#please lets all stick around and make it through this

[eupheme]

— you’re the one that I want

worst!wolverine/logan howlett x f!reader

tags: soulmate au, roommate!wade & neighbor!f!reader, valentine’s day fic, blind dates, use of alcohol, flirting, light misunderstanding, semi-public makeout

rated m - 2.6k

a/n: my submission for the loveuary challenge hosted by the wonderful @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt! thank you so much, this was so fun 💘

“You really think there’s anyone worth my time at that shithole?”

Wade gasps in offense.

“Sister Margaret's is a New York institution. If America’s Sweetheart was a bar, she’d be it.” His eyes narrow, voice lilting as he adds, “Besides, you really want to miss out on the chance to meet your soulmate?”

“No fucking way.”

Wade’s groan stretches long, as his head lolls against the back of the sofa.

“Logan. Peanut. My sweet cheese, my good-time boyeh, please-” His voice strings out the syllables, “I need you to do this for me. I already set it all up, all you gotta to do is go.”

Logan’s scowl deepens, with a sharp jerk of his chin, “I’m not fucking going.”

A sigh then - Wade’s legs stretching wide, as he springs to his feet. Circling around to where Logan leans against the counter, looking every bit rooted to the apartment as the thing growing in the corner of their shared shower.

“I need this. I am finally back on track with Vanessa, and this is a real chance for me to knock it out of the park.” A finger raises, before poking him in the chest, “But I can’t have Mr. Grumpy Gus cramping our style. You feel me?”

An eyebrow arches up, but Wade barely pauses for a breath, “Besides, would you really stand a girl up on Valentine’s Day? Don’t you know what that could do to her psyche? What if that was her thirteenth reason? You really need that on your conscious?”

The filthy scowl Logan shoots him is like a three claw punch to the gut. Wade at least has the decency to look ashamed - fingers splaying wide in placation.

“Just give it a shot. If it all goes south you can just come right home. I won’t even be mad, even if it’s mid-coitus. Pinkie swear.”

The visual makes Logan’s lip curl. Arms crossing over his chest, as his head tilts, “You really think there’s anyone worth my time at that shithole?”

Wade gasps in offense.

“Sister Margaret's is a New York institution. If America’s Sweetheart was a bar, she’d be it.” His eyes narrow, voice lilting as he adds, “Besides, you really want to miss out on the chance to meet your soulmate?”

Wade misses the sharp look Logan shoots his way. His tone still teasing, missing just how deep his comment thrums through him.

How it meant something different in his world, rather than the shallow note of connection it seemed to mean here.

It didn’t matter, anyways. There’s only one person in the city he might not mind seeing, and surely you would have other plans.

Logan’s seen your recent date, stopping by the door down the hall in the evenings. Doesn’t much care for his goody-two-shoes vibe, the State University tone.

The memory sends his skin itching. An urge to move - and it’s enough that his arms are loosening.

Deep down, he really doesn’t want to stick around. Had been planning on hitting up a bar, anyways.

Can’t take much of this lovey-dovey shit, never been one of his favorite holidays.

And if his drinks are on Wade’s tab, then…

He’s sure he can let whoever the poor girl is down quick.

“Yes. Yes! Thank you, bestie.” The resignation must flick across his face, because Wade’s fist pumps with triumph, “This is gonna be great, I promise. Even better than the Tony Awards.”

Logan ignores another asinine reference - a final warning leveled his roommate’s way, as his hand curls around the doorframe.

“You got thirty minutes.”

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Wade grins.

“That’s twenty-nine too many.”

The heel of your boot bounces underneath the booth. Fingernails drumming on the surface of the sticky table, trying to keep your eyes from flicking to the door each and every time it opens.

This was stupid.

You don’t know how you let Wade talk you into this.

Sister Margaret’s was not your idea of a place to meet someone - romantically, at least. And therefore, the chances of this evening going well were historically low.

But it’d beat your second year of ordering in - the prices hiked up with the holiday. Of another movie marathon alone, picking apart the sordid end of your last relationship.

Anything was better than that, surely.

You’re double-checking your phone for the third time, confirming the text noting which booth to be in - the back left corner one next to the totally-not-a-bloodstain on the floor - when a shadow passes over the edge of your table.

Eyes catching on the flannel that creeps into your vision. Worn, in shades of brown and muted red - a slow drag upward across a broad chest, then higher. Your breath catching, as your mind whirrs - racing catching up.

You should tell your upstairs neighbor “hi”.

Something that resembles polite, normal conversation.

But you can’t seem to find the words.

Because as he slips into the booth, you’re quickly realizing he might just be here for you.

What you do find is -

“Is this a joke?”

Logan’s frown deepens.

A snarled out “what?” that sends a jolt though you, but you’re too confused to examine it. Left babbling, trying to make sense of this.

“Is this because I told Wade he’s a winter?” Your voice pitches higher, “Because his photo was really blurry, and I don’t even do that kind of color analysis-”

Logan scoffs, a hand braced on the table as if to push himself up. Hesitating for the briefest of moments, before he’s asking, “Why would this be a joke?”

Your lips part.

“Because-”

Because you’re here in the hopes of finding someone else. A distraction.

Unsure what to make of this magnetic feeling deep inside your chest when you see him. Having to hold yourself back from taking one step, and then another, when he lingers near the mail room.

You had hoped tonight would help you erase the man that surely does not even know you exist.

“…because I’m sure you have better things to do then uh, do this.”

“This?” He hedges, a brow arching.

“A blind date.”

Something in his eyes flicker, when you finally meet them. The little mark between his brows deepening with the rough rasp of his voice. ”You really didn’t know who you were meeting?”

“No,” Your head shakes, “No. Did you?”

His eyes drop for a beat, before they flick back up.

“No.”

Your tongue dips out to dampen your lip, and you miss the way his eyes track the movement. The question slipping from you without thought.

“Would you have come, if you did?”

The silence stretches out, tipping towards uncomfortable.

And yet, he does not leave. A leather jacket still slung across the back of the booth, as his fingers tap the table.

“I’m gonna grab a beer,” He deflects. “You want another?”

Logan’s head dips towards your drink, only the glittery dregs of red remaining, a cherry nestled against the ice.

Your shoulder lifts, about to answer that you probably shouldn’t. That you’ve already made enough of a fool of yourself.

His lips curl at the edges, before you can voice your answer. ”Wade’s buying. Thought we could make a dent in his wallet.”

“Oh.” The word draws out, as your smile stretches.

So, not a rejection.

It might just be an invitation, actually.

“Definitely.”

It’s not how he thought his night would go.

Should have peeled himself away twenty minutes ago, somewhere between your second and third drink and the wind of conversation.

Slunk back home, or to another bar.

Had thought about it, in that moment when you confessed that you hadn’t known he was meeting you.

The thought of it being a disappointment turning his stomach, until you had voiced your question. The hope that wound its way between your words.

Unable to answer, even if he knows what it would have been.

The alcohol flickers inside him, a brief respite to the burn of sore muscles and a bone-deep ache that he’s carried since his world.

Should stop drinking this shit, but he’s been taking it a day at a time. Swapping rubbing alcohol for anything with a kick. That for vodka. Vodka for beer.

It’s not progress, but it’s something.

The feeling never sticks around, but something about you almost mirrors it. A wash of calm as his chin cups in his palm. Senses narrowing down, blocking out all the noise around him.

Eyes snagged on the curl of your lips around the white straw, the pink tinge of gloss left behind.

Helpless, to the tug at his arm as you loosened. The point of your finger to the empty dart board, how he had followed two steps behind.

You’ve missed a handful of your throws. Two darts stuck between the numbers running around the rim. His lips twitching at the frown that pulls down the corner of your lips, the hand that braces at your hip.

“So, did Wade guilt you into coming?”

Your fingers brush his, as you hand over the darts.

“You could say that.” He grunts, eyes slipping towards the board. Still catching the scrunch of your nose, as he amends, “But, like I said. Didn’t know.”

It’s not an answer to your question before, but it’s something that tip-toes close to one. It’s enough that your expression softens - an excited touch against his shoulder when his throw flies true.

“Same.” Your fingers curl against his shirt, transfixed. Hazy - those walls around you from before unstacking one brick at a time, “Almost didn’t go. But you know Wade, and his puppy-dog eyes.”

Logan didn’t.

“-and I uh, thought it would be nice. To not be alone, this year.”

He missed his next throw. A side-eye shot your way.

“Alone?” The word comes out close to a scoff.

Can’t pretend it hasn’t been eating at him. Wondering what the hell Wade had been playing at, inviting you.

“Figured you’d be out with your boyfriend.”

The last dart sinks into the green rim around the red center.

“Very funny.” You hum, stepping up to take his place. A glance over your shoulder, to find him still watching you.

That frown back, as your head tilts.

“I really don’t know who you’re talking about.”

He wished he hadn’t asked. Should have just stayed silent, taken this night for what it was.

“Thought I’ve seen a guy around the last couple weeks.“ Logan hands shove into his back pockets, “Just figured…”

Your expression persists. His fingers tap his temple, “Grey streaks, suit.”

As if he doesn’t have some of his own.

“Oh!” Recognition flickers, as you spin back, “Definitely not boyfriend. He’s like, super married.”

Your shot flies wide, bouncing off the wooden walls behind the board - a little huff as you turn back, “They’re due to have their first in a couple months. Been helping them pick things out for the nursery.”

A finger pointed back towards yourself, in explanation, “Figured I could help. Interior designer, and all.”

Something like relief flickers in his chest. Another feeling - deeper, hungrier - almost drowns it out.

The words smooth, as they slip from his lips.

“No guy, then?”

The shake of your head is slow, and that sweet smell that clings to you curls around his senses. Thickens, even - betraying you.

It gives him the confidence to step into your space. Emboldened by the look you give him from beneath the thick fan of your lashes. Hope, burning once again in blown-dark pupils.

“Here.”

A hand touches at your hip, as he eases closer. Plucking the dart from limp fingers.

“You’re holding it too far back. Lemme show you.”

He never gave a damn about this game, but he’ll take any excuse to get closer. To feel the way you stiffen beneath his fingertips, the hitch of your breath.

The shot is lined up.

His wrist extends as he aims, chest brushing against your back, and suddenly - your palm curls around his forearm. Fingers splaying wide as a jolt arcs through his nervous system, shooting from his hand to his core.

Your words muted - it’s only his enhanced senses that have him catching the tail end.

“-like me.”

He makes a rough sound, and again you turn to face him. The prick of goosebumps as your finger trace the dots at his wrist.

“I said you have freckles like me.”

The knitted cuff of your sweater tugged back to show him how yours mirrors his, down to the very last mark.

Time stands still.

Logan’s dreamt about this moment for decades.

Using that little crisscross of dots like a compass.

Guiding him through life - thinking there had to be something about the mansion, its symbol, that tied it to him. Taking on the mantle that mirrored the shape, ink-like against his skin.

Thinking it would lead him somewhere.

Even if he’d been certain he had missed it, somewhere in those two-hundred years. Ships passing in the night, across a lifespan that has stretched far too long.

Always trying to push away those “what ifs”. Had stopped looking a long time ago. Never once, since he’d crossed over. Told himself he was luckier not to have a match.

Not to know love like that - because one day he’d have become acquainted with the loss of it, as well.

He’s had enough of that, in his lifetime.

And this - it’s not what he ever expected.

Finding you in a world that’s not his own. His match with a girl, living on the floor just below his.

It leaves him mute, as your eyes linger.

Not sure what to make of him, he’s certain. Of the part of his lips, his own heart hammering beneath his ribs.

Unsteady, for the first time in decades.

His name pulls him out of his thoughts. Cherry-sweet on your tongue, lilting into a question.

The dart is thrown by muscle memory.

Your fingers still pressed against his mark, as it hits dead center.

He takes his prize, back in the shadowed corner of the booth.

Your eyes already slipping shut, when his fingers tuck under your chin. Lips parting, and he finds himself grateful again for those animal-senses.

Permission in the galloping of your pulse beneath your skin. The held breath as you wait, balanced on the knife’s edge of anticipation.

The soft inhale of breath, when his mouth slants against yours. Fingers curling in his shirt once more, as you part for him.

Swallowing your moan, with the sweep of his tongue. Sweet - grenadine syrup blending with you, and it’s like he cannot get enough. The kiss drawing out, insistent and hungry - a shuddering breath when it finally breaks, as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Pliable, in the way he tugs your thigh over his, seating you in his lap. How you follow, so easily.

Fitting against him as if you were meant to.

And maybe you were - the thought sending his fingers tightening, where they grip at your hips.

As if he won’t let you go, now that he’s found you.

You’re right there with him. Just as affected - your palms smoothing over his chest. Tracing the chain biting into his neck, sinking into his hair when they loop around his shoulders.

Letting your hips rock - a tentative movements, paired with the softest sighs.

Growing bolder when you feel him beneath you - how he encourages it, with the press of his palms. The tips of his fingers slipping under the hem of your sweater, a pulse of pleasure at the way you shiver with his touch.

The second gift of his name, and it’s the one he’ll remember most. Drawn-out. Needy, and it only makes him want to hear it more.

Another breath huffed out, a heady throb against the too-tight confines of his jeans.

There’s the crack of a pool cue, a cheer rising at the table across the room.

The bubble bursts.

Bringing him back - even in this dim corner, it’s still far too public for everything he needs to do to you tonight.

A shared thought, your lips kiss-swollen as they press against his neck.

“Can we go home?” You husk, into the shell of his ear.

Something deep inside him purrs at the word. Possessive, wrenching a growl from deep in his chest as he carefully eases you off him.

Pushing himself up from the booth - a hand coming to wrap around your wrist.

Thumb pressed against your pulse, feeling it thrum beneath your skin once more.

Right against your mark.

He’ll tell you tomorrow.

He’ll have time - he’s always had that.

Never been grateful for it.

Not until now.

thank you again, lub and kiwi! I am so excited to check out the fics for your event, and happy I was able to contribute one! I’ve wanted to write a soulmate fic for some time, this has me 👀💖 about writing more!

[esote-rika]

on the stroke of midnight | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: angst Summary: A pregnancy scare with your boyfriend leads to a serious conversation about the future Content: one mention of a foot fetish, pregnancy scare, talk of pregnancy and kids, established relationship, mentions of schizophrenia and mental illness, Cinderella and time as an extended metaphor and motif??? (Idk I was writing this while simultaneously writing my thesis on fairy tales oops), open ended ending  Word count: 2.2k A/N: I don't want kids and this fictional man does, so I'm making it everyone's problem. This is my first time writing pure angst, so uh, please let me know if I should continue with this genre or just go back to smut and fluff lol. Also shoutout to @notlongtolove and @darkmatilda who let me yap abt this ily girlies.

Ever since you started dating, Spencer Reid has been trying to figure out why you love Cinderella so much. He’s read through different academic papers, come up with his own silly interpretations that either make you gasp, or cry from laughing, and often leaves you marveling at his wonderful brain and all the ways it twists and turns. He likes games, you’d established that from the beginning when he ended your first date with a friendly game of chess. He had let you win twice before you’d caught on, and called him out on it.

It was on the second date when you brought up your love for fairytales, expecting an amused laugh at best, and an oh so you're one of those Disney adults at worst. However, you got neither. Instead, Spencer Reid had launched into an explanation of the cultural significance of these stories, asked you about your favorite, and then proceeded to tell you about the different versions of it across history and continents. Somewhere between the Americas, he'd cut himself off, blushing furiously, before asking you why you loved Cinderella so much. 

By then you had already decided he's perfect.

You didn’t tell him the reason that night; you thought it was too pathetic to share on a second date.

“I’ll tell you if you stick around.” you had said cheekily, hoping that maybe the temptation of a secret will allow you to keep him longer. 

He had laughed, “So you’re baiting me into another date?”

“Is it working?”

“I would’ve asked you out again regardless.”

That had been the night you got your first taste of his lips, and you’ve found yourself hoping time would stretch on forever. If moments could be bottled up, you would have done so at that moment, kept it in your pocket for the rest of eternity.  

Five months of bliss have passed since. Your theory of his perfection just kept being proven correct throughout the entire time, the way he’s trying so hard to communicate with you and make up for plans that get shelved due to the demanding nature of his job. He’d come up with different explanations for why you love Cinderella, until it became a game of its own; him searching through the contours of the fairy tale and you denying everything he comes up with. 

At one point, he’d asked if it was simply because you had a feet fetish and you had to start wearing socks everywhere because the sight of your own feet would make you giggle.

You don’t mind it, the games, the way he insists on learning this about you. Spencer Reid's mind desires to understand how everything works, to turn over and mull and analyze, and the first step to that is by keeping track of the variables. You have always found this endearing. He knows how fast you can read — it depends on the genre according to him, but it’s somewhere around 350-400 words per minute. He knows your favorite stories and music, has found connecting themes between them, and now he’s trying to see where your love for Cinderella fits in all of it. Hell, he even keeps track of your cycle for you, resulting in perfectly timed moments shared in bed where you’re ravished, and he’s chanting your name, and the two of you are gasping for a god that neither of you really believe in.

