, his deep voice unwavering. “Tonight, if I have to.”

“Benjamin–”

Ben cut in firmly, bristling. “I will not let you lay another finger on her. I will not let you speak to her. I will not even let you goddamn look at her.”

“She is nothing but a broken little–”

“She is mine,” Ben snapped. “I’m done. I’m leaving with her right now. And I’m never coming back. Keep your money and your legacy. Choke on it for all I care.”

“You’re deluded. You’re not thinking clearly. You’ll regret this, son. Trust me,” Richard continued spewing.

But Ben had already turned his back on his father. He took your hand. His grip was tight. Sure.

“Let’s go,” he said to you, voice softer now.

Your legs felt numb. Your body still shook, muscles twitching.

“Ben, are you sure? What if–”

He stilled for a heartbeat, then turned to you fully, and all you could see was the devotion glistening in his eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You couldn’t stop the tears this time. Not from fear. Not from anger. Not from worry. But because it felt like you were fucking drowning.

Ben walked out of the study without another word, your hand safely in his.

But the adrenaline clung to your skin. You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t know what came next. All you knew was that the man at your side had just set his life on fire.

For you.

Your heart hammered more furiously than the thunder cracking outside as Ben dragged you down the familiar maze of dark hallways, the tapestry blurring in your vision, Richard’s voice still ringing in your ears, but your hand still in Ben’s. His grip was so tight it would’ve probably hurt anyone else, but you still didn’t let go.

Lightning slashed white across the windows as Ben yanked open the double doors to the drawing room. You stumbled through after him, still trembling, still trying to catch your breath, still tasting bile.

And then you heard her voice.

“Benjamin?”

Ben stopped cold. You nearly collided into his back.

Margaret Brooks stood by the piano in her seafoam party dress, and she wasn’t alone – Dottie, quiet as a shadow, hovered just behind her, holding a tray of empty glasses and an anxious expression. Margaret’s eyes locked on her son, then on you – disheveled, breathless, teary-eyed, your hand still clutching Ben’s like a buoy out at sea.

And she knew.

She didn’t say how. Didn’t ask. She just stepped forward slowly. “What did he do?”

Ben’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. His shoulders shook with the effort not to go back and punch a hole in the study wall. He squeezed your hand, fury still radiating off him in waves. You could feel the heat of it in your skin, in your chest, in the way your heartbeat hadn’t slowed since you’d dropped his father’s wrist.

Margaret nodded once. “I see.” Then she turned to Dottie. “Get my travel case and that stack of twenties I keep behind the dressing screen. Hurry.”

Dottie vanished without a word.

“I should’ve burned this whole place to the ground years ago,” Margaret muttered, eyes flicking toward the stormy window before they landed back on you and Ben. “But if I can’t walk out, at least you two can.”

Margaret’s expression softened as she looked at you. She touched your cheek – light, maternal. It made your throat tighten. “You know, dear, after that first dinner, I knew you were the one person in this house who couldn’t be bought or bullied. Which means you’re exactly who he needs,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You make him happy. I haven’t seen him smile like that since he was ten years old. Don’t let him forget how to. You take care of my boy. He’s a pain in the neck, but he’s got a good heart.”

You nodded, fighting tears, too choked up to speak.

The thunder rumbled low and mean outside the windows, a distant growl growing steadily closer. You could hear voices echoing down the halls, servants ushering guests indoors as the storm rolled in. The party was no longer spilling across the lawn – people were beginning to trickle into the ballroom, clinking glasses and polite laughter rising in the wake of the approaching downpour.

Then, without a word, Margaret slipped off the massive diamond ring on her left hand and pressed it into Ben’s palm. The thing was a glacier – ornate, heavy, and stunning. He stared down at it like it might explode.

“What–, uh… You-, uhm, you want me to propose with this?”

She snorted humorlessly, shaking her head. “Good God, no, Benjamin! That thing is cursed. Only ever got two decades of eternal misery out of it. For God’s sake, don’t put that on her finger,” she retorted and cupped her son’s cheeks, looking into his eyes intently. “But it’s worth a fortune. Pawn it. Use it to buy her a ring. And maybe something with a roof and plumbing, yes?”

