#and I can work around my remote graduate schedule

[zxxccx]

Fumigation Part 2

This is a work of fiction. All characters are 18+. Contains male fart fetish content.

I was jolted awake by the smell of rotten eggs assaulting my nose. My friend was squatting over me laughing. It's times like these that made me think getting an apartment together after college was a mistake. Yes splitting rent made things more affordable, but at what cost? I couldn't even take a nap on the couch without putting myself at risk of falling victim to his gassy ass. He knew I hated his gas, but he farted on me anyway. He knew anytime I smelled his farts it brought me back to the traumatic prank he played on me, but that only seemed to make him want to fart on me more.

After school ended, he went into the fumigation business full-time. He was apparently so good at it that the owner of the company he had been working at part-time during college offered him a full-time position as soon as classes ended and before we even officially graduated. Of course he gladly accepted. I, on the other hand, went the more traditional route of going through a painful job search before finally getting an offer for a job tangentially related to my major. The work was mostly menial, but it was remote and the pay was decent so I really couldn't complain. It was nice to have to house to myself for most of the day and be free from my friend's gas.

Working remotely was nice, because it allowed me to flex my schedule and take breaks/naps as needed, which is exactly what I was trying to do before my friend so rudely awoke me. Apparently he forgot his lunch so he stopped home to grab it between job sites. He saw me napping on the couch and couldn't resist. I groaned.

Me: “Don't you need to save your gas for work?”

Him: “Nah, I have plenty to go around - more than enough for work and to blast you whenever I want.”

Me: “Why do you do this to me? You know I hate it.”

Him: “You just answered your own question.

Me: “You do it because I hate it?”

Him: “Duh. It wouldn't be as fun if you didn't.”

He laughed. I didn't think it was funny.

Him: “Anyway, I better head out and get back to work. The termites aren't going to exterminate themselves and I can't afford to slack off now. The company retreat is coming up and rumor has it that I'm a shoo-in for the employee of the year award.”

Me: “Employee of the year, really? Don't you just fart into an A/C and have it blow your gas around? How do they even decide who does that the best?”

Him: “You underestimate me. I haven't had to use an A/C on a job site for ages now. All my training and diet changes have really increased my gut strength and helped ensure maximum fart output. I'm one of the few employees that can gas out an entire house just by letting rip into the vents - no A/C or other assistance needed.”

Me: “BS! Your gas may be powerful, but no one can fully gas out an entire house by themselves. You have to be using a fan or something to help spread your gas around. It would take too long otherwise and you'd lose business.”

Him: “Is that so? Why don't you take the afternoon off and come with me to the next job site and see for yourself?”

Me: “Nice try. I'm never going near another one of your job sites, not after what happened last time.”

Him: “I'm serious! Why not put your money where your month is? I could make it worth your while.”

Me: “What do you have in mind?”

Him: “We make it a bet. If I can gas out the entire house with no assistance or aides like I said, then I win. If not, then you win. You can be there to observe and make sure I don't cheat.”

Me: “What do I get if I win?”

Him: “I give in and won't fart around you anymore.”

Me: “For how long?”

Him: “Forever.”

Me: “And what do you get if you win?”

Him: “You have to shove your face in my ass and inhale my farts directly from the source for 10 minutes.”

Me: “Dude that's brutal. That would absolutely suck!”

Him: “Obviously. You're not supposed to get off easy if you lose.”

Me: “……so you would really never fart around me again if I win.”

Him: “I'm a man of my word. I've never welched on a bet before.”

Me: “How big is the house you have to fumigate?”

Him: “Pretty big……”

Me: “………ok, you're on!”

And with that, off to the job site we went.

…

When we got there my friend started to get set up. He was right about the size of the house. I noticed that instead of the harness he had last time that filtered his gas into the A/C using a hose, he had a new harness that hooked right into the air intake vent that would allow him to create an airtight seal between the vent and his ass. This got me a little worried, but I was still confident that I would win. There's no way a single person could fill an entire house with gas, especially one this big. He finished getting his harness set up and said there was one thing left to do before starting the fumigation. Before I could ask what it was, he picked up his tool bag with one hand and hoisted me over his shoulder with the other. I protested and asked what he was doing, but he didn't answer. Instead he carried me right into the house. I tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he was stronger than me and was able to prevent me from getting away. At this point I knew exactly what he was planning and I was pretty pissed. He put me down at the bottom of a staircase and, before I could even react, he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his tool bag, handcuffed me to the railing, and the stared down at my grinning.

Him: “Walked right into that one didn't you?”

Me: “Come on man, you can't do this to me again. It's not funny!”

Him: “It's freakin hilarious!”

Me: “This wasn't part of the bet!”

Him: “I mean we did agree you would observe, we just never specified where you would be observing from. How are we gonna know if the house is fully gassed out without having some sort of judge? It's the only way to keep the bet fair.”

Me: “Seriously. I'm not kidding. You need to let me go!”

Him: “I'm not kidding either. This is gonna happen and you're not in any position to argue otherwise. Now we need to do something about that mouth of yours. You're really starting to annoy me.”

I tried to argue more, but he pulled out a roll of duct tape. He also produced a little pill seemingly out of nowhere. He shoved the pill in my mouth and then wrapped the lower half of my face with duct tape. I yelled at him as loud as I could, even though it was now muffled, and started kicking him. He responded by taping my legs together. I was now fully immobilized. I couldn't believe I was in this position again.

Him: “In case you were wondering, the pill is a stimulant. It'll prevent you from passing out. Figure you'll enjoy this more if you don't miss half of it. I also have one more surprise to make things even more fun for you. I was thinking, what could be worse than being subjected to my gas again like this? Then it hit me, what if I forced you to get off to my farts. That would really suck, wouldn't it?”

He grinned again and pulled something else out of his tool bag. Then he showed me what it was: a vibrator. He grabbed my dick through through my shorts and duct taped the vibrator to it. I was so shocked by all this that I gave up on fighting and just looked back at him with pleading eyes. He laughed and turned on the vibrator. A jolt of pleasure went though my body and I moaned.

Him: “There we go. That shouldn't be enough to fully get you off, but it'll definitely keep you aroused the entire time. Not exactly the state you want to be in when you're huffing farts, but it's not like you have a choice. Who knows, maybe this will make you fall in love with my gas. Only one way to find out I guess. Time to get this show on the road. You may not enjoy this, but I know I will!”

He walked away laughing, leaving me there dreading what was to come. After a few minutes, the loudest fart I've ever heard came through the vents. Unlike last time, I didn't have the A/C kicking on as warning that he was about to start, so the sound of the fart made me jump (as much as I could in my position). Then there was another fart that was even louder and longer…and another. They just kept on coming. It wasn't until the smell hit me that it fully dawned on me that this was happening again. It was even worse than I remember it being. It seemed almost inhuman for a person to have gas this intense.

Maybe the stench was getting to my head or maybe it was the horniness from the vibrator, but it almost seemed like his gas was so powerful that it was causing the walls to shake. Having learned from last time, I closed my eyes before the stinging started. His gas seemed to smell worse and worse with each breath. My dick started to leak precum and I felt disgusted with myself. I shouldn't be able to stay horny in an environment like this. Yet here I was. I felt so stupid for letting him put me in this situation again. The sudden realization that I was gonna lose the bet made me feel even worse. The stimulant did its job and prevented me from passing out. With nothing else to do, mind went numb and I just sat there choking on his gas with my dick leaking like a faucet…for 2 hours.

…

After it was all over and my friend let me go, we drove home in silence. He tried to laugh it off and brag about winning the bet, but I didn't even respond. I wanted nothing to do with him right now and decided to give him the silent treatment. Like last time, the stench of his gas was imprinted on my sense of smell for weeks and it took even longer for me to be able to go out in public without people gagging when they walked near me (no matter how much I showered). I was finally able to ditch the smell and I did go back to talking to my friend, but I was still really pissed at him. The least he could have done was apologize and admit he took things too far, but that never happened. I was pleasantly surprised that he at least didn't bring up the fact that I lost the bet.

I almost thought he had forgotten about it completely until Labor Day weekend. It was Friday evening, and one of our mutual friends was throwing a party to celebrate the long weekend. I was chilling on the couch when he got home. We chatted for a bit and he explained that he just finished fumigating an entire office building. He was really proud of himself because this was the first time he had tackled a building that large without the help of the A/C. I gave him a half-hearted congrats. He said he was feeling so good, that he thought now was the perfect time to collect on our bet as a reward. I told him that he got enough from me when he fumigated me against my will for the second time. He was insistent though and said if I didn't honor my part of the bet, he would tell everyone at the party tonight that I was a welcher. He also said that he would tell them about my second fumigation experience and how I got off to his gas. I knew that wasn't fair, but I definitely didn't need my other friends to find out about that humiliating ordeal so I relented. After all, it would only be for 10 minutes.

Right when I was about to get into position, he said he needed to get something first. He came back with a weird looking harness. He must have sensed my confusion because he explained that he intended to harness me in place to ensure that I didn't back out. I told him there's no way that was happening so he said that we should probably head to the party then so he could reveal all to our friends. Feeling like I had no other choice, I begrudgingly agreed. He pulled out a roll of duct tape and said he was going to gag me. Tired of arguing at this point, I let him do it in hopes that we could get this over with faster. Then he handed me a pair of kneepads saying they would make me more comfortable. Without further ado, I got into position behind him. He was wearing tight jeans and he slowly rolled the back of them down, revealing that he was wearing equally tight boxer briefs that really hugged his ass and highlighted the crevice of his crack. I barely had time to take it all in before he grabbed me and shoved my nose directly into that crevice. He tightened the harness around my head and started the ten minute timer.

His ass stunk worse than I expected. That’s when it occurred to me that he hadn't showered or changed his clothes since he got home from work. Then the farts started. Each one was massive and literally rattled my skull. And the stench was unreal. I had survived two fumigations and been farted on many times by him before, but nothing compared to smelling his gas straight from the source. This was a whole other level. My eyes flooded with tears and I thought my nose was gonna fall off. When the timer finally went off, it felt like it had been ten years instead of ten minutes. I waited for him to let me go, but instead he said that it was time to head to the party and walked towards the door. I started freaking out and slapping his hips with my hands, but he kept going.

Next thing I knew we were outside. I couldn't believe this was happening. My friend was actually walking down the street with me harnessed to his ass. Anytime people walked by us, they would laugh and make jokes at my expense. I tried as hard as I could to pull out of the harness, but it was no use. Even though the sun had set, it was still pretty warm out so it wasn't long before my friend’s ass started to sweat. Feeling his ass sweat on my face was gross - the constant farting made it even worse. After a half hour, we finally made it to the party. Everyone there burst out laughing as soon as we walked in. My friend lied and said that I had a thing for his ass and begged him to do this for me. People kept on coming up to him and asking him to fart to which he gladly obliged. The host even gave him leftover Taco Bell from the fridge, which only made things worse for me. At one point, people asked if they could take pictures and videos of us. My friend said no to my relief, but then followed that up with “not unless you make sure my face isn't visible and tag him in whatever you post online.” I screamed into his ass. This was hell. My life as I knew it was over.

After hours of absolute torture, which included my friend drunkenly dancing with my face in his ass, the party died down. My friend said his goodbyes and then walked home (with me still strapped to his ass, of course). I had given up complaining. I was ready to just get home so he could let me go and then I could pack my stuff and stay in a hotel for a few days until I could find a new apartment in another state. However, when we got home, my friend didn't let me out like I expected. Instead, he started going through his bedtime routine. Finally, I struggled hard enough that he acknowledged me.

Him: “Yeah, I know tonight was pretty rough for you. I've been planning this for a while and I had a feeling you might not fully enjoy it. That said, let me tell you how things are gonna be from now on. First things first, next week you're gonna call your boss and quit your job. Then, you're going to sign a contract with the fumigation company to become my assistant. Per the contract, as my assistant you'll have to be inside every building I fumigate and you'll also have to sniff my gas between jobs whenever I ask you to. The contract also stipulates that your salary will go into my bank account so that I can use it to help pay for rent, utilities, groceries, and whatever else I want. That will also help ensure you never have enough money to move out and get a place of your own. As an extra bonus, we added a clause that makes it so that quitting within the first ten years of signing the contract will be considered breach of contract. Doesn't that sound great?”

I screamed into his ass and pounded his hips with my fists.

Him: “Yeah, I knew you'd like it. I imagine you'll need some time to think it over though. It's Friday night now and since Monday is Labor Day and we're both off, I figured I'll keep you strapped to my ass until Monday night. That way you'll be in the perfect environment to process all this. By then, I'm sure you'll want out of my ass so badly and be so thirsty and hungry, that signing the contract will be a no brainer.”

I went ballistic. There's no way he could keep me strapped to his ass for three days without food or water. I had to get out, but the harness was unyielding.

Him: “Hey, settle down! It’s time for me to go to bed. If you don't stop screaming and hitting me, tomorrow I'll eat an entire can of baked beans and go for a run to get nice and sweaty.”

That shut me up. I was trapped. He pulled down the back of his underwear and tightened the harness more, sealing me between his bare ass cheeks.

Him: “Well good night! Just so you know, my night farts are the worst…”

I shuddered. Deep down I knew I had no choice. Come Monday, I would sign that contract and begin my new life dedicated to him and his gas. As the first night fart blasted me, I began to quietly sob into his ass…

[savage-rhi]

[allthelovehes]

Care and Connection* | TEASER

Summary: Y/N has been babysitting Harry's daughter for a couple of months now and the two of them grew rather fond of each other. Harry can't help but swoon when he comes home to find his daughter wrapped up in Y/N's arms, both asleep on the sofa.

Pairing: Singledad!Harry x reader

Word count: 2.8K TEASER of a 9K Patreon Exclusive!

Warnings: Smut, lots of love and care, cutest girl ever, oh right back to the smut: protected sex, oral both f and m receiving, swallowing (iykyk), taboo relationship(?).

Taglist: @justmystyles @bitchybabyharry @harrysslut7 @swiftmendeshoran @lucasandharold @harrysbabycherry @htaylor18 @rose-garden-dreamz @myalovesharry @mellamolayla @hsonlyangelxo @yousunshineyoutempter @heartateasee @blueheisenbergtragedy @bikestyles @bohemianrhapsody86 Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! 🤗

Support my work by joining my Patreon!

Four months into getting her master's degree, Y/N stumbled upon a babysitting gig for a wealthy single dad. Harry Styles promised the opportunity of a lifetime. After graduating she could use him as a reference and would even have a chance to be head of her own department in his corporation. All she had to do was keep his kid alive and act like their best friend. This shouldn't be too difficult.

Her boss was nothing like she had expected. Y/N loved children and had babysat through her undergrad years so Harry was definitely on board with the resume she put in. What he didn't count on was the temptation the beautiful girl brought with her. His three-year-old daughter adores her and seeing his daughter so happy made him weak as well. But Y/N too wasn't prepared for the tension that'd soon build between the two of them.

Y/N's schedule is perfect for her job, she takes three classes a week at the university which are all morning classes leaving her plenty of time to watch Grace in the afternoon so Harry can go to the office. Being the CEO allows him to work from home and they agreed upon the three mornings, as long as she's finished by 1 PM. Her master's requires a lot of self-study but Harry promised her the use of his office, whenever she needed it.

After finishing her classes, Y/N steps in her car and drives to the Styles residence. She clicks the button of the remote control so the gate to Harry's property opens. Whenever Y/N wonders how her boss can afford such a beautiful home, she reminds herself that she really shouldn't pry too much into people's personal lives. She shakes the question away every time because truthfully she doesn't want to know.

“Y/N!” Grace shouts excitedly when the front door opens. Her little feet slide against the wooden flooring, while the small girl is making her way over to her.

“Hi, Gracie.” She smiles brightly, crouching down so she can wrap her arms around her. “You can actually run a marathon now.” She pokes her tongue out.

“Daddy said I hafta put on my shoes first.” The small girl points at her bare feet. “Then you can race.”

“Daddy is smart, you'd be way faster with your shoes on!” Y/N agrees. Grace's favourite activity is definitely running. Ever since the day she found out how fast her legs could carry her, there was no going back.

“Y/N, I am so glad you're here.” Harry walks into the entrance and the Y/N can't help but bite her lip. He wears a tight black turtleneck sweater, showing off his chest and when he turns to close the door, his trousers fit very nicely. Y/N shakes her head, chastising herself for once again admiring the beauty that is her boss. “You are early.”

Y/N gets up, looking at her wristwatch. “By two minutes.” She can feel the blush creeping up her cheeks because even though they've been doing this babysitting gig for a couple of months, she is still caught off guard when they talk. “My professor ended his lecture earlier than expected.” She explains.

“I should reward your punctuality.” He smirks mischievously. If she hadn't fallen in love with his daughter first, it would've probably been him.

Grace slides into her purple Converse shoes and looks up at the pair while attempting to tie her shoes.

“Come here baby.” Y/N reaches a hand out. “Let me help you.” She watches as the girl makes her way to her with a bright smile. She's definitely taken after Harry. Her brown hair covers a good part of her back when it's down, which always has Harry insisting that she does a half ponytail. Her small chubby hands roam around with any and everything making it all the more impossible to grasp properly. But if there's one thing Y/N has learned in these last couple of months it's that it doesn't take a lot of effort for Grace to grasp hold of someone's heart. Y/N finishes tying her shoe before wrapping the little girl's hair into a ponytail, using the band on her wrist to secure it into place and picking up the toddler.

“Is it a race?” Grace asks curiously.

“I was thinking that we can make french toast.” Y/N suggests, laughing at herself as she proposes something completely different from what Grace insists on.

“French toast?” Grace scrunches her nose up in disapproval.

“Yes, Grace!” She exclaims. “We need to eat first.”

Harry watches their interaction and doesn't even attempt to hide the amusement that crosses his features.

“Ok.” The three-year-old girl answers. “I guess.”

“It's only until lunch.” Y/N reminds her. “Then afterwards we can go running. You and me?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Daddy's not gonna come?” Grace mumbles a soft pout on her face.

“I have to work, baby.” Harry reminds his daughter. “Y/N will watch you today while I am at work. She is gonna make sure you eat and sleep and she'll play with you until you tire her out.” He smiles. “Just like every other Thursday.” He wraps his right arm around Y/N's waist, leaning in so he can kiss the top of his daughter's head. “Now be nice.”

“I don't want to sleep, daddy.” Grace frowns, the disappointment and resistance clear on her face.

“Later.” He smiles. “Daddy is late.”

“Did you eat?” Y/N looks at him. “I can make you lunch too.” She offers.

“I already ate, don't worry.” He chuckles. “Besides I know it's not in your job description to care for me.” Harry smirks.

“But if your baby doesn't get the proper attention and you're too weak from starvation, I will be liable.” Y/N offers nonchalantly and feels her cheeks warm when his gaze meets hers.

“Can I go jump on the bed?” Grace interrupts them.

“Absolutely not!” They both scold in unison before turning their heads to stare at the other. Harry chuckles as he sends her a wink.

“I'm going to go now. Be good.” He says looking at Grace. “You too, Y/N.” He winks at her.

“I am always on my best behaviour, Mr. Styles.” She teases.

“I know.” He hums satisfied. “That's the problem.” ***

Y/N walks out of Harry's office, making sure to quietly close the door behind her. Grace peacefully fell asleep after running for thirty minutes straight in the backyard and Y/N took the opportunity to use Harry's home office to study for her classes. She just found out she had an exam on Monday and it was way too close for her comfort.

When Grace wakes up from her nap, Y/N gets her changed and ready for the rest of their afternoon together. Y/N keeps busy to get through Grace's demanding behaviour, so she figures some baking will be a good activity. She's wearing Harry's apron, her hair has come undone with all the frustration she has with measuring the dry ingredients but honestly, she couldn't care less about anything else. She's covered in flower and possibly milk but she prides herself on the fact that the smell of banana bread has taken over the house.

