#and someday i will have the perfect line up that fits exactly the vision i have in my head

[scoobit9]

Explorations on Doug Eiffel

[shokobuns]

green light.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader

GENRE: angst, smut, gatsby au

WORD COUNT: 2.9k+

WARNINGS: smut (17+), angst, major character death, size kink, unprotected sex, implied overstim, praise

NOTES: this is for @erensbunny's collab! thanks for betaing @mitsuluv <3

Miles away from your own household, there’s nothing and no one.

Only a flower field that stretches beyond the horizon, the hues of orange and purple in the sky, round sunglasses and a picnic blanket. It’s miles of pink and green, far from family fortune, far from status, far from your own obligations. Places like these were too few and far between, but it doesn’t matter because life hasn’t started and there was nothing to tie you down just yet.

He interlocks his fingers with yours, bringing the back of your hand to his lips while you giggle, staring into his cerulean eyes. Your sundress stops at your ankles, ruffles following down in a pattern, and his button up fits loosely around his torso, the first few undone revealing his pale chest. His other hand comes up to caress your cheek, causing you to pull the brim of your hat down to hide your face, but he swats it away, wanting to admire your flushed cheeks.

The sunset perfectly illuminates your skin and while there was nothing to separate the two of you just yet, there will be something that does. And so, he treats every moment as if it was the last, memorizing the creases of your face when you smile, the pearls complimenting your skin, the sound of your laughter. You, on the other hand, don’t think much about what’s to come. Because for right now, you feel too much love, too much to the point where it clouds your thoughts of the future.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, Satoru.”

A small phrase that can only be uttered when you’re miles away, a place where it is just you and Satoru and you and Satoru only. And while you can fall into the rabbit hole of what they would think and what they would do and what might happen, you can also enjoy the way Satoru kisses down your neck, how he gently lays you down on the floral picnic blanket and hikes up your long dress.

A bright past and a dark present.

Both of you are miles away, yes, but not together.

Satoru faces the dark present in which you’ve slipped through his fingers and into the arms of Naoya Zenin. The dark present in which you have it all, a husband, a daughter, and a house to call your own while he is simply just a lonely man in a large, empty mansion. Even when he can see the green light flashing just across the bay, you still feel far away.

Despite the distance, he’s thankful that he gets the chance to see you at all, watching his neighbor and quickly introducing himself as the owner of the house. It was one party after another after another after another and at this point he’s lost count of how many dollars were spent on this single hope—the hope that you’d show up someday and he found it in his new neighbor.

You still remember that night that you ripped off your necklace, gorgeous and costing hundreds at the least, the pearls clattering on your hardwood floors, a tear stained letter—it was all so vivid. Drowning in your own sorrow and missed opportunity, the stench of alcohol on you and your bedsheets, it was not a night you would like to remember. Mostly because it reminds you of what you could have had and stirs up feelings of regret that makes you sick to your stomach every time you see your husband.

His face, chiseled perfectly and flat hair, sharp eyes and soft lips. When you wake up in the mornings and see his face, it only brings you disappointment. But the sound of your daughter’s feet pitter pattering through the hallways somewhat makes up for it. She doesn’t look like him and you thank whatever higher power is up there that she doesn’t. With wide set eyes and chubby cheeks, you only wish her an easy life where she can do the same—be a fool—but this time, with a man she loved.

Cradling her in your arms made the dark present not so dark. And your younger cousin being nearby only brightened it up just a little bit more.

What a lovely boy, inviting you over for tea. You had missed him in the years he was gone and it would be nice to escape the house once in a while. With a simple purple dress and pearl earrings, you’re out the door and into the car. After a silent fifteen minute drive, the driver stops in front of a quaint cottage, lively green grass and flowers growing along the little columns. The area surrounding his house is perfectly neat, trimmed, and organized. Already, you can tell the interior would be pleasing to the eye.