Ben nodded slowly in her palms, brow so intensely furrowed you wouldn’t be surprised if those creases stayed permanently.

“I’ve waited twenty-three years to say this: You are nothing like that man, and I am so proud of you for it, Benjamin,” she whispered and kissed his forehead.

Ben froze and shut his eyes, swallowing hard, and you could see what it did to him – the quiet devastation of a son who’d waited his whole life to hear those words and never believed he would.

“There’s no time to argue. Go to the stables at the edge of the property. No one goes there this time of night. Not in this weather. Use the old servant path past the orchard. You remember it, Ben,” Margaret said.

“I do,” Ben replied, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I’ll tell your father you stormed off after a tantrum. He’ll believe that. He always underestimated your spine.”

Ben gave a bitter huff.

“I’ll never forgive him for what he did to you,” Margaret added, directed at you both. “But I can still help fix the ending.”

Dottie reappeared then, out of breath, carrying a small overnight suitcase and an armful of coats. Outside, the thunder roared louder, closer, the wind howling like something unholy.

Ben pulled you close, holding the suitcase in one hand and your waist in the other. You both followed Dottie, quick and silent, down the servants’ corridor toward the back door that led out to the garden path.

Dottie cracked the door open, looking left and right. “Coast is clear.”

Rain pounded against the roof now, soaking the porch as soon as you stepped outside. Cold, blinding sheets of it. You gasped as it hit you, but Ben just held the coat over your head and guided you through the downpour, across the gravel, past the hydrangeas whipping in the wind.

And then you ran.

The rain chased you two down the hill like hounds nipping at your heels, slamming the world into a blur, thunder cracking like the earth itself was breaking apart. You sprinted across the lawn, mud splashing under your shoes, lightning streaking white through the clouds and splitting the sky. Your pulse hammered loud in your ears, but the questions and doubts were even louder.

By the time you reached the stables at the far end of the property, your clothes clung to you like a second skin, chilling your muscles to ice. Rain pelted down, cold and hard, stinging your cheeks and numbing your fingers. Thunder roared across the sky like a cannon, drowning out your breathless sobs and the frantic beat of your heart.

Ben pushed the heavy barn door open with his shoulder, glancing back at the dark outline of the mansion once before ushering you inside. You stumbled in after him, dripping, shaking, soaked straight through to your bones. The door slammed shut on creaking hinges behind you, muting the storm to a low, feral growl. The scent of hay, horses, and damp wood filled your lungs.

Panic curled tight in your ribs, sharper than the cold. You didn’t know where to go, what to do. The walls felt too narrow, the future too wide.

“Why didn’t you just tell him to go fuck himself?”

“Ha, I imagine that would’ve probably gone over well…”

You grabbed a beam to steady yourself, rainwater dripping down your back, your throat closing around a sound you couldn’t name. You were breathing too fucking fast.

For a moment, everything was pitch black. Ben fumbled along the wall, fingers brushing until he yanked a brass hanging lantern from a hook on the wall and flicked it on. The low golden light washed over his face, catching the sharp angles of his jaw, the soaked, wild mess of his hair.

He then stopped short in the middle of the barn, hands braced on his hips, chest rising and falling beneath his drenched dress shirt. He looked around quickly – assessing, scanning the space like he could plan ahead, like he could solve everything if he just stared hard enough.

“This’ll do for the night,” he muttered, half to himself. “We’ll figure out where to go in the morning. I can sell the ring, get us on our feet. Just need-… need a plan.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, dripping, freezing, too full of emotion to speak. The high beams above you groaned with the wind, lightning flashing blue and white through the gaps in the slats.

Ben then finally turned to you, his chest still heaving, hair plastered to his forehead, jaw clenched with fury and adrenaline. His eyes found yours instantly, and something in them softened. He stepped forward, closing the space between you, rainwater dripping from his lashes. His hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing rain off your cheeks like you were made of glass.