“Grace?” She calls but receives no answer. “Grace!” She calls again, a bit louder this time but still nothing. Where is she? Y/N steps out of the kitchen and into the living room where she finds the little girl laying down on the sofa. “Are you hungry?”

“Mmhm.” Grace shakes her head.

“No? Are you sleepy, love?” Y/N sits down next to the toddler and runs her hand over her back.

“My tummy hurts.” Grace frowns, holding her stomach.

“It hurts?” She frowns, pressing her hand down against Grace's belly and rubbing circles on it with her thumb. “Come here.” Y/N gently lifts Grace onto her lap. “Where does it hurt, baby?”

Grace pulls a pout on her face, her eyes looking at Y/N for a second before pressing her lips into a thin line. She pushes her cheek against the babysitter's chest and points to her stomach.

“Is it a big hurt?” Y/N feels worried for the child. She doesn't want Grace to be in pain and what's worse is that it's the first time something like this happens. “Gracie?” She whispers, and the little girl merely nods her head.

“Oh, come here baby.” Y/N coos and lays down with Grace in her arms. She covers them with the blanket from the back of the sofa, keeping them warm.

Grace settles between the crevice of her neck and chest, clinging to Y/N as her fingers softly graze the nape of her neck. Her fingers twirl a strand of Y/N's hair around them while the thumb of her free hand is caught between her lips.

Y/N curls her hands over Grace's head as she begins humming a tune for the little girl. She closes her eyes, allowing the smooth melody to come out and waits patiently for the girl to fall asleep. It doesn't take much longer for Grace to relax and after one more round, Y/N is certain the toddler has succumbed to her dreams. She lays with the little girl, not wanting to wake her up and keeps humming and soothingly patting her back.

Eventually, she opens her eyes as she feels a soft pressure on top of her head and sees Harry standing there caressing her hair, quietly staring back at her. How long has he been standing there?

“You fell asleep.” He whispers, his voice full of amusement.

“How did your meeting go?” Y/N keeps her voice at a low level as not to startle her little sleeper.

“You had a tough day, sweetheart?” He asks, sitting down on the other sofa in front of them. His dimpled smile breaks out as she nods her head at him. Harry is genuinely touched at seeing the closeness between his girl and the woman who has brought so much happiness to his family.

Y/N turns her head, nuzzling her nose against Grace's hair and taking a deep breath. The little girl moves to press a leg between her knees and pushes her feet against her thigh, feeling the warm embrace.

“When did this happen?” He motions to Grace.

“She said her tummy hurt.” Y/N explains. “I thought we could keep snuggling a bit. Besides if I laid her down she'll probably wake up.”

“A wise decision.” He assures her, letting his head rest on his palm.

Y/N smiles for a moment before her eyes fall to his lap. “How was your meeting?” She asks.

“Exhausting.” Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Kept thinking about my girls at home.” He looks at her and she bites her bottom lip trying to hide her shy smile. She loves how he said girls, as in plural.

They stare at each other a bit longer, neither one wanting to break their eye contact, in a sense begging the other to be the first. Grace lets out a small cough, startling Y/N into looking away. She turns to see the small girl's forehead all bunched up.

“It's ok, honey.” She whispers, pressing a small kiss to her temple. She begins her lullaby again and it doesn't take long for Grace to settle into a deep sleep.

“So beautiful.” He hums after a while, looking at the way Grace falls at ease in Y/N's arms. “Let's put her to bed so we can have dinner.” Harry offers and takes the small child in his arms and carries her up the stairs.

Y/N stays behind and cleans up the mess they made in the kitchen, thankful that she let the food she planned on cooking for dinner stay in the fridge. She glances up as she sees Harry strolling down the staircase. His long legs carry him forward in a few strides and she rolls her eyes at herself for finding such a stupid activity exciting.

“Is she asleep?” Y/N asks.

“Mmhm.” Harry stretches his arms above his head and Y/N catches a sliver of skin beneath his sweater. It only lasts a moment but it's enough for Y/N to release the breath she didn't realise she was holding in.

Harry lowers his arms and reaches the kitchen, taking a seat on a stool on the other side of the counter. He had his hands pressed on top of it as his eyes look down. After a small sigh, he looks up at Y/N.

“I was thinking-” He pauses. “-me and you, we should talk.” He keeps his hands pressed on the cold marble, balling them into fists at the fear of her rejection.

Y/N's face shows an expression of worry. “Oh no, was I not meeting the needed requirements of my job?” She questions, folding the dish towel on her shoulder. “I've tried to give as much love and care to Grace as possible. I promise that I will not abandon her or neglect her or her well-being.”

Harry smiles lovingly at her. “You are amazing with her.” He remarks, leaning his elbows on the counter. “But that's not what I was talking about.”

“It's not?” Y/N pouts, now very confused about what he really wants to say.

“This babysitting thing, Y/N.” Harry begins. “We both know that this is more than that.” He waits for her reaction.

“Ok..” She drags out the 'o'. “I mean if you've been-“

“Can you please sit down?” He interjects.

Y/N smiles politely, afraid to show too much of the happiness that has taken over her. Harry can see her hesitancy and can tell she's trying her best to remain calm while she takes her seat next to him. She turns her stool a little bit so she's directly facing him.

Harry stares at her for a moment, taking her in and how natural it seems for them to sit down like this. His fingers reach out, brushing her cheek lightly but pulling his hand back when she frowns. It's too soon. It's inappropriate. But he wants her so much.

“I care for you a lot.” He starts again, with a newfound confidence and strength. “I think it's more than just Grace at this point. You have become a part of my family in such a short amount of time. You've shown me the joy of welcoming another human in my home and offering them safety and love.”

“I love being here.” Y/N swallows the lump in her throat. “Grace is so perfect and I- I care for her immensely. I would do anything for her.”

“You also happen to be exquisite.” Harry remarks. “Possibly the prettiest woman I have ever laid eyes on.” Y/N ducks her head and he can sense the heat radiating from her skin. “It's not my place to cross any boundaries but I can't deny the chemistry and connection we share. I am so attracted to you.”

She bites her lower lip. This is going all wrong. “But, Harry.”

“Y/N.” He interrupts her. “Let me finish.” He tilts his head to the side.

“I've seen the way you've been looking at me.” Harry reaches out, lifting her chin with his fingers. “It's the same way I look at you when you're not looking back.”

“It's true.” She admits. “I just-” Y/N frowns. “I thought that maybe, and please don't hate me for thinking this, I thought that perhaps I was seeing things that weren't actually there, delusional daydreaming.” She scoffs and Harry licks his lips, a smirk visible.

“Allow me to clear the confusion.” He whispers, running his fingers along her jaw, towards the right side of her neck. “I want you.” He reveals, slightly tilting her head back with a gentle push, so her eyes meet his. “And I will wait until you decide you're ready.”

She tenses up, a hand on her thigh as the other grips at the hem of her blouse. “What if I'm ready now?” Y/N muses.

Harry leans back, pushing himself off the stool and stepping forward as the gap between him and Y/N lessens. “Then I'd say we skip dinner.” He says, his voice a bit deeper and definitely surer than before. Her eyes travel his face, holding the gaze of his bright green eyes for a second longer.

“We definitely should, Mr. Styles.” Y/N decides to call him by his last name as she sees the spark ignite in his eyes. “After all, you are the boss.” She chuckles.

“That's right, love.” He smirks. “I am.” Harry wraps his arms around her, pulling her off the stool and holding her securely against his frame. The younger woman wraps her hands around his neck and her legs around his waist, giving him all the assurance he needs. “God, look at you.” He murmurs before pressing his lips to hers.

[chronicallydragons]

Hiii I hope this is not intrusive, but I made a lil expedition in your blog and couldn't thing any post in wich you talk how you balance your life as an scientist while being chronically ill. I'm chronically ill myself (myalgic encephalomyelitis) and plan to be a doctor in a handful of science areas, but the amount of time I have to study per day is way bigger than I can afford with the fatigue and mind fog (adhd is also in the soup). It would be a wonder if you could share some tips and experiences if ya don't mind :) hope you've been doing ok

Thanks for asking! I've actually been trying to figure it out again for myself, so I'm not sure if I'm any help here because it is SO hard to balance work and life and being chronically ill. I also have ME/CFS in my alphabet soup of diagnoses, so I understand the struggle! I guess I could just talk about what I've done since getting sick? Maybe you can gleam some wisdom from it? I'm definitely not a doctor or an expert, but I can try to help! (sorry, this gets long...)

I got sick right after I got accepted into grad school but right before school started, so I had a lot of trial and error trying to find out what worked. And grad school is hard. It's always going to be hard. But grad school with a chronic illness was a new kind of hard and when I tell you I wanted to drop out at least once a semester... I think the biggest things that contributed to me sticking around to graduation was: I was working full time in the lab at the university so was already planning on doing part time class work, my classes were (mostly) online (more on that later), and my boss/master's advisor's wife has a lot of health issues too, so he's been super sympathetic and flexible with my reduced energy and increased brain fog.

For school, I did not have accommodations my first semester but did get them set up for either my second or third semester. Most of my classes were online because my degree was mostly online and it was during the part of covid when people...cared. But I did have a few in person classes that I worked with my professors to make sure I had access to zoom when I couldn't make it in person--that's probably harder for med school, but it might be worth asking for! Other accommodations were with a case-by-case extended deadline, extra time on exams, small snacks and water in class and exams, and being able to put my feet up in class. I tried to get an accommodation for an index card of notes for brain fog, but the school required more hoops for something like that so I didn't go for it, but it might be worth at least asking for.

For work, I'm currently in a weird place where we moved away from the university for my husband's job, but I was still able to finish my thesis remotely, and I still work for the lab--just remotely and part time. I help with journal manuscripts and putting together experiment sheets right now. But I probably do need to find a new position sooner than later. I'm currently looking for positions with the state health department because I know they do more remote work than my local health department. I'm also hoping when/if I do get a new job, that I'll be able to get accommodations for a more flexible schedule--including less required in person time if possible--and possibly trying to be part time. My big thing is I *can* work, I just need to be able to recline and turn the lights down/off which is hard to do in an office or lab setting. When I WAS still in person and full time at the lab, my office was just shared with me and a coworker/friend who was totally fine with me turning off the lights in the office and working in the dark. We also had an extra table that was supposed to be used for other computers/laptops and paperwork and stuff, but I used it to lie down on after being in the lab for extended periods of time. When I was in the lab, some of the labs got really hot, especially under all the PPE, so I found spraying my gown and gloves with the ethanol helped to promote some evaporative cooling to keep my heat intolerance in check. I found that communicating with my coworkers and supervisors about when I needed breaks or accommodations was super helpful. Working with SARS-CoV-2, we were in Tyvek suits and PAPRs in a sectioned off portion of the BSL-3 lab, and I'd often overheat in there, so I made sure I was going back with a lab partner and took regular breaks to leave the SARS2 room, take off the PAPR, and get some air for a minute and rest.

Like anything with ME/CFS, pacing is going to be the hardest but most important part to figure out. And science requires a lot of mental exertion, so even if you're "just" reading papers or running data analysis or whatever, taking regular breaks and taking it slow is really important. Some school disability resource centers have screen readers you can borrow, and if reading becomes difficult, it may be worth asking if you can get one so you can listen instead.

I'm not sure how it works with med school--I had originally planned to do vet school eventually, but I got distracted by research and public health so went the MPH route, but planned to go to vet school eventually until I got sick. But I know vet school class schedules are super strict and take a lot of time and I don't know if I'd be able to adapt it, so I'm not trying too hard to get to vet school anymore, but I think it'd definitely be worth having a conversation with your professors, the doctors you'll be working with, and the disability center at your school to try to figure out what the best way is to get things done without making yourself any sicker. Find ways to reduce stimulation and symptoms while you're working so hopefully you need fewer major breaks--for me, that's things like managing my orthostatic intolerance by reclining/putting my feet up/lying down/staying hydrated/staying cool and then also reducing light--either turning the lights off or using light sensitivity glasses (I used my HSA to get Avulux/Axon glasses and they work really well but they are expensive so going with a cheaper brand if you have any light sensitivity probably works just fine too!). I know some people benefit from noise filtering and use Loops. Mobility aids are a life saver. I didn't apply, but my university had a limited amount of electric wheelchairs and scooters they could lend to students every semester, if you don't have a mobility aid that works for you yet, it might be worth checking if you school has any available. Really just doing anything you can to keep symptoms down while you're studying and researching can help keep you functional longer, and that's kinda been what I've managed to do. I've straight up brought heating pads to work/class and the only comments I usually got were either 1) "are you okay?" or 2) "Oh, that's GENIUS," so don't be afraid to just...do what you need to do and use what you need to use! I hope something here helped?

[bethanymedicalbillingcareer]

Free Online Medical Coding Classes: Master the Art of Coding from Home!

# FREE‍ ONLINE MEDICAL⁤ CODING CLASSES: MASTER THE ⁣ART OF CODING FROM‍ HOME!

Are you ‌interested in ‌pursuing a career in⁤ medical coding but unsure where to⁢ start? Look no further! With the ⁣availability of free online medical coding classes, you can master the art of coding from the comfort of your home. In this comprehensive guide, we‍ will⁣ explore the benefits of⁤ online medical coding classes, practical tips for success, and real-life case studies to inspire you on⁣ your⁣ coding journey.

## What is Medical Coding?

Medical coding is the process of converting healthcare diagnoses, procedures, medical ⁣services, and‌ equipment into universal⁤ alphanumeric codes. These codes ‌are essential for healthcare providers, insurance companies, and government agencies to accurately track patient diagnoses and treatments. Certified​ medical coders play a crucial ‌role in ensuring accurate billing and reimbursement in‌ the healthcare ‌industry.

## Benefits of Free Online Medical⁢ Coding Classes

– **Convenience**: ⁤Online classes⁢ allow you to study at your own pace and in the comfort of your home. You can access course materials and lectures at any time, ‌making it‌ easier to balance ⁤your studies with other responsibilities. – **Cost-Effective**: Free online medical coding classes eliminate⁤ the need for expensive textbooks and commuting costs. You can gain valuable skills ⁣without ⁢breaking the bank. – **Flexibility**: Online ⁢courses offer flexibility in ‌scheduling, allowing you to study around your ⁤work or family ⁣commitments. You⁣ can progress through the ⁣material at a pace that suits you.

## Practical Tips for Success

– **Create a ​Study Schedule**: Establish a study routine that works for you and stick to it. Consistency is key to mastering complex coding concepts. – **Engage with Instructors**: Take advantage of ‍online forums, discussion boards, or virtual office hours to‌ ask questions and seek ⁣clarification on challenging topics. – **Practice, Practice, Practice**: Coding is a skill that improves with‍ practice. Work on coding exercises regularly to reinforce your understanding. – **Stay Organized**: Keep track of important deadlines,⁤ assignments, and study materials to ⁢stay on‌ top of your coursework.

## Real-Life Case Studies

### Case Study 1: Sarah’s ‍Success Story

Sarah, a working mother with a passion for healthcare, decided to pursue a career in‍ medical coding. She enrolled ⁣in free online coding classes and dedicated evenings and weekends to⁢ her studies. Through perseverance and ⁢hard​ work, Sarah completed her certification and secured a remote ‌coding position with⁢ a local hospital.

### Case Study 2: John’s Career Transition

John, a recent college graduate facing a competitive job market,⁣ discovered the world ​of⁣ medical coding. Despite having no prior experience in healthcare, John found free ​online coding classes that provided him with the knowledge and skills needed to excel in the field. ‌He successfully⁣ transitioned into⁣ a rewarding career as ‍a certified medical coder.

## First-Hand Experience

As a medical coding student who​ completed free online classes, I​ can attest ⁢to the ⁢benefits of online⁢ learning. The flexibility and accessibility of online courses ​allowed⁢ me to balance my studies with a​ full-time job, ⁤ultimately leading to a successful career ‍in medical⁢ coding.

free online medical coding classes offer a valuable opportunity to master the art of coding from home. Whether you are a seasoned professional looking to upskill or a newcomer to the healthcare industry, online courses can ‍provide the knowledge and expertise needed to succeed in this in-demand field. Take⁣ advantage of these resources, follow the practical ‍tips provided, and be⁢ inspired​ by real-life case ‌studies to embark on your coding​ journey today!

Remember, with dedication and commitment, you can achieve your goals and‌ join the ranks of skilled medical coders ‌making ⁢a difference in the healthcare industry.

https://medicalbillingcareers.org/free-online-medical-coding-classes-master-the-art-of-coding-from-home/

[anakiskonkanis]

MOMMA KNOWS BEST

Another chapter of my life is coming to an end in a few days and I can't help but feel nostalgic.

My life has always been a series of "Mama, what am I going to do?"

I remember my first day in college when my feet were swollen from walking around the whole day because I couldn't find my classroom, you knew just what to do. You helped me make my schedule because you knew a block schedule would be better and gave me more free time. You were there for every bad decision I made with an "I told you so" but also with a solution.

I remember my first day in medical school when I called you worried because everyone was so smart and I felt incompetent and you knew just what to say to make me feel better. You gave me pep talks every exam and for every fear I brought up, you knew just what to say even when I lost confidence in myself. You believed in my dream enough for the both of us.

When I started my internship, I remember telling you how excited I was and you were just as excited as me whenever I had to tell you about the cases I did or patients I handled..

Then the PLE came and it was completely horrible. I didn't know what I would do and I was so worried about disappointing everyone, you knew exactly what to say almost every.single.day I was reviewing and on the day the results came out, I don't know who was happier, you or me when we called you to tell you the news.

You never doubted my acceptance to residency training and during my first few months of training, you would be angry for me for the extensiveness of training. I was already 30 years old and you would send me snacks, actual home-cooked meals and even random things I was craving during my duty because 30 isn't too old to baby. hahaha. You would comfort me on hard days and understand me on difficult days.

You never stopped supporting me in my pursuit of my passion. Every time I did something new or remotely amazing, you would always ask me about it and I think thats the kind of love I really needed these past few years. The kind that is unwavering and supportive where coming home after a new surgery or a new case and always having someone equally excited to talk about it with. It's the kind of love you specialize in where it is several layers embedded in the tiny details and actions of hearing me rant and bashing the same people I dislike, or making me my favorite meal or even sending me stuff at work even if you have to drop it off personally.

Your love is home.

Now that I'm about to graduate (for the nth time), all I can think of are the hands that helped me get to where I am and how all this time, you have never let go of my hand.

I would not be where I am today and who I am today, without you. Thank you.

Love you momma.

[moth--knight]

if you don't mind sharing, how exactly did you find out you had adhd? and how did you get through college w it?

hi anon!! not a question I expected haha, but sure, I can answer (but I rambled sorry, so putting it below the cut)

I didn't realize I had it until I got to college, mostly due to interacting with peers who also had ADHD and whose experiences mirrored mine in startling ways. I had always been a good student in terms of like, grades? But I struggled with getting ANYTHING in on time. It was like there was a mental block preventing me from doing even the most basic of things. Sitting down to focus on a simple 200 word response felt like pulling teeth despite the fact that I was objectively a good and fast writer, and pretty much every assignment I have done since middle school onward I have done at the VERY LAST MINUTE. I nearly flunked out of my first semester of college because despite having As in all my classes, I could not for the life of me get myself to write the final papers for three of my classes. My professors were kind enough to give me extensions of a full two months - and yet every single one of those papers I wrote the night before the final deadline, crying on the floor of my dorm room until 7am. I didn't understand WHY I couldn't just fucking sit down and do it. It did not help that I could focus on shit like video games for HOURS without moving. I would forget to eat, forget to sleep, forget to use the bathroom - I always felt very fucking useless and lazy, because I *could* focus, but never on the right thing. Not to mention that I could not form habits to save my life. Even now at 25, remembering to brush my teeth twice a day is like, nigh on impossible. Lol.