Megumi comes out of the house, politely walking you to his door and keeping you dry as the rain poured down onto the two of you. Just as you expected, the interior is just as beautiful, varieties of flowers on almost every surface, the colors complimenting each other. You stare, admiring the whites, the yellows, and the pinks of each petal, thankful that your little cousin went to such lengths for a small visit.

“Did you ransack a greenhouse, Gumi?”

He’s silent, still at the door, but you hear a small chuckle. “You know, it’s funny.”

“What’s funny?”

Just as the words leave your mouth, there’s a knock on his door and goes up to answer it. You go back to admiring the flowers for a few more seconds, but you feel a presence behind you and turn around only to be met with a man in a white suit, matching his newly styled hair, blue eyes piercing through you with an intense gaze, his sunglasses in hand. You’re frozen in place and your feet are unable to lift from the ground, but he takes a few hesitant steps towards you, waiting for some kind of reaction.

“Well, I’m certainly glad to be seeing you again.”

With that, he smiles, “I’m certainly glad to be seeing you, as well.”

“It’s… beautiful.”

“You like it?”

“I love it. But how do you live here all alone?”

“I don’t. It’s always full of interesting people.”

Every single shrub is neatly trimmed, water flows gently in the fountain, flowers blooming in the garden. The mansion is huge, too big for only one person, and pristine on both the inside and the outside. The first place Satoru takes you is out on the water where you sit by him, a drink in your hand, Megumi taking pictures of the scenery and the people around him. He holds out his hand for you to hold as you try to steady yourself on the float, a drink in one hand and the other holding onto his shoulder.

“Smile.” You hear Megumi say, but you’re far too busy with Satoru tickling your sides, squirming as he coos small teases. The camera clicks, capturing the both of you in the moment.

When he brings all of you back inside his home, you’re in awe of the sparkling chandelier hanging from his ceiling, the gold lining the walls of the second floor, the sturdy architecture, shiny black and yellow floors. It’s a contrast from what you would have expected from Satoru who was once a humble soldier, plucking from your bedroom in the night and bringing you to a faraway place just to escape. You were once ready to accept the reality that status set the two of you apart, but now you wonder if it even is an issue.

But you’re old money and he’s new money.

How did he acquire all of this? His house? His clothes? The entirety of his wealth? You’re not exactly sure, but you don’t let your mind wander, opting to run up the grand white staircase, getting to the second floor only to be met with a black floor so spotless that you can see your own reflection. Along with Megumi, he follows behind you, watching every single movement and every single expression on your face. Eventually, he catches up next to you, motioning for you to follow him into a room with a single bed and another small set of stairs, rambling about where he gets his clothes.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” You reply, excitedly looking around the room where there’s countless shelves, all full of fabrics. “They’re so beautiful.”

He smiles at you from above, beginning to pull the clothing from the shelves and throwing them down for you to see. You giggle, a wide smile plastered on your face as different pinks, whites, and purples take over your vision. “Satoru, you’re gonna ruin them!”

He’s careless, letting half of his wardrobe fly out in the air and you struggle to catch them all, falling over into the bed. You’re elated, the variety of clothing making you squeal in delight as you jump onto the mattress, sitting in the middle, surrounded by fabric of different patterns and colors. You’re buried in them and he doesn’t stop until the sound of your laughter starts to die down. His chest fills with concern as he races down the stairs to comfort your disoriented figure on the bed.

Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes, sliding down your cheeks and soon you feel his fingers come down to your chin to turn your head towards him. Although, you avoid eye contact, not wanting to confront the reality that it’s been five years. “Hey, shhh,” he coos, his voice softening, “What’s wrong, bunny?”

It’s a loaded question and you already have the answer in your head, on the tip of your tongue, but the more you think, the more you realize that there isn’t a right way to express it to Satoru. A daughter, a husband that you supposedly love, a life supported by old money. Five years away from the love of your life only for him to randomly appear back into your life during a time of stability. And even with your vague knowledge of Naoya’s mistress, you’re the perfect wife for him, foolish and obedient.