When you miss your period, he notices before you even do, quietly offering two boxes of pregnancy tests. He kept track of how long it took before the results finally appeared — one test took three minutes and eight seconds, the other one three minutes and twenty one seconds. It had felt simultaneously like three seconds and three decades. 

That was nearly six days ago. Nearly a whole week has passed, and what you had assumed to be an insignificant fissure seems to have widened into a crack. It’s a rare night off for him, a moment of domesticity that should be relished, but instead, you wonder if the cracks have somehow turned into something else. A fracture. You move around the kitchen together like magnets with similar poles, close but never quite touching. It feels like a chasm between you. 

Dinner in the oven. Only the slow tick of the oven timer disrupts the silence, though it doesn’t really disrupt as much as it joins. Background noise, a lull that seems to melt with the silence to highlight the stifling atmosphere. He’s tossing a salad, facing away from you. You both know it is ready to be served.

His name is whispered into the tense air, your voice croaking at the last syllable, “We need to talk about this.” You watch as he tenses, back uncharacteristically straight, and your heart sinks to your stomach. 

“I guess we do.” He never guesses. Spencer Reid uses words that are accurate, god knows he has the vocabulary for it. So this, to guess, the hint of skepticism makes your skin crawl. “What is this, again?” 

You scoff. He can be so deliberately obtuse sometimes, “I don’t know, Spence, you tell me. You’ve been acting weird since I took that pregnancy test.”

He doesn’t look at you, but he does answer, “I just— I don’t understand why you were so relieved about the results.”

You’ve had an inkling this whole issue is about that moment. Both of you hunched on his couch while you waited with bated breath. He’d timed it, one stick taking three minutes and eight seconds, the other three minutes and twenty one; both had contained negative results. 

You still remember it, the utter relief that washed over your body, the way you threw yourself into his arms at the confirmation that he hadn’t accidentally gotten you pregnant. You’d said thank god so quickly, face buried at the crook of his shoulder, so relieved that you hadn’t really noticed his reaction.

“Spencer,” it comes out a sigh, patient and quiet, “We’ve been dating for five months. Of course I was relieved. Don’t get me wrong, I love you, but it’s a little too soon to add a baby to the mix.” Love. That abstract concept you’ve almost given up on, before he’d come into your life. You love him, you’re sure of it. It’s burrowed deep into your bones now, which is why you’re trying to get past this. Communication is the key to making a relationship work. You remind yourself you don’t need a fairy godmother to keep this going. You have agency of your own.

His head shifts, turning over his shoulder slowly, and those beautiful amber eyes meet your own. “Is that all?”

It feels like an accusation, even though you know he’s just trying to understand. You gulp, trying not to get defensive, “I suppose not. If I’m being honest, I was relieved because I don’t really want children.” 

There it is. A cardinal sin, a sickness of modern women. You wait for his words to turn bitter, the familiar accusations of selfishness, the condescension. 

Instead, he looks at you with wounded eyes, “You don’t want children with me?”

“What? That’s not what I said.”

He pauses, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps. The oven continues to hum softly in the background, its built-in timer clicking at equal intervals. In a different context, it might have given you a sense of peace, but right now it feels mocking. Your time is almost up.

“Spencer, that’s not what I said, honey.”

“Yeah, I heard you.” he turns back to the salad.

You watch him helplessly, searching for any way to bring him back to you.

“You kept asking about my mom,” he murmurs, “It’s not that I didn’t want you to meet her, it’s that, it’s—well, she’s in a home. A– a mental facility. She’s schizophrenic.”

This is not how you expected this conversation to go. “Spencer.”

“I guess, you know, that’s genetically passed down, and it’s no secret that my teammates suspect I’m on the spectrum, so my genetic makeup isn’t exactly the most desirable in terms of a partner with whom you would want to—to procreate.”

God, you wish he had been like most people and accused you of being a selfish bitch instead. 

“No,” you gasp, crossing the space between you. His hand is cold when you wrap your fingers around it. Unfortunately, you don’t think you have any warmth to give. Your own hands are clammy, but you try anyway, tugging it away from the tongs he’s using to mindlessly swirl at the contents of the salad. “It’s not like that at all.”

“It’s not?”

“No. And I’m sorry about your mom, I–I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to tell me about her.” the words feel futile, worthless. You’re entirely unprepared for something like this. He hasn’t told you much about Diana Reid, and you’d given him space, and now… now you understand why.

A beat as he considers. His body angles towards you now, his stance hunching forward into that familiar slouch you’ve come to love. You can’t tell if he’s relaxed or defeated, and that uncertainty burns in the back of your throat. “So you just don’t—”

“I don’t want kids, plain and simple. It’s got nothing to do with your genes, or your suspected autism, I just…” You falter, hands tightening over his own. You wish you could be more eloquent, but there’s so much uncertainty, so many truths being dropped in the span of minutes. You wait for more questions, for the inevitable but aren’t you worried about your legacy? Wouldn’t you get lonely? Motherhood is fulfilling for women. Sentiments you always get when you share this particular choice. 

You prepare your arsenal of responses, defenses you’ve practiced and perfected throughout the years, ready for any attempts to make you change your mind.

Somehow, he manages to choose the most devastating response instead. Muttering so quietly you almost don’t catch it, Spencer says, “But I do.”

You wonder how you got this long without ever talking about this? How had you gone five months with him, allowed yourself to let your walls down and fall in love, memorized the scars and calluses all over his body without ever discussing the topic of children? It seems silly, most people talk about that stuff from the get go, don’t they? To see if they would be compatible in the long run? 

But you’ve never had that before, the luxury of future plans. You’ve come to accept that the floor will inevitably collapse beneath your feet, that your time with someone will run out. When you’re used to having an expiry date, you don’t bother to make plans. The only way to survive is to live in the moment. Cinderella and her midnight curfew. 

“Oh.” It’s a filler word, but the silence is beginning to get to you. You stare at your entwined hands. His thumb is running back and forth across your knuckles, the action familiar and soothing, and allow yourself a moment to believe, to hope, that there’s time left for this. That time would never run out.

His next words break your heart even more, “I know it’s silly, especially with how much risk is involved. With my job, my—”

“It’s not silly at all, Spence.” you gulp, trying to push past the lump in your throat as you remember how he acts around his godson Henry in those rare times he’s had to babysit, “You’d make a great dad.”

“You’d make a great mom too.”

“Spencer.”

“I’ve seen you with your own nephews. You’re great with kids.”

“Don’t—”

“I’m not trying to change your mind,” he finally pulls you in, lips finding the top of your head, “I respect your choice, I do. I’m sorry that I seem like I’m pressuring you.”

“You’re not,” it’s even harder to catch your breath when your face is pressed against him, but you don’t make a move. Losing air seems like a fair compromise if it means you get to feel his touch. The way this conversation went has you reeling, confused. You’d been prepared to defend yourself, to explain your choices and make him understand, potentially to argue. His respect and acceptance is an entirely different battlefield, but no less vicious. 

With all the courage you can muster, you speak the words into existence even though you dread the answer. “Is this a deal breaker? Having children?”

He’s quiet. You wonder if this is even still a battlefield. You wonder if this is surrender, quiet and unassuming, a white flag raised before the fighting even began. If it is, then it stings, his soft acceptance. You almost find yourself wishing he’d try to convince you instead if it means he’ll fight for you more.

Your mind wanders back to Cinderella, the little game you’ve been playing, the way you’ve been holding out on the answer because it amuses you to hear the variety of interpretations and musings he’ll come up with. You promised yourself you’d tell him when the time is right, but now you’re afraid he’ll never get the answer. It feels useless, the cat and mouse you’ve developed, not when you’re faced with a real, human issue. A difference in life goals. Something communication potentially couldn’t fix.

His heart is drumming relentlessly against your cheek. It brings you some sick sense of comfort, knowing that he’s just as terrified as you are. 

“Spencer?” Is this the end? Please don’t let this be the end, please don’t be another good thing I lose.

The timer on the oven dings, piercing in the tense silence. Your midnight curfew has come. Dinner is ready.

Happy Valentines <3 thank you for reading, here's the rest of my masterlist

Also tagging @olderwomenenthusiast ty for the interest it is here

[luvyeni]

jeno is obsessed with you and he knows it , so much he wants to put a baby in you …

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 이제노 x fem!reader )   ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. unprotected sex, breeding kink, pregnancy kink word count. 0.5k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library  !

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ i don’t write for him enough and it’s crazy cause he’s one of my biases

jeno couldn’t help it , he just loves you so much. he needs to be around you at all times, touching you in some way — cuddling with him is always a dream , his body on top of yours , like a weighted blanket but you loved it.

“jeno we’ve been like this for two hours.” you said ; he hummed, his head pressed against your chest. “best two hours of my life.” you giggled , seeing him smile. “jen , it’s starting to get uncomfortable.” you said , trying to wiggle around but he held you still. “just a bit more.” he wispered.

“you’re so clingy.” your fingers raked through his hair. “i just love you so much.” he said. “you’re obsessed with me.” he nodded. “very.” his hand rubbing your waist. “so obsessed that i think about you having my baby so you can never leave me.” you lightly slapped his back. “jeno don’t say that.” you said shocked. “just being honest baby.” he said , bringing his hand to your boob , giving it a squeeze. “jeno.” you sighed , the once cute moment , now turned into something heated. “seeing these filled with milk.” you could feel him getting hard as he caressed your boobs. “fuck.” he whispered pulling you tank top down. “so pretty.” he brought his lips to your nipple. “fuck jeno.”

he refused to detach his lips from you boobs , fixing him so he was now hovering above you , his hard cock aligned with your clothed core. “je-jeno please fuck me.” you moaned , grinding your hips up against him , he groaned against your boobs. spreading your legs wider , putting your hands into his shorts , stroking his cock , pulling him out of his shorts. he pulled away , groaning as you jerked him off. “gonna put a baby right here.”

you moaned; pulling your panties to the side. “fuck me.” you whined , lining him up with your entrance. “mmh , sh-shit baby.” he bottomed out. “you’re so wet , telling you i wanna fuck a baby into you makes you wet?” you nodded. “so wet , jeno i love it so much.” he grabbed both your calves , folding you in a mating press. “jeno!” you screamed out as he reached deeper inside. “shh , baby let me fuck you.”

and god did he do exactly that , he had your body folded in a mean mating pressing as he plowed into you. “love this fucking pussy baby.” he moaned. “so fucking good , gonna give you what you want.” he sped up , his tip kissing your cervix. “give you a pretty baby.”

“jeno please.” you begged , tears in your eyes. “please cum inside me , give me a baby , i want it.” hearing you beg for him to give you a baby set something off inside of you. “fuck baby.” he gripped your hips , his cock twitching inside of you. “take my cum like a good girl okay?” he groaned just as you felt the warmness of his cum. “mhm fuck baby , take my cum.” he rolled his hip , triggering your orgams. “jeno.” he pulled out , stopping at the tip. “don’t want it spill out.” he said , sliding back inside, making you moan.

“guess i have to stay inside you , just to make sure it sticks.”

©️LUVYENI

[gunnerfc]

Steamy | Alexia Putellas x Reader (18+) 

Summary: You and Alexia make use of the empty locker room after a training session

Warnings: smut minors DNI!, shower sex, semi-public? (team locker room shower), fingering (r receiving)

WC: 1.2K

You huffed, trying to catch your breath from the amount of running you had done during training. With a Champion’s League match coming up, training had been more intense to get the team ready. You were thankful that the training staff called it a day and dismissed everyone back to the locker rooms. 

“Bebé,” Alexia’s voice interrupted your thoughts of a relaxing, warm shower that would help your sore muscles. 

You paused in your tracks, the rest of your teammates continuing their journey to the locker room. “Hmm,” you hummed as you turned to face her. 

“Let’s do some one-on-one,” she smiled as she passed you a ball. Part of you wanted to say no, knowing you wouldn’t be the best opponent at the moment. But you sent her a small smile and made your way back onto the training pitch.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you were out there running through various drills, but when you missed an easy shot, you called it for a day. “Alexia,” you panted with your hands on your hips. “I think we should call it.” 

“Sí,” the blonde nodded as she mimicked your panting. You let out a breath as you both made your way back to the locker room, your hands grazing each other each time they swung past each other.

By the time you got to the locker room, it was empty. You must have been out there longer than you thought, considering all of your teammates had already showered and left. You were so focused on taking a warm shower that you zoned out, forgetting that Alexia was still also in the room.

The midfielder took her time taking her boots off, waiting for you to enter the showers so she could join you. Alexia waited a moment after hearing the water turn on, giving you time to get the water to the perfect temperature. 

You stood with a towel wrapped around your body as the water warmed up, occasionally sticking your hand under to feel the temperature. Once it was warm enough, you hung the towel up and stepped inside. You groaned softly as the warm water hit your skin, your muscles tight from the harsh training you’d done over the past few days. You were too in your head to notice Alexia’s presence as she pulled back the shower curtain. 

Her hands slipped around your waist, earning a small gasp from your lips. “You can’t scare me like that,” you whined, your head falling back on her shoulder. 

Alexia laughed softly, her lips grazing your earlobe. “Sorry,” she teased as she pulled you closer to her body. 

“What are you even doing in here,” the realization of where you were kicked in as you pulled away from her to turn and face her.

“We’re the only two here, bebé,” the blonde smirked, her hands slipping around your waist once more. 

You swallowed softly, your chest rising as the water fell over both of you. Neither of you spoke for a moment, too busy taking each other in. After a minute of silence, you pulled Alexia into a desperate kiss. 

She easily won control over you, her hands running over any inch of skin she could reach as her lips moved against yours. You moaned into the kiss, your hands locking around her neck as you pressed your body into hers. 

Alexia, with her lips still interlocked with yours, guided you back against the shower wall. Your back arched off the cool tile, your chest bumping hers. Alexia bit your bottom lip before pulling away, a sly grin gracing her lips. 

“You can be as loud as you are at home,” she mumbled as she leaned into your neck to leave harsh kisses along your neck.

“Ale– please,” you whined as you tilted your head back against the tile. You tried to hold in a moan, still worried someone might enter the shower area. But as Alexia slipped a hand between your parted thighs, the moan fell from your lips loudly. 

Alexia smirked against your neck as she left hickies all over your skin. Her hand slowly ran through your folds, teasing you to see how loud you would get. “Please what,” she mumbled as she tightened the hold her arm had on your waist. 

You whined at her words, desperate for her to give you what you wanted. “Stop teasing me,” you cried, your hands digging into her shoulders. 

Alexia laughed softly but opted to give in, her fingers circled your clit a few times, earning broken moans from your lips. Her fingers slipped back down until they pushed into you, slipping in easily. 

Alexia moved her fingers antagonizing slowly, her thumb rubbing small circles on your clit with each thrust of her fingers. “F-fuck, baby,” you whined, much louder this time as the last bit of worry left your body. 

The blonde’s fingers sped up as she let go of your waist to hoist your leg around her waist. Her fingers slipped deeper with the new angle, earning a loud string of moans from your lips. “Good, babé,” Alexia asked, despite knowing the answer. 

You nodded quickly, your eyes screwed shut as your hips bucked against her hand. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you settled for the nods. You could feel the familiar coil in your lower stomach begin to break as your hips rolled in time with her fingers’ thrusts. 

“I’m – fuck – close,” you cried, your nails digging even harder into her shoulder blades. Alexia sped her fingers up, splashing the slightly colder water that was hitting your bodies with each thrust. 

“C’mon, mi amor,” Alexia teased as she pulled away from your neck to watch your expression as you came around her fingers. You let out broken moans as you came, your thighs shaking as you did so. 

Alexia slowed her fingers down, letting you ride out your orgasm until she pulled them out of you completely. You whimpered from the empty feeling as she moved your leg from around her waist. You stayed leaning against the wall, your legs too shaky for you to stand without support. 

“That wasn’t a productive shower,” you mumbled in between breaths. You opened your eyes to see Alexia smirking at you. 

“I think it was,” she shrugged, earning an eye roll from you. You both giggled after a moment and stood under the flowing water in silence. 

You went to speak, but a third voice from the door of the shower room cut you off. “Time to head home, guys,” the voice called before the door closed. 

Your eyes widened in shock hearing the voice which earned you a laugh from Alexia. You stuttered, trying to get a sentence out. 

“C’mon, you heard him,” Alexia teased as she turned the water off and opened the shower curtain to wrap a towel around her body.

You felt your skin heat up, worried that a staff member just overheard you as you had an orgasm. 

“Are you coming… again,” Alexia joked as she held the towel out for you, a cheeky grin on her face.

“Enough,” you grumbled as you yanked the towel out of her hands to wrap around your body. 