In college I met some friends who were diagnosed with ADHD, and all of them were pretty much like "hey your issues with hyperfixations and an inability to focus on simple necessary tasks and an inability to keep habits and so forth all are very ADHD coded my friend" and I was like "NAHHHHHHHHH. NO WAY. I'M FINE." <- words of a guy who was NOT fine

Even worse, my partner at the time had a therapist who just from stories of me was like "btw maybe you should tell your bf they probably have ADHD it could help them" which is like. Deeply fucking funny kdfsgfhdkjsal Anyway. My own therapist eventually also was like "99.9% sure you have ADHD" and I was like "sick what do I do then" and she was like "well you could get tested and get on meds" and I was like "ahahahahahahaha well I cannot afford that so nah"

I had no insurance in college and every dime I made I spent on HRT or sent it home to my family. So. I basically ignored the problem. Which. Was not helpful. Lol. Quite frankly looking back I am not sure how I managed to graduate at all. I was under severe and constant stress because of the way ADHD was ruining my life as a student. It was not fun.

I didn't really *accept* that I had ADHD though until after college, and I still have never gotten a formal diagnosis 1) because I don't have that kind of money to throw around tbh and 2) I don't need a doctor to tell me what I already know.

BUT. YOU ASKED HOW I GOT THROUGH. SO HERE ARE MY TRIED AND TRUE STRATEGIES

Whenever possible, I tried to set up parallel working sessions. I often sat with a large group of friends/peers in our library and we would work together. Having other people with me helped keep me on track, and even when I spent half the time talking, the other half I worked. Working alone I often got NOTHING done. Parallel play saved my ass on many nights and for many assignments. My junior/senior year when we had to go remote because of COVID I swapped out in person for video calls with multiple people. Same sort of vibe. Now as an adult if I want to get something done, I still hop on a video call with my friends. It helps me focus to have other people there, and the background noise of conversations is soothing almost. I don't know why, but it works.

If you can, have some sort of schedule imposed by outside forces. I really fucking suck at habit forming, and so making lists and just saying "I am going to do this then" does not work for me. But having set times I would go to class and go to work helped me manage my time better, and carve out blocks that FORCED me to work on what I needed to get done. I color coded my schedule and made sure that my class hours and work hours were regular; it made my 'free time' also more structured around those mandated times, which helped a little. It also caused me a lot of stress though. There are tradeoffs for everything I suppose.

Walking and pacing!!! This sounds nuts but like. I luv maladaptive daydreaming and have since I was a kid, so I kind of adapted that to help me with school work. If I had an essay or something I would put on some music and go for a walk or pace in my dorm room and just think about the assignment. It helped me generate ideas so when it came time to sit and focus, I had something to work with rather than staring at a blank page. I really suck at sitting still and thinking, so moving around helped me a lot.

Speaking of, I took a LOT of breaks. Which seems counterintuitive I guess, but allowing myself to get up, go get a snack, go chat with someone, etc, made it easier to come back and sit down and work rather than trying to just sit and focus and fail to focus for hours on end. I took lots of breaks but also got small pieces done in between every break, so it all added up in the end.

Anyway, sorry, this is a lot. the TLDR is I spent my schooling years either unaware or in denial of having ADHD, and it destroyed me. I wish I had accepted it sooner, and I wish I had more adults in my life that could have saw the signs and helped me.....but alas.

Even so, I developed ways to cope that I still use now. It helped me a lot to start talking to other people who also have ADHD because it made me feel less alone. I've also tried very hard to reframe my thinking of myself as lazy/useless because like, I am not either of those things! I just have a disorder that makes shit hard! GRAH!

I have no idea if any of this is helpful anon, but I hope ??? it can be. I don't want to presume anything BUT if you too are in college and struggling I am wishing you the absolute best and I hope you can find a good support system. (And if you ever want to chat, my dms are open <3)

[jay-notabird]

Haha I did a thing

Found files — a creepypasta-inspired story.

[A woman steps into the frame, only a chair and a brick wall behind her is present, and the whirring of the camera can be heard.]

My name is Lucinda Knowles 

I am 22 years old.

I have been living by myself for 4 years.

I am to finish college in a month.

My life is anything but easy.

I work a part-time job while still going to college,

Plus I have to be extra careful.

There is a murderer in our town, and people

Believe he stalks women.

If I stop updating he found me.

[The footage abruptly stops, going to the next tape.]

My name is Lucinda Knowles

My favourite candies are Werthers Originals.

I only take streets with more than four people on them,

I never take alleyways.

I always make sure to change my schedule.

One night I go straight home, the next I go to eat.

I always make sure to change up the path I take,

The mart I shop at,

And the restaurant which I dine in.

I never stay out past 9:30

And I always lock all doors.

I have a feeling this won’t stop him,

He’s watching me I know it.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he is watching

Me right now.

[Tape 3 starts to play, revealing the room has changed. We now see a bed, light gleaming from a window on the left and two doors on her right.]

My name is Lucinda Diana Knowles.

I live in a small studio apartment on Nare's street.

Yesterday while I was walking I saw him.

He seems to be hanging around my college.

He’s not as frightening as I imagined,

Though I only saw him for a fraction of a second.

He seems to be wearing a type of mask,

And a blue hoodie.

I’m not sure what he wants, he ran off.

[Tape 4 plays, revealing the same girl holding her graduation plack, a big smile on her face.]

My name is Lucinda Knowles.

I graduated last week.

I majored in English with a master’s degree.

There has been no sign of the man lately,

I think he has finally left to terrorise a new town.

Hopefully, I’ll update you soon.

[Tape 5 plays, this time we see the girl turning on the camera before sitting in her bed, a tv plays in the background before she turns it off with the remote]

My name is Lucinda Knowles.

I check the news every day after work.

Today I turned on the news

To some, well– bad news.

He’s back, and even closer than before.

He is now near my work.

I think he knows, but I can’t be sure.

I- I’m scared, I have a real bad feeling

About thi–

[A knocking is heard and the girl turns her head quickly, standing up and briefly apologizing to the camera. There is a pause and nothing is heard but the shut of a door.]

[Footsteps approach, seemingly going behind the camera, before the tape ends.]

[Tape 6, the camera turns on to see a different room. The girl sits on a chair with her hands tied, tears streaming down her tired face.]

[The girl looks frightened for a second, staring at something outside of the camera’s view.]

M-my name is Lucinda Diana Aea Knowles,

I go by Luci for sh-short.

I am 22 years old,

I have a master's degree in English.

I work at M-Marcy’s Diner,

And I live on Nare’s street.

I check the news every day after work.

I constantly change my schedule.

A-and I was still caught.

My favourite candies a-are Werther’s Originals,

And I play volleyball in my spare time.

[There is a pause, the girl looking behind the camera.]

P-please I don’t want to do this.

[A man steps into view and holds up a scalpel, pointing at the girl.]

N-no! Okay, okay, I’ll do it.

I– If anyone finds these, I’m already dead. 

Don’t come looking for me.

[martinezmicah]

20221201 | Year-End Beginnings

Content warning: This post contains topics involving mental health and sexual assault.

It’s never too late to start anew this year. I guess?

It's kind of weird that this seemed like a short year yet a lot of things happened. It was a year of fruitfulness, kind of.

I got my first job as an online data entry contributor and researcher. It was a remote job, and I am good at it. However, i felt like I wanted to try having a job in government research or the food industry. Of course I applied for jobs. I had multiple interviews. I never really got rejection letters but having no updates on the application just meant they didn't push through with me.

I really wish they still sent out letters to all who applied, and for people like me who has been through multiple screenings, I wish they had an honest feedback about my application and credentials.

I did become a Project Assistant for a technology business incubator at a state university in March. These kinds of jobs are on a contract basis and we were not exactly employees of the university. I had the job for around 3 months. I didn't renew my contract. I felt my mental health declining before I decided to hand in my resignation. I don't think it was really a resignation since my contract was up anyway.

I went back home and kept my data entry job. I was being paid a bit higher here anyways and when I'm at home, I wouldn't have to worry about rent, food, and transportation.

My work schedule is also a flexible, so I can do some extra work when I still have extra time during the week.

At the end of July, I joined the 13th National Youth Parliament. I was one of the delegates from our city, as being the Secretary General of the first youth parliament. I made new friends whom I still keep in touch with until now.

In August, just a few days after the NYP, I also participated in the ASEAN Youth Forum's SEAYouth Festival 2022. It was a fun learning experience and it was just amazing hearing from different youth leaders across ASEAN. I was also surprised when I was awarded Best Delegate from the Philippines for my participation, granted I wasn't able to join through speaking since I was also volunteering then, but I did type in my suggestions and proposals in chat and through email. It was a really awesome experience and it's just inspiring how these different voices from different nations are coming together for the betterment of the ASEAN Youth.

I have been working productively on my job, but I was still having doubts about my abilities. I also felt like I am not doing enough when my peers are going on 5-year work anniversaries or going abroad for graduate studies and such.

I have been volunteering at church more. I found a sense of belongingness there. They know what I have been through, my depression and anxiety, how I had to go to counseling and drink my meds. Some of them know how I was sexually assaulted by someone I used to trust when I was in college.

And yet, despite these, I didn't hear any judgment from them. They helped me recover. They made me feel welcome and warm and fuzzy. They celebrate with me even in small wins. They cry with me when appropriate.

I have been active in the music ministry again. I even shared my story to the youth leaders in a university last November. Oh, right! I also turned 26 last November.

Among other things, I wished for a lifetime partner on my birthday. I have had feelings for this person and I am still actively praying for him. But I need to guard my heart, more so now that I hear he's also ready to pursue someone. It's just, I know I should have said something then, but I didn't wanna sound needy or too upfront.

I am still gonna pray for a beautiful love story. One that I won't be afraid to show the world. One that I can write over and over and still not get tired after a million years.

But I do hope it's you. I pray to God that it would be you.

It's the last month of the year. A while ago, I went to the Worship Night at church. I led the worship. I led a prayer for the campus ministry. Oh, right, I am going to lead the group for our scholars at Real Life and I am excited to be meeting them this weekend again for our first official mentoring session. I was thinking of sharing my college testimony as well.

Anyway, tonight we just decided to go have dinner at McDonald's rather than go home earlier. After the meal, we played a bunch of mobile table top games, ending it with the classic Chain Reaction game. I didn't win, but it was fun. We shared a tricycle home, and it took us around 30 minutes to actually go home since we lived in different parts of the city but we had to ask the driver to start with the person who lived the farthest from the city proper.

It was a lot of fun, even though it took some time away from what was supposed to be my work time. But it's fine. I still have the rest of the weekend to do the work.

It's getting late. I'm sure by this time, you're probably sleeping peacefully. You have an early morning tomorrow.

I hope I see you on the weekends.

[mercurybluewrites]

Welcome, Friends!💙 A Little About Me!

Well its about time I got around to writing the rules and info about my writing blog. To start with - Hi, Welcome in! Feel free to call me Mercury or Blue or any form of those, I also go by she/her pronouns. I will do my best to respond to asks or any messages but I make no promise. The reason for that is because this blog and writing hobby is sadly something I cannot dedicate a lot of time to. I have finally graduated but that does mean I will be dedicating a fair amount of time to my new career! However, I am becoming more and more confident as well as finding more time to write so maybe I will be semi professional lol.

Schedule:

None what so ever. I do not have a stable enough schedule or enough brain cells for creativity to dedicate the time to write enough to post often. However, I will aim for every ~2 weeks but don’t count on it.

Where to read:

If you’re reading this, you’re already in one right place. I will say this however: DUE TO CURRENT TUMBLR T&C, IF THE WORK IS OVERTLY EXPLICIT IT WILL NOT BE POSTED ON TUMBLR. I will post something letting people know it’s been updated or posted but for actual content, check AO3.

With that being said - AO3 is the place to be! Please click here for my AO3 dash where you’ll find all my works! I’m open to the idea of posting on other places but tumblr and AO3 are the only one’s I am familiar with. 

Fandoms: 

Below is a list of current fandoms I am writing for. If it is not listed, I am not writing for it as I am not comfortable writing for it. I have only recently gotten comfortable “publicly” writing. So you can ask if I will write for this thing but chances are it won’t happen. Also I’m sadly stupid busy anymore and I am not a large consumer of shows/movies/games as I once was. Lastly, the ones in bold are my primary fandoms that I am a current part of/writing for. 

Cyberpunk 2077*

Naruto

Fallout

Mass Effect: Andromeda

Dragon Age* (II and Inquisition only)

Star Wars

Elder Scrolls Series* (Oblivion & Skyrim only rn)

COD: Modern Warfare Series

The Outer Worlds

*not including spinoffs unless specified or not starred

Before you get to the next bit of info, biggest thing to know is this:

This blog is primarily going to be a blog for CP2077, ME:A, MW2, and personal works and stories. If I do not have a fandom listed above posted: either wait, ask, or find a much better fanfic writer!

Requests/Ask Box:

As of right now, the Ask Box is open! The only thing I ask is to please be kind. If you’re rude or open up with unexplained hostility: you will be ignored or blocked depending on how much I get annoyed. However,

This also means Requests are open. Ofc if your desired fandom is not listed above don’t hedge your bet on me writing for it. Plus, there are many many amazing talented writers on Tumblr and AO3 and I encourage you to seek them out, even if its not just me scratching all your fanfic itches, check out as many writers as you can. That’s what inspired me to start writing! 

Also I know rn I’m still a small blog, heck this blog is a just few months old and I’m just now posting the rules so growth is not exponential here. But that means, if I get flooded with asks and such I will take some time to get through them all. 

However, almost anything you want to ask is ok! What isn’t hopefully shouldn’t be too much of a shock: anything remotely sexual involving minors, graphic violence outside of the scope of cannon typical violence (especially to minors), noncon sexual scenes, graphic animal abuse (including anything sexual ofc), and self insert fics. Before anyone gets up in arms about the last one, as most anything on this blog its due to change. I am building up my writing confidence and one day I may open my writing up to self insert fics (i.e x reader & y/n).

Misc:

So I mentioned above, personal works will be posted here. I have had this fantasy story cooking up for a few years now. I have noting concrete but I’d like for it to possibly be episodic? Think Dracula Daily almost. Anything regarding that story most likely won’t be posted until late this year.

Again please click here, here, or here for my AO3. Fics rated M and lower will be posted here but anything A (18+) will only be on AO3. If an ongoing series has an 18+ chapter, it will only be available on AO3. Oh, that reminds me!

IF YOU ARE NOT 18+ YEARS OLD, GO AWAY! DNI, DO NOT PASS GO. DO NOT COLLECT $300! GO SOMEWHERE ELSE, YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE UNTIL YOU HIT 18!

I debated about banning minors, but honestly with a big wave of people coming to Tumblr via TikTok (no hate honestly, welcome and please learn how this place works) I do not currently want to deal with younger fandom culture. You guys are still learning how fandom culture works, especially on Tumblr. Plus, I am not the best at tagging. I will miss things and Tumblr does not have a good working consent feature (like AO3′s) yet. I had unbridled access to the internet as a kid and teen and it was both a blessing and a curse. And personally, knowing the idea a minor is reading something explicit I wrote is very and deeply uncomfortable.

Of course if I miss-tag or forget to tag something PLEASE TELL ME ASAP. No judgment if I miss a squick or trigger. Honestly, if someone complains someone else wants something tagged I will ban you. We are not downplaying other people’s mental health in this day and age. 

Lastly, I will occasionally reblog from other fandoms, blogs, tips, other related things. They most likely won’t be tagged too. Final things to know: I have the last say on banning someone, interaction is greatly appreciated, and this blog’s activity will increase as I get more comfortable writing! I have finally graduated so that should help increase my activity and writing. However, my career has very inconsistent hours and weird hours (thanks to working outside 99% of the time) so much like the points on WLIIA the schedule is made up. All in all: be kind, stay safe, and feel free to stick around.

[rocorambles]

hello roco!! i was wondering how would yan!inarizaki react to their darling who often goes non verbal, you can decide if its as a team or seperate!! also!! i really reallly really like your works very much <33

Warnings: Yandere, Implied Dub-Con/Non-Con, NSFW, Degradation/Dirty Talk

ft. Kita, Osamu, Atsumu, Suna

It’s easy to imagine a darling for this team withdrawing into themselves, becoming despondent the longer they’re overwhelmed by all the attention forced onto them. Between the twins always fighting, Suna silently hovering over you, Kita coddling you, you’re quick to realize it doesn’t matter what you say, what you do. This is your life now and there’s no escape.

You’re at least grateful that you rarely have to deal with all of them together anymore now that everyone has gone their separate paths after graduating from Inarizaki and being isolated on a remote farm with Kita is better than countless other options that had been discussed. But dread fills you as the holidays approach, knowing your home is going to be filled with too many familiar faces and bodies looking to reorient themselves with their favorite pet.

Fortunately Osamu is the first to arrive and you easily let him pull you into his lap, relaxing into his hold as he tenderly embraces you, hands caressing you as he catches up with Kita, neither caring too much about your silence. Both are men of few words themselves and as long as you behave, letting them hold you and love you as they please, they don’t push you to speak or reciprocate. If you imagine enough, you can almost pretend that this is what you want, that you chose to be with these two men. And you let yourself dream, moaning and submitting to them as they share you in bed, snuggling against the warmth of their bodies when you wake up tangled between them.

But when Suna and Atsumu finally escape from their tight schedules and join all of you, the facade shatters and you tremble as both men smirk at you, Atsumu far too loud and overbearing right from the start and Suna not much better despite his silence, his piercing eyes enough to strike fear deep inside of you. They are not nearly as accommodating towards your passiveness as Kita and Osamu. Atsumu has always been so demanding, selfish, relentlessly exploiting every bit of you until nothing but an empty shell was left. And none of this has changed.

You flinch when you’re instantly pulled into a crushing embrace, the only thing you can feel and smell is Atsumu Atsumu Atsumu. His hold is too tight, his hands invasive as they immediately grope and squeeze every part of you he can reach. And then you taste him as he crashes his lips against yours painfully, his teeth sharply nipping at your lip until you're forced to let his tongue swirl past your opening.

“Come on, Atsumu. Don’t hog her all to yourself.”

Suna has always been on the quieter side, but when he does choose to speak up, you know it never bodes well for you. You know better than anyone that behind that disinterested facade lies the most sadistic and cruel member of the ex-Inarizaki team. Even Kita knows better than to step in too much, careful eyes watching just enough to assess that you’ll at least live through whatever they have in store for you. And with a wave of his hand he seals your fate.

“At least have the decency to put down your stuff and take this to a separate room. We’ll join later. Don’t do too much damage please.”

You always forget how cruel the two of them can be, hot tears pricking at your eyes when they ravage you, demeaning words spewed at you left and right as their cocks stuff every one of your holes.

“You’re so fucking quiet all the time. It pisses me off. If I wanted to fuck a doll, I would. Come on. Tell me how good I’m making you feel, how much you missed my cock, how much you love me.”

Even if you wanted to, you’re unsure if you could even say any real words around your forced squeals and moans, pain and pleasure wracking your body until all you can do is take and take and take, eyes rolling back in your head, drool trickling from your open mouth.

“Don’t be so mean, Atsumu. It’s not her fault that we’ve literally fucked her senseless. I don’t think there’s anything behind those pretty eyes. Isn’t that right, babe? You’re just our stupid slut who can’t get enough of any of our cocks. A whore who needed four men to satisfy her because one isn’t enough.”

You want to speak up, to scream at them for even jokingly insinuating that any of this is your fault as if they hadn’t forced this life upon you. But you...can’t. Words stuck in your throat under the hungry predatory gazes of both men peering down at you. All you can do is silently accept your fate, body going limp and pliant as they manhandle you into position after position.

