I laughed. Not a strangled giggle or miserable chuckle but a full on wildly insane cackle. I couldn't even bring myself to care if I woke anyone up. What other response was appropriate? The terrible revenge from the dreaded Master I had been twisting my self in knots over all night amounted to something out of trashy cape romance novel. I had relentlessly bullied someone for more than a year, they had gotten powers, and they had proceeded to use them to make my life better in basically every way.
Make my life better. Those words finally decided me. Just thinking them was like a light turning on inside me, and where it shone everything else was scoured away. The ugly knot in my stomach came undone bit by bit, I slumped down deeper into the chair as my every tensed muscle relaxed, and my headache eased off from an invisible weight crushing down upon my head and neck to the simple uncomfortable pressure of having cried for too long. I reached out for the phone and cradled it easily in my fingers as I opened up the texting app. There was a good night text from Taylor from hours ago, another couple asking if I was OK when I hadn't replied, and a missed call. I smiled and texted back an apology and a good night wish of my own, even if it was obviously far to late for her to see it before morning.
I stood up and stretched, groaning in pleasure as the bone deep ache from having spent so long tense with nervous energy eased off, and I made my way to the the dresser to change for bed. As I did, I deliberately looked into the mirror above it to reflect upon my reflection. There was no wave of self loathing or shame as I had feared when I had averted my eyes in the bathroom. Just me standing there, pajamas in hand, eyes puffy and bloodshot, hair a tangled mess, cheeks red where my hands had pressed into them as I cried, and lips curled into an exhausted smile which really didn't fit alongside everything else. Put that all together with the one or two hours of sleep I was going to get and I was probably going to look like holy hell tomorrow. That's fine. Taylor wouldn't mind, she would just ask me what was wrong and hold me till it was better.
I changed into the pajamas and switched off the lights before sliding under my covers. I was better off with Taylor. Having her in my life gave me a sense of direction, of purpose. She made me feel happy. She made me feel wanted.
That's why I had decided weeks and a lifetime ago that I would be hers. For as long as she was willing to have me. If that turned out that was just a little bit more literal than I thought? If it turned out she had reached out and shaped my mind? Well then, OK. I had tried my best to break her out of simple boredom. She had gotten powers and, with every reason in the world to want a terrible revenge, she had, amazingly, brought love into my life instead. Clearly, one of these two people was more fit to be making decisions about who I ought to be and it wasn't me. Whatever shape she built out of me, I'm sure I would like it.
Good girl, I thought with a smile, the words sending a gentle warmth through my chest.
I snuggled deeper into the covers and fell asleep.
I dunno man, I just wanted to write about someone realizing they were being mind controlled but being OK with it. Try not to think about it too much.
2.7
Success chance: 80%.
Necessary roll: 20. Rolled: 66. Success.
Success chance: 80%.
Necessary roll: 20. Rolled: 31. Success.
Spoiler: Winning Votes
[] Move your lunch-dates with Madison out to the same courtyard that girl is sitting in. Madison might not well know what you’re planning to do with the girl, but you don’t need her to be aware— you just need the proximity so you can see what effect you’re having on the girl. Multitasking is great like that.
[] There’s another girl in your class you’ve got your hooks into; Charlotte. She’s not exactly useful for any of your plans, but she’s cute, and you’ve already made enough progress with her that you should be able to bring her completely under your influence easily enough.
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Content Warning
Please note that this chapter includes significant mind-control themes, and plays off Taylor's control issues. If mind control makes you uncomfortable, please skip this chapter. There is a summary at the end of the chapter detailing the events of the chapter so you do not miss any plot progression.
You wake up on Monday morning to find the temperatures hovering somewhere above freezing, for once. Well, somewhere above freezing your ass off, at least. The temperature hasn’t hit actual freezing temperatures for a while now, which is unsurprising, since winter is officially over and spring should have started a week ago.
You keep your jogging and shower short today so that you still have time to try and apply some makeup before you go to school. It’s not quite as easy for you as it seems to be when Victoria does it—you’re forced to try and rub it off so you can reapply it twice.