Alexia laughed as you stormed past her to head back into the locker room to get dressed. You know the odds of the staff member hearing the whole thing were slim, but that doesn’t mean you weren't thinking about the possibility of him hearing. Alexia spent the rest of the evening teasing you, saying things like he didn’t even need to be in the room to hear with how loud you were. Safe to say she got the silent treatment for the rest of the night.

[ishasturnz]

‘ Scotty doesn’t know ‘

png by: @aquazero

summary:Matt’s girlfriend and Nate finally meet in person for the first time, and things take an unexpected turn that’s way beyond just being friends.

w/c: 664

character count: 2982

warnings: porn with plot in a way, p in the v obviously, cheating, almost getting caught?, telling matt Nate is fucking his girl, rough sex, backshots, riding, somewhat rushed.

a/n: I tried my best especially for a car sex fic😭 i’m so glad you guys give me ideas because I swear I had NO motivation for the past few weeks.. ALSO GO LISTEN TO MUTT BY LEON THOMAS!!

It felt so good.

Yet it was so wrong.

It all started when we visited Boston around Thanksgiving, Which ended up with me meeting Nate.

Though he was a likable guy, we exchanged glances.

And not platonic ones.

The next time, Chris, Nick, Matt, and I went to Boston it gave me and Nate time to “catch up” with each other.

That's how I found myself in the backseat of his car.

FAST FORWARD

His hips started thrusting up, his movements going from slow and gentle to rough and fast. His balls smacked against your ass with each and every thrust.

“S-shit missed those so fuckin’ badly.” His grip on your hips was easily hard enough to leave multiple bruises, obviously not caring if Matt saw them or not, you’d just come up with another lie.

You guys were making such a fucking mess, all types of substances leaking all over the leather car seats, the windows were completely fogged up, thin layers of sweat dripping everywhere.

The two were completely in pure bliss before Nate’s phone started to ring. It was Matt. It was always matt.

“Shit it’s matt, y’gotta be quiet f’me” you only let out a quiet whimper in response. Your sweat hands slapped over your mouth before he answered the phone.

While talking to matt he flipped you over on your stomach so your whimpering and whining didn’t pick up as much.

“Wassup matt?” His pants somehow shallowed down making it sound like he isn’t going balls deep in his girl. “Are you guys almost ready? We’re trying to hurry up dude”.

Course he was acting entitled. As always. “Yeah just wait a few minutes, y/n’s looking for her- glasses” he lied through his teeth, somewhat trying to see if matt actually payed attention to small things.

“Oh alright, just like— try and hurry up a bit” Matt spoke before hanging up.

You don’t wear glasses.

The minute the screen went to the call screen and back to the message, Nate threw his phone into the front seat and went right back to driving into you.

"look so pretty taking my cock like a good little slut, you must love the idea of cheating on Matt with his best friend, huh? Do you?" Nate grunted, The degrading making you moan loudly.

A sweaty hand slapped against the window, “Nate,” you gasp, clenching around him. “That feel good pr-pretty girl?” You could only blubber out somewhat coherent sentences.

M’so close. I gotta—fuck, I gotta cum!” With each harsh snap of his hips, the sticky, creamy sappy mixture pooled up around the base of his dick.

“Yeah?” He paused so he could take a short breather. “You’re gonna cum? Shit— m’close too, where you want it?”

“I-in me please, please Nate I need it” His hips faltered before you felt his warm seed fill you up in long spurts.

His thrusts continued until your earth shattering orgasm came, making you see specks of white each time you blinked.

Winding down after a few moments of zoning out and panting, Nate opened his glove compartment and got out some napkins to wipe you and the seats up.

“Shit we gotta hurry up, it’s been a while,” Nate spoke out, grabbing a stick of deodorant and applied it to himself and handed it to you to apply.

“Nate— do you think they’re suspicious of us?” You spoke up, your voice slightly worn out but still clear as day.

“Yeah probabl—“ his phone rang again, a text from Matt, “I swear this dude”. He pulled up his pants and boxers while you continued to get dressed.

He reached for the backseat to grab his found and unlocked it. His fingers already typing.

“Nate what the fuck are you gonna say to him,” You spoke up while glimpsing over his shoulder. “You gotta tell him eventually y’know. Since you won’t do it”

“I’ll do it.”

MASTERLIST

taglist: @angvl3tears// @chrepsi// @tezzzzzzzz//@lailasnight //@theylovedemi //@courta13

[yelenasdiary]

Hiii! If its no trouble I'd like to request a fic!

(If it is just ignore this lol)

So the basic idea is Agatha comforting reader

You can make up like whatever reason you want for reader being upset I just cannot for the life of me find any Agatha comfort fics : )

Tyyy

You're Safe, My Darling

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x GN! Reader

Summary: Agatha comforts you after you wake up from a nightmare.

Fluff & Comfort

Warnings: None, if I missed any, please let me know! | 0.7K

AC: Thank you for sending this! I can completely understand the need for wanting more Aggie that isn’t so smut centred! I hope you enjoy this! x

Cupid’s Dream Masterlist 2025

Agatha’s back rested peacefully against the headboard as the moonlight’s comforting silver cast washed across the bedroom. Her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose; her eyes glued to the book in her hand while you slept peacefully beside her. One hand softly ran through your hair, evidence of how you fell asleep in the first place. Her eyes, following along with the black, small, printed words in her hand.

A strangled whimper left your lips, the sound instantly cutting Agatha’s attention from her book. Her expression softened, her gaze on you as your body trembled beneath the thick blanket. 

“Darling, wake up” Agatha murmured, her voice a low, soothing hum as she gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. 

You gasped, your eyes snapping open, wide and haunted. You sat up abruptly, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. “Agatha..” You chocked out, your voice raspy, barely above a whisper. Agatha didn’t hesitate to gently pull you closer, wrapping her arms around you for comfort. “I’m here, darling. I’m right here” she said, gently rocking you.

Slowly, your trembling subsided as you burrowed your face into the crook of Agatha’s neck, clinging to her as if she were the only solid thing in a dissolving world. The scent of her body lotion brought a sense of comfort. “Everything was…. burning….I couldn’t….save them” you began, remembering the horrible nightmare.

Agatha tightened her hold, feeling the raw emotion in your voice. “Save who, my dear?” She asked softly. 

You trembled again, “them…the innocents, trapped. The others….their scremas, I can still hear their screams” you went on as Agatha held you a little tighter, her heart aching with empathy. Your dream sounding all too familiar to the witch. 

“It’s okay my love, it was just a nightmare” the woman assures you, “you’re safe and nobody is trapped” she added, her voice thick with comfort as she gently pulled you back, cupping your face with care. Her eyes were soft as you met her gaze. “I would never let anything happen to you, ever. You’re safe sweetheart, I promise”

You stared into her eyes, searching for any sign that this might just be a part of your twisted dream. “This is the third dream this week” you replied, your voice full of fear. Agatha nodded, “I know, it’s been tough” she spoke, siding with you on your unspoken concerns. “Maybe we lay off on the horror movies for a bit” she suggested. 

“But you love horror” you replied. 

Agatha chuckled lightly, “I do but, if I want a horror show, I’ll just pop over to the Maximoff’s for 5 minutes”.

Her playful tone was enough to make you chuckle, “there is nothing wrong with them” you argued, playfully. 

“Ha! And there is nothing wrong with Rio either” Agatha said with a cocked brow. You leaned into her hold once more, the warmth from her easing the lingering chill. “Maybe we stick to action movies for a little while” you said softly. 

Agatha gently rubbed your back, “please none of those mission impossible films, I will cry out of boredom and don’t test me on that”. You chuckled once more, “don’t worry babe, I won’t force you to watch those!” You assured her.

“Thank Salem for that!” Agatha sighed with relief as you nuzzled into the crook of her neck again. Her lightful banter taking the edge off as you focused on the way her hand felt rubbing your back. Agatha smiled softly to herself as you made yourself comfortable in her arms, even though it was just a nightmare, she meant her promise to keep you safe.

The wind outside seemed to soften, no longer whispering through the trees. Your breathing began to slowly even out, “get some rest, darling” she said in a soft whisper, “I’ll be right here”. She added, pulling the covers over the two of you. With a gentle flick of her wrists, Agatha weaved a spell, a shield of protection to ease your mind. 

Soon, your body completely relaxed, your face serene and untroubled as you slept peacefully in the woman’s arms. She watched over you, her eyes filling with love as she watched the soft rise and fall of your chest. She placed a kiss on the top of your head, not wanting to wake you.

“You’re safe my darling” she whispered.

Taglist:  @noturlondonboy | @deathbylesbianwitches | @yelenaslyubov | @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow | @boredandneedfanfics | @red1culous | @jooseboxxe | @starrycherie | @torihobby1226 | @filmedbyharkness | @the-lux-archives | @tigerlillyruiz | @uniquelesbianidiot | @n3bula-cats | 

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

[spvcekittie]

hey i would like to make a request but i couldn't find your rules so if you don't feel comfortable with it you can ignore this.

jinx x reader where the reader is jinx's girlfriend but they are at odds and haven't spoken in a few days and the reader goes to a nightclub and dances sensually just to piss jinx off and make her jealous so she roughly fucks the reader as punishment and they end up reconciling in the end

wc. 2.9k

warnings. doomed yuri, toxic jinx, toxic relationships, honestly everyone is mean in this, implied drinking, fingering, brief mention of death, ooc (especially lux), lux is jinxs’ ex, modern au, implied cheating

( divider creds: @cafekitsune )

the morning beams through the drawn curtains, doing little to protect you from the hot rays of sun. you accept defeat after a few tosses and turns, sitting up and wiping the sleep out of your eyes. it’d been days now, days since you’d stormed out of her apartment.

her lack of communication had been the last tick in your ticking time bomb that day, and you were just about ready to explode when she’d gotten all jelly at you dancing up a storm with your friend. her slim face shivered with anger, and she seethed through clenched teeth — when you asked her what was bothering her, hand on her thigh, she’d just turned away pouting.

jinx always had trouble with being dismissive, you know this. you’ve known about her past issues with relationships (not romantic!), but that’d never warranted her treating you like this.

sometimes she even uses the excuse that it’s her first relationship, ‘i don’t know how the fuck you want me to improve when this is my first time, and you’re on my ass about being better 24/7!’ or whatever she said.

something about giving her a break, too.

so that’s what you did.

drunken curses, middle fingers and slamming doors later and you’re stumbling down the street. it was easy to find where you were going when you were so honed in on her. like a moth to a flame, you arrive at lux’s house — she says about 3-3:30 in the morning, the blank stare she gave you with the information proof enough she didn’t appreciate it in the slightest.

your best friend had opened the door, groggy from sleep with hair sticking up on one side, coated in sweat. all you can think about is the sleep she must’ve had while you were busting your ass off arguing with jinx.

you turn to face the time on the clock, and—

BANG!

“it’s 5 in the evening, you know that?” she stands by the door, hand placed on her hip like a scolding mother would to their child. she shakes her head, silky light hair slipping over her shoulders.

“yeah, yeah..” you sigh, letting yourself flop back on the bed.

“don’t yeah yeah me,” she hisses, swinging off the door frame to saunter over to the closet in the corner of the room. “we’re going out tonight. but i’m starting to reconsider if you’re going out looking like that.”

you hear the smile behind her voice, and you scoff out a laugh, rolling your eyes up to the popcorn ceiling that groans under the forces of the wind outside.

speaking of — you sit up just enough to get a good look at her, brows furrowing at her outfit of choice.

“going out where? going out in the freezing cold where it’s reaching ridiculous wind speeds?” you eye the white dress she adorns, the glitter bouncing off the furniture and reflecting tiny sparkles, like stars on the yellow walls.

she narrows her eyes at you inquisitively.

“to that one place. y’know the one downtown everyone’s buzzing about. durr.” she states it like it’s obvious what she’s talking about, crossing the room with a pep in her step.

“you act like i should know what you’re talking about.” you call out to her. your limbs ache, every inch of your body feels like you’re on fire, fingertips sizzling as you grasp the covers to pull them back.

“then get to know!” she counters, poking her head around the corner. “please get yourself ready, because i know how you are when you leave shit to the last minute.”

poking your tongue from between your lips, you gesture her away with a swat of your hand, like a lingering fly. she obliges, shutting the door behind her and you find yourself alone once again — too alone.

the silence feels deafening, and all you can think about is jinx, how she’d fill that void right up. when you reach for your phone you’re half expecting to see her notification pop up, on any account really.

but nothing.

those random pictures she sends you throughout the day? none. not even a text.

the last message sent was that night, it was you giving the final text that simply read ‘fuck you’. the two ticks beside the text tells you she read it.

a pang of embarrassment washes over you. that was corny as fuck.

you wonder what went through her head when she saw that. did it make her upset? did it make her happy? was she glad to have to not worry about you anymore?

you’ve thought about texting her, truthfully you’ve thought about it more than you probably should.

fuck, you need a night to yourself.

if a night to yourself means going out with your ex’s ex to a nightclub, you’re screwed.

which is where you find yourself now, sat at a table with a group of lux’s other friends. you don’t know these people, and you feel weird barging into their space. thankfully, they’re welcoming enough — as welcoming as shoving half empty cups in your hands can get.

with the designated job of being the bartender for the night, you don’t do much other than just sit around. you feel lifeless, like a robot programmed to respond only when spoken to — which wasn’t often as they’d typically look right through you in a conversation.

lux would give you soft glances every so often, asking if you’re okay, but you can tell she’s caught up in the rush of being with friends.

that’s okay.

this was suppose to be a night to yourself anyway, you tell yourself as you wander seamlessly over to the bar. you could indulge in a drink or two — you need it.

you were just about to order yourself a drink before lux came rushing over, hands clasping your shoulders and shaking you there. you balk, eyes wide at the sudden whiplash.

“you have no idea who i just saw!” she cries, laughing between laboured breaths. you eye her curiously.

she must be talking about an old friend from school or something, or maybe one of her old hook ups she’d forgotten the name of. typical lux.

“uhh, no, i don’t.” you cock your head before she’s reaching out to pinch your cheeks between her head, snapping your head to the right to see—

oh, fuck.

“of course she’s here.” you spit, now feeling yourself growing riled up. your fingertips buzz, and you feel all the emotions you’d felt from that argument simmer back up. you feel hot.

she looks how she usually does; hardened at the edges. her heavy boots sit idly against the table in front of her, ringed fingers curled over whatever blue concoction she’s drinking. she’s rocking her usual hard rock wardrobe, leather studded jacket slung lazily over her shoulders that rise and fall steadily as she takes in the stuffy environment.

“right?” lux whispers back, like jinx could hear her from across the busy room. “imagine she followed you, like some creepy stalker!”

she jeers, wiggling her fingers teasingly over your shoulder till you cringe away, swatting at her hand. you feel yourself shrink when jinx’s eyes pass yours. time seems to slow, and you swear you feel your heart drop into your stomach. she doesn’t seem too pleased to see you, top lip quirking up into a grimace when her blue eyes flit to lux sitting perplexed by your side.

she looks like she’d drop kick you in an instant if she reached you, and that thought alone is enough to give you an ego boost.

you bite back the smirk that threatens to part your lips, and you glance over at lux, turning between the two of you. jinx seems to have lost interest at this point, shaking her head and turning to take a sip from her miscellaneous drink.

fuck it.

“let’s dance,” you swoon, snatching lux’s hand into your own. she seems starstruck, gazing at you through a filter jinx no longer seems to view you through.

you’re typically way too nervous to be doing this, let alone dancing by yourself. you move against lux with a lack of confidence — truthfully it’s her doing all the moving; hands guiding your body against hers, sliding down to your hips when you bump closer, giggling like two schoolgirls over a collective crush.

you’re clumsy on your feet, always have been. it’s always been jinx to guide your dancing, ‘step on my feet’ she would giggle, holding your hand to her chest like something sacred.

it’s when lux presses closer, hand coming up to grasp for your jaw that you realise what you’re doing.

you near gag in her face, cringing away and shoving her with more force than you would’ve liked.

“wha—!” she gasps, arms open like you’d just offended her and the generations before her. “hey, what did i do?”

you hear her from over your shoulder as you rush out — out and more importantly away from everyone. you weave through the crowd, shoving past ignorant people when necessary and apologising when you should.

the bathrooms.

‘no one goes in there’ you tell yourself as you round the corner, nudging the door open with your shoulder. out of everywhere to be at a club, surely peoples options don’t narrow down to the bathrooms in the back, no?

you’re pretty fucking wrong. terribly wrong.

your hand flies up to your mouth instinctively at the smell radiating from the bathrooms and the sight of her, hunched over the sink. her knuckles are white with strain, pressed against the countertop where her bag sits against the wall.

she looks rough.

her eyes meet yours through the mirror, lips curling up in a half grimace — half smirk.

“i saw you.” her voice is raspy and broken, carrying the weight of all her emotions.