[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

[snelbz]

Tempting the Fates {Chapter 3}

Summary: It’s the final semester of Aelin Galathynius’ collegiate career and she is so beyond ready to be done. Her schedule is packed full of nursing classes and labs designed to test her knowledge and hone her skills for the real world and her “big girl” job. However, she needs one last elective to graduate, so she decides to study a subject she’s always been fascinated by: Mythology. Who would have thought that a class about gods and goddesses living complicated lives would end up complicating her own in such an unexpected way?

Word Count: 2807

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday.

Tempting the Fates Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist 

Poseidon

– God of the seas, earthquakes, horses and tidal waves

Aelin had moved past hurt.

Now, she was just pissed.

It was nearly ten o'clock after her second day of classes and she sat cross legged on the couch with Lysandra in her apartment.

Her roommate had been a worthy rant partner thus far. She’d kicked Aedion out and supplied Aelin with an endless supply of alcohol.

“It’s official. I’m sitting in your Thursday class.”

Aelin groaned, taking a long drink from her wine glass. “Don't remind me that I have to go back there, please. The thought of sitting through an entire semester with him as my teacher… Oh, gods.”

Lysandra refilled Aelin’s glass.

“You’ve done the hookup thing before,” Lysandra said, shrugging as she took a drink from her own glass. “Just pretend this is one of those situations and he meant absolutely nothing.”

“That’s impossible, for two reasons,” Aelin said, adjusting the pillow she had squished between her legs. She held up a finger. “One, it’s not like the regular hookup situation where I might see him across campus or in a bar and we can pretend we don’t know each other. This is my professor we’re talking about.” She took a very large drink of her wine and held up another finger. “Secondly, it was supposed to be a hookup, but then he turned out to be perfect and I just…” She let her head fall back against the cushions. “Do you think I just want him because I can’t have him?”

“Maybe,” Lysandra admitted, but she hadn’t ever been in a situation like this. She and Aedion had been inseparable since high school. “What does your gut say?”

“I don’t know, they’re still in knots from where he rearranged them with his huge dick,” Aelin replied, draining her wine glass.

Lysandra nearly sprayed her wine across the couch, but she knew Aelin was well and truly drunk if she was talking like that.

“So, he still means something to you, then?” Lysandra asked. “Even after you found out he’s your professor, and also a little bit of a dick, apparently.”

Aelin shot her a look. “No, I’m drunk off my ass because he means nothing to me. Have you not been listening?”

Lysandra rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’ve been listening. But, after two hours things just start to blur together and not make sense.”

Aelin hit her roommate with her pillow.

Lysandra only laughed. “Maybe sit and think on it for a few days, yeah? Maybe it’s new and exciting and he’s hot as hell, but all that will fade if it meant nothing.”

Aelin nodded, slowly, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass. “And if it doesn’t fade? If it actually meant something?”

“If it actually meant something, then he won’t be forgetting about you any time soon, either,” Lysandra said, sipping from her glass.

She was still on glass #1.

Aelin had lost count of how many glasses she had drained so far.

“Doesn’t make it any easier now,” Aelin said, that hurt creeping its way back in. “You should’ve seen him, Lys. This morning, at his apartment, it was just…perfect. Then when he saw me in class, he was a completely different person.”

“Have you tried to see this from his perspective, Ace?” Lysandra asked, standing and heading into the kitchen. She handed Aelin a cold water bottle when she returned, falling back onto the couch next to her.

“Of course,” she snapped, opening the lid. “And I get it, it’s a big deal, but it’s not like I’m underage. I’m twenty-one, not sixteen. It’s not like he broke the law.”

“No, but I’m sure there’s a bylaw somewhere in his contract that says Don’t fuck your students,” Lysandra drawled, tucking her legs between her.

Aelin mumbled, “I bet it doesn’t say exactly that.”

“No, I’m sure it’s more along the line of inappropriate misconduct, but if we’re getting specific, it wouldn’t be hard for me to find an example,” she replied, leveling Aelin with a stare.

“Calm your pre-law ass down, I get it,” Aelin sighed, drinking from the water bottle. “His aunt is the president of the university. I wouldn’t want him to get into any trouble with her.”

Lysandra’s eyes softened. “He probably just got scared. I hear he’s a new professor. This must be his first year here. Hell, if he’s as young as you say, this must be his first year anywhere.”

Luck. He’d gotten the job purely out of luck, out of his connections to the university, and here Aelin was, jeopardizing his career as soon as it began.

“I’m being a bitch, aren’t I?” She asked, quietly, before draining her glass.

“You have the right to be hurt,” Lysandra said. “I’m not saying you don’t have that right, because I’d be hurt, too. But, I definitely think that this is complicated as hell.”

Aelin nodded, and took a drink of water before pouring the last of the wine into her glass. “We’re going to need another bottle of this, Lys.”

“I would just take you to the bar,” Lysandra said, “but I wouldn’t want to risk you fucking any of the other faculty.”

Aelin’s eyes snapped to hers.

Lysandra sucked in her lips to stop her grin. “Too soon?”

Aelin nudged her best friend, unable to stop her sputtering laughter. “Bitch.”

Lysandra caught her before she leaned back across the couch and held onto her shoulders, hugging her tightly. “I know this sucks, Ace, and I know you liked him. But just give it time. Either you’ll move on, which I can always help with, or something will happen. It’s not like you won’t be seeing him every other day.”

She sighed, resting her head on Lysandra's shoulder. “I know… I know.”

Lysandra reached for the remote, turning the television on. “What would make you feel better? Sappy love story, trashy reality tv, or a horror flick?”

“Trashy tv,” she decided, if for no other reason than it would be easy for her to block out while she still wallowed in her own misery.

Lysandra did as she was told, refilling Aelin’s glass again, and she thanked her best friend.

All the while, Aelin wondered how pissed Rowan was, or if he was feeling the same way she was.

*

A knock on Rowan’s door around nine-thirty had him closing his laptop and throwing it open. He groaned when he found Lorcan on the other side, walking back inside and leaving his best friend to let himself in.

“Alright, fill me in on Little Miss Perfect you took out last night. She was all you could talk about this morning, and then boom.” He sat down on the couch next to Rowan, noticing the half empty bottle of bourbon and looked at him. “Radio silence for the rest of the day.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he muttered. “Shouldn’t you be going home to your girlfriend?”

“She’s out with Manon,” Lorcan said, blowing off the question. “I’m bored, so talk.”

Rowan sighed, pushing himself up to go into his kitchen. He came back a moment later, two glasses in hand. He supposed he couldn’t continue to drink out of the bottle with company.

After handing Lorcan a half-filled glass, Rowan said, “It’s just not going to work.”

“You decided that quickly,” Lorcan muttered, his eyes remaining locked on Rowan. “Did you google her after she left? Find something cringeworthy?”

Rowan sipped from his glass. “She’s just not who I thought she was, that’s all.”

Lorcan scoffed. “You’re being vague.”

Rowan shrugged. That seemed to be the only answer he was going to give him.

“So what?” Lorcan asked, crossing an ankle over his knee and swirling the contents of his glass. “She lied and you caught her?”

“No, she didn’t lie,” Rowan said, dragging a hand down his face. “But it can’t happen. So it won’t.”

Lorcan raised one dark eyebrow. “First you say won’t, now you say can’t.”

Rowan emptied his glass. “What about it?”

“Well, which one is it?” He asked, leaning back. “Those two have very different meanings.”

“It can’t and it won’t,” he replied, giving Lorcan a pointed look.

Lorcan snorted, but took a drink from his own glass. “You act like she’s one of your students.”

Rowan didn’t say a word. He only stared at his closed laptop.

It took Lorcan a few seconds to understand Rowan’s silence. And a few more before he figured out how to make his mouth work.

And when he did, he started laughing.

“Are you kidding me, Whitethorn?” He asked, clutching his stomach. “You fucked your student?”

“Fuck off,” Rowan muttered, refilling his glass.

Lorcan was hardly able to breathe. “It was your first day at your first big boy job, and you already found yourself in bed-.” His words faded away as his laughter consumed him.

“It’s not like she’s some freshman,” Rowan snapped. “She’s about to graduate. Twenty-one. I just…” Rowan groaned as his face fell into his hands. “Someone had recommended the bar to me and told me the faculty hung out there a lot. I just assumed she was one of them, since she was the one to suggest the place.”

“Hate to break it to you,” Lorcan continued, still laughing. “But, people in their twenties don’t often land jobs at renowned universities. You’re the exception.”

Rowan continued to drink.

“Alright, alright,” Lorcan continued, taking a deep breath. “You’re five years older than her, so what? I’m four years older than Elide. Once you both hit twenty, age is just a number.”

Rowan shot him a look. “She’s a student, Lor. Maeve will fire me in a heartbeat over any sort of misconduct. This…” He just shook his head. “This position is a once in a lifetime opportunity that I probably shouldn’t even have. I can’t ruin it.”

Lorcan knew full well how harsh Rowan’s aunt could be. Before she’d become president of a prestigious university, she’d been the dean at the boarding school he and Rowan had spent their adolescence at. “So either move on or be careful and don’t let her find out.”

Rowan blinked at his friend. He was being so casual about this, when Rowan was freaking out both inside and out, which had required a two hour gym session earlier to calm his nerves.

Lorcan sighed and set his glass down. “Look, I really don’t see the issue here. She isn’t using you to pass the class, right?”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Rowan, but he remembered the look of pure and utter shock on her face when they’d seen each other in the classroom. “No, it’s a basic gen ed. Plus I really don’t think she’d ever do that.”

Lorcan nodded. “Right. There are much tougher classes she could try and sleep her way through.” At Rowan’s simmering look at his choice of words, Lorcan held up his hands in placation. “I’m just saying, make sure she’s actually doing her homework and studying for her and don’t let Maeve find out.”

Rowan hesitated, but when his lips opened, nothing came out.

He liked Aelin. He really, really liked Aelin. And, yeah, it had been much more than a hookup. When he’d woken up that morning next to her in bed, he felt a sense of peace and satisfaction that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Then again, the way he’d snapped at her that morning, knowing that she had only said what she had out of anger - even if she had been correct - would be difficult to come back from.

Rowan had completely shattered her. He saw it in her eyes before she left.

“I don’t know,” Rowan said, at last.

Lorcan groaned before pounding back his drink and pouring himself another. “You’re always going to be the one to stand in the way of your own happiness, Whitethorn.”

He refrained from saying anything. Lorcan had always been the one to hop from girl to girl, while he had always been the one in a committed relationship. After his last relationship had…ended, he hadn’t wanted anyone for a while.

Aelin was the first spark he’d felt since.

“You’re into her,” Lorcan said, staring up at the ceiling to avoid any sort of eye contact while he said something nice. “I can tell. And, if you don’t go for it, you’re going to regret it.”

Rowan knew he was right.

Of course, he was right.

And yet, this job was the first job he had been granted in his field since graduating three years prior with his degree in mythology. Yeah, he may have gotten it because of Maeve, but that didn’t make it any less important to him.

He had the chance to get students excited about something he loved, something he was passionate about.

“Go home to your woman or shut up and turn on the TV,” Rowan muttered, downing the contents in his glass.

Lorcan only snorted and grabbed the remote, fulfilling Rowan’s wishes.

*

Aelin awoke the next morning with a slight headache and the same dull ache in her chest.

Knowing she needed to move, workout the bad vibes, she tossed up her hair and put on her workout wear before jogging to the gym.

She was still regretting signing up for even one eight am classes, and was thankful her Friday’s were free. She was looking forward to some much needed sleep, which was a lost cause right now.

When she was packing her gym bag, she decided to go straight to class after a quick shower, so she tossed it into a locker after she arrived, locked it up, and put her ear buds in.

The gym was still pretty empty this early, since it wasn’t even eight yet, and most people were too focused on their own workouts to pay attention to those surrounding them. Aelin was grateful for the distraction the gym would provide, and for the physical outlet, as well.

She was just finishing up a mile run on the treadmills when she felt eyes on her. She could tell she was being watched, but didn’t want to look around. Whether it was someone ogling her from across the room or someone from one of her classes, she wasn’t in the mood to make small talk and made her way over to the machines, starting on her legs first. She cranked her music up and kept an eye on the time on her watch.

When there was about forty-five minutes before her first class, she put the free weights she’d been using back in their home and turned to head to the locker room for a much needed shower.

And found who had been watching her during her workout.

Green eyes bored into her own and Aelin felt a blush rising in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the amount of energy she’d exerted this early in the morning.

Ignoring the voice inside of her head, Aelin stopped in front of Rowan, and nodded. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. His t-shirt clung to him, and it was a fact that Aelin could not ignore.

“I was just going to get ready for class,” she said. “Excuse me.”

She swept past him, but his voice pulled her up short. “Aelin.”

She stilled, and slowly turned around to meet his gaze.

“About yesterday,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. Aelin found the gesture somewhat charming, although she wouldn’t admit it. “I’m sorry. I…didn’t handle the situation right. It all took me by surprise and I reacted poorly. I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” she said, looking away from him, down at her feet. “I said some things I didn’t mean. I’m…not proud of it.”

He shook his head. “Let’s just…pretend all of it didn’t happen, yeah?”

She swallowed roughly. “All of it?”

Rowan sighed. “Just because we apologized doesn’t change anything, Aelin. You’re still my student.”

She nodded, not looking at him. “Right. No. I get it. I have to get ready for class.”

Making to slip around him, she got two steps away before his hand wrapped around her wrist. “Aelin, I’m… I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t— I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

Daring to take a chance by looking back at him, it nearly destroyed what was left of her when she saw the sincerity in his eyes. “But wishing doesn’t change anything, does it?” Aelin pulled her wrist free. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

Rowan said nothing, but she saw that her shot landed in his eyes.

She shook it off, though, hurrying away, toward the showers.

Aelin knew one thing was for certain: no matter how much she cared for Rowan Whitethorn, there would never be anything between them.

Even if she wanted there to be.

[bellasweetwriting]

Rescue Romance

Spencer Reid x f.Reader

(not my gif)

MASTERLIST

plot: you’ve been kidnapped by an unsub who fell in love with you, and Spencer is the one who rescued you

notes: extreme confident!reader, nervous!spencer, this is just a brainstorm of a book idea I had and decided to make it a spencer fanfic u know normal stuff

warnings: kidnapping, mentions of torture, mentions of rape, drinking, age gap (22-29), blood, injuries, criminal minds typical stuff

category: mostly angst and a little bit of fluff

word count: 3,9k

    "Y/N Y/L/N, 22, kidnapped in a club near the college campus while partying with her friends. Last seen at 1 AM, reported missing by her roommates when she didn't appear in all-day three hours ago," informed Garcia to the team while they were revising the case on the jet. "The New Haven PD is waiting for you at the police station."

    "Thank you, Garcia," thanked Hotch, but Garcia continued to talk.

    "There's something else you need to see."

    "What is it?" Questioned Morgan.

    "One of her roommates, Sandy Melville, has a channel where she posts videos of her life in college and with roommates. And Y/N appears in all of them."

    "You think this could be the work of a stalker?" Asked JJ looking at Garcia. 

    "Someone could've watched Y/N in the background of the videos and developed a crush on her," said Emily.

    "Not in the background," corrected Garcia, "she's the protagonist of the videos. Sandy followers love her, and I don't blame them."

    Garcia proceeded to show the team one of the videos of Sandy walking through the snow of New Haven. The three friends were on the sidewalk, and the camera was focused on you as you kicked the snow off to the street as you laughed.

     "Y/N you are going to slip and fall!" Exclaimed your other roommate, Liz, pointing the ice that was on the border of the sidewalk. You continued to laugh.

     "Don't be such a drama queen, Liz, and enjoy the snow!" You yelled with a smile. "Kindness is like snow ─ it beautifies everything it covers."

    "Kahlil Gibran," interrupted Spencer, surprising the team who haven't heard him talk in the entire trip. "It's a writer, he said that."

    "Don't be so poetic, Y/N!" Exclaimed Sandy.

    "Kahlil Gibran said it, and I live for those words," you replied. The camera quickly turned to Liz.

    "She's crazy," said laughing before being hit with a snowball on the shoulder. "Y/N!"

    You simply laughed, and the video ended.

   "There are videos of their whole lives," commented Garcia. "Sandy recorded everything and posted online."

    Spencer was still staring at the frozen image of you laughing. Something about it had your complete attention.

    "Ok, JJ, I want you to make a press conference, and then, you and I will talk to the roommates and ask Sandy if she recorded something about the night of her disappearance. Morgan, Prentiss, go to the club, watch the security tapes, see if someone was looking at Y/N or talking to her. Reid, Dave, victimology, go to her apartment and learn everything you can about Y/N, including maybe what attracted the stalker to her. Garcia, check conversations, someone that has messaged her, that she blocked, calls, anything you can get, see if there is anything suspicious. We'll meet back at the station with everything we found."

    Spencer grabbed your picture from the file. It was your college ID photo, and you looked stunning. Your hair was curled, your eye makeup was bright, different from the one's he has seen. Yours made your eyes appear bigger and shinner, while your lipgloss made shine your pink lips. 

-----------------------------------------------------

    Rossi and Reid walked through your room, staring at the details of your walls, your awards, your photographs. You are intelligent, your bookshelves are filled with different literature books that could explain your knowledge.

    "She speaks French," announced Rossi as he grabbed your French edition of Candide by Voltaire. 

    "And Spanish," added Reid going through your notes in Spanish literature class. "She's smart."

    "She goes to an Ivy League School, we should've expected more than this," observed Rossi. "This is a clever, intelligent girl, she wouldn't leave with a stranger just like that, it doesn't make any sense."

    "Well, she was drunk," said Spencer. "She just finished finals, she's graduating with a Criminology Degree in two weeks and went to celebrate with her friends."

    "Finals are very stressful, and it was a college bar, so maybe she didn't have her defence mode on, she trusted the guy. Where is her dog?" Asked Rossi pointing the dog bed next in your corner.

    "With her roommate," Spencer replied. "It's not usually from a stalker to approach their object of desire without preparation, and a club is risky. Y/N had to know the guy and trusted him."

    "Or, she never saw him coming," whispered Rossi.

    "Do you think hhe attacked her from behind? It was a crowded club, someone must have seen it."

    "He could've put a knife on her back, asked her not to scream and walked her outside. She was drunk, so she was weak, she couldn't fight back. He had to know that. Y/N looks like a girl who can defend herself. Everything in this room screams confidence, her videos, her attitude, he had to kidnap her in her weakest moment."

    "For that, he had to know she would have her finals last week. What if we are not looking for someone who developt a crush through the internet videos, but rather someone who sees her every day?"

-----------------------------------------------------

    You slowly opened your eyes. The room was dark, with just one dash of light entering through a small window near the roof.

    You were in a basement.

    Your hands were tied over your head, your feet lifted from the ground only letting the tip of your tow to touch the cold dirt under you. You exhaled. Your eyes felt heavy to open. Blinking was hard because opening them again felt tiring. 

    Your underneath t-shirt was filled was no longer red, your pants and sweater were missing, for some reason, your stomach hurt like hell.

    With all your strength, you look at it, having an idea what was it but being scared of it. You slowly focused your eyes on the red stain in your clothing and the cuts in your legs.

    You heard someone crying and took you a few seconds to realize it was you. You haven't sobbed in a while, in years maybe. It scared you. You were scared. All alone.

-----------------------------------------------------

    Spencer and Rossi entered the police station and walked towards the table where the team was sitting. The whole board was filled with your information, your class schedule, your contacts, your credit card information, your grades, your family members, everything that Garcia could get from your computer.

    "What did you find?" Asked Hotch to Reid.

    "She's intelligent, she speaks three languages, and her whole life screams confidence, "look at me". It doesn't make sense she would leave the club with a guy and not tell her friends before in case something happens to her."

    "We think her stalker is not someone who watches the videos, but someone she knows. A classmate, a teacher, someone that knew her well to affirm that she finished her finals yesterday, and that will go to a particular bar to celebrate with her friends."

    "There are at least five different college bars that Y/N and her friends frequented," added JJ as she remembered what your roommates told her. "How did the unsub know she will go to that bar exactly?"