“You okay?”

You nodded in his palms but shivered, too.

“Did he–” He bit his lips harshly, another surge of anger rumbling through him. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. No, nothing like that,” you replied, quickly shaking your head. “Just scared me. I stopped him before anything could happen.”

Ben pulled you flush against him then, arms coming around you and holding you tight. He rested his chin on top of your head.

“How did you even do that? I mean, you’re–”

Small. Weak. Fragile. A woman.

Whatever it was, he stopped before he said it.

“I’m not soft.”

“Prove it.”

“I wouldn’t hesitate to go back in time and fucking kill you!”

“Oh, you can certainly try, sweetheart.”

Your heart battered your ribcage. You swallowed heavily. “Oh, uh, adrenaline… I guess. Didn’t really think about it.”

“Right, yeah… Good,” Ben said, but you weren’t quite sure he believed you fully this time. “I should’ve gotten there sooner. Never shoulda left your side at all. I promised you I wouldn’t, but I–”

“Hey, hey, no…” You looked up at him, seeing the thunder-lit fury in his emerald gaze. You cupped his jaw, rough and sharp beneath your gentle palms. “It’s not your fault, okay? You got there. You believed me. It’s all that matters.”

“I shoulda known. Shoulda put him through a fucking wall,” he gritted, muscles shaking under your touch. “I’ll never forgive him for what he tried to do. We’re done with him. With all of it. Just you and me, alright? We’ll make it work.”

Your grip faltered. The words scraped at the raw, unsure part of you. That feeling was back. Stronger. Not even a feeling at all anymore – just truth. A fact you didn’t want to believe in like God.

“Look, while you were away, I talked to Hardwick again. He said he might have something for me. Pays well,” Ben said, and your heart slowed for the first time that day – not for a good reason, though.

“The army general?”

“Yeah, he said we wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. Said we’d be taken care of.”

Your mind flashed with the next lightning strike. Your lips pressed into a tight lines, the creases on your brow even tighter. “What-, uh, what exactly did he say?”

“What does it matter?” Ben looked at you in confusion, probably for the same reason he always had – protecting you.

He had it handled. There was no need for you to worry.

“Just tell me,” you still insisted.

Ben exhaled a small sigh through his nose but relented like he always did, too. “He said they found some scientists in Germany or something. Said it might take a couple more months, though. Maybe years. But they’d take care of us now. Recruit me… or whatever. Said something about paperclips…”

“Ben–” You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“What?”

Don’t get frustrated with him, you reminded yourself. He doesn’t know.

“Did he maybe say Operation Paperclip?”

Ben nodded slowly, forest green eyes flickering. “Yeah, I guess. How d’you know?”

“I-… Your father’s golf buddies talked about it today.”

Yeah, you had listened to that conversation very intently. From what you’d gathered, they’d found out about Frederick Vought’s existence, discovered his plans for Nazi super soldiers, and heard about first trials in camps. Only casualties, no successes. But you knew there’d be one, eventually. Then two. No contact made yet. But that would happen as well.

You were sure about history, weren’t you?

“Hey, look at me,” Ben’s deep voice pulled you back. His thumbs brushed your throat, hands locked around your neck, forehead pressed against yours. “We’ll be okay, I promise you.”

But you couldn’t believe him. Not anymore.

“Ben, wait–”

His lips crashed against yours, tasting of rain and relief. His kiss was desperate. Hard. Addicting. You stumbled back from the force of it, your spine hitting the barn door, wood wet and splintering beneath your soaked clothes.

And you kissed him back just as fervently.

His hands buried in your hair, your ribs, your thighs – anywhere he could touch, like he had to grip every inch of you because he didn’t trust the world not to rip you away.

And you clung to him, shaking, breathless, heart breaking.

“You’re it for me,” he rasped between rougher kisses. “You understand? There’s no one–… There’s nothing else.”

And you never stopped him.

Your legs wrapped around him, massive hands clawing at your ass like you clawed into his broad shoulders. His knuckles brushed up your thighs, dragging your soaked dress higher and higher and higher. Your mind went higher with it.