It’s lucky you cut your run short this morning, because by the time you get your makeup applied and rush out to drink your morning coffee, it’s time to leave for the bus. Even so, you’re nearly late—or, no. You’re not nearly late, the bus is just early for what you’re pretty sure is the first time ever.
It’s surprising how much a few minutes can throw off your schedule. You’re used to arriving and finding Madison either waiting at your locker or just putting your lunch in there. You’re definitely not used to being the one waiting for Madison.
At least you do have a way to occupy yourself, you think, as you pull out your phone and begin texting replies to all your girls.
Emma has been a good girl lately. Even after your dinner with her, she hasn’t tried to push her boundaries and send you a third text a day. It’s a good sign, you think. It might be a good test to try and lift her boundaries a little soon—see whether she falls back into old habits if you allow her to text you whenever she wants.
Amy has been texting you more often, too. Her replies are still fairly formal—“Hello, Taylor. How is your schoolwork going?” and the like—but you appreciate that she’s making the effort to keep in contact more.
You’re just about to reply to one of Sophia’s rare texts when you hear footsteps moving towards you and abruptly halting. Looking up, you see Madison staring at you with wide eyes. You can’t help but give her a wide, happy grin, which she quickly returns as she hurries over to you and throws her arms around you. She’s wearing the clothes you bought for her, the nice formal blouse and skirt. It looks odd and out of place in the school, but she’s wearing it anyway.
“Taylor!” she half-cries happily, burying her face against your collarbone. “You’re here early!”
You circle your arms around her, gently stroking her back. It feels good to have her in your arms. “Yeah,” you reply. “The bus got here early today.”
She just continues smiling, tucking herself against you. You allow yourself to lean back against your locker, ignoring the way the metal grilles dig into your shoulders as you position yourself so Madison can stand comfortably. After a couple of minutes of that, she suddenly stiffens, pulling away. You can’t help but make a little sound of loss, but you’re quickly cut off when she spins around to face you, eyes wide.
“I almost forgot!” she exclaims. “Dad was teaching me how to make cakes yesterday, so I could help him prepare some cakes for a fundraiser or something. I didn’t know what kind of cake you like, so I made you some cupcakes!” She rummages in her bag and produces a lunchbox, larger than the usual one, and holds it out for you with a proud look on her face.
You take the lunchbox and open it, peering inside. There’s half a dozen cupcakes arranged in two neat rows. They’re not the kind of perfect cupcakes you see in the bakery— they’re all misshapen and pockmarked, and one of them has dripped down the side and cooked, resulting in a cupcake that kind of resembles a waterfall.
Atop each one is written in shaky handwriting three small letters; “I <3 U”. You’d correct her on the grammar, but even if you could bring yourself to say anything negative about the cupcakes, there’s just not enough room atop them to write the full words.
“Thanks,” you manage to bring yourself to say eventually. “They look delicious.” Madison beams up at you. And despite their weird and often misshapen appearances, they do look delicious. None of them look burned or undercooked, and you can see small blueberries in one and chocolate chips in another.
“I can make you more if you want,” she says with a self-satisfied smile. “Dad showed me how and we still have lots of ingredients left over. And he’s showing me how to make frosting this afternoon! Just tell me which one you like best and I can make you as many as you want.”
You take the box from her, freeing up her hands so you can take her now-free hands in your free hand. Looking around to make sure nobody's around, you draw her over to you and drop some quick kisses on her face— one on her cheek first, then one on her nose, then one on her lips. You restrict yourself to that, because otherwise, you know that you’d get so drawn into her that you’d forget to keep an eye out for anyone else in the hallway.
“I usually prefer banana—oatmeal,” you say lowly, “but I’ll eat any muffin as long as it’s yours.” Her cheeks go inexplicably red at the comment, but you forge on before she can get distracted by thoughts of cookery. “I’d prefer desserts we can share together, though. You should help me taste them and find one we both enjoy.”
Her face is still red now, but her smile is even wider. “Okay!” she exclaims. “We can try them together at lunch, if you want.”