    "Maybe he heard her. If Reid's theory that the unsub is a classmate, she could've said it in class and he listened."

   "Ok," interrupted Garcia, "I found three blocked accounts in Y/N social media of guys trying to flirt with her but coming to strong that maybe worried her, but none of them is remotely near her, and I checked their entire background."

    "We checked the security cameras and the bar receipts," announced Morgan as he and Prentiss entered. "Neither she nor her friends bought any drinks that night."

    "They were sober?" Questioned Spencer.

    "No, someone bought them for them. Maybe our unsub."

    "My dear super friends," interrupted Garcia appearing on the screen. "I was checking Sandy's phone like you told me, and she did record last night at the bar."

    "I thought she said she didn't remember."

    "Well, turns out she did. Check this out."

    The video was clearly terrible quality. Sandy was moving and dancing around, making it impossible for the camera to focus. When she stopped, the team could clearly see your silhouette as you drank what it appeared not to be your first shot of tequila.

    "Y/N! Y/N! I'm dying to know," said Sandy drunkenly. "What is your plan after graduating?" 

    "Uhm," you whispered, trying to talk clearly. "The only thing I have available is the FBI."

    "Could you imagine," interrupted Liz between laughs, "Y/N with a gun?" 

    "I would look incredibly hot with a gun, what are you talking about?" You joked between laughs. "I don't know what it's outside for me. All my life, I've had everything planned. Study, get good grades, repeat. It can be scary doing something different."

    "Oh, please," said Liz as she was falling next to you. You were quick to catch her and put her arm over your shoulder, "you are Y/N Y/L/N, I bet everyone wants you."

    "I am a man who does not exist for others."

    "Ayn Rand," murmured Spencer.

    "You are a woman," said Sandy.

    "It's from Ayn Rand, you guys are so drunk," you laughed before turning around. "Where the hell is the guy who bought these for us?"

    You looked through the bar but didn't find him.

    "Hey, girls, I'll be back in a sec, I'm gonna pay for the drinks," you told your friends with a tiny smile.

    "Wait, Y/N, let's dance," interrupted Sandy, grabbing your hand and dragging you to the dance floor.

    "Morgan, who was the guy who bought the drinks for them?" Interrogated Hotch and Morgan quickly went through the receipts of last night. 

    "At least six people bought tequila shots last night. End of finals week."

    "Y/N felt the need to pay the drinks back," pointed out Spencer as he watched you danced on the screen. "Why would she do that?" 

    "She felt bad because he bought drinks for all her friends but wasn't hanging out with them?" Proposed JJ.

    "Or, something attracted her of him," whispered Spencer before clicking one of the videos in Sandy's vlog. "I was looking at this video earlier. Sandy asked Y/N how her ideal guy look like. Maybe the stalker watched it and tried to mimic it."

    "Why were you watching that video, Reid?" Asked Emily, and he shook his head nervously.

    "Research... for the case... yeah. Here it is."

    "My ideal guy," you murmured as you played with your little dog on your bed. "He has to be smart, but not cocky smart, he has to be humble. I hate mystery, so he has to be direct with me, with what he wants, I like that. Maybe tall, handsome, not afraid to talk to me. I don't know, Sandy, someone that can catch my attention without even trying."

    Reid paused the video just in time to see your smile to the camera. You were so pretty.

    He had to find you alive, he had to meet you.

    "We don't have time for a profile. Garcia, check the security video and look for a tall, good looking man that bought tequila shots between 10:30 and 11."

    Garcia was quick enough to show the security footage in the screen, pausing just in time to show a man buying the shots and telling the bartender to send them towards a table. Your table.

    "Who is that?" Questioned JJ, and Derek was quick enough to check.

    "Baby girl, look for William Klaus, Gale Andrews, Damien Ace and Ricardo Montero and tell me which one looks like the guy at the bar."

    "Neither of them," she said.

    "Can he have used another person's tab?" 

    "No, that would have involved other people to his concerns. He is meticulous, he doesn't leave a trail."

    "Did he pay in cash?" Asked JJ.

    "That many tequila shots? Who has that kind of money in hand? He had to use a credit card."

    "All of these kids go to private school. If he actually goes to college with them, he has money."

    "We are back to nothing. All of our eyewitnesses were drunk."

    "Except the bartender," pointed out Spencer. "He's gotta remember someone who paid in cash."

    "Ok, Morgan, Prentiss, go to the bar again and interview the bartender, ask for someone who paid for shots in cash. We will deliver the profile."

-----------------------------------------------------

    "The man we are looking for is white in his late teens and early twenties. Tall, and handsome, probably talks smartly and is nervous around people, traits that he learned by listening to Y/N description of an ideal man."

    "It is a student on campus. We denominate this unsub as a Love-Scorned stalker, he believes that Miss Y/L/N is madly in love with him. He has probably seen her sometimes giving him glances, or smiling, and thinking they were for him."

    "This type of unsub is extremely asocial, does not participate in scholar events, does not raise his hand in class, and is remarkably intelligent, enough to get into a private school."

    "This unsub is not a killer but will become one the second his fantasy seems interrupted. Maybe by the same Y/N who doesn't want to play along, there's no way to know how is he going to react with her. We trust that Y/N will realize that she needs to pretend to be in love with him to survive, but we can't be sure."

     "In case of his fantasy being blinded or interrupted, he can get really aggressive and possessive towards her. He's been dreaming to be with her for so long that her rejecting him is not an option."

     "Stalkers commonly killed their objective of desire. The time in which they do, variates in how the victim reacts to them."

    "That's why we need to find her as soon as possible. Ask her classmates, teachers, friends. Someone has to have listened to our unsub suspiciously talk about her, maybe in a way that made them uncomfortable. Our unsub can't manage what he says in public due to his weak social skills."

    "Thank you," finished Hotch, and the police department broke apart, going separate ways. "She's been missing 20 hours, let's find her as quick as possible." The team divided, but Hotch stopped Reid before he could walk away. "Reid, have Garcia found Y/N's parents?"

    "No, uhm, her mom died, and her dad abandoned them when she was little. Her aunt is on her way, though."

    "Ok, thank you."

-----------------------------------------------------

    "Dance," he ordered you, "I always loved your dancing. You danced for me a few weeks ago, remember."

    "It was a charity event for the school, Parker," you whispered. "I danced for everyone."

    "I'm not scared of you, ok? Do whatever you want. You want to kill me? Then do it, I'm tired."

    "I will never hurt you, Y/N."

    "Yes, you will. Stalkers always kill their object of desire, Parker, and you've been stalking me for a while, haven't you? You think I'm in love with you, don't you?"

    "Shut up," Parker whispered before you spit blood that you had in your mouth. "You are ruining this!"

    "What? Your fantasy? You aren't in love with me, Parker, you are in love with the idea of me. You don't know me."

    "I do... know you... I know you."

    "No, you don't. Just because you know at what time I leave for school, at what time I arrive home. Just because you know I walk my dog every afternoon and with who I hang out doesn't mean you know me. Parker, I'm more than a schedule, an object that you see walking through your binoculars. Just because you raped me and broke my arm doesn't mean you know my body. You can't love, Parker..."

    "Stop!"

    "... it's chemically impossible," you continued, "you don't feel love. You are missing one of the most beautiful feelings in the world, and it's not even your fault! You are a sociopath, and no matter how much you try, you will never know how the adrenaline of seeing someone across the room that you love feels like, you'll try to replicate it. You'll kill just to feel something, even if you don't want to."

    "Shut up! Shut your mouth!"

    "Kill me," you didn't even realize how you stuttered while saying those words. "It's the only way you are actually going to feel something. Kill me, because when you get in a mental home, the feeling of my blood running through your hands and skin is the only thing you are going to have, and you are never going to get it again. It's a drug that it's only going to work the first time. After you stab me with that knife, you are going to feel something for three seconds for the first time in your life, just so then, not feeling nothing at all for the rest of it. You must want it to be unique, right? Your first kill, probably your only one. So, light some candles, end my suffering... I'm not even going to feel it with the pain of my arm so who cares."

    Parker was staring at you, not moving, not knowing what to do, while you just look at him. You already knew that if you didn't get medical attention soon, the blood you are loosing for the cuts in your legs, and the pain from your broken arm were going to do the job for him, so you had nothing to lose. And making him spend his entire life in jail for murder was your goal.

    "Do it... kill me..."

-----------------------------------------------------

    "Ok, so I did some research and found out that Y/N was part of this dance marathon for a charity event where an anonymous guy donated three thousand dollars just so she would keep dancing," informed Garcia. 

    "That's an enormous amount of money just for her to dance," observed Derek.

    "And that is not the creepiest part, I found the name of the donor, and it is Parker Edwards, he is an art and literature student, and please look at the last art assignment that he delivered for his final grade in finals week."

    Garcia showed them a gigantic portrait of you next to a creepy guy, not smiling, just staring deadly to the camera.

    "Well, that's definitely creepy," murmured Prentiss.

    "Do you have an address?" Asked Hotch.

    "House 365, 21st with Second Avenue."

    "Let's go."

-----------------------------------------------------

    "Y/N, I need you to open your eyes," you heard someone whisper to you, and you slowly did. "My name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm with the FBI."

     "He didn't kill me?" You questioned slowly. Your mouth was dry, and you couldn't feel your legs. 

    "No, he didn't. Y/N, I need you to open your eyes, please." You nodded. He proceeded to untie you, and you let fall in his arms. "I got you, I got you," he mumbled. "Can you walk?" You glanced at him, for then to show him how you couldn't even put your feet straight.  "Sorry, stupid question, put your arm around me."

    "Not that arm, he broke it when he carried me in here." Spencer listened and changed sides, helping you to get out.

    As soon as you were outside, the smell was different. You were used to the smell of dirt and your own blood, that when the spring breeze of New Haven hit you, you couldn't help but to smile.

     "Would you join me in the ambulance?" You questioned, and he nodded. The paramedics got you inside and started plugging cables and hydrating you, but your eyes were just in Spencer. "You look young to be a doctor."

     "If I had a penny for every time I hear that," you chuckled. "How are you feeling?"

     "Like writing this in the experience box for my FBI academy application," you mumbled, now making him laugh. "I know that I'm covered in dirt and blood, and shampoo hasn't touched my hair in a while... but I'm actually pretty." He raised his eyebrows, noticing that the painkillers were taking effect. "Probably my legs look like the legs of a training object for ninjas with all of those cuts, but I'm a terrific dancer."

    "I know. I saw the videos that Sandy filmed. Of you dancing at the bar."

    "That's drunk. But sober, let me tell you, John Travolta got his inspiration for Pulp Fiction by me, true facts." He laughed. "Thank you for saving me."

    "It's my job, and it's going to be yours too."

    You chuckled.

    "You are cute, doctor," you mumbled before closing your eyes and being able to sleep for the first time in hours.

-----------------------------------------------------

    October arrived. It's been months since the kidnapping and arrest of Parker, and it was your first day in Virginia for the academy. You were nervous, now more than ever. What if you didn't have what it takes?

     You were completely cured, and the doctor freed you completely, and the first person you wanted to tell was Spencer.

     You and the doctor had been talking for months now, and he was everything you dreamed of. He was smart, funny, he paid attention to you, and even though you guys were just friends, you liked him.

    You liked him a lot.

    "This pile paperwork gets bigger every time I look at it," whispered Morgan staring at the tower. "I had plans tonight."

    While Derek complained, Reid finished his and gave them to Hotch, and Morgan felt that as a personal attack."

     "Please, tell people that if you disappear, I'm the prime suspect."

    "Hey, isn't that Y/N from the New Haven stalking case?" Asked Emily to Spencer, making him look towards the door where you were standing, looking at him.

     "Be right back," said the doctor standing up and walking towards you.

     "What was that?" Asked Morgan to Prentiss, but she had no idea.

     As soon as he was closer, he hugged you, and you felt safe immediately. You've only had seen him a few times since the hospital, so every time you guys reconnected, it was like you both grew up even more.

     "Y/N, you look great."

     "I told you once that I was incredibly pretty."

     Last time he saw you, you still had cuts in your face and a cast on your arm. Now, you were like a different person. Like that girl, he once admired dancing in those videos months ago.

     "What are you doing here?"

     "Today is my first day in the academy," you let him know. "I wanted to tell you tonight, but I couldn't wait." He smiled. "Hey, so, I have a surprise."

     "Another one?" You chuckled.

     You took out from your pocket two tickets for a horror film festival the day before, and he glanced at them curiously.

     "We both love Halloween, so I thought it could be a great idea." He smiled.

     "I love it... Y/N, about us."

     "Don't say anything, you whispered, proceeding to kiss his cheek. "We will talk about it after. Bye, Spencer."

    "See you tomorrow," he said softly, making you smile before leaving.

    "Reid," Morgan called him, "care to explain?"

    "Don't you have paperwork to do?" Morgan laughed, watching him walk away with a big smile.

    "Pretty boy..." 

[dulafer]

TWIN REVENGE

This is an old one, just thought I’d share..... Its of my shortest stories. Any feedback appreciated - dclouser@mac.com 

REUNION

I’ve always been the odd twin out. Will and I were both named William C. Witt with the only difference being our middle names – Charles and Conner. I’ve never liked being called ‘Willy’ while William preferred ‘Will’. Growing up, our parents couldn’t tell us apart - we even have the same birthmark on our chins. 

I’ve always been jealous of Will for being the favorite. Many times, I’d answer to my brother’s name on purpose or force Will to swap places with me. The first time I was Will was when he was failing algebra in 9th grade and didn’t want our parents to find out. We swapped places so I could take his tests. My condition was that I stay as him for the day – soaking up my parent’s adoration and love. Will was definitely our parent’s favorite which pissed me off the older I got, often lashing out for attention. In high school I started impersonating my brother to get him in trouble. Sometimes, I would get caught because my brother would have an alibi with friends backing him up, or I’d would slip up wearing my hair differently or some other little detail. 

By our junior year, I started hanging with another group of friends and dealing drugs. My reputation for trouble followed me as my ‘business’ grew. Will knew what I was up to because people would mistake him for their dealer. Weeks before graduation, the principal caught me selling drugs red handed, thanks to a tip from Will. Since Witts are a powerful family, Dad worked a deal to allow me to graduate on the condition that I spend the summer in rehab.  The deal was made and the day after graduation, Dad drove me to the rehab center. I lasted a week before escaping and never being seen again.

My drug pals smuggled me out of Los Angeles to northern California.  San Francisco was the perfect spot for me. With my college age looks, I blend in on local high school and college campuses where my business grew exponentially. I wear the college gear that fit the campuses I was working daily. I’ve always been thrifty with my earnings and always a light user myself so I saved my money for a future free of drugs. When I can, I sit in on college classes, mostly political science since my father was always drilling politics into Will and I. 

Will on the other hand, was the perfect son. He attended college for political science, becoming a staunch conservative. But Will wasn’t always perfect. After two years in college, he dropped out and was hired at Prager U as a campus correspondent to interview students and follow trends. Will quickly picked up a fan base nationally and within months was buying a condo and new car – with the help of a proud rich father. Will travels the country giving speeches, interviewing people and blogging.

Mom and dad have all but forgotten about me. I faked my own death and changed my name when I heard my family was looking for me.  It was convincing enough that the Witts even had a funeral for me. 

CAMPUS LIFE

I’m at Stanford University working my regular ‘route’, supporting my boys with product. A few girls spot me, come running over and one screams. “Oh my god, Will! I’m your biggest fan.” 

I wonder why they’re calling me Will and fawning over me? “Hi, thank you so much.”

“We can’t wait to hear you speak.  You going to do a ‘man on the street’?” the other one squeals.

“Sure am.” Not knowing what that is even. I see one of my boys coming over for his weekly stash. “Excuse me ladies, I’m meeting an old friend.”

Tyler comes over with his usual swagger carrying his backpack. “Do I have competition bro?”

“No, not at all! You know you’re my main man.” We do his frat’s handshake. Anyone watching us would see us both in Stanford gear and just assume we’re students. We take a seat on a nearby bench, talk business, two minutes later, he’s leaving with my backpack full of drugs.

I walk around campus, wondering about those two girls calling me Will.  When I get to the campus hub, I see my face plastered all over the board. The flyers reads ‘Will Witt, Prager University, Topic: Campus Diversity’. I pull one off the board, fold it up and place it in my backpack pocket. I’ll be damned, my little brother in town. I have to see this for myself.

I get home and study the flyer, find the Prager U site and start watching my brother’s videos. We’re so alike with our political beliefs – neither of us have fallen far from our father’s tree. We both have the same attitudes and beliefs as good old dad. He even sounds like dad did, around the dinner table our entire life. I then log into his Instagram account, using Will’s password he’s been using for a decade. I’m getting envious of my brother’s life – he’s still the golden boy and I’m sure dad is super proud of him. He’s traveling all over the world thanks to this Prager gig. On top of that, he’s become famous on Fox and other mediums for being very articulate and full of energy. 

As I watch him, I’m getting very envious of Will. I’m as smart and talented as my brother. I could have been the favorite son, the celebrity.  ‘Should be, could be, will be.’ I think to myself. That should be my life.

The next day, I head to a theater supply store and buy a fake belly, beard/mustache and some make up. I’ve got to see my brother in action today. Will is scheduled to do a ‘man on the street’ interview on campus this afternoon, then the speech later tonight. 

I show up for his man on the street interview but hang way back, out of sight of Will. With my disguise, I’ve gained 50lbs, a full beard, sunglasses and wearing a tie dyed hoodie. I watch and listen as Will, his producer and camera man set up everything. I record everything with a shotgun microphone - hearing the back and forth banter between Will, his cameraman Gavi and Mike, his producer. That evening, I attend the lecture in another disguise just to be safe. I’ve haven’t seen Will in over two years but he’s still the same arrogant Will in private. In public he’s very friendly and charming. As I’m listening to Will speak, a plan starts to formulate in the back of my mind. Willy is already dead to the world, so why not become Will. It’s not like I’m inexperienced in doing it. It would always piss Will off when I would steal his identity and fool his girlfriends. While he was taking a shower, I would get dressed first, take his clothes, phone, car and pick up his girlfriend who was clueless. Will would be pissed but I would apologize and he would forgive me. One time Will called his girlfriend while I was impersonating him and couldn’t convince her that he was actually Will – I was that good. 

I start tracking my brother via his emails, calendar and social media. Will is flying from Los Angeles to Washington for a week, with Turning Point USA to promote Prager U and himself. Our parents will also be gone on vacation to Europe for months, with plans to hook up with Will in London for lunch and a show in a month.

MOVING TO LOS ANGELES

I need to formulate a detailed plan. Will has lived the good life long enough, it’s my turn now.  I start with cleaning up my life here – telling my friends that I need to disappear again. They buy it easily as it has happened before. I clean out my bank account – about $1m, and drive to Hollywood where Will lives.

I rent a furnished apartment across the street from Will’s condo. It’s perfect – from my living room and bedroom, I can see his entrance and garage. I keep my fake beard and baseball cap on all the time, and only use the back entrance to go anywhere. On his departure day, I watch him being picked up by an airport service and confirm his flight took off on schedule. I head to my bathroom and remove my beard and hide my longer hair under a baseball cap. The condo manager gladly provides ‘Will’ with a spare key when I tell him I lost mine.

Will’s condo is very nice with an open floorplan. There’s 3 bedrooms and 3.5 baths. The lower level is a 2 car garage, lots of storage, a large video recording studio and utility room. His silver Porsche 911 Cabrio is parked next to a motorcycle. On the wall is some leather gear, boots and helmet. The 2nd floor has a large living room with exposed brick walls, huge flat screen, fireplace, bar, gourmet kitchen with top end stainless steel appliances and a personal office. The 3rd floor is all bedrooms with a huge master suite with large bathroom and large walk in closet. The one spare bedroom is sparsely decorated with just a bed, dresser and chair. The other bedroom is mostly empty. It’s a great ‘crib’ but I’m certain daddy helped pay for most of it.