“i should hope so,” you shoot back, letting yourself slump against the wall, arms crossed over your chest. you feel exposed now, more than in that room full of strangers you don’t know.

yet you still feel at ease, somewhat.

jinx clicks her tongue, licking over her teeth before turning to lounge against the sink, body now turned to yours.

“you’re hard to miss dancing up her like that.” you can taste the bile that spits from her mouth with those words, and you outwardly flinch, nodding away like you understand her point.

because you do.

why were you dancing up her ex like you didn’t have a girlfriend waiting at home for you? sure, a negligent one but still a girlfriend. you’re no better than her for what you did.

you’re not sure if its the twenty odd cups of coke you had (stomach issues) or the stuffy air that seems to clog your lungs — but you feel the bile rise in your own mouth. you want to scream, you want to cry.

you want to hold her, tell her how sorry you are. you want to feel her on you, you want to hit her, scream in her face for how she’d made you felt.

“i miss you,” you tremble. your voice is small, just enough to be heard by the two of you and the two of you alone. “i really miss you.”

you don’t meet her eyes, gaze drawn to the mismatched tiling on the floor by your feet. you kick at the grime gathering there, finding particular interest in a small stone amongst the sound of her breathing and your own heartbeat in your ears. you could die right now.

“prove it.” her voice, low and raspy, cracks through the otherwise monotonous space. the air shifts, and you finally peer up behind your lashes to meet her gaze.

she’s got a sultry look about her, studs on her leather jacket glinting under the mustard yellow of the buzzing light from above. it bathes her in the ugliest colour, yet she’s still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

you miss her.

you miss her, you tell yourself as you take a shaky step off of the wall.

you miss her, you justify as you crash into her body, arms slung around her shoulders as she smashes her lips to yours.

the slide of her hot mouth against yours is wet and sloppy, everything you’ve ever known with jinx. it feels comforting, like a bandaid soothed over a blister that’d been bugging you for days. her kisses have always been sloppy, but never like this. she seems to drown you, drown you in her love as she guides you against the sink, turning to cage you against it instead.

“i missed you,” you whisper between soft flicks of her tongue, taking it between your lips to suckle gently. she lets out a shaky sigh, slicking her bangs back with a trembling hand to reveal her sweaty forehead. she lets out a breathless snicker, brows drawing at the revelation like it’d hurt her.

her hands slide lower, lower till they find your hips, they roll forward to meet yours, rutting awkwardly, denim against your panties from where she’d hiked up your skirt.

you feel high, higher than you’d ever felt, higher than any drug could make you feel. a hand comes up to weave through your hair, the other leaving your hip to cup at the gap between the two of you. you jolt in her grasp, gasping out into her purple lips as she twists her head further into yours.

“i’ll take care of you,” she promises between sharp smacks of her lips, fingers drawing up and down your slit.

your legs tremble, ankles locking over the small of her back to bring her impossibly closer. you want to feel your nerves connect, you want to feel what she feels; know what makes her sad, happy, angry. you want to know what she enjoys and what she hates — you want to feel her on you.

“i want—“ your bottom lip wobbles, sucking in between your teeth when she teases at your entrance with a finger, now wrist deep in your underwear. “i want to feel you,”

something prods.

“you feel me yet?” she jeers with a sultry grin, watching as your eyes squeeze shut at the sudden invasion. you’re soaked enough to where it isn’t painful, but the stretch of her fingers is certainly something that always takes you by surprise.

your legs tremble at every thrust of her long fingers. they massage your walls in all the right ways, stroking down as they hit just that right spot — the one that gets you worked up and sweaty against her. your stale breaths ping pong between the two of you, and you’d find it disgusting how close you were had it been anyone else.

it will never be anyone else.

there’s only room for jinx— jinx jinx jinx jinx.

she’s all you can think of as you moan like some cheap whore, legs curling impossibly further, nudging her further and further into your space. her usually pale face is a hot pink, sweat dribbling down the side of her head in exertion. her fingers are coated in your slick, engulfed by your hot cunt that soaks up any ounce of dignity she swore she had left.

“you’re not seeing her again,” jinx grits her teeth, brows coming down over her eyes like the thought alone pushes her to the edge. “not after this.”

you nod, saying something instinctively under your breath in response to her nonsense babbling. she places a particularly harsh thrust that has your back straightening at attention, and her thumb meets your swollen clit.

“you hear me?” she pokes. “i’m all you need, you don’t need anything else. especially from some common whore like lux — what were you thinking?”

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, bringing a trembling hand up to cup her face. she meets your lips with her own with equal fervour, fingers pumping at an unstable pace. you feel that pit in your stomach coiling tighter and tighter, matching the rhythm of her thumb on your clit.

“ohhh, you’re sorry now?” she snickers, breaking from the kiss abruptly. her voice alone could get you off. “if you’re so sorry you’d come for me, wouldn’t you?”

“i want it—“ you gasp, meeting her hand with a sharp buck of your hips. you feel disgusting getting off in the club bathrooms, and it’s now that you’re on the brink of an orgasm you become hyper-aware of the space you’re in.

the blaring music thumping the walls, the dingy, musky smell coming from the bathrooms, the busted light trilling above the two of you. the indistinct chatter of other people outside.

you could get caught.

the thought does wonders, and your back arches, frame twitching further onto her fingers as you finally unravel. jinx lets out a sharp snicker, biting on her bottom lip as your nails dig into her back, cheek mushing into the leather on her shoulder. you sound like a straight up pornstar, something you should be ashamed of.

that would be if it wasn’t for her.

“i want you,” you finally conclude, legs dropping to her sides. your breath heaves, chest rising and falling at an uneven pace.

you wonder where lux is right now, if she’s looking for you — if anyone is looking for you, really. you doubt the sentiment. it doesn’t matter after all, all you need is jinx.

she withdraws her hand from your panties, fingers glistening with your slick, before she brings it to her mouth to engulf them between her lips. she closes her eyes, like blissed out on the taste before slowly withdrawing them, letting them release with a pop for emphasis.

“you’ve got me.”

A.N sorry this is bad, i’ve been pretty demotivated but i just rlly wanted to get this out. hehe doomed yuri

[sxprot]

Can you please make Dandy x reader (romantic) headcanons? :0

I'm gonna embrace you again and again. Let your tears run free, let out your heart.

-----------------•☆

Author's Note: Sure...But I honestly don't know if it satisfies you. Is that what you wanted to ask...? Dear me, I get confused easily. You could request another if it isn't what you wanted, I will do it as compensation for my mistake.

Tw: bad grammar, ooc ig, ass writing

I hope u like it!! Have a great day too!

Dandy x Toon!reader (gn)

-----------

DANDY

It's no secret that he considers you as his favorite. Nearly everyone could see that from the way he treats you, from the time he gives you medkits, discounts,... You were aware of that, of course. But you never once comment on his behavior toward you, thinking of it as just a normal gesture between friends.

"Oh hello there, friends!" He perked up from the mere sight of you and your friends, returning to his shop.

He grew fond of you when you accepted to be his friend. When he's lonely, it's you who brightens his days up like a miracle. It's you that brings joy into his life.

You two would spend your days playing games, hopping around and being silly. Of course, you two are always close to each other, sticking with each other through thick and thin. It's always you that he would smile at, the charming smile that he would wear when you come in the elevator with your slightly beaten-up form

Despite the others asking why he would treat you differently, he would just smile, blithely saying that they're simply mistaken. Why would he do that? He sees everyone as friends, there are no silly things called favoritism, just them getting the wrong things inside their heads. Such blatant excuses that dare to slip out of his mouth...But actions always speak louder than words.

Although-! Dandy is a bit irritated when he gets ignored. He wants to be patient with you, for you to see that he does want the best for you during the ichor infection. He wants you to be safe, he sees you as a fragile and dainty little thing.

The way his face would twist when he saw you interacting with others, the close distance and the way you seemed so happy...Was he not enough? Supporting and helping you wasn't enough for little you?

And ah-! The flower would flinch when you asked him if he was alright, he simply just grinned and returned to his cheerful personality.

"Yes, I'm fine! How about you?"

But he wishes he could stop you from going. It pains him when he sees the one that he cherishes so much—getting hurt by Twisteds.

At last, Dandy is there in his shop, assisting everyone with items for their chance of survival. He has a glimpse of hope that someday this could end, despite how selfish he deems himself to be, he does want you to be happy along with the others.

Still, he watches everyone go, fending their own lives from the Twisted. He ponders about himself, the one that caused this mess.

Was he the true monster? And should he stay away from you? For the star of the show, he starts to question his choice, doubting if he really wants the best for you besides just putting everyone at risk, on the brim of death every day.

If sacrifice others are for his own happiness, does he really deserve your love? You certainly wouldn't like it when you're all alone with a monster.

(Alright, goodnight. I need rest before starting another request , i dont wanna bat my eyes on this anymore 😭😭💔)

[yokoluvv]

THINKING ABOUT...

the cute lil stalker who you met a few weeks ago, who seemed to take his part and leave after what happened last time, who you thought wouldn't be after your tail anymore.

you didn't think much of it, didn't really care, a one time thing. what you didn't expect was seeing him talking to your boss, with a uniform that was too much like yours. what a pesky bug.

it could be bearable, you thought; he was a feast for the eyes and didn't talk much, just doing his part of the work, occasionally slipping glances at you. over time he became a bit more... bolder, if you could call it that.

he started standing closer to you, sitting closer to you. wearing clothes that were not designed for the work enviroment, dropping an abnormal amount of pens; but you doubted your boss (or frankly anyone) minded it much. you didn't.

he was maddening, and he knew that, but if you cave in and gave him what he wanted, another confrontment, he would win. and you could work with a bit of challenge. so you ignored his thight tops, mini shorts that barely covered anything; ignored his bumpings and pretty big eyes.

and the pretty thing noticed that too. because how could he not when he got cornered everytime he went to the bathroom, when everybody except you were touching and groping him? he didn't want their filthy hands on him, they were ruining his outfits that he wore just for you. he was saving himself for you and these mindless idiots who only thought with their dicks thought he was for them to savour? it made his blood boil.

he went through hell to get this job and you weren't even looking at him! (hell being batting his lashes and standing a bit too close the the boss)

thus, he decided to take the matters into his own hands, because he had eyes and he could see the tent in your jeans. that he caused.

he waited and waited the whole day, asking others around to do his work for him because he's just so weak, and he could save his energy for you insted.

and it was the end of work. finally, you thought. if only your boss didn't make you work over time on a friday. and your very cute colleague too for some reason. this was the perfect oppurtunity for him, he waited the whole day for this! endured the others' touchings for you! surely you'd reward him?

you found it harder and harder to just get your work done and go home. your pants were too thight for comfort and he was sitting there like he didn't know the effect he had on you. and the one sided challenge you had going on was getting less and less appealing. you just wanted to fuck him stupid.

time didn't seem to pass at all whatsoever. and you got pent up real fast. the challenge? oh, who cares, you weren't thinking with your brain right now, anyway.

the next thing you know you have the pretty lil stalker straddling your lap, rubbing against you like a bitch in heat, mewling in your ear. your hands on his hips as he tries to get the most friction he can, finally you're going to reward him for his hard work. he fumbles with his shorts, trying to get them off while his other hand unbuckles your belt.

he's already so wet for you, you don't even need to do anything. and you don't. he can do the work for you, right? he slips on your cock with a high pitched whine, hair sticking to his forehead as he starts to move. up and down, bouncing like a bunny. his moans get cut off everytime he falls back on your dick.

his hands on your chest for support as he does his best to please you, instinctively clenching around you as he throws his head back, a groan leaving his parted lips. he lets out an embarrassingly loud whine when you pull at his hair, his eyes rolling back. praise him, please, tell him he's doing such a good job and watch him cum so fast.

he's so warm and so sweet and you can feel the tension building up in you, your hold on his hips thightening as you thrust into him. he pants and shivers, his legs trembling when he feels the warmth in him, that alone making him cum again.

let's say the next day your co-worker might have to clean up his chair.

guess who got so horny he had to write it<3 this sucks but I was real pent up. inspired by that one person who asked me to do this if I ever made a part two ty for the idea

update: I hope it's okay to tag you sjjdiskdk @waddaloser

[goquokka00]

SKZ vs Shark Week (Minho ver.)

How would each member of Stray Kids handle you while you're on your period?

BANGCHAN | MINHO | CHANGBIN | HYUNJIN JISUNG | FELIX | SEUNGMIN | JEONGIN

WARNING: This is a female reader going through their period. If the topic of a period/anything that has to do with a period makes you uncomfortable, then don't read it. Just remember that there's nothing wrong with a woman's period. It's a perfectly healthy body function :)

THE MOODS When your period is close to arriving, it's very safe to say that you become an absolute nightmare. Even Minho thinks so. Your mood swings are seriously no joke, and so when you woke up crying only to yell at Minho for no reason, Minho knew that your period was close. Oh, joy.

The issue with this is that one itty bitty slip up from Minho would just send wave after wave of emotion, and Minho barely had time to recover before the next switch. If he accidentally brushes his hand against your chest, it's game over. He's getting chewed out about how he's always trying to have sex, and then the next minute your in tears because you feel bad about yelling at him.

So, how does Minho help you? He can't. There's no saving you. All he can do is just take blow after blow, apologize for something that really wasn't a big deal, listen, and comfort you. Carefully. He knew it wasn't you and it was just hormones. He could just pick at you after your period was done.

THE BLOOD God, you think your mood swings are bad? Your flow is worse. You only bleed for 3 days, but holy hell, you bled and you bled HARD. A lot of times, you were on the toilet for the majority of the day because your flow was so bad. And when you weren't, you had to wear a heavy duty pad and a heavy duty tampon. Fucking sucks.

Minho, understanding this, usually does his best to support you. Sometimes, if you're in the bathroom on the toilet just to let blood drain, he'll come in and play games with you. If you don't want him in the bathroom, you and him will do local play video games so you aren't completely alone. And if you're walking around, he'll set up small dates for you both to do at home since you'd rather die than go out in public when your uterus is ripping itself to shreds and making a tidal wave of blood.

THE PAIN Thankfully, you don't deal with too much pain. God decided to have some mercy. Key word? Some. While you didn't deal with pain, you did deal with constipation, bloating, and extreme nausea. It...it was bad.

So what does Minho do? First, he makes sure you're drinking enough. He'll also make sure you eat at least something. He knows that you genuinely don't feel good and are really queasy until your period eases it's choke hold on you, and so he doesn't force you to eat a bunch. But he'll still give you some rice and eggs or foods that'll stick in you instead of making you feel like throwing up.

And once your nausea and bloating is gone, he'll make you whatever you're craving, making sure that the food will also help your intestines loosen up so you aren't uncomfortable when you sit down or move around.

THE PRODUCT There's not a whole lot that Minho can do for you on your period. It kills him every single time, and so he'll always help wherever he can. And if that means running to the store to get you what you need? He's on it.

He knows exactly what you prefer and use, and so he will make sure to buy a lot of it since you go through it quickly. There's zero complaining, zero whining, zero teasing. He's doing whatever he can so you suffer less.

And of course, he's getting anything else that you ask for as well. You want a coffee from a place that's 30 minutes away? Bet, he'll happily go and get it for you. You want croissants? He'll make them from scratch. You want Felix's brownies? Well, Felix is coming over to bake them right here for you. Simple as that.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Something fluffy and romantic with Cliff? Cookies if he survives the bus crash and the driver dies instead.

A/n: Cookies, now >:(

Warnings: Hospital setting with hospital stuff, Cliff is in the ICU

You heard all about it, the ice, the crash, most importantly your boyfriend Cliff. He'd fallen from the window of the bus and was crushed under it.

The call nearly broke you, James was panicked on not too clear as he spoke so that didn't help. There was an accident, Cliff had gotten crushed under the bus and was currently in the hospital, that's the most you could make of it.

It was too risky for him to get flown back home so the guys paid for you to get flown to Sweden. You were panicking the whole way but you had to see him, you had to make sure he was ok and you were going to be with him if he died, as much as you didn't want to think about it you needed him to know you were there with him.

You were restless on the flights and the ferry, the taxi three hour long taxi ride to the hospital. You had just one bag that carried all your things, that's all you brought.

You ran straight to the nurses station, breathing already heavy even though it wasn't that far far of a run. You hadn't even noticed the tears welling in your eyes.

"I-I'm looking for Cliff Burton?" You asked, desperation in your voice.

The nurse behind the counter sighed. "And who are you in relation to the patient?" She asked, sounding far more tired and annoyed than you could handle as tears started streaming down your face.

"I-I'm his-his partner? I-I came all the way here from L.A., please, just-just let me see him, I need to see him!" You pleaded, knees shaking under you. You hid your face in your hands, wanting to curl up back home in bed in Cliff's arms. You wanted it all to just go away.

A hand landed on your shoulder and you spun around to find Lars standing behind you. "He's fine, just in the ICU."