“Hm.” You crack open the lid of the lunchbox, peering inside again. Looking idly over them, you select one of them—a muffin with pale white choc chips in it and soft pink handwriting—and take it out before you turn and put the lunchbox in your locker. “Okay, but I want to try this one now.”
She looks at it, then nods decisively. “That one was tricky,” she notes. You begin to walk, and she hurries to follow you, positioning herself perfectly so she can keep holding your hand as you walk through the halls. “The chocolate kept sticking to the pan, so I wasted a lot of it.”
You hum. “Maybe it’s the wrong kind of chocolate,” you muse. “When I tried once, it all burned to the pan, but then Dad gave me some baking chocolate and it worked fine.”
“It could be,” she concedes. “Dad will tell me tomorrow. Do you like the cupcake?”
So far, you haven’t taken a bite of it, and you’re nearly at the classroom. You look down at it consideringly, then raise it up to your mouth—and lick a swipe of the frosting on top off, obliterating the left half of the heart and the U in one go. Then you give Madison a teasing smile. “It’s delicious.”
She pouts. “I meant the cupcake.” Despite her words, she’s not even looking at the cupcake, just looking longingly at your mouth.
The two of you have arrived at the classroom by now. Only one other person is here this early in the morning. Charlotte. She’s sitting against the wall opposite the two of you, her head buried in her World Issues textbook. For the moment, you ignore her, and instead slide down to the ground opposite the girl and tug on Madison’s shirt until she slides down beside you, contorting her legs awkwardly to avoid giving anyone a good view up her skirt.
You’ve teased her enough, you think. Taking a bite of the cupcake, you consider it. It’s a bit sweet, but it’s fairly nice regardless. You tell her so, adding, “Maybe a little bit less sugar?”
Madison scrunches her nose. “Hmm,” she says doubtfully. Holding out her hand, she asks, “Can I have a bit to taste?”
You consider it for a moment, then tear off a chunk of the cupcake—a piece of the bit you’d licked earlier, you note. Madison doesn’t seem to mind at all when you hold it out for her; she just leans over towards you and takes it with her mouth, briefly enveloping your fingers between her lips. You can’t hide the shiver that runs through you, and across the hall, you can see Charlotte shift uncomfortably.
You frown internally at that.
Extending your powers over to Charlotte, you quickly tear off another chunk of the cupcake, holding it out to Madison while you monitor Charlotte’s emotions. Your girl obediently moves her head to take it once she finishes the bit you’d previously fed her. As she does, you feel Charlotte’s emotions burble—an odd mix of annoyance, disdain, and faint traces of lust. Which, well. Isn’t that interesting?
Experimentally, you tear another chunk off and hold it up for Madison, holding it in the palm of your hand rather than in your outstretched fingers. This time, when she eagerly leans over and takes it, you pull lightly on Charlotte’s lust—just a small tug, an experimental pull to see how she reacts. She shifts uncomfortably again, turning her gaze back to her book momentarily. That doesn’t last long, however, and her gaze is soon drifting back to the two of you, annoyance and disdain bubbling beneath the surface, but weaker this time.
You keep this up for a few minutes, feeling Charlotte’s disdain slowly disappearing, replaced by a rising lust. Her gazes slowly become softer, less annoyed, as she watches the two of you interact.
A soft haze descends on you, and your eyes flutter closed momentarily. You draw Madison closer to you, encouraging her subtly to lean into you.
It’s a heady feeling, this—to have Madison quite literally eating from the palm of your hand, while you gently manipulate Charlotte’s mind, damping down her disgust and ratcheting up her lust. That kind of manipulation is okay, you’re pretty sure.
By the time the first of the other students in your class show up, Madison has finished the cupcake, and has moved on to sucking your fingers clean as you stroke her cheeks. Charlotte—her disgust at the two of you hasn’t disappeared, hasn’t even been overwhelmed by the lust she’s feeling—but by the red in her cheeks and the way she can’t meet either of your gazes as she hurries to her feet, she’s definitely been affected by what you’re doing.