I get to work quickly with my plans.  I try to check out his studio’s computer but its password protected and I can’t get it to unlock. This isn’t a problem after I plug in a thumb drive with keystroke tracker and some other tricks. In a minute, I gain access to all his computers and social media accounts.  The password was his usual password but backwards.

His iMac Pro is a wealth of information – full of his unedited videos, speeches and even a digital diary. I thought he stopped doing a diary in 11th grade but apparently not. He updated it just this morning before leaving. I’m sitting there for hours reviewing his life since I left. His comments about my death and funeral are cruel to say the least.  He blames me for fucking up life with my death, how mom & dad are glad it’s over and they’re all better off. Even my father agreed with him. That’s fine by me, they won’t miss Will at all when I take his place.

I decide to spend the night here and continue my studying. In his basement studio there is a green screen, professional video cameras and teleprompters set up in one corner which he uses to make his cutesy videos. I turn on the equipment, click on a file and up pops the words to his last blog on the teleprompter. On another display in front of the green screen pops up the empty stool where he sits. On the stool is a remote I believe is for controlling everything. I plop my ass down, face the camera, and see myself, or Will on the display in front of me. I fuss with my hair to give me Will’s prominent cowlick, press ‘record’ and the words start moving for me to perform. “What’s up guys, Will Witt for Prager U” I repeat his performance, then delete file before passing out at 2am, after seeing his posts on landing in Washington DC. 

LOOKING THE PART

My brother prides himself on his hair, especially the huge cowlick that he’s proud of. According to his calendar, he had a haircut a few days before leaving for Washington. I make myself at home taking a shower, and pulling on some of his clothes – dark gray skinny jeans, t-shirt, jacket and his black high top converse sneakers. I’m missing his clunky watch and ring he wears all the time, and also his rope crystal necklace he’s been wearing since he was 15. The one time I was with one of his girlfriends, not having that necklace on, gave away my identity. I jump in Will’s Porsche and find a salon with a great google rating. I ask for my usual and show her pics from two days ago. They’re very close up and detailed. In half an hour, I’m smiling at Will in the mirror, running my hand through his cowlick. 

Back home, I pull in to the garage and before I can close the door, some pretty little thing is running over to me. 

“Will! Hey there, I’m glad I caught you.”

“Oh hey, you caught me.” I smile and act surprise.

“Tammy and I are having a party tonight.” She hands me a flyer ‘Jen and Tam’s Big Party’.

“That sounds like a blast, ‘Jen’.” Hoping she’s the ‘Jen’ on the flyer.

“I was just going to slip it in your mailbox. Thought you were going to Washington or someplace exotic again.”

“My DC trip was postponed, so I’m here.” I give her a typical Will smile. 

“Washington’s lost is our gain. You have to come. Besides you can crawl home if you get drunk like unlike last time.”

“I’ll try my best but super busy here.” I chuckle with her, not sure what she’s referring to but Will’s diary will probably help me remember some of it. I’d love to go but there’ll be lots of iPhones around and plenty of pics/videos posted on social media.

A friend sent me a lot of WiFi HD fiberoptic video cameras and microphones to bug my brother’s place. I place a few in each room then sync them to my iPad. Walking from room to room I test them all for activation. It takes all day to hide them properly. Later on, Will’s latest VLOGs and antics from Washington start appearing on his desktop. 

His video reminds me how different our styles are. Will was always conservative dresser while I went for the grunge look. His videos confirm his tastes haven’t changed at all except becoming more expensive. I’m making myself at home – it’s going to be my future home soon anyway. With my new haircut, it only takes a little of his gel to look exactly like him.

 It was always fun turning myself into Will when we were younger, it’s still a turn on now. I print out some pics from his PC files, showing various outfit he’s worn.  I’ve got to nail his ‘look’ perfectly for my future life. There’s one of him in a sharp black suit, white shirt and black tie playing a piano, with a red lapel thingy at a Prager U gala a month ago. We both took piano lesson but I was always a little better.

It’s easy finding the outfit in his very organized closet.  He took it off, left the lapel pin in and probably hasn’t worn it since. There’s a video of the gala in his files that I watch, providing me glimpses of his shoes and watch. I strip out of his jeans, and into the outfit. I couldn’t find his watch – it’s probably in Washington on him but I slip on his pinky ring and a different watch from his jewelry box. Back in the studio, I start a new file – Prager Gala, pretending that I’m Will being interviewed about the night’s events. I sit on the stool, hit record and adlib the event starting with Will’s signature “What’s up Guys” intro, including flashing his two fingers. Being Will is all very natural for me. I’m up half the night learning the equipment, checking out his videos and closet. I just need a few weeks of studying him before I replace him. 

To access his cell phone, a friend puts me in contact with a local guy who clones Will’s iPhone. It costs $2000 but I now see his text messages, calendar and listen to his voicemails. I can also listen in on his calls while he’s talking to people. I can’t speak to them, and they can’t hear me but it’s perfect timing. With him in Washington, his entire life is going through his cell phone, providing me with up to the minute information. He’s working on his schedule for the next few months. With access to all this, I’m learning who his coworkers are, listening to work conference calls, what they’re working on and what Will’s job entails as Prager’s ‘social media influencer’.

Will has a spare set of keys for our parent’s place so I visit just to see what changes have been made while I’ve been gone. The most obvious change is the lack of pictures of me. Their mantel has no pics of Will and I together. It almost looks like they have only one son – that I never existed. Everything else is pretty much how it was three years ago. As I was leaving, Mrs. Tarantolo, their neighbor sees “Will” and comes running over to say hello. She thought it was sweet I was keeping an eye on their place while they were away “Such a good son.”  She claims to be my biggest fan and hasn’t missed any of my videos. She’s clueless about me, as she should – when even our parents couldn’t tell the difference, I’m not worried about anyone. 

My week consists of listening, watching and reading everything he’s up to. I take his Porsche out to grab lunch or dinner to remote places so I’m not seen by anyone that could know him. A few times, fans mistake me for Will and I sign autographs using “What’s Up Guys”. They’re thrilled and its harmless fun for me.  

The week flies by and I return to my apartment across the road.  I return the spare condo key to the manager after making a duplicate of it. On schedule, Will returns via  LAX shuttle service. My surveillance system works perfectly as he moves around his condo.  I see him taking a shower, changing into sweats and working in his studio.  His buddy Mike arrives later with pizza and they brainstorm in the studio about their next VLOG and ‘man in the street’ topics. Listening to their banter helps me learn the lingo and their personal relationship.

Will has not changed a bit since I left Los Angeles – same old anal retentive asshole. It’s fun watching and learning about him. He’s still an avid runner, and like clockwork, he does five miles around a nearby park most mornings. Prager U is just a few miles away and he’s there daily unless he’s traveling. He has a new girlfriend he casually hooks up with but it’s not serious, so that’ll be easy. He writes about meeting her in his diary. He’s got his work schedule planned for the next few months and I know enough to handle it. After a few weeks, my gut is telling me I’m ready to be Will Witt. 

Will’s next major trip is to London for a scheduled Turning Point USA promotion/MOTS and speech at Oxford University – same as he did at Stanford. My plan is to replace him when he arrives home. This gives me another 10 days to get up to speed with his life. I watch him pack, see LAX shuttle service pick him up and confirm his plane took off as scheduled. I make myself at home but keep a low profile, rarely going out. 

Between his phone and computer, I’m kept busy 24 hours/day just keeping up with his life. He’s definitely a video freak, not only recording content for Prager but also everything else like his hotel room, what he had for breakfast, his shopping excursions. I can’t wait to wear his new $7000 bespoke suit he purchased during his shopping expedition on Saville Row. I listen in on his phone calls with our parents, his friends and girlfriend Lisa. This helps me get up to speed with what’s going on in his life. Mom & Dad meet Will for lunch at his hotel, then go to see Hamilton. There’s plenty of selfies and videos to make his life mine. He’s spending a fortune on food, wine, clothes, cigars and trinkets. 

A few hours before he returns, I’m armed with chloroform, truth serum and various knock out drugs.  I hide in his bedroom, ready to pounce with a heavily soaked rag of chloroform. It’s almost enough to knock me out just holding it. 

HONEY I’M HOME

The door lock jiggles and Will enters, plopping his luggage inside the door. He makes a beeline to kitchen and opens the refrigerator. He’s there quite a while before I hear him dragging his very large suitcases up the stairs. I’m crotched in the corner, behind the door as he struggles to get both bags through. The perfect moment happens when one of the bags get stuck in the door jam and I hear him say ‘fuck’. In a split second, I pounce and have the chloroform soaked rag over his nose and mouth. A split second after that, he almost falls to the floor as I catch him. I drag him out into the hallway, and finish putting his bags in the bedroom.

“Welcome home Will, have a good trip?” I look down at him passed out and ask.

“Awesome trip man, had fun with the TP USA team, saw Hamilton with the parents, and hit up lots of pubs and cigars. I’ll have to show you all the pics I took.” I respond to  myself in Will’s typical enthusiastic lingo.  

I drag Will to the empty bedroom and start stripping him. Of course, he’s in a sport coat and tie to travel. It’s so ‘Will’ I think as I carefully remove everything from him, amazed at how alike we still are. I strip off my old sweat pants and t-shirt and put them on him. I pull him up into a metal chair I anchored to the floor, then handcuff his hands and feet so he can’t move an inch. I kneel down next to him, grab his face, then rotate it side to side to check his appearance close up. My sideburns are about a quarter inch too long so I head to my bathroom and trim them to match exactly. 

 I carry ‘my’ clothes back to my new bedroom and slowly start my transformation into Will. I love pulling on the outfit he’s been wearing all day—his sweat and scents mixing with mine. Everything is still warm as I put on his black briefs and socks. His charcoal dress pants fit perfectly as I pull them up. His shirt has gunmetal gray cufflinks and is monogrammed on the sleeve with our initials ‘WCW’. I pulled the black lace up shoes off his feet without untying them. I wiggle into them, tuck in my shirt and fasten my belt. In the bathroom mirror I put on his tie using the same technique dad taught both of us.  I pull on his cool black sport coat with large dark gray plaid patterns. There’s a video of him wearing this outfit for red carpet Oscar interviews. I check his breast pockets, locating his iPhone, keys and wallet.  Tucked inside an outside pocket are his glasses. Slipping on his ring, leather wrist band and watch completes my transformation into Will Witt. I adjust my hair using his Cremo hair cream—Will is always fussing with his hair. Staring in the mirror, I only see Will Witt, just as he was traveling first class earlier. I grin at myself as I adjust my shirt cuffs and admire my looks. I do his usual MOTS intro flawlessly – “What’s Up Guys”. From this moment on, I’m Will Witt and no one will have a clue I’m not. 

My iPhone buzzes in my suit pocket, it’s Will’s girlfriend, Lisa calling. 

“Hey Lisa, I just got in the door babe.” I answer watching myself in the mirror, smiling and playing Will flawlessly.

“I thought you would be, I’ve missed you so much Will.” She whispers seductively.

“Same, may I take you out for dinner?” I ask as charmingly as Will does, remembering their conversation from a day ago, and Will promising dinner and a surprise.

“I would love that.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up at 7, Let’s dress up and go someplace nice. I’ll wear a suit and tie.” This gives me the afternoon to get settled into my new life. 

“Okay Will, can’t wait.”

“Bye Babe.” Will’s cutesy name he uses for all his girlfriends.

‘It’s show time’ I think to myself. I head back to my brother who’s finally starting to stir from the chloroform. I start slapping his face and he becomes more aware.

“Wake up Willy, Willy wake up.” I say playfully. 

He looks confused, slowly recognizing me, his eyes bug out, then starts to struggle. “But you’re dead?”

“Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Don’t struggle bro, you’ll only hurt yourself.” I laugh at him.

“What’s going on Willy? Why are you in my clothes?”

“From now on, please call me Will and they’re now my clothes. I just got back from London and I’m really jet lagged.” I stand proudly, straighten my tie then reach into my breast pocket for my new wallet.

“Asshole, what do you think you’re doing?” he yells and gets pissed as he’s now fully awake.

“Well, remember when you planted drugs in my locker, turned me into the school principle and ruined my life?”

“Yeah, that was a good one! They all bought it too. Got rid of you for good.” He laughs.

 “Well, laugh all you want.  I’m borrowing your life.”

“You’ll never get away with this. Whatever you are planning, won’t work.” He predicts.

“Well I’m taking Lisa out to dinner tonight to celebrate my return. In other words, I need pussy but Will doesn’t talk like that. Let me rephrase it – I’m taking my girlfriend out for dinner and hopefully make love to her. Better?”  I leaf through my wallet checking it out, pulling out the debit card. “Bro, is your PIN still 8991? I may need some cash for my date. You only have a $40 in here.”

By the look on his face, I know he never changed is PIN. “Thanks bro, just needed to confirm that.” 

“She’ll know you’re not me, don’t even try it.”

“Bro, you’re talking to the guy who fooled all your girlfriends in high school. You’ve been dating her for what? About 6 weeks after meeting her at Jen’s last party where you got wasted and don’t remember getting home.”

“You’ve been reading my private diary?” 

“Well, you could say it’s my diary. So, I was just reviewing my life for the past few years.” I laugh at him. “Which brings me to a new issue – where should I take her for dinner, and do afterwards?”

“Fuck yourself.” He yells.

“Bro, I’m hoping to fuck her, not myself. You don’t want me to do something brash, ‘unWill like’ and ruin your relationship do you? I bet she doesn’t even know you have a twin brother, am I right?” I laugh at him. 

“Willy, what are you doing? Just untie me and I’ll forget this ever happened. I promise.” Trying to soften me up.

“Let’s get this straight, for the time being, I’m Will Witt, you’re nothing, don’t call me that again.” I yell at him. “Now, you’re going to help me be you or I’m going to really fuck up your life. You know I can do it. If you lie to me, there will be repercussions. Do not test me.”

“Okay.” He responds defeated.

“Okay, what?” I demand.

“Okay Will. Lisa loves Italian and there’s this little family owned restaurant called ‘Papa Joe’s’ near her house. She loves it and so do I. That’s where I was planning on taking her tonight. I always get the ‘Lombardo’ dish with an ice tea of course.” He answers defeated. 

“That’s good information bro, I really appreciate that.” I watch his face and have always been able to tell when he was lying. “What after that? What are her limits?  I need everything to be you with her. Give me the full history.”

He proceeds to tell me everything I need to know about Lisa – at least I hope so. 

“Now I need details about my job.  I know where you work, and what you do but more details about the people, office layout, where your office is and how I get in?” He gives me looks that could kill. “What’s up guys?” I mock him with his catch phrase. 

“My work ID badge gives me complete access anytime. It’s in the front pocket of my backpack. I have an office on the second floor, just left as you get out of the elevator. My name is on the door. You can’t miss it.”

“What do you do when you first get there, in the morning? Routine? Pals? Coffee? conference room? Where do you go for lunch? I need it all Willy. You don’t want me to mess up your perfect little life, do you?” I subtly threaten him.

Once I pump him for everything, I grab the bag from the corner, pull out a needle and inject him. He screams at me for about two minutes then become docile. I walk him to the bathroom and order him to relieve himself. Once secured back in his chair, I give him dose of Midazolam that will keep him out for 12 hours and put a ball gag in his mouth. I shut and lock the bedroom door, head back to my master bedroom finishing my unpacking. 

I slip easily into Will’s routine.  My shirts and suits will go to my cleaner per the receipts in the Porsche, the rest go into the washer. Carefully tucked inside his luggage is his new Saville Row Huntsman, a few new dress shirts and the Big Ben charm I bought Lisa in London. I can’t help but try on the new suit, admiring the fit and material. I head downstairs and see Will’s work backpack he has with him all the time. I take it down to the studio office and start going through the content…. A few cameras, my passport, iPad and MacBook Pro.  There’s a printout of my next Prager assignments and hand notes he made in the margins. I find his work ID, clip it to my suit, repack his backpack and head to the office. 

A DAY IN THE LIFE

I’ve followed Will to Prager U but have never stepped foot inside. I pull into an empty parking lot, and park in his assigned spot. Will says no one is ever there but he sometimes goes in to get a jump on Monday. My ID badge opens the main door. I easily find his office and make myself at home. On the wall I notice the signed photograph of Reagan that dad treasures and wonder how Will has it. I plop my backpack on the chair next to my desk and start exploring. I open my MacBook and it starts syncing with the LAN. I easily log in and upload my videos as Will does after all his events, according to his logs.  

I explore the entire building and everything is as he described – Boss’ office, video production, media center, studio, executive conference room etc. I confidently walk around taking in the names of my coworkers. In the men’s room, I smile at Will in the mirror and clean out my coffee mug. 

Back in the office, I settle into my desk and go thru my drawers, check my work email and respond to some.  I hear someone coming up the stairs, calling my new name, approaching my office.  I recognize it immediately as Will’s producer and friend – Mike.

“In here.” I yell out to him.

He pops his head around the corner. “Welcome back, how was your flight?”

“Uneventful, good to be home but jet lag.” I casually answer.

“My flight yesterday was delayed an hour from Chicago but not too bad.”

I heard their last conversation before Will took off this am, and continued it. “I’m good with the final edits from MOTS, just uploaded it so Alexander can add the graphics.” 

I pull up the video, knowing Will made a few cuts on the flight over, and show it to him.  

“You’ve been busy man, looks great. You want to grab lunch?” 

“Sure, you drive and pick.” I can’t resist the thought of testing my ‘Will skills’. 

Mike takes me to ‘In & Out’ for burgers.  He doesn’t suspect a thing, readily accepting me as his friend and coworker.  We talk about the trip, work and future trips. I feel as if I was actually there. He drops me off and I head back to my office and continue to familiarize myself with everything for a few more hours. 

My big test will be ‘my’ girlfriend Lisa.  I stay in Will’s slick outfit, donning his favorite Ray-Bans for the drive. She’s waiting for me outside and jumps into my car. Her unexpected full tongue kiss surprises me but I quickly adjust and give her full tongue back. We make out for a minute then I take her to Papa Joe’s.  Will was telling the truth, Lisa lights up as I pull in front and valet the Porsche. I use my brother’s pics, diary, blogs and text messages to talk about my London trip. When desert comes, I spring the Big Ben charm on her. She leans in tenderly, kisses me deeply and invites me to spend the night. 

At her place, we strip and jump right into bed.  In minutes, she’s moaning as I work her pussy, slowly penetrating it with the tip of my head. She starts moaning softly ‘oh Will, oohhh Will’ making me harder, pushing deeper into her as she climaxes. I explode in her, then collapse onto my back as she curls up under my arm and we fall to sleep.  She wakes me up with a blow job and homemade pancakes – Will’s favorite she notes. I’m not a big pancake fan but eat them eagerly as Will would. I’ve replaced Will completely and now have his sexy girlfriend. 

DAY TWO

I check on Willy when I get home and he’s starting to stir. My schedule today calls for video editing at Prager U with Gavi and Mike. I take a quick shower put on an outfit that screams ‘preppy conservative’ – which isn’t difficult as that’s all Will has in his closet, making my job easy. 

I pop my head in to the bedroom and see that he’s wide awake.

“Morning sunshine.” I cheerfully say.

“Let me the fuck out of these straps now!” he mumbles as I remove the ballgag.

“Sure thing, but first a little shot so you can take a dump and eat a little something. Hungry?”

“No, don’t drug me, it’s a fucking weird feeling.” He pleas.

“Sorry man, I can’t chance you getting free and having a fake Will running around.”

“You’re the fake Will, ass wipe.” He screams.