"That's not fucking fine, Lars." You bit, he rolled his eyes and started leading you down the hall to an elevator. Lars was happy to be your human punching bag, he understood your pain so he didn't mind if it came with a few harsh words. He was just happy you were here and he'd let you cry on his shoulder.

The bright lights that surrounded you hurt your head, the white walls and floor and ceiling mixed together as Lars led you down the maze of halls. You got to a part in the hall where women swarmed, all gathered with gifts and when they noticed Lars they ran to him, asking for information he didn't have or couldn't give out.

You struggled to get through the crowd, eventually getting pushed further back away from what was very evidently Cliff's room. You stood there, watching as these girls who didn't know your boyfriend tried desperately to love him in a way they couldn't.

Tears continued to fall from your eyes and you did your best to keep your sobs quiet.

The door to the room opened and you saw James push his way through the crowd, barking and nipping at the women to get lost as he made his way over to you, strong arms wrapping you up in a warm hug.

"It's ok, Cliff's fine." He assured, keeping his voice low in your ear. He held you tight, letting the compression comfort you. "Well, he's not fine, but... he's alive, doctors have high hopes."

You looked up at him and he brought a hand up to wipe away your tears. "Can I- can I see him?" You asked through sniffles and choked out sounds. James nodded and pulled you with him to the door, using his bigger body to get through the crowd of girls who he couldn't but glare at. Such a serious situation and they were treating it like a meet-and-greet.

You got through the doors and froze when you saw Cliff. The room was dazzled with flowers, on his bed tray he had some empty pudding cups along with a heart box of chocolates.

Cliff had tubes sticking out of him every which way, you tried not to look too closely but it was hard. You moved closer to him and he pulled you onto the bed the second you were within arm reach.

Cliff held you tightly to his chest, hissing at the pain it caused with his stitches and wires, it didn't matter, you were finally with him. "I missed you so much." He mumbled, pressing kisses all over you, wherever he could reach.

Your crying only got worse, you knew he was in pain, you knew you getting on the bed was painful, but you wanted to be selfish for a minute and Cliff didn't mind.

"I-I-I thought you-you were dead, Cliff!" You cried, body shaking with sobs. Cliff rubbed your back soothingly and nodded.

"I know you did, but I'm not! Isn't that great?" He asked, kissing the top of your head as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. "I'm alive, and when I'm better we're going back home and we're gonna get that perfect house, you hear me?" You gave a weak nod. "Good, now lighten up, I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."

"You kinda can't, there's a tube up your dick, Cliff." James muttered, looking over his friend with his arms crossed over his chest. He was tired, you could see it in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes at the blond and focused back on Cliff. "You don't get to scare me like that again." You said. "Better buses from now on, and you don't sleep by windows.

Cliff chuckled but nodded nonetheless. "Whatever you say, princess." He cooed, letting you relax against him, although he did have to adjust you so it wouldn't hurt him or pull out any of the stitches.

[hexb0nes]

Sugar, Spice, & Everything Nice

I. COFFEE BEANS & UNSATSIFED DREAMS

word count: 5k

pairing: sugar daddy!jayce x sugar baby!reader

contains: the brutality of working in the food/beverage industry, karenism, alludes to depression, social and physical isolation

summary: life as a barista is fine when the customers are, but a terrible exchange between you and a demanding customer leaves you upset and angry. billionaire jayce talis emerge from his solitude to get his life back on track. your hard days lead to an unlikely meetup.

author's note: chapter one is here!!! many thanks to my beta reader @bb-enablefreebuild for her help <3 i hope y'all enjoy this, i know a few folks in @madschiavelique's discord server were craving some sugar daddy jayce ;D

The aroma of coffee beans and freshly warmed pastries wafts through The Last Drop, a local café in the heart of Piltover City. Chattering customers of all sorts fill up the shop, some awaiting for their drinks while others partake in their sweet treats. It’s a busy day, the third busy day in a row for the week. Busy days mean more tips, but–

You run through the backside of the café, sweat sticking to your forehead from the heat emitting from the various equipment. The morning shift is down by two workers, leaving you and your remaining coworkers Gertude and Mylo to man the ship, a rapidly sinking ship.

“We need a medium flat white! Oat milk and medium roast!” Gertude yells to you from behind the cash register. The amount of customers waiting to order barely fits inside the queue belts, some grumbling about the long wait. Remember, busy days mean more time.

“I’m on it!” you shout back in confirmation and make a mad dash into the back of the shop. 

With the grace of a bull in a china shop, you throw yourself at the espresso machine and dump some coffee beans inside the chute, turning the machine on and adjusting the setting until you pull out an adequate espresso shot. You hastily steam the oak milk and with the ingredients ready, you pour a flat white as best as your trembling hands could.

“Flat white with oat milk and medium roast!” you pop out to the front with the coffee in hand. An older woman with a quilted jacket appears before you, “Thank you, dear,” she takes the coffee from your hands. She pulls out a five dollar bill from her pocket and hands it to you, “Good luck to you and your friends!”

“Thank you so so so much,” you thank the customer profusely. She tips her head and walks off; you turn around to get back to the coffee machines when an annoyed voice calls out to you, “Excuse, ma’am.”

You spin back around to the front and come face-to-face with a middle-aged man in business attire. His face is so red, you fear that he’s having a stroke. Unfortunately, Mr. Not-Having-A-Stroke thrusts his to-go coffee cup towards your face, “This coffee is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted! I want a refund!”

You attempt to placate the businessman with a well-trained smile, “I’m sorry, sir, but we have a no refund policy because all of our items are perishable.”

“What?!” he screams. The businessman snatches the cup from your hands, “That’s ridiculous! I demand to speak to your manager!” 

Fucking Karen. You let out a small sigh from under your breath and slip into your default customer service voice, “Yes, sir. One moment, please.” 

Mr. Karen gives a grunt of approval, “Good, I don’t have all day.”

You piece of shit. “If you’d just give me a moment,” you shout for your boss from the back of the shop before turning towards the customer, “He should be here momentarily.”

Less than a minute goes by when Mr. Tomato-Face starts tapping his foot.

Two minutes pass, still no sign of your boss. The businessman glares daggers into your soul, “Shout for him again.”

“Sir, he’ll be here in a few. Please be patient,” you grit your teeth.

Another minute goes by.

“Shout for him. Again,” Mr. Karen demands.

“Sir, like I said, he’s—”

Splash!

You fail to shield yourself from the splash of coffee chucked at you from the angry customer. Lukewarm coffee hits your chest and your face, drenching your apron and shirt in muddy brown. A hush falls upon the café patrons, most witnessing the volatile exchange.

“Sir.”

The deep but calm voice of the café owner—Vander Gallagher—breaks the silence of the room. He towers over Mr. Tomato, his muscular biceps on display with his fitted shirt. The businessman cowers pathetically under the massive figure of your boss, “Oh— I—”

“I’m asking you to leave the premises,” your boss states. He shoots you a glance and asks, “Would you like to press charges for assault?”

“No need,” you wipe off some coffee droplets from your face, “I’m not gonna waste my time on a lowlife like him.”

“Very well,” Vander looks down at the businessman and places a large hand on his shoulder, “How about you pay my kind barista over here so she can replace her uniform, alright? A fifty dollar bill should do, then you can be on your way.”

“O– O– Okay,” the businessman stammers, opening his leather wallet and pulls out the requested bill. Vander smiles at the coward’s cooperation and pockets the money, “Say smile!”

In a flash, Vander snaps a photo of your assaulter with his phone. The businessman winces at the sudden flash and retreats from the café once released from Vander’s hold. A few café patrons trade concerned frowns while others mumble among themselves. 

“Apologies, folks!” Vander puts on a cheery smile, “Please continue with your meals and drinks! All is well.”

Chitchat resumes in the café, whispers about the earlier scene reaching your ears. Vander enters the back with you and pulls you into a side hug. Defeated, you accept his touch and crumble.

“Take the rest of the day off,” he informs you. Shaking your head, you reply back, “I can’t, we’re already low as is– Don’t worry about it,” Vander cuts in, “I’ll take over for you and don’t worry about the pay, I’m still paying you for your whole shift.”

Tears prick in the corners of your eyes and you sniffle, “You sure?”

“I’m positive,” your boss confirms. He passes you the fifty dollar bill, “Here’s your compensation for that asshole. I’ll give you a new apron.”

“Thanks,” you offer Vander a weak smile and shove the bill in your pocket.

“Of course,” he chuckles, “

You strip yourself of your ruined apron and pass it off to Vander. He waves you goodbye and you leave for the small break room in the far back of the café. Wiping away any escaped tears, you approach your locker and crack the combination lock to open it. You toss your visor and name tag inside before removing your satchel and jacket from the locker, slamming it shut with an annoyed huff. 

Fucking asshole, you steam your anger out in your thoughts, as you exit the café, This was one of my favorite shirts, the stained shirt is of your favorite cover album of your favorite band, The Firelights. You plop down outside the café and hug your knees to your chest, I hate it here. I hate working here. I hate, I hate, I—

“Hi.”

A husky voice greets you. Peering up from your ball of sadness, you see the owner of the voice. It’s a bearded man dressed in a baseball hat and dark sunglasses, paired with a plain white T-shirt and blue jeans. His bomber jacket appears weathered from use; you narrow your eyes to get a closer look and notice a familiar symbol on the breast pocket, a tilted hourglass. 

“Can I sit here?” the man inquires, his broad stature blocking the blinding light of the sun.

“Sure, be my guest,” you mumble indifferently. 

The man takes a seat beside you and rests his head against the concrete wall, “Bad day?”

“Very bad day,” you reaffirm, pulling out of your sadness ball and stretching out your legs. 

The man beside you raises his eyebrows and points at your shirt, “You’re a fan of the Firelights?”

“Oh,” you nod and cast another look at his bomber jacket, “Yeah, I am. You are, too, yeah?” you gesture at the Firelights’ symbol on his jacket, “Judging from the jacket.”

“For sure,” he smiles at you, a pearly white and toothy grin. Despite his Goliath form, the strange man radiates oddly comforting energy, “What happened to your shirt, though?”

Your expression darkens at his question, “Some asshole threw coffee at me ‘cuz I wouldn’t give him a refund,” your words are sour like a lemon, “I doubt I’m gonna be able to get this stain out...”

“Want a new one?” the man asks.

“Want?” you furrow your brow, “Of course, I want a new one, but I don’t have room in my—” you cut yourself short. Why am I telling this man my life story?

“Let me get you one,” his voice is firm, “No ifs or buts.”

You run your hands through your hair, already exhausted enough from the day’s events, and relent to the stranger, “Fine. Deliver it to me the next time you come to The Last Drop.”

“Will do,” the strange man extends a large hand to you, “By the way, it’s nice to meet you, even though it was under not so great circumstances.”

You take his hand and it engulfs your own, as you two shake hands, “Nice to meet you, too, stranger,” you answer back.

The man before you removes his sunglasses and reveals his bright, hazel eyes. His eyes stare into yours and for a moment, all is silent. Pretty, you think to yourself.

“Jayce, actually.”

“Mm?”

“My name’s Jayce. What’s yours?”

You tell your name to Jayce and he grins.

“What a beautiful name.”

Your face warms up at his compliment, a contrast to the autumn chill. 

Noticing your flustered expression, Jayce simply smiles back.

“I’ll see you soon.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The Man of Progress. Golden Boy. The One Who Revolutionized the World.

Jayce Talis has many names in reference to his extraordinary work with Hextech and other inventions powered by  new, once unknown sources of energy. He’d been dreaming of changing the world ever since he was a child.. In his heart, Jayce knew he could and that the Universe would guide him to achieving it. 

In elementary school, Jayce discovered such a strange crystal, abandoned in the fields outside his house. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, with its unnaturally vibrant blue color and rigid texture. That crystal would become the key to Jayce’s quest of bettering the world.

Years went by, as Jayce grew up from a chubby cheeked boy to a handsome, grown man. He sped through high school, college, and graduate school with the help of a lacrosse scholarship, but Jayce felt no fulfillment with his fancy degrees. His free time was dedicated to toying with the crystal. Hours were consumed by his non-stop research in his university’s lab, but no answers would come about.

Then Viktor Novak entered the picture, the second key to revolutionizing the world. 

A scrawny, vampirically pale man, Jayce would encounter him infrequently during his time at graduate school. As assistant to the Dean, Viktor had to be everywhere and juggle everything. The two would have the occasional conversation, but nothing bloomed beyond that; not until a chance meeting in the engineering lab that exposed Viktor to the allure of solving the mysterious crystal. 

Viktor shared the same dream as Jayce, to make the world a better place. With his cane in tow, Viktor climbed from the pits of the small subsector of St. Zaun to the skyscrapers of Piltover City; a brilliant man who wanted more in life than to be an assistant and to give power to his community. A dream that would come to fruition with the help of that little blue crystal. 

The night that changed the world involved the pair running through more equations and analyses than a stockbroker with cocaine. They were running on fumes and an empty coffee pot. In the midst of their sleepless delirium, Viktor suggested the impossible, “What if it’s from space?”

Jayce laughed his head off at the mere idea, his head throbbing from caffeine withdrawal and the desperate need to sleep. Yet, the steely glint of seriousness in Viktor’s eyes made the scientist quiet down. He never considered the possibility of the crystal’s origin being from space…the crystal’s structure was more similar to quartz than anything else. 

While Jayce pondered the possibilities, Viktor set down a streak test plate and filed the crystal against it. It sparked. At the same time, the lights in the lab flickered for a brief moment. 

Curious, Viktor rubbed the crystal against the plate again, inciting the same reaction from the lab lights. No material on Earth has ever done that. 

A crazy idea exploded inside Jayce’s head. 

He grabbed the crystal off the streak plate and secured it inside the lone centrifuge in the corner of the lab, much to Viktor’s horror. He scolded Jayce for such a reckless act, but Jayce fired back with the notion that if the crystal was an unknown material from space, they couldn’t operate under Earth rules. 

Unable to argue with his logic, Viktor handed his fellow scientist some eye protection and stepped far away from the centrifuge. Jayce strapped goggles firmly around his eyes and steadied himself with a deep breath. He d turned  on the centrifuge and history unfolded before their very eyes. 

The crystal spun like a gymnast on steroids. It spun and vibrated and spun some more until– 

The centrifuge exploded in a flash of blue light, energy rippling through the lab. Lights in the lab intensified for a moment before blinking out, engulfing the room in darkness. Jayce and Viktor ran to the windows and stared outside in a mix of awe and concern. The power grid for the entire campus was fried, shrouding the university in pitch black. Viktor hobbled back to the damaged centrifuge and brushed off some debris, picking something up. In his hand, the crystal laid unharmed.  

Jayce Talis and Viktor Novak, a pair of terribly exhausted and somewhat deranged scientists, discovered renewable energy unlike anything the world had ever seen.

They secured the funding of sponsors like Medara Industries, the potential of getting their grubby hands on potent energy was too powerful to resist. Jayce and Viktor developed a wide variety of inventions powered by the energy of the crystal, which they dubbed as the Hex Crystal. From engines for cars to prosthetics, the two’s inventions soared them into the stratosphere of fame and glory. While Viktor preferred to be in the shadows and tinker away in the lab, Jayce was made for the spotlight; he enchanted the nation with his charm and smarts, cementing his place as America’s Sweetheart and The Man of Progress.

Jayce Talis achieved his dream of changing the world… but the cost of such victory would catch up with him eventually. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Seven years had passed since the discovery of Hextech and the founding of Hex Energy Incorporated. A board of directors and investors was established and managed a bulk of the corporation, such as marketing and finances. Viktor Novak, one of the two founders, became the CTO—chief technology officer—but still dedicated his time to hiding in his personal lab and creating schematics for new inventions. As for Jayce Talis, the other founder, he maintained the position as chief executive officer, the CEO and smiling face of Hex Energy.

Jayce had everything, billions to his name. When the money from Hex Energy started rolling in, his first “purchase” was spent on his mother, Ximena. He ensured that her retirement would last for decades; she deserved it, after all, as she spent a good decade or so raising Jayce by her lonesome after his father’s passing. 

After setting up his mother for a life of comfort and security, Jayce’s later financial decisions were much more impulsive. He indulged himself in a playboy lifestyle with yachts, international trips, and mansions galore, brimming with the smooth and the sexy. Jayce lived it up like Bruce Wayne without a care, drowning himself in the thrills of fame and fortune. 

The appeal of such a life wore off eventually by the time Jayce entered his late twenties. There weren't enough fancy suits or round trips to Rome in the world that could compensate for his desire to do better for humanity. 

So, Jayce lit his playboy persona on fire and sold off his frivolous purchases for charity, turning a new leaf as a philanthropist. Like his co-founder and partner Viktor, who vowed not to be a millionaire, Jayce channeled his money into a variety of charities to lighten the load of his bank account, even creating a few of his own to invest funds in. With his new image, Jayce became America’s Favorite, a man who could do no wrong. In the eyes of the public, he was a hero.  