You whimpered as his fingers shoved your panties aside, his touch rough, reverent, rampant. Yours was desperate, desecrating, despondent as you fumbled at his slacks, unbuckling just enough.

The thunder outside barely hammered louder than your own heart.

“Oh, c’mon! One song. How about something from the fucking 80s? Like Cyndi Lauper! I’m sure you’d like that, huh?”

He pushed into you in one fierce, unrelenting thrust. The oxygen left your lungs in a choked cry, and he filled your lungs with his next kiss. Devoured you like he was trying to crawl into your very skin to stay.

Your fingers dug into his back, twisted the soaked fabric of his shirt in your dying grip. He groaned your name like it undid him, heavy head falling to your shoulder as he held you there, his body shuddering with the force of it.

“I’ve never lo–” He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t breathe.

And you couldn’t either.

The thunder growled above you like a warning, the storm outside only amplifying the chaos inside you. He moved again, and you whimpered, overwhelmed by the pressure, the stretch, the maddening, soul-breaking closeness.

“You’re it. You’re everything,” he groaned, thrusting harder, rhythm gone to ruin.

And you were shaking.

From the cold, from the heat, from the whiplash of fear and want and love and devastation. You didn’t know which part was louder – the terror of what came next, or the ache to fall apart in his arms and stay there forever.

Ben kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your eye where a tear escaped.

His thrusts grew messier, less controlled. One hand gripped the door beside your head, the other wrapped tight around your waist, grounding you. But it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

And still, you tried to carve something real out of the ruin.

Your body moved with his, dizzy with need, lost in him. Every thrust was a promise. Every breathless, broken word was a vow.

“How about something a little slower… Time After Time! That’s fucking perfect for you!”

“Ben–”

“I’ve got you. I’ve always got you, sweetheart. That’s it,” he growled, his rhythm stuttering as your body clenched around him.

You could barely keep up with the half-incoherent words spilling from him. Desperate, beautiful nonsense. Confessions torn from the back of his throat.

And all you could do was feel him – thick and hard, and so deep, it hurt, it ached, it mattered.

Ben never saw the spiral in your eyes. Didn’t feel the tremble in your hands as panic and desire collided like fire and gasoline. He drove into you with every ounce of desperation he felt – relentless and bruising, as if only he went deep enough, hard enough, he could stay inside you forever.

And your hips rocked against his, chasing the edge together and outrunning everything else.

“Led Zeppelin, huh?”

“Yeah, I got it for my twenty-fifth birthday. I went to Zeppelin’s first tour in 1969. Only wear it on special occasions.”

“Oh, yeah, right… Happy fucking birthday, I guess.”

You loved him. You bit down on his shoulder as you came, cried out his name and everything else. It tore through you – sharp, electric, wild. Your head fell back against the door, body tight and shuddering in his hold, letting the rain on the tin roof drown out the war in your heart, you wished you could Pause right here.

But you didn’t stop time. You didn’t stop him. You didn’t stop yourself.

You kissed his temple. His jaw. His mouth. You held him tighter than you ever had.

And you were losing him.

Your name fell from his lips, wrecked and worshipful at once. He buried himself as deep as he could go – one broken thrust, one strangled moan, one bruising grip on your ice-cold skin, spilling into you, thick and hot.

The world was still for a moment till your mind screamed through the haze.

“That’s a closed loop. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I think it fucking does…”

“Marry me,” Ben murmured through the patter of rain, barely coherent, barely audible. It was a whisper, rough and low. Not a grand declaration. Not some dramatic plea. Just two words spoken into the hush of the barn, forehead resting against yours, his breath still ragged.

And your eyes snapped open.

You felt it more than heard it, like your whole world had just shifted a few inches sideways. His eyes searched yours, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, and there was something in his gaze that leveled you more than anything else had tonight.

“I mean it. Marry me,” he repeated, louder this time. Firmer. Surer. He swallowed thickly. “I love you. I know I should’ve said it before. It’s not because I didn’t feel it. I did. I do. I just-… I never knew how. You make me feel things I don’t know what to do with. You always have.”