“Hmmm Lisa and Mike didn’t think so.  I ran into Mike in the office yesterday while uploading my latest VLOG and MOTS video, then had lunch with him.  He’s a good friend of mine. Oh, and Lisa… Damn did I hit her sweet spot last night as she moaned my name softly in my ears. She really loved the Big Ben charm I got her and the ‘Big Will’ I gave her. I think I’m in love bro.” I grab my crotch so he knows what I’m talking about. 

“You fucking bastard!!  Fucking asshole!! You’ll be caught. You can’t slip into my life that easily.” He screams.

“Now, now, Willy.  Guess you didn’t notice the video and audio bugs I installed throughout my new condo or the keystroke tracker on your computers. I’ve been catching up with you since Stanford. Your condo manager was gracious enough to give me a key after you lost it.” I run and grab my iPad and play some of the videos for him, then I show him the cloned phone and play his last conversation with Mike. 

“Guess I don’t need this cloned phone any longer. I have to admit, you’re quite the busy person. Your phone never stops ringing and beeping but don’t worry, I’m keeping up.”

“Fuck you Willy!  When I get free, you’re going to jail or worst.”

“If you get free, which I doubt. If you haven’t noticed, you’re bolted to the floor. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll have new carpet installed at some point. Nice thing bro – between my bank account and yours, I’m quite wealthy with a lot of future potential. In fact, after this gig, I’m thinking of running for office. Dad would love it and back me financially.”

He mutters. “Fucker.”

“Hey bro, don’t worry, I’m taking good care of your life. Enjoying it immensely, especially Lisa. She really knows how to wake me up but I’m not big on the pancakes.”

He thrashes back and forth in the chair screaming more obscenities at me.

 “Bro, seriously, how do I look? Do you approve my work outfit? I’ve noticed this sport coat is one of your favorites. Oh, and my new suit from London fits great and feels incredible. I just had to try it on.” I taunt him while adjusting my shirt sleeves and checking my watch.

“What are you doing here?” he quietly demands.

“Well the drug career pays quite well but is extremely dangerous.  After seeing you at Stanford, I decided a career change was necessary. Don’t you agree it’s a good career move?”

“You’ll never fool them for long.  There are things only I could know. You’ll tripped up.  What about mom and dad?”

“Are you serious?” I laugh out loud. “Mom and dad could never tell us apart, you know that. I did visit the house while you were in London and from the pictures displayed, it looks like I, Will, am an only child. They’re the least of my worries.”

“Oh, they’ll know you’re not me.”

“Why would they? Just look at me bro. I was always a better you than you, when I wanted to be. I do have to get fully up to speed with my new life, friends and girlfriend but that’s what all my new drugs are for. I kind of like your style so I’ll only wear what you already have in your closet.  I’m enjoying your preppy style. I think I’m rocking the Will look, you have to admit it.” I tug on my sleeves not interested in his rants.

“What about work?” He counters.

“Oh bro, that’ll be easy too. I’ve watched all your videos – the work and personal, edited and unedited. I taught myself iMovie to edit my MOTSs for uploading. I’ve seen you brainstorm with Mike on MOTS topics and question. It’s amazing how we even think alike politically. I’m ahead of schedule for today.  Like the anal person you are, I was in the office all afternoon while you were sleeping. I cleaned out my scummy coffee mug, organized my desk and left a note for Alexander on the graphics I’d like to see before the end of today. I can’t wait to meet the boss, have been a fan of his for years.”

“You can’t be me!” He slumps his shoulder in deeper defeat. 

“I am you, no one will have a clue I’m not.” 

I inject him with truth serum and a powerful muscle relaxer.  By the time I come back with breakfast, he’s docile and defeated. A few protein bars, quick trip to bathroom and he’s safely secured again. The truth serum is remarkable. I have a totally different discussion with him.

“Hey bro, how do I look? You like?” I spin around to model my outfit.

“I’ve worn that exact outfit before I think.”

“Thank you, now see, it wasn’t too hard to be nice, now was it?”

He spills his guts to me about all his coworkers, and what he thinks of them. While he’s drugged, I hit him up on family issues and his feelings towards me. He basically threatens to kill me and will since I’m already dead. It’s been on his mind since he woke up chained to the chair. I snicker to myself, knowing he’s the one who’s days are numbered. It’s almost time for work today, so I knock him out for another 12 hours.

My first day of work is a breeze.  I visit Alexander and review the graphics I want. Mike and I review the schedule and brainstorm future MOTSs and VLOGs. Will has the easy part and probably makes the most money. Prager’s staff writes his MOTS questions and helps him with upcoming speeches. He provides the topic, they handle it from there. Will was good enough to do my outline for his University of Texas speech next week. I turn them in and talk to Marissa, our content producer. I have the best gig – I just need to be the hip preppy conservative face of Prager U and get to travel all around the world. 

When I’m leaving Marrisa’s office, I run into Dennis Prager, the president of Prager University. He puts his arm around me and leads me back to his office.

“Will, good to see you, how was London? I just saw your rough video and it’s great”

“Thank you, Mr. Prager. London was great.” I respond and his face immediately looks puzzled.

“Since when am I Mr. Prager?”

“Dennis, sorry it just came out. I’m still out of sorts with jet lag and the British are so formal.”  I try to recover.

“I understand boy, plus you probably had too much wine and cigars I’m sure.”

“I sure did. I brought a few Charatan Robustos back with me” I chuckle knowing their conversations about them and using them to solidify my identity.

“And you’re not sharing? Will, Will, Will, how could you?” 

“I’ll bring them in tomorrow.” 

“Let’s grab lunch son.” 

I can’t believe I’m having lunch with Dennis Prager. He’s thrilled with ‘my’ work, wants me to do more TV appearances like Fox & Friends but also liberal networks. My ratings are through the roof. I talk about my London trip, showing him pics of my parents and selfies I took. We talk politics, going back and forth on issues. We get back to the office and I easily fit in and learn the ropes. By the end of the day, I’m very pleased with my new life. I pass on happy hour claiming I’m still of out sorts due to jet lag. 

CHECKING IN

Back home I check Willy. He’s awake but groggy.

“What’s up guy? How was your day?” I ask cockily as I strut in.

“How do you think, you sick fuck.”

“So sorry to hear that. My day was awesome. My latest VLOG and MOTS are killing it. I had lunch with my friend Dennis and he wants me to do more TV spots. It was probably the best day of your life, I mean my life.”

“My life! You fucker, my life.” He screams with pure rage.

“Wow bro, you smell. We’ll have to get you a shower but first I need to change. Be right back.”

I run to my closet and throw on a pair of running shorts and a Prager t-shirt. I keep my cell phone on me as it’s been going off all day. When I get back to Willy, he starts yelling at me.

“What are you up to? Did you get me fired? The truth, you owe me that at least.”

I laugh. “Now why would I mess up my career bro?”

“It’s my life and career. You’re going to pay for this you fucking asshole.” He continues to rant. 

“I’ve had enough of you already.” I grab the ball gag, shove it in his mouth and he starts thrashing again. My phone rings, it’s Mike calling.

“Hey Mike, What’s up?” Willy’s eye light up watching me.

“No, I’m fine, it was just jetlag and you know me…I tried all the beers and cigars in the pubs…Yeah buddy…thanks for your concern.”  I hang up and look at Willy. “Hey that Jetlag excuse will be good for another few days till I get the groove completely.”

He starts mumbling again but the phone rings again with Lisa calling. 

“Hey babe, how was your day?” I sincerely ask. Willy starts squirming and getting louder. 

“Hey babe, hang on, I’ve got my producer calling.” I put her on hold, walk over to Willy and gut punch him with all my force. I impale him and he shuts up.

“Sorry babe, did I thank you for last night?...Oh yeah, I’d love to but I’ve got a lot to catch up with…My parents are coming back Wednesday from their European vacation and we’re suppose to do dinner Thursday? Would love for you to meet them….Okay… love ya.” 

“Bro, see how easy this gig is for me? I still need you for some additional information like the combination to the safe in your office.” He stares at me but is keeping quiet. I grab my little box of drugs and mellow Willy out.  A quick shower, shit and change of clothes and he’s back in his chair. I feed him a sub and water that he quickly inhales. 

“Now Willy, what’s the number to my safe?”

“Go fuck yourself.” he mumbles.

“Willy, you know I could give you some truth serum or beat it out of you.”

“17858” he spits out as in disgust. 

I head down to his safe and open it up.  Inside is a gun, his birth certificate, social security card, and a stack of other seemingly important papers. I grab it all and take head up to review with Willy.

“Nice Glock Willy, let’s review what’s in my safe and why it’s there. Some quality bonding time. Most of this I know but the rest?”  I ask nicely.

“My contract with Prager U, noncompete, mom & dad’s will, my will, some stocks dad gave me.”

I leaf through it, reading it all and ignoring Willy. In between docs, I feed him some granola bars from the kitchen. I play with the unloaded gun in front of him, on purpose. I’ll have a use for it soon.

“Ok brother, more work questions. There’s ‘PR shots’ on calendar for tomorrow afternoon. What’s with that?”

“Joel, our CMO set them up.  It’s just ‘glamour’ pics for his new marketing campaign.”

“Oh, so that’s what my new suit is for I’m guessing. The email to Joel saying you’re all set after you bought it?”

“Yeah, please don’t fuck things up for me Willy. I’ve worked hard this past year.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m Will.” I gut punch him again.

“I’m sorry Will.” He cries in pain.

“That’s better Willy. So, tell me what to expect.”

“Easy, take suit to work, some of my shirts, ties and jewelry.  Collette in our makeup will take care of the rest. Just smile and do what they tell you in front of the camera.” he answers, still in pain.

“Shoes?”

“The black derbies I had on yesterday, I bought for shoot specifically, wanted them broken in. Doesn’t matter though – they only shoot from waist up.”

“Now that’s more like it. Don’t fight me, help me so I don’t fuck up your life.” as if he’s ever getting it back, I think to myself. 

“Yes Will.”

HANGING WITH FRIENDS

“Now, my friend Tommy wants to go out tonight, grab dinner. What would ‘Will’ do?” 

“He wants to do 71Above – it’s the highest restaurant west of the Mississippi. Tricia, his friend is host there and can get us in. Very high end, suit and tie required.”

“That sounds great.”

“Yeah, he’s picking me up, I’m paying.”

“I’m paying!” I correct him. “What were you going to wear?”

“There’s a black Tom Ford suit with a red lapel pin on it, I’ve only worn it once for a few hours. White shirt and any tie.”

“Oh yes, my outfit from the Prager gala where I played ‘blue moon’ on the piano. What tie, what shirt?” I demand.

He looks at me shocked. “There’s a new gold paisley tie, white spread collar shirt with cufflinks.”

“Why thank you brother. I better go and get ready.” I shove another granola bar in his mouth.

I easily assemble the outfit he was going to wear. After all my spying, I’m sure I would have selected something as tasteful. I skip the gold paisley and decide on a ‘men in black’ look, almost exactly as he had on at the gala. A quick shower, 20 minutes with my hair and another 20 to dress and I’m still 36 minutes early for Tommy.

“How do I look Willy? Now be honest.” I ask walking into the bedroom.

He checks me out head to toe. “You look good Will. You’re wearing my good watch?”

“My good watch brother, remember? You wore your smaller ring at the gala but I stuck with what I had on coming back from London. I think I looks great. Went with the gold black onyx cufflinks. And dude I even had my name embossed inside the suit, sweet!” I open up my jacket.

“You’ve been watching my videos.” He realizes.

“Of course, and reading your diary, all the way back to when dad drove me to ‘New Starts’ and abandoned me. I’m good Willy, been watching you for a month.”

Just then my phone rings in breast pocket. I pull it out and see it’s Tommy.

“Now keep quiet Willy or you know what’ll happen.” I warn him as I answer. “What’s up Tommy? On your way…yeah early is good, I’m ready… Okay, that sounds good, see you soon.”

“Please don’t drug me bro, I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

“Sorry Willy, can’t take any chances. Besides, Tommy mentioned about having a drink when he gets here. Sounds like it’s routine for you guys. What does he drink?”

“Rum and Coke, lots in the fridge just for him.”

I grab the knock out needle and give him a dose.  He doesn’t fight me at all.

“Why thank you bro. I’ll see you later tonight maybe, if you’re awake.” I laugh as I leave and lock the door. 

Tommy walks in without knocking, making his way to my bar as I make my way down the stairs. He sees me and lifts the glasses.

“The usual?” 

“Sure, sounds good to me.”  he’s right at home, grabbing the rum and coke.

“Cheers!” he hands me one, we clink glasses and swig.

I follow Tommy’s lead the entire evening but I know enough about Will to discuss his trip, girlfriend and work. Tommy talks about his auditions for a few movies and a commercial. Sadly for him, I’m a bigger celebrity than he is, as a few people ask for my autograph while waiting to be seated. Tricia has seats for us right next to the window with the best view of LA. It a fun night as a few of Tricia’s friends join us. It’s easy playing Will and his friends. I have everything put on my tab. Thank god he has an early audition for a new Marvel movie, so we leave and I’m home by midnight. 

MORE WORK

I’m up early but Willy is out cold still. He looks like death, probably from all the injections and being upright on the chair for days. Not that I really care as it gives me more ‘Will Time’. To keep in character, I put on some of his work out gear, grab my iPod and do my usual run around the park. I work up quite the sweat but it probably helps with all the alcohol Tommy and I consumed. I check on Willy and he’s now awake and not happy. A quick injection allows me to get him relieved and toss him in the shower. He’s not putting up any resistance so I give him breakfast, leave him in the tub but making sure to securely handcuff him to a grip bar. I take my morning shower in the same shower so I can keep an eye on him.

Willy is so beaten that he’s stopped resisting completely and is cooperative even. Believing that by helping me, I’ll get what I want from him and leave him to his old life. What he’s doing is sealing his fate faster. Once I no longer need him, we’ll head up to my parent’s cabin in the mountains and he’ll be fertilizer. 

After I towel off, I sit on the toilet seat next to Willy.

“How you feeling Willy?” I ask trying to sound concerned.

“Please Will, can I stay here in the tub all day? I promise I’ll be good.”

“I think I can do that but you have to be knocked out. But sure thing. Tommy is a fun guy bro. He sure loves his rum & cokes. We had a blast. I think he was hurt that women were coming up to me for my autograph but not him.”

“Yeah, that’s happened before when we’re out.” He looks really down.

“What is it bro? you look sad.”

“What do you think? I’m chained up and I can’t believe people are falling for your act.” he gets a little feisty.

“Come on bro, how could they not think I was anybody but Will Witt? Don’t worry, no one suspects a thing, so we’re good but I need your help with today’s schedule – sorta of ‘what would Will do’ session just to make sure I don’t fuck anything up for you. Okay?”

“Sure Will, it’s what I live for.” he responds sarcastically.

“How do you come up with the topics for your MOTSs?” 

“Who do you think? Dad, you know how opinionated he is. When we had dinner in London, he rattled off six topics for me to cover and things he’d ask these snowflakes.”

“Ah I thought you sounded a lot like dad when interviewing people. That explains the notes on your iPad. By the way, I’m having dinner with the rents Friday night, having them meet Lisa.”  I just smile at him. “Now about today’s pics, what should I wear? ‘What would Will wear’?”

“We’ve been through this – my new bespoke suit.”

“Exactly what you’d wear today – into the office and for the shoot. I’m just trying to help you Willy.”

“Dennis is always pushing for me in more suits and ties, to be taken more seriously outside the campus forum. Keep it simple – black button down shirt, my charcoal brooks brothers suit. For the shoot, the bespoke of course and take all my new dress shirts and ties, many pairs of cufflinks. I love my gold paisley tie, the one you wore last night. Hopefully you didn’t ruin it.”

“No, I went with a black tie, so the paisley is fine.”

“There’s a large suit bag in the back of my closet that can hold everything you’ll need.’

“I have to tell you bro, I’m gaining a real appreciation for your closet. My tastes have really matured in the past months. What’s with the glasses though?”

“They’re for eye strain bro, giving my eyes a break now from the contact lenses. I also wear them for important interviews or meetings where I want to look more mature and smarter.”

“Well your glasses and contacts work great for me too. My eyes have been changing but I never had them checked. Now, what about the shoot? Who’s going to be there?  How does it work? What does Will do?” I press him.

“It’s a larger version of my down stair studio. Someone will come get me when it’s my turn, take me to changing room, then make up, then to the set – green screen. It’s easy really.  There’ll be people in and out all day long.”

“People like who?”

“Candace, Charlie Kirk, Dave Rubin, Guy Benson and many others.  It’ll be a few days of craziness.”

“Nice!  Do I have any nicknames or personal things with any of them?  Like, how do you address Candace? or Charlie?” He stutters and hesitates. “Spill it or more drugs. Besides, you don’t want me to fuck up anything with your friends now do you?”

“Candace is ‘Candy’ jokingly, she’s getting married in a few weeks.” He continues with the others. I’ll use the information but it sounds childish – something a more mature, evolving Will would never use.  I’ll phase that nonsense out. 

“Good to know. Thanks. I’ve got to get ready for work.” I grin at him.

Dennis Prager alluded to my evolving image during lunch and that I should be wearing more conservative outfits. I agree completely with the boss and love the image. With that in mind, I ignore Willy’s suggestion and go ultra conservative. I remember a beautiful light blue shirt with white contrasting collar and cuffs that ‘I’ve’ worn a few times. It would be ultra conservative with my gray Brooks. 

In Will fashion, I lay out my work outfit on the bed, adding all the details. When I’m satisfied, I pull it on my underwear and socks, pull on my pants.  After I add the belt, I pull on the Brooks shirt.  To keep with the Brooks theme, as Will likes to do, I select the Brooks tie that he wore previously. The whole image screams ultra conservative and looks great. I add white gold cufflinks, his smaller ring and gold watch. I pull on the jacket and stare at myself in the mirror. I put some gel in my hair then fix it exactly as in the pic I found in an old MOTS video. Oh, almost forgot my tie clip. He’s famous on Instagram for his tie clips? I clip one on and it completes my image. I flash a Will smile and fingers. “What’s Up Guys?”. 

I must have nailed the look because when I entered the toilet, Willy’s mouth dropped. In the bathroom mirror, I admire myself, tug on my cuffs and adjust my tie. I don’t say a word.

“Well aren’t you Will Witt.” He comments snidely but I ignore him for a few more minutes as I run my hand thru my hair.

“Who else would I be?” I turn around to face him. “What’s Up Guys, Will Witt for Prager U.” flash my peace sign to him, pretending I’m holding a microphone.

“Probably a better choice for today. No pocket square Will?” 

“Oh shit, totally didn’t notice.”

“In drawer under jewelry box.”  He answers me without even asking. I run to his closet, find a nice silk white one neatly folded in a square. I tuck it in my suit pocket and check myself out in the mirror quickly.

“Better?” He’s silent.

I pull out his preppy glasses and put on and off. “Glasses, no glasses?” I look at him.

“I don’t care, up to you.” 

“Know what, think I’ll have pics taken both ways. I think they make me look older, which would kill my ‘frat boy’ image on college campuses but might help me with the older generation.” I turn to look at his expression but he looks broken. “I love this suit bro, it fits me great. I made sure the knot was right by noting the length of the tie, and location of stripes. Not used to wearing one, almost forgot the tie clip – my fans would have blown up over such a faux pas.”

“True, they watch everything I post.”

“Ok bro, I need to get to work, busy day ahead. I’ll probably be late tonight because Mike wants to do Furley’s for happy hour. I’ll let you in the bathtub so you’re comfortable but how about something to help you sleep?”

“No don’t do that please, I’ll be good.” He begs.

I ignore him, grab the needle and knock him out for the day. 

I jump in my 911 and head in for another day in the life of Will Witt. The suit bag weighs about 30lbs and takes up the entire seat of my 911. Everyone accepts me and I keep learning more and more.  The lingo is coming naturally to me. The routine of emails, small talk and understanding my role is easy. 