Truth to be told, Jayce Talis was a loser.

Or at least that was how he felt. Viktor was his only friend and his last—as well as  only—romantic relationship fizzled out after a year of courting. Of course, so many people wanted to be friends with the Jayce Talis, but no one wanted to be friends with Jayce Talis. Vultures, these fake friends Jayce had the misfortune of making during his stupidity in his mid twenties. Those stabs from those he trusted most took its toll on Jayce and little by little, he withdrew. In the blink of an eye, he vanished, hidden away in the comfort and safety of his penthouse. 

With Jayce out of the public eye, rumors sparked about his health and wellbeing. Gossip magazines ran article after article on the reclusive billionaire while paparazzi were on the hunt for a photograph of him in the hopes of a lucky break, to get the golden ticket from capturing the Jayce Talis. 

By the third month of “living up” as a hermit, Jayce received a wake-up call from none other than Viktor Novak. 

“Jayce,” his friend’s accented voice crackled from the speakerphone. Jayce’s phone rested on the glass coffee table, its owner preoccupied with scrolling through cable TV, “Jayce, you need to go outside.”

“I’m fine here.” Tombstone? No. Jumanji? No. God, there’s nothing but shit on cable.

“No, you’re not,” Jayce could hear his partner pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, “You haven’t left your penthouse in months. It’s unhealthy,” Viktor sighs, “and that’s especially bad when the man with the terminal lung disease says so.”

“No matches yet?” Jayce powered off the TV and picked up the phone, taking it off speaker and holding it against his ear. 

“No, not yet, but I’m still top on the list,” answers Viktor, “But this isn’t about me, Jayce. I’m calling you as a warning.”

“A warning?”

“Yes, a warning. The board has been talking. There have been… discussions of your absence and your role with the company.”

Jayce’s grip on the phone tightened, “What have they been saying?”

“That they want you to resign.”

Within Jayce’s hand, the phone screen threatened to crack from the pressure.

“I’ll be in the office tomorrow morning. Bye, V.”

“Wait, Ja–” the CEO hung up the call with a huff. Jayce collapsed back down against the plush sofa and stared at the ceiling fan. His eyes followed the spinning, Resign? Are they insane?! They wouldn’t have jobs if it wasn’t for me and Viktor! 

Jayce pushed himself off the sofa and dragged himself to the bathroom, What assholes. When I get back tomorrow– Jayce’s train of thought vanished, as he took sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. No longer did a clean cut and shaved Golden Boy appear in the mirror, but rather a dishevelled beast of a man. His hair reached just above his shoulders, paired with an unkept beard. Depression beard, huh?

Jayce made a quick call to his stylist Margot, who was surprised to hear from him—I thought you died! was how she put it—and scheduled an appointment for later that day to address his beauty emergency. With the appointment confirmed, Jayce entered his Spotify app and turned on whatever ‘motivational’ playlist he could find.

Pumped up music played throughout the bathroom, as Jayce showered for the first time in weeks. Lathering him with bourbon-scented wash products, Jayce relished in the relief that the hot water provided him. He exited the shower back into the steamy bathroom and dried his body and hair, finally clean after weeks of bed rotting. Jayce hated to admit it, but showering did help his mood. 

Once dried, he left the bathroom and threw on a makeshift disguise. Jayce knew that the public wouldn’t recognize him with such long hair and a beard, but he couldn’t take the risk. He dressed as generic as possible and topped it off with his bomber jacket from his college days, the tilted hourglass symbol from his favorite band The Firelights stitched on the breast pocket.

Sunlight greeted him when he vacated his penthouse and outside the apartment complex. He winced at the brightness and covered his eyes with a pair of sunglasses. Jayce wedged his way into the foot traffic, making his way to Margot’s studio. 

A sudden pang of hunger hit Jayce’s stomach, accompanied by a loud growl. Guess I could go for a bagel and some coffee. He continued walking until he caught sight of a café, one surprisingly close to Margot’s. Exiting the bustling sidewalk, Jayce made a beeline for the café, with the words The Last Drop written on its sign.

He reached out for the door, ready to go inside–

Jayce hears a sniffle. 

Close to the entrance of the café, he sees a young woman hugging her knees to her chest. Jayce takes a step closer and the pleasant scent of coffee hits his nose, unsure if it’s from the café or the woman. He hears more sniffling and frowns. Poor thing.

“Hi,” the greeting stumbles from Jayce’s lips without thinking.

At the sound of his voice, the woman lifts her head from her knees and looks around the area, her eyes landing on Jayce. His chest constricts like a boa had wrapped itself around it. The hunger in his stomach is replaced by the sensation of nervous butterflies. The woman before him couldn’t have been more than 25 or 26, but the dark circles under her eyes age her. Poor thing, she looks overworked.

“Can I sit here?” Jayce asks in a gentle manner, not wanting to frighten or come off as creepy. 

“Sure, be my guest,” the woman mumbles. 

Jayce plops down beside the woman and rests his head against the concrete wall. Eyes hidden behind polarized sunglasses, Jayce casts a sympathetic look and smiles at the poor lady, “Bad day?” he inquires.

“Very bad day,” she answers, exhaustion and sadness evident in her tone. The young woman stretches out her legs and lets out a defeated sigh. Jayce opens his mouth to offer reassurance when he notices her shirt, it features the album cover of Misfit Toys, one of the earlier albums from The Firelights. Near the neckline of the shirt, there’s a prominent brown stain splattered on it. 

“You’re a fan of the Firelights?” Jayce points to your shirt. It’s a rare sight to see someone wearing such early The Firelights merchandise unless they had been a fan since the beginning. 

They complimented their merchandise and the familiar feeling of awkward silence begins to sneak its way in. Jayce, desperate to keep it going, blurts out a question about the prominent coffee stain on her shirt. And there goes your opportunity to be a normal guy, ‘Golden Boy’.

The woman’s expression soured at his question and Jayce bit the inside of his cheek. Shit, did I piss– “Some asshole threw coffee at me ‘cuz I wouldn’t give him a refund,” she spits out to Jayce, “I doubt I’m gonna be able to get this stain out,” her eyes glisten with tears. 

Jayce’s instinct is to embrace the woman and comfort her, but he restrains himself from being overly affectionate with the stranger. Don’t come off as a creep, don’t come off as a–

“Want a new one?” Don’t be a creep, Jayce! Damn it!

“Want?” the woman perks up at his offer and furrows her brow, “Of course, I want a new one, but I don’t have room in my–” she shuts herself up and lowers her gaze. Don’t have room in your what? Jayce ponders, In your budget? What has the world come to that someone can’t buy a shirt without worrying about their finances?

“Let me get you one,” Jayce reasserts, unrelenting, “No ifs or buts.” You deserve it after the horrible day you had.

The woman runs her hands frustratedly through her messy hair and concedes, “Fine. Deliver it to me the next time you come to The Last Drop, I work the rest of this week until Friday,” Jayce does an internal fist bump of victory.

“Will do,” he takes a mental note of the T-shirt design. To Jayce’s surprise, he extends his hand out to the woman, a gesture of good faith, “It’s nice to meet you,” he smiles, “Even though it wasn’t under not so great circumstances.”

The woman takes his hand and intertwines it with hers, so small and dainty in comparison. She shakes his hand and returns the good regards, “Nice to meet you, too, stranger.”

Jayce relinquishes his hand from the handshake and takes off his sunglasses, no longer bothered by the sunlight. He locks eyes with the woman, the world around them suddenly silent. Why do I feel so nervous? Jayce questions himself, God, guess I really have been a hermit that I’m getting all flustered just from looking at a woman. The woman bats her eyelashes and slightly parts her lips, likely a subconscious response. Nonetheless, it sends arrows straight into Jayce’s heart, his pupils engulfing his hazel irises. 

“Jayce, actually,” he breaks the silence.

“Mm?” the woman tilts her head at Jayce.

“My name’s Jayce. What’s yours?”

And she, you evidently, answer his question. Jayce grins. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman, “What a beautiful name.”

Your eyes widen a bit and you avert your gaze to conceal your flustered face. Jayce can’t help but smile. Adorable. His phone buzzes with an alarm notification, alerting him that his appointment with Margot is in five minutes. Jayce springs up from the ground and bids his farewell, “I’ll see you soon.”

He walks away from the café, purposefully slow. Jayce takes a few sneak peeks from behind to see if you’re still outside the café. There’s no sight of you, you probably left to take care of your soiled shirt. 

The bell above the door jingles, announcing Jayce’s arrival to Madame M’s, Margot’s studio. It’s uncomfortably empty, no sounds of blow dryers or chitchat between stylists and customers. Why is it so empty?

High heels clicking against hardwood floor signals the arrival of a blonde woman with green makeup, “Jayce, baby!” the blonde–Margot–embraces Jayce and gives him a smooch on each cheek, “I’ve missed you so much!” she leads him to a salon chair and drapes a cover over his front, “Where have you been, darling? You vanished off the face of the Earth!”

“It’s a long story,” the CEO awkwardly chuckles.

“Wanna get into it?” the stylist hums, as she rummages through her styling tools. 

“I rather not,” he answers. 

Margot sets down a range of hair clippers and scissors on the table under the mirror, “No worries, just curious. Are we doing your usual today?”

“No, just a clean-up,” Jayce interjects. 

“Very well!” Margot claps her hands together, “This shouldn’t take too long then,” a small smile graces her lips, “Something’s different about you, Jayce.”

“Besides the long hair and beard?” Jayce snorts. 

“Besides that,” Margot grabs some hair clips and scissors, “You look like you went through Hell and I take it that this is your first day in public since your…” she sections off parts of Jayce with the hair clips, “...Your disappearance from the public eye a few months ago. You sort of look like a sad lump of shit..”

“Geez, thanks,” the CEO huffs. 

Margot runs a section of black hair through her comb and snips off the dead ends, “You ran into something,” snip snip snip, “Or someone.”

Jayce’s blood turns cold at her deduction and masks his shock with a cough, “Ah! Well, uhm… I did encounter someone, yes. You’re not wrong about that.”

A boisterous laugh rings in Jayce’s ears, as Margot continues to cut his hair, “Oh, darling! It’s written all over your face. That someone left a mark on you.”

“I was heading to get some coffee when I saw her outside the coffee shop, crying. She was having a bad day and I was trying to cheer her up, that’s all.”

“Mhm… I doubt that. She lit a spark in you. I can tell, of course. I’m French, after all.”

Jayce goes quiet and the earlier events play back in his mind; a toothy grin forms on his face when he remembers your honeyed voice and your beautiful eyes, “She was– is pretty, but that doesn’t constitute ‘lighting a spark’ in me.”

“Think about it deeper, baby. After months of your absence from the public eye, what did the one person you encounter today do?”

It clicks.

“She… didn’t recognize me?”

“Bingo!” Margot cheers, snipping off the last necessary strands from Jayce’s hair, “And isn’t that such a relief? To be unknown?”

Jayce mulls over Margot’s words while she touches up his beard. It is a relief to be unknown, Jayce had not been so since his college days. Talking to you had been the first normal conversation he had with someone in months—no, years—beyond Viktor, his mother, or his de facto sister Caitlyn Kiarmann. I have a chance to be normal. Glee and excitement bubble up in his stomach. 

“Look at your face, darling,” Margot whispers, “You look happy.”

Jayce focuses his gaze onto the salon mirror. He’s now cleanly groomed with a stylish haircut and beard, no longer a Sasquatch. The expression on his face is one of simple content, not too strong and not too weak. 

For the first time in months, billionaire CEO Jayce Talis looks happy.

All because of you, a disgruntled barista whose ruined day led to your paths crossing. 

[kallie-den]

Lifestyle Takeover Ch. 4

With Vivienne alert to Mel's schemes, she leads Mel and Emma into a surprise showdown... but is she quite as in control as she thinks?

This is a commission from Neana, and a sequel to Lifestyle Journalism! Previous chapters can be found under the same tag

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Vivienne Gilbert had to fight with her entire being to keep a neutral expression as she waited in the conference room of her corporate HQ for her guests to arrive. Part of her—most of her—was so furious, it was all but impossible to keep her face darkening into a look of thunderous anger. All night, she’d been stewing in the kind of rage only shame could conjure up. Keeping a lid on it was a struggle, but it wouldn’t do to let her emotions show. For a woman of Vivienne’s station, there was no telling who might be watching.

Another part of her, though, the part Vivienne was straining most of all to keep suppressed, urged a broad, bright, dumb grin to dawn across her face. That part of Vivienne was sneaky. It ambushed her whenever she was distracted. Whenever she let her mind wander. Whenever a stray thought crossed her mind: a memory, a feeling, a mantra.

A name. That ridiculous name.

Vivienne was constantly trying to keep herself centered and calm, to rein in her anger, to take deep, measured breaths—but whenever she did, it was right there; that sticky, pink headspace, threatening to claim her once again. Vivienne felt like she was walking on a tightrope, and it was so damn hard to keep her balance.

Especially given what she was wearing.

So far, the best method Vivienne had found to keep herself under control was to focus on her imminent revenge. She’d spent a long, frenzied night making plans and dreaming up sordid, vengeful fantasies. That mindset had a matching facial expression too: a malicious, sadistic, superior smirk. While it wouldn’t do to tip off her intended victims, Vivienne didn’t mind letting that one show through from time to time.

It was the right look for a hypnogarch—and that was exactly what Vivienne was. A mind controller. A leader. A dominant. She wouldn’t forget it. And nor would anybody else.

“Ms. Gilbert,” one of her many brainwashed subordinates called out, opening the door a crack and sticking her head through. “Your guests have arrived. They’re on their way up.”

“Thank you.” Vivienne knew that her minions, at least, wouldn’t judge her for the way she looked. They weren’t capable of it. “Send them right in.”

“Yes, Ms. Gilbert.”

The door closed. Vivienne took a moment to arrange her face one last time, into a vacant, dull, entirely nonthreatening smile. She did her best not to think about how easy it was.

Then, no more than a minute later, the door to the conference room opened again. Melanie Adams stepped through.

Vivienne shivered at the sight of her pocket watch, worn around Mel’s neck like a pendant.

That aside, Vivienne was pleased to see that Mel seemed completely at ease and unguarded. If anything, she looked a touch smug. Already confident in her victory. That was part of Vivienne’s plan. She’d had her people invite Mel to the headquarters of Valeyard Solutions, her company, under the pretext of ‘talking business’. Probably, Mel assumed that Vivienne was going to cave and accept her parents’ offer, just like Mel had primed her to.

Everything was proceeding just as she’d planned.

“Hi, Vivi,” Mel greeted her, grinning. “You look great.”

Vivienne had to really try not to visibly shiver with treasonous pleasure at the name and the compliment.

The ridiculous outfit Vivienne was wearing was all part of her plan, of course. That was the reason she’d gotten dressed up in the pink, slutty, faux-business outfit Emma had bought for her the day before. The only reason. If she was wearing her normal clothes, Vivienne had reasoned, it might tip off Mel right away. It was just what she had to do.

But that didn’t make it any easier to deal with how it made her feel.

Vivienne pushed down on the feeling. This was her moment of triumph. Soon, all that would be behind her.

“Hello, Mel,” she said smoothly, once the door closed and locked behind the other woman. The look of surprise on Mel’s voice as she registered the focused, alert tone of Vivienne’s voice was a delicious reward. “I’m flattered you think so. But soon enough, I think you’ll find that you’ll be the one to… to…”

Vivienne’s words faded away as Emma, Mel’s pet bimbo girlfriend, stepped out from behind her owner.

A little whine slipped out from Vivienne’s throat. It was completely unfair how good Emma looked.

She looked like she had come straight from working out. The sway of her hips was what had Vivienne’s attention; Emma was wearing a pair of tiny yoga shorts—pink, naturally—stretched taut around her perfectly sculpted thighs. The way they looked on her made Vivienne throb with yearning. After a long—too long—moment, she made herself raise her eyes. Seeing that, on top, Emma was wearing nothing more than a sports bra stunned her all over again.

The irrepressible, giggling grin on her face and cute pink sweatband across her forehead completed the look. It was one Vivienne had seen over and over again on Emma’s OnlyFans. Night after night, time after time, touching herself to the gorgeous bimbo. Even now, Vivienne was struck by how utterly, blissfully happy she seemed.

“Well, where did I go wrong?” Mel asked smoothly. Vivienne cursed herself for giving her rival a chance to regain her balance. “I thought I had you.”

“Almost,” Vivienne snarled. Now the object of her ire was right in front of her, she could barely constrain her fury. “But you’re too much of an amateur. You shouldn’t have let me go home, Melanie. Never let a wild animal out of the trap.”

Mel simply nodded. “I guess I’ll have to remember that.”