And tears welled in your eyes, but not for the reason he thought. He didn’t know how much loving you would ruin.

But he kept going, hope laced in every word. “This isn’t a mistake. I’ve been sleepwalking through my whole goddamn life and then you–… you showed up like a fucking miracle, sweetheart. And suddenly I know what I want. I want you.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. You didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. You just stared up at him, trying to find footing on ground that didn’t exist.

And your legs loosened around him before you even realized you were doing it, letting him slip out of you, soaked dress clinging to your skin.

A half-step. A breath of space.

His eyes flashed with hurt and confusion. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you saying anything? Why are you pulling back?”

“I-… I just need a minute,” you managed to push out, head dizzy, barn spinning. “Why would you do this…” you muttered to yourself, not meaning for Ben to hear, but he did.

You weren’t talking about him, though. Soldier Boy.

“Do what? Don’t you want to? I thought-… I thought you loved me, too.” His brow furrowed, trying to understand something he never could.

“No, I-… I mean, I do. I love you, okay? God, I love you so much,” you assured him, your feet pacing frantically on hay and damp earth.

“Then what is it?” He was trying so hard to keep calm, but panic flashed behind his green eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He knew. He fucking knew.

“I just-… I need space. Please. I need… I need time, okay? To think,” you tried to explain, but your head was too convoluted to function, memories flooding your mind and drowning all coherent thoughts but one:

Why would he sent you here?

Ben’s jaw clenched. “Why do I feel like you’re running?”

“I’m not!” you cried, voice cracking, tears falling. “I’m not trying to run away from you.”

“Then what is it?” He stepped forward. “Is it something I did? Something I said? Just tell me–”

“I can’t!” you snapped, chest heaving. “I can’t tell you anything!”

He flinched like you’d slapped him. You were only making it fucking worse.

And you hated yourself for it.

“I need a second,” you whispered. “Just… give me a second. Please.”

And you bolted.

You didn’t wait for his answer. You stumbled toward the barn door and out into the rain, the storm swallowing you whole. You didn’t look back. Couldn’t. You would’ve stopped if you did. The cold slapped you in the face. Mud squelched beneath your feet.

You ran behind the barn, to the side where the shadows swallowed everything. The wind ripped at your hair. You crouched behind the nearest tree, hands fisted in the wet bark, heart galloping, lungs seizing.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Okay, it’s fine. Just breathe. You can think. You can–”

But the storm was louder than your thoughts. Ben’s voice echoed faintly in the distance – your name, over and over again. Desperate.

And then that horrible, all-consuming pull unfurled from your spine, from the deepest part of you where time lived like a ticking bomb. Electricity surged up your arms. The world folded in.

Shit. Not now. Not ever.

But you were already gone.

▶️ Chapter 11: When You’re Slapped, You’ll Take It and Like It

Should we do a mental health check-in again? How are you holding up, loves? Was this the end to 1942 you've expected?

Hang in tight for Soldier Boy's POV next week. We're going back to the future 😉

Coming Up:

The scream came first. Feral, guttural, ancient. Something primal ripped from your throat like it had been building in your bones for eight fucking decades.

You snapped like a wire he’d strung too tight, lunged forward, and decked him clean across the jaw.

The punch snapped across his face, sharp and personal and full of all the fire he remembered. It cracked so loud, the room winced. You were a magnificent angel of vengeance.

God, he fucking missed you.

And Ben took the hit. Didn’t even try to block you. Knew he deserved it. Knew he had it fucking coming.

He staggered back half a step with a grunt, head snapping just slightly from the brutal force of it. Slowly, he turned back to face you, look at you, and then the corners of his mouth twitched upward into a smirk.

Smug. Cocky. Satisfied.

“There she is.” He grinned, then rubbed his jaw like it amused him, inspecting the ache with something between pride and admiration. “Actually fuckin’ felt that one. Good for you, sweetheart. Knew you had it in you.”

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