I hang my suit bag and jacket on the back of my office door, grab my coffee mug and ease into the day.  Just before lunch, Nicki, one of the film staff comes for me – it’s my turn. I’m seated in in one of the dressing rooms, in a makeup chair, in front of the mirror. Collette comes in all smiles. 

“Will, you’re looking great.”

“You too, so let’s get started. I’ve got a lot to do today on top of these pics.”

“There’s something we’d like to do different this time.”

“Oh yeah? That sounds ominous.”

“Well, how about we cut your hair some?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that Collette, it’s my signature, my “conservative with the best hair”.” Sounding uncertain for effect.

“Well, I was talking to Dennis and Joel, and we feel you should be the focus, not your hair. We’re not talking about shaving your head, just toning down the cowlick some. If you don’t like, it’ll be back in a few months.”

I think about it for a minute, running my hand through my cowlick, looking at Will in the mirror. I’ve seen videos where the wind destroys his giant flop, part of his gig but in the end, I nod in approval and let Prager U redo my image. 

The ‘Will’ PR shoot was so simple, but time consuming.  They brought in some famous stylist from West Hollywood to cut my hair – it took an hour! They went through my suit bag and laid out a number of outfits but didn’t question my taste. They took multiple pics of me in 5 different outfits including what I wore in this morning. I was there for hours. At the end of the day, we head to Furley’s as planned for happy hour. I left on my new suit and last outfit I was photographed in. What a happy hour – hanging with Charlie Kirk, Ben Shapiro and other famous conservatives was incredible. Thanks to Will’s unedited interview videos, I knew exactly what small talk he had with a number of these conservative celebrities and played them perfectly. 

When I get home, my first stop is to taunt Willy still tied up in bathtub.

“Hey bro, this suit is simply amazing. You were right, the shoot was really easy, except for having to change every 20 minutes. Like my haircut?” I tease

“What did you do to my hair?” 

“Willy, remember, it’s my hair. It’s a shorter, more mature, conservative cut. Everyone loves it.  I still have the best hair of any conservative. I texted it to mom and she loves it too.” I open up the iPhone and scroll thru pics from the shoot, then laugh and leave to change into sweats. Following the same routine, I inject Willy, help him to bathroom, feed him and put him to bed. In just a few days, he’s totally changed from being in control to being dependent. He’s definitely a shadow of himself but I’m now casting his shadow.

Every day as Will gets easier as I seamlessly take over his life.  I’m sure I’ve slipped up a few times but since no one knows Will has a twin, who would suspect me? Wednesday at work was incredible. I helped with the rest of the PR shoot, chatted with all of my new conservative friends. I especially liked talking to Dave Rubin and Candace Owens.  I had dinner with everyone that evening and it went really late. By the time I got home, Willy had wetted himself. I was so pissed that I shoved a hot pocket in his mouth, hosed him off and drugged him heavily. 

On Thursday Gavi and I do a man on the street, at Santa Monica Pier. I nailed it – quickly picking up Will’s attitude and methods. It was easy after watching all his videos from the past year. Back in the office I sit down with Gavi, edit his video and work with Alexander to add the graphics.  

Willy is awake when I get home. His eyes scan me from top to bottom then he starts yelling through the ball gag.

“Hang on Willy.” I pop out the ball gag.

“I hate you Willy and I’m done playing your game.” He spits and hits me on my shorts. 

I gut punch him with all my force, then inject him to keep him docile. “Now Willy, we’ll get you on the potty and fed quickly. I don’t have a lot of time, Lisa and I are going to dinner at mom and dad’s. I really like her.”

I get Willy settled, take a quick shower and head out to pick up Lisa. Dinner is a breeze as Lisa is the center of attention. There’s no discussion of Willy at all – just about me and how proud they are of everything I’m doing. As I expected, they were totally clueless I wasn’t their precious little Will. I have to admit, it felt great being home. I showed Lisa my old bedroom and got a BJ on Will’s bed. It was like old times, like his other girlfriends I fooled. Mom and dad announced they’re heading to Hawaii to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary and ask me to watch the house while they’re gone. More time to get reacquainted with my new life as their loving son Will. I spend the night at Lisa’s but get up early to take care of things at home, then work.

Willy is awake and pissed more when I check in on him. 

“Morning Willy.” I cheerfully announce.

“You’re Willy asswipe.” He yells back.

I gut punch him with all my force. “Don’t make me repeat myself Willy, now who am I?”

“You’re Will, Will Witt.” He’s barely able to speak, I hit him so hard.

“Now that’s much better Willy. Let’s get you to the bathroom and fed.” I inject him and continue talking while it takes effect.

“So, mom and dad love Lisa bro.  I think she’s really falling for me.  She gave me a BJ in my old bedroom. Sadly, your old bedroom is now a workout room with no trace of you at all. I showed Lisa my swimming and track trophies, tried on my old letterman jacket and gave her the whole Will Witt history. Can you believe mom and dad are celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary? I can’t!” I lay it on thick as the caring son that Will is. 

“Fuck off.” The mumbles.

“Oh Willy, don’t make me hurt you more.” I warn him. I can see the drugs have kicked in, and start untying him. Just as I loosen the last night, Willy tries a fast one on me, trying to tackle me to the floor.  I’ve wrestled him too many times and know his ‘plays’ and another gut punch and I’m dragging him into the bathroom. A quick shower, shit and breakfast bar and he’s good for another 12 hours.

Once he’s secured, I jump in shower and prep for another day in the office. Fridays are so routine with a team strategy meeting for upcoming projects/videos/content.  This is followed by lunch and office time till happy hour at Furley’s. After happy hour, I meet Lisa and a bunch of her friends out for more drinks and dancing, then back to her place.

END OF THE ROAD

I’m up early and skip out of Lisa’s, telling her I have some chores to do for my parents and I’ll be tied up all weekend. Willy is awake and thrashing about trying to get loose. I enter the bedroom smiling, and clap my hands.

“Willy, good news! Road trip bro! We’re going to the cabin to take care of some things for Dad. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

He stares at me, blood shot eyes, a week of facial hair, looking like crap. “Good, could I sleep in one of the bunk beds?”

“Sure thing bro, then we’ll talk about next steps here.” He calms down, feeling better, probably thinking he’s getting his life back.  He’s not. 

I drug him, give him a shower, get him dressed and fed. The next morning, I get him ready for 4 hour trip to the cabin. The dosage I gave him should keep him out for most of the trip. I pack some clothes and fishing gear in case I get the urge. We leave at 5am to avoid any traffic. 

He sleeps the entire journey and I don’t stop once. I’m careful to drive the speed limit to not attract any attention from state police. I pull up to the cabin before 9am. There’s no one around, no one on the lake even – all peaceful and quiet.  With Willy securely tied up in the car, I walk around the cabin inspecting the place, reminiscing about our family outings and fishing trips. In the rear about 500 feet from the house is an old well that’s been dry for years. Dad has been talking about filling it in for safety for years, but never did. It’s the perfect place to hide a body.

When I get back to the car, Willy is stirring. I help him out of the car and walk him inside the cabin. 

“Will, untie me please. My arms and wrists are killing me.” He pleas.

“Sure thing.” Knowing he’s drugged still and couldn’t run anywhere or harm me. 

We walk out to the back porch and I hand him a coke and sandwich. He sits on the step eating and enjoying the partial view of the lake.  I laced the coke with enough fentanyl to kill him – he’ll just pass out and die peacefully. 

“So what’s the plan Will? I guessing this is it for me.  Am I right.” As he takes a large chug of the coke.

“Yeah that’s about it Willy.  You won’t feel a thing though, you’ll just fall asleep. Hope you enjoyed the coke, no after taste?”

“Nah, it tasted fine. You know I need a few cokes a day to keep the energy up.”

“Yeah, it’s a habit I’ve had to adopt. You know Willy, I’ve always been a better you and this life is perfect for me. Don’t worry, I love my new life and have seamlessly integrated into it.  I’ll take good care of it.”

He’s in a daze now, the drug is kicking in. I help him up and over to an Adirondack chair near the fire pit.  He puts his head back and starts breathe erratically. Within minutes he stops breathing. I waste no time stripping and dumping him in the well. I grab a shovel and start shoveling dirt into the well until I can’t see any evidence. For good measure I add another foot of dirt on top of that. 

I’m exhausted after that, take a shower and dress in clean clothes. In town I grab a bite at Palmer’s diner – a dive with good food. As I’m sitting there finishing up with a piece of Apple pie, Rob Decker, an old friend of me and Will come up to me. He’s a local who owns a few small businesses, most inherited from his father. 

“Will! How are you man? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” He grabs my hand and shakes it hard. 

“Rob, good to see you! Dad asked me to check on the cabin and I needed a break from LA. I’m heading back to tomorrow.”

“Dude, got your gear?”

“Of course, was going to try the old creek before heading home.”

“I’ll join you, heck, even Tommy will go.  He’ll be thrilled to see you. He was talking about your videos on Facebook.”

“Sound great Rob, stop by tomorrow morning whenever.”

Back at the cabin, I start a campfire and relax. Once it’s burning good, I grab Willy’s clothes and toss it all in. I have an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and freedom now. I have a few beers and watch the fire slowly burn out. Sunday morning Rob and Tommy show up at 6am. They don’t even mention my brother Willy even though we were all friends growing up. We have a blast and they want to come to the big city and party with me soon.

I fly back late Sunday afternoon and clean up my condo – unmounting the chair, smoothing over the holes in my carpet, cleaning the bathroom and tossing out the rest of Willy’s clothes. I call Lisa and invite her to my place tomorrow night for dinner and love making.

Monday morning I’m in full Will Witt mode. I wake up and take my run, shower and fuss with my hair for 20 minutes. In keeping with Dennis’ wishes, I up my conservative appearance to match my new haircut. My new bespoke Saville Row suit anchors my identity as the only Will Witt. It’s teamed with my favorite blue Brooks Brothers shirt with white contrasting cuffs and collars.  I pair it with my new shoes and favorite tie I’ve worn a few times.  Joel loves my new attitude and appearance. At lunch, I pull a typical Will move – I escape to a nearby restaurant, hang out and work on my schedule as is habit. 

Life is great now. I have tons of friends and fans. Prager U is very lucrative and I’m in demand across the US and world for speaking appearances. No one suspects I’m not Will. I love the notoriety and acceptance. I even love my preppy wardrobe and new style. It’s grown on me and I’ll maintain it.  

[anambermusicbox]

September 29 Day Countdown (27/29): 2021/01/15 Interview with iFeng Entertainment 凤凰网《非常道》

(11:20) Interviewer asks whether he’s more affected by hurtful words or kind words; Zhou Shen then goes on to talk about his relationship with his fans:

ZS: After all, I’ve now debuted for 6 years now- (*more subdued*) my skin has gotten thicker. Before, hurtful words had a very big impact on me. I’d see these words and think (*gasps*) What did I do wrong? Why do they have to say this about me? Do I have to change something? If I do this differently would they not say this about me? 

But later I realized, no (*waves his hand dismissively*) To them, the people that don’t like you, as long as you exist, they won’t like you. So before, I would be affected a lot more by hurtful words, but now its about 51% and 49%, with that 51% being the hurtful words. But I’m working on flipping the percentages. This way, I think, I’m also doing right by the people who support me.

Interviewer: I think there are actually a lot of people who like you. (*ZS bows and thanks her awkwardly*) The other day, I was online and saw your fans professing their love, fussing over you. (*ZS laughs*)

ZS: Oh that’s right, because- a few days ago, I was doing a performance and- I don’t know if this is just what this fan says to singers they like, but they said (*cups hands around mouth*) (*extremely high pitched shout*) “Rest for a bit!! You’re tiring!!! Yourself!!! Out!!!!” (*laughs*) (T/N: It was after he filmed the winter-themed Happy Camp with the Onmyoji movie cast; there’s a video of the exact moment—super hilarious, I’ll put the link in the notes.) [...] I want to tell them, I’m doing fine here, don’t worry—I can take care of myself.

Interviewer: I think the way they talk to you is quite 没大没小 (referring someone to being disrespectful and talking to someone their senior the same way they talk to their peers; Zhou Shen looks quite shocked at her choice of words) They really treat you like (ZS, interjecting: a friend) someone they can throw jokes at, a kind of idol that is very close to them. How do you view the relationship between you and your fans?

ZS: Oh, I really don’t know. To be honest, I really don’t know. [...] Even now, sometimes I think they’re quite stupid. I say this because, sometimes, even if it’s just to see me sing one or two songs, they’ll stand outside the venue waiting for four to five hours on a harsh winter day. I feel really bad for them. But it’s like, to them this is one way they feel that they can give me strength, and I can’t tell them not to, because that would hurt them even more. 

So sometimes I look at them and think, oh look at this stupid group of people, so idiotically supporting me. This kind of stupidity is really quite touching. I want to put forth my best effort to reciprocate what they do.

(14:55) Interviewer: “Do you have moments where you feel pretty rotten?”

ZS: Oh, too many. (Interviewer: Tell me about it, from the past to the present) Wow. Okay then we have to delay the program recording scheduled next (*laughs*) there’s a LOT. I mean, since my childhood, my classmates unintentionally- it was really unintentional, they didn’t have the maturity to know that their words would be hurtful. But to me, they were very hurtful. But you can’t blame them for it, because they didn’t understand anything at the time. (T/N: no you can totally blame them for it, you’re just a nice person shenshen)

And more recently, as an artist, I had my own “cold bench period.” I felt like, I was working so hard but no one was willing to listen to me sing. Not only that, I felt I didn’t have a way to be heard. Because there was a period of time when I didn’t really have any work and, wah, everyday I felt so purposeless; I was just a rain cloud, I was so discouraged (*laughs*)

Interviewer: What about now, now that you’re so busy?

ZS: If I’m tired, I’ll be happy because I’m happy that there are stages that *want* me to sing on them. [...] I worked so hard to stay in this profession because I wanted to be heard by others, and now that this day has finally come, with so many stages I can sing on, why wouldn’t I go?

(16:40) Talks about how he doesn’t mind labels, because that how someone remembers you; ZS: “I saw this one comment I really liked, this person was saying they always thought there were two Zhou Shen’s—a male one who was funny on variety shows, and a female one that sang deep emotional songs—until one day they watched a show and realized, what?? It’s one Zhou Shen???”

(18:30) Interviewer: As I’m conversing with you, I can feel very relaxed, very happy—that’s the feeling you give people. (*ZS bows and quietly thanks her*) But I know from looking at your past that your childhood was quite lonely. What makes you be able to still be so warm—that is, to go and bring others... happiness. 

ZS: I think it’s because I’m really fortunate. Because... (*looks up in thought*) I... I grew up in a very remote mountainous village, but I’m really fortunate to have so many opportunities—coming into the city, being able to learn and come in contact with all the culture I love, and later even being about to devote myself to a career I love. I feel very fortunate.

And I know that, when you feel extremely alone, if you suddenly feel something like a beam of warmth, the joy or the kind of hope that can bring—when you receive it, you’re so happy. I think, I want to do that, if there’s a possibility I could have the honour to do that for someone else. I think it’s so important.

(21:00) Talks about his parents:

ZS: Even now, my mom and dad are still wanting to- still are running their small business that they love; I think it’s very laborious. I keep telling them, you both are getting older, you should take advantage of your age and go relax, enjoy yourselves. They say, no, we want to take some burden off of you, to which I’m like eh? (*leans over and covers mouth to whisper*) Mom you’re losing money every year. *laughs* 

Especially with the pandemic, their lifestyles have had the most obvious impact. Because they’re not like the younger generation that can continue doing things online. All they’ve known is getting up early to open their storefront, staying there until it’s time to close at nightfall.

Interviewer: (21:55) Your parents, before they didn’t support you going into music. What about now?

ZS: They think it’s great now. But they worry because they feel they have no way to help me in this career. [...] They once said- I asked them something like this one day, how they want to help me now. They said they can give me their storefront. I told them, then don’t help me (*laughs*) Because I’ve used to help them watch the store all the time growing up! I used to be doing my homework at their storefront. Ever since I was little, I’ve always really disliked doing business. So I felt like, oh mom dad, no. 

I’m really lucky. Even though my mom and dad don’t have very high education—it’s really quite low to be honest—they still chose to understand me. I’m very grateful to them.

(1:45) Interviewer asks what his first job was:

ZS: After I graduated from high school, my first job was selling phones. (Interviewer: Were you standing all day?) Yup, standing. [...] (Interviewer: So you have experience in the workplace?) Well, to be honest, I didn’t converse with people much in my so-called workplace—I have a very introverted personality; I’m not too fond of or good at talking to people.

Interviewer: Would someone who doesn’t like to talk to people be able to convince people to buy phones?

ZS: That’s why I didn’t sell any. (*bends over laughing*) You really had to say it so directly. (*laughs*) Zhuang-laoshi, you’re an accurate judge of people! (*gives her two thumbs up*) (*Interviewer laughs*)

(3:30) Interviewer tries asking him a question related to emotional intelligence (”qing shang”, 情商) but gets her words mixed up and says romance instead (”qing chang”, 情场); ZS: “Well, if we’re talking about romance, that’s an area I don’t have much experience in (*gets up and pretends to leave*) (Interviewer, laughing: To be honest, that’s the thing I really want to ask about.) Zhuang-laoshi, I really don’t have any experience with romance (*laughs*)

Interviewer: Okay what I was going to ask is, do you think EQ is important in the workplace?

ZS: Super important! For one thing, every workplace involves getting along with people, and part of the way you interact with people depends on your EQ.

Interviewer: But some people say that part of EQ is a skill, a means to an end—would it come off as insincere to others?

ZS: ?? (*blinks*) Can you give me an example?

Interviewer: Like for example, if I compliment you like “oh you’re such a great person (*half-hearted clapping*)” when I don’t truly mean it.

ZS: Oh that was so insincere (*makes faces*) (*Interviewer laughs*) I’m starting to question myself (*laughs*) I don’t think that’s a problem for me though. That’s why you shouldn’t force compliments. I think it’s important to be genuine with what you say—then people won’t think you’re being fake. If people think you’re being fake, that in itself already isn’t a display of good EQ. Be sincere, but try your hardest not to hurt others.

Interviewer: I want to ask another question-

ZS: Is it about romance? (*laughs*)

Interviewer, joking: We’ll talk about romance in a moment.

ZS: no nO NO LET’S NOT DO THAT (*laughs*)

(6:10) About how Zhou Shen didn’t expect to get along so well with everyone else in “An Exciting Offer”《令人心动的offer》:

ZS: On the first episode, every time I put in my own two cents, I had to work myself up just to speak up. My heart rate was through the roof, it was like- (*takes a deep breath*) (*raises hand*) “Laoshi? (*exaggerated suppressed panic*) Can I aSK a quESTION? (*pretends to look back and forth between the others*) (*Interviewer giggles*) I think this is just like, you see, I believe in the workplace, people who are have this personality-” How was I supposed to converse like this? (*laughs*) 

So that was how I was for the first two episodes, but now in the later episodes, I got used to just casually interjecting whenever I felt like it. It was quite wonderful. The other teachers were very approachable, very friendly—it felt like, something you imagined before, but when you really are in such a group, it was like, oh this kind of goodness is something that actually exists. You feel very fortunate, very happy.

(8:50) Interviewer asks ZS if he ever lacks confidence; ZS replies that, even now, he’s not very confident:

ZS: Every time I’m on stage I get extremely extremely nervous. I’ll fear that, I won’t live up to the expectations of those who want to listen to me. But I’m slowly learning to- to get along with, to come to terms with this nervousness.

Interviewer: Then this year, you would’ve been so nervous all the time. Have you counted how many performances you had just this year?

ZS: I haven’t counted, but Shengmi, they compiled them all together and, excluding the ones that aren’t aired, there were over a hundred. Every single one of them, I’m behind the scenes like- (*makes loud deep-breathing-for-anxiety-reduction noises*) But I can’t let people see that so- (*dissolves into laughter*)