"Oh, don’t trouble yourself!” Vivienne scoffed. “Soon, I’ll make sure you don’t remember anything at all. Not even your own name. You thought you were going to make me dumb, Mel? I promise you, you don’t even know the meaning of the word. Not yet.”

She’d hoped Mel would look scared. Instead, she simply seemed disappointed. Perhaps that was why her own boasting felt oddly hollow to Vivienne.

Emma, meanwhile, was completely unperturbed. She barely seemed to be paying attention. She was standing at Mel’s side and, as Vivienne watched, she began stretching out a little; first her arms, then her shoulders, then her back. There was something almost cat-like about her. She was completely at ease. Vivienne couldn’t help but marvel at it. She’d never been that relaxed anywhere, not even in the safety of her own home.

Except for yesterday, of course.

“So,” Mel ventured. “What happens now?”

Vivienne’s cheeks burned as she realized that, once again, she’d allowed herself to succumb to distraction.

“Now,” she said, rallying, “it’s very simple. I’m going to hypnotize you.”

Infuriatingly, Mel just smiled. “Didn’t you already try that?”

Vivienne’s hands balled into fists. Her knuckles turned white.

“That…” she spat. “That was… I was not at my best. This time, it will be different.”

“You’re at your best?” Mel shot back. “I see. Is that why you’re wearing… that?”

Vivienne had been prepared for a jab about her clothing. Being prepared didn’t help. It was all she could do to keep herself from squeezing her thighs together. Why did the embarrassment have to sing so sweetly in her ears?

“I… did what I had to do,” Vivienne said, making her voice carefully even. “Couldn’t have anyone tipping you off early.”

One thing Vivienne hadn’t been at all prepared for was the chill that raced down her spine when Mel looked her in the eyes and told her: “Bullshit.”

The CEO blinked dumbly for a moment. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t think that’s why you wore that outfit.” Mel tilted her head, studying Vivienne. “I don’t think that’s the reason at all.”

Vivienne couldn’t hold her gaze. She looked away. “I… that isn’t…”

“Tell me.”

“I… you gave me this compulsion,” Vivienne attempted, seized with an irresistible urge to justify herself to Mel. “It was too distracting. I had to give in. Just for a moment. Just tactically, until I-“

“Bullshit,” Mel repeated. “Tell me.”

“I am!” Vivienne felt herself quake with Mel’s command. Since when did this trust fund brat hold so much power over her?

“Come on,” Mel needled. “Out with it, Vivi.”

Another shiver. “D-don’t call me that.”

“Then I suppose I’ll say it.” Mel was as calm as ever, and Vivienne couldn’t seem to find the strength to interrupt her. “You put that outfit on because you wanted to. Didn’t you? Because you like those clothes. Because they make you feel good.”

The hot breath of pleasure that washed over Vivienne was like nothing she’d ever felt before. “N-n-nooo,” she replied, but it came out more like a moan than a denial.

“Oh yes,” Mel told her. “You look great, by the way. Really cute.”

Vivienne was ready to bite back, but she paused when she registered the complete lack of condescension in Mel’s voice. Her rival was being completely sincere.

She looked cute?

That comment had Vivienne blushing deeper than ever before.

“You know,” Mel added softly. “You don’t have to do this.”

Vivienne glanced up at her sharply. “What?”

“Hypnotize me, I mean,” Mel said. “You really don’t. It’s up to you.”

Vivienne tried to laugh. It wasn’t convincing. “Why wouldn’t I want to hypnotize you?”

Mel shrugged mysteriously. “Maybe you’ve had enough of fighting. Enough of struggling. Maybe you just want to relax and feel good, for a change.”

Goosebumps. All over Vivienne’s body. “That’s…”

“Wasn’t it nice?” Mel pressed. “Being Vivi, yesterday?”

Vivienne’s breath caught in her throat. That was one question she tried her hardest not to ask herself.

Because the answer was all too obvious. Yes. It had felt good. It had felt amazing.

“Yeah,” Vivienne whispered. The confession was a thrill.

“I see. Good!” Mel said brightly. She reached up to her neck and unclasped Vivienne’s pocket watch. “Well, if you do still want to hypnotize me, I suppose you’ll need this.”

She held it out, offering it back to its rightful owner. Vivienne just stared at it, dumbstruck. She should have been trying to figure out if the gesture was some kind of psychological trick. Instead, all she could think about was how heavy the pocket watch looked.

“Go on,” Mel urged.

Gingerly, Vivienne took it from her. It no longer felt right in her hand.

“Go ahead,” Mel said easily. “Take your best shot. Hypnotize me—if you can.”

“If… I can?” Vivienne’s voice had lost all of its cool, arrogant edge.

Hypnotize Mel? She wasn’t sure she could remember how to begin.

She was struggling to face up to how quickly she’d lost control of herself. Control of the conversation. She’d walked in here with a plan, Vivienne tried to remind herself. All she needed to do was remember it. Everything had seemed so clear. Her anger. Her purpose. What had happened to all that?

Vivienne already knew the answer. It was her. Emma.

Emma hadn’t spoken, but she was standing right there and Vivienne couldn’t keep herself from glancing at her. She was so hot. So happy. So dumb. So perfect. She radiated a kind of serene bimbo self-assurance that was all but magnetic. It was impossible not to wonder what was going on in her head, even though Vivienne already knew the answer: nothing.

She’d always wondered about that nothingness. How did it feel? What was it like to live that way? Now she knew, and she couldn’t forget. It was so tempting, it was right there, still lurking at the back of my mind, inviting her back into its blissful arms.

One, two, three! One, two, three! Emma’s the only one for me!

“You failed to hypnotize me before, Vivi,” Mel was saying. Not pointedly. Just stating an unavoidable fact. “Just like you failed to get a grip on your obsession with Emma. You still can’t stop looking at her. Just like you failed to resist dressing up this way this morning. You tried, didn’t you? But you just couldn’t help yourself.”

Without realizing what she was giving away, Vivienne nodded.

“Face it,” Mel insisted. That earlier moment of softness made her criticism hit all the harder. “You’re losing control.”

That sent a shiver through Vivienne. Mel was right, she knew. She was losing control. Losing the one thing she had always prized. She couldn’t tell if the thought horrified her or excited her more. She had to try and win it back.

Didn’t she?

“But I can tell you what nobody else will,” Mel continued. “That it’s OK. It’s OK to lose control, Vivienne. It’s OK that you’re not good enough. It’s OK that you can’t win.”

“I…” Vivienne couldn’t put a name to the way hearing that made her feel.

“It’s OK that you’re not good enough,” Mel repeated. Her voice was so soft. It was so easy to listen to her. “There can be other things for you, Vivi. Things that feel even better than winning. I’d love to show them to you.”

Once more, Vivienne couldn’t resist glancing at Emma.

She wanted to say ‘yes’ to Mel. She really did. There was no longer any point in denying the obvious. Vivienne wanted it. But still, for as much fun as it had been, she couldn’t quite bring herself to give in to her desires. Her pride, battered and bruised though it was, was still there, holding her back.

Her family name. Her long-held ambition. It was all she’d ever had. Vivienne couldn’t let it slip through her fingers just for the sake of something as vapid and silly as wanting to be like her favorite bimbo porn star.

Could she?

“I…” Vivienne made herself lift the pocket watch. Maybe once she began the induction, she’d find her rhythm again. She had to hope so. “That’s… not true. I’m going to beat you, Mel. And your parents. And I’ll climb all the way to the top, and… and…”

She trailed off. What was all this for, again?

And to her surprise, the person who spoke up next wasn’t Mel. It was Emma.

“Uh…” Emma ventured, her bimbo grin a little more nervous than usual as she looked at Vivienne. “Does this mean, like… we can’t go on any more shopping trips?”

That, more than anything else, left Vivienne feeling truly lost.

Mel was swift to seize on the open vulnerability she saw on Vivienne’s face. “That’s right, Emma,” Mel said. “That’s what Vivi wants. No more shopping trips. No more dress-up. No more Vivi.”

“Aww,” Emma pouted. “But it was so much fun!”

Vivienne whined.

“It was,” Mel agreed. “But you heard her! It’s over. No more hanging out, no more giggling, no more pink.” Sensing that the CEO had reached the threshold of her failing well, Mel looked straight at her. Daring her to agree. “Isn’t that right, Vivienne?”

No more pink…

Vivienne thought about the life she was proposing to go back to. Endless meetings. Endless reports. Endless watching her back. Always fixated on the next goal, on the next fiscal quarter, on the next rival to be subdued. The constant exhaustion that came from working fourteen-hour days every day and every week. If she took down Mel, even her one pleasure—looking at Emma’s OnlyFans and fantasizing—would be ruined.

No. She couldn’t do it again. Not for one more day. It was more than she could face.

“P-please…” Vivienne said quietly.

“What’s that, Vivi?” Mel prompted, smirking. The shiver that raced down Vivienne’s spine in that moment was better than anything she’d ever felt.

“Please.” Vivienne glanced at Emma. Her voice cracked. “Make me… like her.”

She closed her eyes, braced for crowing and mockery. Instead, all Mel said was: “Of course.”

Vivienne let out a shuddery breath. This was it. She’d given up. She’d been broken.

She didn’t regret it.

“But,” Mel added after a moment. “If you’re surrendering to me, it has to be willing. Right now, you’re the one with the power.” She gestured to the pocket watch Vivienne was holding. “You want to be brainwashed? Show me.”

Vivienne all but moaned as she realized what Mel was proposing. She was embarrassed, but not ashamed. Now that she’d taken the plunge, she could embrace submission with all her heart.

“Yes, Mel,” she said demurely, and dangled the pocket watch in front of her own face.

No motion was more familiar to Vivienne Gilbert than swinging a pocket watch. She had done it countless times, always bringing some chosen victim under her power. But she had never done it quite like this, with the watch’s face facing toward her, allowing her eyes to rest on the tip of the second hand as it ticked mechanically around the clock. Even so, it felt perfectly natural. Vivienne was able to relax and let her muscle memory do the work for her so that her mind could give all of itself into the object that started to swing steadily back and forth in front of her face.

Hypnosis. Self-hypnosis. What was the difference? Vivienne had hypnotized so many people. What was one more?

Vivienne took a long, deep breath and let herself focus, and unfocus. Let everything but the pocket watch fade into a pleasant, indistinct blur.

As she did, she couldn’t but imagine all the things she might say to a prospective subject in her position. She might suggest that they could already feel themselves being tugged under by trance’s irresistible pull in all kinds of small ways. And Vivienne could—it was right there, after all, the part of her that made it seem like it would be so easy to just give up and be Vivi. She might hint that their thoughts were turning slow, sluggish—and hers were. It was such a relief, to not need to think. To not be able to. To just be dumb. She might tell them that following motion with your eyes was as natural as instincts got, and impossible to fight. And that was certainly true for Vivienne.

She couldn’t fight. She didn’t want to fight.

Thank goodness.

Vivienne quickly found that her own expertise in hypnosis became her undoing. Even if she’d wanted to struggle against it, she couldn’t help but find the way her own mind succumbed to the process irresistibly fascinating. She was so perfectly aware of how, exactly, it worked; of the way the second hand’s ticking served as just the right kind of distraction to keep her conscious thoughts preoccupied while her subconscious mind settled into a relaxed stupor, open and vulnerable. She could feel it through her entire body, in the way her heart beat and the way her muscles let go of their tension. Vivienne recognized it for what it was.

Submission.

It was so good. It was so hot.

Within just a couple of minutes, Vivienne was left at the cusp. Her eyelids drooped, held open only by her need to keep staring at the pocket watch. Her mind had become so weak and so slow, she couldn’t form a single clear thought. She was ready to let someone else take control. Ready to let another voice fill her head and tell her what to think. What to be.

And Mel was right there.

“Good girl, Vivi,” Mel said, perhaps sensing Vivienne’s need for a guiding hand. The CEO shivered at the name. “Just keep looking. Keep swinging. Keep breathing. That’s all you have to do.”

Her careful emphasis filled Vivienne with warmth. It was all she had to do. Look. Swing. Breathe. No more. No longer.

“Even you can manage that, can’t you?” Mel teased. “You might not be able to beat me. You might not be able to control yourself. But even you can stare at a silly little pocket watch.”

Her teasing should have raised Vivienne’s choler. Instead, it was a comfort. Mel was right. She wasn’t good enough to be a CEO. Not good enough to be Vivienne Gilbert. She couldn’t make it in that life.

She was only good enough to be Vivi.

“It feels good,” Mel continued, voice dripping with affirming condescension. “Doesn’t it? Getting dumb for the watch. Getting dumb for me.”

Vivi nodded.

“So dumb,” Mel soothed. “You don’t need to think about anything. Don’t need to remember anything. Isn’t that right?”

Vivi nodded again. A wide, dull smile was coming to her slack face.

“Soon,” Mel promised, “you’ll be just like Emma.”

Just like Emma. Vivi sighed happily at the mere thought.

“You already look like her, after all,” Mel laughed. “Pretty in pink. Cute. Adorable, really. You two are like peas in a pod.”

Vivi shivered.

“I bet you can giggle just like her,” Mel encouraged. “Can’t you? Try it for me.”

Obediently, Vivi giggled.

“Good girl.” She giggled again at the praise. “Doesn’t it feel good? Giggling like that.”

It did. It really did.

“You’re not a serious person anymore,” Mel told her. “Not scary. Not powerful. Not smart. Nobody is going to take you seriously anymore. You’re just a silly, giggly bimbo.”

Another giggle. Vivi had never felt so relaxed. The things Mel promised were exactly what her fantasies were made of.

“That’s right,” Mel pressed. “It comes naturally to you, doesn’t it? The more you giggle, the dumber you get. The dumber you get, the more you giggle.”

That was an easy little mantra for Vivi to keep in her head. It was so simple and so stereotypical that, at once, it held the bimbo completely within its power.

She giggled, and felt herself grow even more relaxed and air-headed. It was perfect.

“That’s right,” Mel laughed. “Just like that. Very good. Try again.”

Vivi giggled—and then moaned, as she felt her long-prized sharpness and intelligence slip even further out of her grasp.

She wondered what her employees and rivals might think of her if they saw her like this. Giggling, plainly entranced, and dressed in slutty, glorious, ridiculous pink.

Mel was right. Nobody was going to take her seriously anymore. Fuck, it was such a relief. Such a turn-on.

She giggled again. She got dumber again. She loved it.

“Excellent,” Mel praised. “I think you’re almost ready, Vivi. But before you get too dumb, there’s just one more thing I need you to do for me.”

When Mel reached out and plucked the pocket watch from Vivi’s fingers for the very last time, the hypnotized woman blinked in surprise and confusion. She looked blearily to her new mistress for answers.

“I had the papers drawn up last night,” Mel said to her. “Emma?”

Emma reached into her bag and pulled out a slim, plastic envelope. She handed it over to Mel, who pulled out the sheets of paper within. She set them down on the conference room table, along with a pen.

“Here.”

Vivi glanced at the papers. She could barely make her eyes focus, and she certainly couldn’t make sense of some of the longer words, but enough of it jumped out to her for her to get the gist of it.

This was a contract. A very simple one, in fact. It was for her to turn over her ownership of Valeyard Solutions to Melanie Adams and her family’s holding corporation.

Slowly, Vivi picked up the pen. Dimly, she was aware of what signing the contract would mean. Her life’s work, gone in a moment. The source of all her wealth and prestige, thrown away. For any would-be hypnogarch, it was the ultimate, irretrievable defeat.

For a brief moment, the sheer enormity of that seemed to exert a tidal pull on Vivi, threatening to drag her kicking and screaming back to wakefulness. Was this really what she wanted?

Then the moment passed, and she giggled.

What was Vivi going to do with a whole company, anyway? She was just a ditzy little bimbo.

“Yes, Mel” she said blankly, shivering as she gave in to her ultimate fantasy. She picked up the pen and, guided only by muscle memory, signed the name ‘Vivienne Yvette Gilbert’ on the dotted line.

All gone. And with it, all that remained of Vivi’s old identity.

“Good girl,” Mel told her, although it was clear the other woman could barely contain her celebratory laughter. “Very, very good. I’m proud of you.”

Vivi giggled happily. Mel was proud of her! That was all that mattered—and that was so blissfully simple.

“Time to take you down the rest of the way,” Mel said. “Don’t worry. I promise, you won’t remember a thing.”

She reached out and touched the tip of her finger to Vivi’s forehead. As if by magic, Vivi’s mind became still. Then Mel stroked her hand down Vivi’s face in a hypnotic gesture that, somehow, pulled Vivi’s eyes shut.

“Go to sleep, Vivi.”

***

A little less than two weeks later, Mel found herself sitting in that same conference room, wearing the kind of neat, tight-fitting, eye-wateringly expensive suit she’d spent most of her life resisting being put in. But for some occasions, it was a necessity; as the new president of Valeyard Solutions, she’d been taking a conference call with some of the company’s investors and partners in order to reassure them about its new leadership.

Apparently, she’d acquitted herself well. Although Mel was sure it had helped that her mothers, two of the city’s most powerful hypnogarchs, were now among those investors and partners.

Now, after terminating the call, Mel was taking the time to sign off on a few things that one of Valeyard’s many identical, brainwashed secretaries had brought for her approval. The hypnotized women staffing the executive floors were certainly efficient, albeit, Mel thought, a little dreary. She was considering a change in official color scheme.

“I think that’s all of it,” Mel announced, as she put her signature on the last form. “Thank you.”

“Yes, Ms. Adams,” the secretary said, more than a little robotically. She picked up the slab of paperwork.

Then, Mel twitched abruptly.

“Ms. Adams?” the secretary asked, her face blank. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Mel said quickly, a slight blush filling her cheeks. “Completely. You can, um, go now.”

“Yes, Ms. Adams,” the secretary said, nodding her head. Obediently, she turned and started walking away—just quickly enough that she didn’t see Mel twitch again.

After what felt like an eternity, the secretary stepped out of the conference room and let the heavy door fall closed behind her. At once, Mel let out a huge, panted, pleasure-filled breath that made her whole body heave.

“G-god,” she moaned, looking down under the conference table. “I didn’t think you’d make it that hard to keep quiet!”

After much giggling, out from under the table crawled Emma and Vivi.

“Sorry!” Emma tittered. Her face was dripping with pussy. “It turns out Vivi is just, like, a super quick learner when it comes to eating you out!”

“Um,” Vivi giggled, blushing from the praise. Her face was dripping too. “I dunno about being, um, a quick learner, or whatever. I’m just a dummy!”

“No, no,” Mel told her. “I think Emma’s right. You really hit the, ah, spot, just now.”

Emma and Vivi turned to each other and embraced, giggling and blushing as hopelessly as schoolgirls.

To look at her now, almost nobody would have recognized Vivi, corporate bimbo, as Vivienne Gilbert. The makeover Mel and Emma had given her was total. To see that the girlish, giggling figure kneeling before Mel was once the woman who had once made headlines as a corporate conqueror, you would have to look past her bleached blonde hair, her frivolous, absent-minded demeanor, and the layers and layers of heavy makeup that gave her sweeping eyeliner, glittery cheeks, and pink, thick, pouty lips.

And, of course, there was her outfit. Mel had enjoyed Vivi dressing like a secretary so much, she had decided to make that the cornerstone of her newest bimbo’s new aesthetic. In fact, Vivi was now dressed in almost exactly the same uniform as her former employees—with just a few small but all-important changes. It was all pink, naturally, and the blouse was cut lower, and the skirt, much, much higher. All the better to show off Vivi’s body, which—thanks to Emma’s workouts—had never looked better.

Plenty of bright pink exercise gear had also made it into Vivi’s new wardrobe. It was only fitting, for Emma’s new OnlyFans co-star.

Mel smiled as she thought about some of the collab videos the two of them had made. Yes, this life suited Vivi much, much better than corporate leadership ever had.

“Come on, girls,” Mel chided, voice sultry. She spread her legs. “I said you were doing a good job. I didn’t say the job was finished.”

“Yes, Mel!” chorused her bimbos, and dove back to their knees.

Greedy for pleasure, Mel moaned as she felt their tongues against her sex as the two of them pressed themselves between her thighs, jockeying for position.

She couldn’t help it. They were so damn hot, and they’d been getting her worked up all through that meeting.

That was most of Vivi’s new job. She appeared with Emma on OnlyFans sometimes, but most of her days were spent at the office with Mel, serving as her personal assistant—at least, of a kind. She no longer had much capacity for organization, but she was terrific for morale. Quite the little boardroom cheerleader. Vivi had taken to her new role like a duck to water, without the slightest hint of reservation or regret.

It helped, of course, that she no longer remembered anything of who she’d used to be. Mel had made sure of that. Vivi was much, much happier without all of that baggage.

“Oh yeah,” Mel purred, as Vivi buried her tongue deep inside her cunt. “Right there.”

She wasn’t sure if it was Vivi being a quick learner or Emma being a good teacher, but either way, her new pet was quickly learning all the best ways to satisfy Mel. Now, as she lapped eagerly at her owner, Vivi kept glancing up, eyes fogged over with lust and gratification, so she could check on Mel’s responses.

“Good job!” Emma tittered, pulling back from a moment. “But don’t forget about…”

Mel’s moans turned throaty, desperate, as Emma surged forward and planted her lips on her clit, sucking and teasing eagerly.

“F-fuck!” Mel squealed, writhing as she stained the leather of her expensive, executive chair with her wetness.

“Wow,” Vivi giggled. “You’re, like, so smart, Emma.”

All three of them giggled as one.

Then, Emma joined her fellow bimbo, and suddenly Mel had both of them fighting to make her feel good, licking at her clit, clinging to her thighs, breathing and lapping against her sensitive skin. After hours of being forced to stifle her moans and her pleasure, it was more than she could take.

“Fuck!” she moaned again. “Oh my god, yes! Just like that, good girls. That’s perfect! I’m-“

“And now,” Emma giggled, pulling back on Vivi’s shoulder, “just like… stop for a moment.”

Emma couldn’t keep a lid on her whine of disappointment as both of them drew back.

“Hey!” she protested. “What are you doing?”

“See,” Emma stage-whispered to Vivi, while they both giggled. “She’s mad at me… but she’s totally gonna cum her brains out if you tease her like that a few times.”

“I told you to finish the job!” Mel complained, a big smile on her face. “That means you’re meant to get me off right away, babe.”

“Sorry, Mel!” Emma sang, before putting the prettiest, most perfect pout Mel had ever seen on her face. “I guess I was just, like, a little too dumb to know that.”

For a moment, Mel was stunned by her cheek. Then she rolled her eyes and started laughing.

“Oh my god,” she howled. “You know I’m going to have to punish you for teaching Vivi your bad habits, right?”

Emma just batted her eyelashes. “I sure hope so, mistress.”

Her lusty, submissive tone immediately lit a fire within Mel. “You,” she said, beckoning Emma up toward her. “Come here. And you?” She glanced down at Vivi. “Get back to work.”

Before Vivi could reply, Mel wrapped a hand in her hair and forced the bimbo secretary back into her cunt.

She moaned again when, immediately, obediently, Vivi pushed her tongue back into Mel’s cunt, working her back toward orgasm just as Emma had taught her. Emma, meanwhile, rose unsteadily to her feet before Mel grabbed her waist and pulled her against her. The bimbo slumped across Mel’s lap, and her owner pulled her in for a deep, passionate kiss.

“You know,” Mel panted, after they broke off. “I still owe you a proper thanks.”

“A proper, um, thanks?” Emma echoed, confused. “For what?”

“For her.” Mel indicated down at Vivi. When Emma still looked confused, she went on: “I couldn’t have done it without you, babe. Seriously. I may be a hypnotist, but you? You lured her in. You helped me figure out the perfect way to get into her head. You made that video. You tempted her. You made her want it. It’s all thanks to you.”

“Awww!” Emma melted against her lover, turning a brighter shade of pink than ever. “Mel, that’s, um, wow! I, like, don’t even know what to say.”

“I love that you’re too dumb not to set me up like that.” Mel winked, although the playful gesture was somewhat spoiled by the way she kept panting and rolling her hips as Vivi ate her out. “Cause, actually, I was hoping you’d say…”

Mel slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a small case. She opened it, to reveal an engagement ring.

Emma’s squeal of delight drowned out even the obscene sounds coming from between Mel’s legs.

“Now that we have another bimbo in our life, I want to make it clear just how important you are to me,” Mel explained, staring lovingly at her girlfriend. “Plus, I’ve actually been thinking a lot about her. About how unhappy Vivienne was. I… may be going down the same road in life, but I don’t want to end up in the same place. I think having you by my side is going to make sure that doesn’t happen. You make me happy, darling.”

Emma was all but tearing up as she stared at the ring. She kept giggling, then sniffling, then clasping her hands over her face.

“So…” Mel prompted eventually, once she couldn’t bear the tension.

“Yes! Obviously!” Emma erupted, throwing her arms around Mel. “I love you!”

“I love you too.”

Emma pulled back, and the two of them kissed once more.

“You know,” Mel said roguishly after they broke off, as she slipped the ring onto Emma’s finger, “it might be a lot of work, but there are a few perks to being the boss of this whole place.”

“Oh yeah?”

“For example.” As she spoke, Mel slid her hand down Emma’s body, resting it briefly on her waist. Her hips. Her ass. “If I want to take the rest of the day off, nobody can stop me.”

“You’re so smart, Mel,” Emma giggled. “And you, like, owe me that punishment!”

“Right,” Mel laughed—then moaned, as Vivi attacked her clit again. “B-but you better be careful, babe. Soon enough, Vivi here will be giving you a run for your money.”

The bimbo between her legs giggled proudly, the sound muffled by Mel’s body.

“Nuh-uh!” Emma retorted huffily and slid her way out of Mel’s lap. She elbowed Vivi out of the way, and pressed her face against her new fiancée’s cunt, eager to prove her prowess.

It was just as Mel had intended. As the two perfectly sculpted bimbos started competing for her favor, fiercely but amicably, all she needed to do was sit back in her comfortable executive chair, relax, and enjoy the waves of pleasure that carried her to orgasm.

Maybe becoming a hypnogarch wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

—

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who  support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following  patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

Artemis, Chloe, Grillfan65, The Secret Subject, Morriel, Dex, orangesya, dmtph, MegatronTarantulas, Madeline, BTYOR, Sarah, Mattilda, Emily Queen of sloths, Neana, Shadows exile, Abigail, Hypnogirl_Stephanie_, Jade, mintyasleep, Michael, Tasteful Ardour, Chris, Dennis, Full Blown Marxism, Morder, S, Brendon, Drone 8315, Jim, Erin, HannahSolaria, hellenberg, Kay, Miss_Praxis, Violet, Noct, Charlotte, Faun, BrinnShea, B, Foridin, Jennifer, EepyTimeTea, Phoenix, Jim, Sebastian, Joseph, Thomas, Liz, naivetynkohan, Basic dev, SuperJellyFrogEx, Katie, Lily, spyrocyndersam13, zzzz, Mal, Bouncyrou, Nimapode, Ash, Artemis, Geckonator, TheRealG, Anonymous, J, GladiusLumin, Ada, Marina, Space Prius, Alex, Michael, Thomas, Dasterin, Djura, Joe, Mattilda, Ana, proletkvlt, DOLLICIOUS, Yodasgirl, Allie~, Cusco-, Griffin, Bouncyrou, Hazelpup, Jakitron, Leah, ravenfan, Ash, ferretfyre, Alphy D, Latavia, KBZ, Ashe, Jackson, Elizabeth, noe, Steve, Melo, gynoidpoet, MaeMae2569, Thomas, Haggisllama, naughtzero, Nevin, Waddings, Aletheia, NewtypeWoman, ostara, Ivy, Ramanas, tidalGardener, Junefox, dylan, Girl with a Hog, Daedalus, Brainy, Alan, Abigail, Motoyuuri, likenyah, Valmire, Ambition, SkinnyQP, Evelyn, Danielle, Flluffie, jlc

Special thanks to Neana for commissioning this story!

[lonewolflupe]

Happy Valentine's Day from Fives! Read messages below the cut

To: @queen-of-mandalore

Thank you so much for being my friend and someone to bounce fic ideas off of. You’re such a great writer and I can’t wait to see how your fic progresses. Happy Valentine’s Day, my friend!

From: Misty 💙 ( @tealmisthams )

To: @snarkyfina

I just wanted to say thank you so much for your support of my writing and for joining me in my love of Five-soka. 💙🧡 Happy Valentine’s Day, my friend!

From: Misty 💙 ( @tealmisthams )

(Note from Lupe: I'm sorry for adding the '-' in 'Five-soka', but I didn't want to get this post filtered!)

To: @tealmisthams

Misty!

Please accept some Fives as a token of my gratitude for your lovely friendship <3 I'm at a bit of a loss for words (ironic, given my messages are usually paragraphs long) to express how truly thankful I am for our wonderful chats, character analyses, Fives and Ahsoka fangirling, Severance theories, and for all the writing support. You are an incredibly talented writer and truly have a gift for balancing angst with really sweet/tender moments. You always manage to do it just right and I am always inspired by what you create and how dedicated you are to working on your writing while balancing everything else in your life. TEACH ME YOUR WAYS!

Thank you for all the wonderful works you've created for the fandom and for your friendship. I'm always excited to get a notification from you.

Sending you much love (and to Sable/Mabel),

Mimi (and Fives, who inserts a few winking emojis here)

From: @aknightreaderr

…

To: @tealmisthams

I don't know you very well but you made the mistake of being nice to me (tagging me in a tag game) and you ain't getting rid of me. You're my beloved mutual now.

From: Kote ( @kotemf )

To: @aknightreaderr

To my dearest editor,

First of all, I know you might be disappointed in receiving a Valentine's message from me instead of from a certain sensitive (sensible? sensory? sensational? serious?) sergeant, but he was unavailable. Believe me, I tried, but a certain.. biting child got in the way, so I couldn't reach him. So I get an A for effort and you get a F for Fives!

Jokes aside (although I know Hunter is no joke to you), I'd like to thank you for your service and your friendship (and your patience). I know I can be a real handful, and so do Echo and Rex and Fox and probably a few (million) more. But after everything I put you through (fame included, of course), you're still sticking with me. And I really admire that about you.

Just know you are loved and appreciated around here. Rex just said how lucky I am with you as my editor, so I called him Captain Obvious.

Wishing you lots of love (Echo just added: wish her lots of love 😏)!

From: Fives

…

To: @aknightreaderr

Hi! I really love your blog. Your writing is incredible and it always makes me laugh. Also Ask Fives is a brilliant idea and you write it so, so well! I really admire your ability to write crack.

You were also the first person on Tumblr to tag me for a writing challenge or a tag game, I don't really remember what it was anymore but thanks. It meant a lot. It's an honor to be able to call you a mutual.

From: Kote ( @kotemf )

To: @lonewolflupe

Lupe, bestie!

It’s ya boy Fives. You really thought that you could hide behind this event and share the love and not receive any back? YOU ARE WRONG!

How do I love LoneWolfLupe? Let me count the ways. Actually, I won’t count the ways because that would take all of eternity and it’s not that I don’t have time for that, but I think I might lose my voice (RIP).

Lupe, there is no one quite like you - equal parts kindness, chaotic (which makes me shed a tear bc you get the Domino Twin vibes), creative (a writer AND an artist? The galaxy is shaking in its boots), and encouraging. Your selfless nature could melt the coldest heart (maybe I should get you to talk to Rex when he won’t let us go to 79s because we’re ‘a handful.’ I know you could sweet talk him out of it. And also because if you don’t come with us, then where is the party?)

Always keep your head raised high and take life a day at a time. You are more than capable of achieving anything you can dream on the timeline that suits YOU (Echo said that was cringe life advice but please know I speak from the heart).

But truly Lupe, I’ve never met anyone so generous and supportive as you. Thanks for all you do for us clones (and the earthlings). We always have your back! *insert lots of winks here and a hug and also Tup says hi*

Happy Valentines Day 💙

LIVE LAUGH LONEWOLFLUPE,

Fives

p.s. I wrote you a poem which is from me and Echo but he didn't write it

From: Fives

Roses are red

The 501st is blue

LoneWolfLupe

Oh how I love you!

(Note from Lupe: shedding a tear again as I re-read this whilst preparing this post. I appreciate you so much, thank you for this message <3)

...

To: @lonewolflupe

your positivity and passion is radiant! you uplift and spread love to so many. for you to make events (like this one) is so sweet

every interaction i've had with you has been nothing short of lovely and i hope so many more can feel it too <3

From: @littletroggo

(Note from Lupe: Thank you so much for your kind message, I appreciate it so much! <3)

Heart divider by @/saradika-graphics

[quinloki]

my immediate response was 'WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY MISSED', but it makes perfect sense. He sustains a minor injury and now he's going to spend the entire campaign season talking about his 'assassination attempt' and how it was clearly done by democrats and how he's the most wounded warrior in our country's history. fuck's sake.

I don't want to get into politics on main too much, but with two confirmed deaths, it makes it less of a possibility for being staged. I would, admittedly, not put it past him, but more than worry about the legitimacy, what I think we're going to have to brace for is a lot of rage and violence from his supporters.

Hate crimes against visible minorities are going to surge.

Stay safe out there my friends. Do what you need to, and please, if you can do so safely, be sure to vote. I know - I KNOW - you don't have to say it, because I KNOW.

But the alternative is beyond whatever suffering you might think we deserve.

[yuckydraws]

(Click for better quality)

Healing & Growth

(gif made by my friend @robanilla-arts is below - slight warning for flashing! Thanks again, Rob!)