But still, your heart is drawn to Satoru—it always has been and it always will be.

“It— It makes me sad…” you reply with a meek voice, “The shirts… they’re just so beautiful.”

He chuckles, kissing the side of your head.

“Fuck! Satoru—” you squeal, his leaking tip prodding at your slit. It’s all familiar, but it doesn’t make it any easier to take him. After five years apart, you forget how big he is, veins running down the side of his pretty cock, long and heavy against your inner thigh. You’ve already lost how many times he’s made you cum on his mouth, your overstimulated cunt aching for more.

“I got you,” he mutters, rubbing your pearl in lazy circles as he pushes in, slowly filling you up inch by inch, “S-So big—”

‘“Yeah?” he coos, maintaining a bruising grip on your hips, “I’m barely halfway in. Just hold on, bunny.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face as he tries to distract with more kisses on your cheeks, gently brushing them away with his thumb. Your hole stretches to take him, splitting in half until you feel his tip kissing your cervix. His mouth latches onto your breast, his hips moving in slow strokes, his hands rubbing reassuring circles on the side of your thigh. “Such a good bunny,” he praises, “Pretty girl.”

“Mhm,” you squeak, feeling him as he starts to fasten the pace, wet squelches echoing throughout the entirety of the bedroom, “I- I missed you.”

“I missed— fuck!— you,” he replies, groaning at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. A string of drool connects his mouth to your nipple, drunk on your pussy, becoming more and more mindless as your cunt sucks him in. The pain of him stretching you out subsides, replaced by the heat building up in your lower tummy. His cock drags against your gummy walls, his fingers interlacing with yours as he fucks into you, juices flowing from your folds down to the white sheets.

“Say you love me,” he whispers against your lips, your eyes half lidded and mind empty, “Please…”

Your eyes open only slightly, making out cerulean eyes with blown out pupils, your own fingers threading through messy white hair, “I— I love you,” you reply, your mind hazy with lust, “Fuck, give it to me. Satoru, please—”

He kisses your bottom lip, knowing exactly what to do, his thrusts becoming harder and erratic, warm skin slapping against yours, balls tightening as he gets closer and closer to his high. His cock is covered in milky white and your grip on his hand tightens at the same time he can feel you squeezing around him like a vice, the coil snapping in your tummy. He brings his lips to yours, swallowing your moans.

“Hold on for a little while longer, bunny. For me, alright?”

You nod as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear before fastening his pace, pounding against your cervix at a rapid speed. Drool spills from the corner of your mouth, eyes rolling back as the knot starts the build once again, your mind going numb as he blows his load into your swollen pussy, squeezing the plush of your hips.

“Love you,” he murmurs in your ear at the same time you’re ready to doze off, your post orgasm haze taking over you, “So much.” He continues, kissing your head.

“I love you, too,” you respond as he turns you to the side before interlocking your fingers together. It’s calming, it feels right and every moment eases your mind off the lost five years between the two of you. “Would you run away with me if you had the chance?”

You’re not sure if your mind is clouded with lust or if it was the feeling of finally being cherished by a man you wished you married or if every sense of rationality had already left you, but in a heartbeat, you respond easily.

“Yes.”

He presses his lips against your bare back before the both of you doze off together in a dreamless sleep.

It all feels surreal.

The last time you see Megumi, he tells you about the emptiness of the mansion, the vines growing against the walls, how the once trimmed bushes are now overgrown and you ask him to stop talking. As much as you love your little cousin, a mention of the house was just another reminder of what you could have had. It only fills you with regret and guilt.

Naoya kisses your head, but it’s not the same.

While you have your daughter to take care of, your husband to serve, it’s only natural for your mind to wander. It’s only natural for your heart to ache, your stomach to turn, your fists to clench. There’s too many questions of what if or what could have been. Would Satoru still be alive if you had followed through? Would you be happier? Did you make the right decision?

But once someone, anyone, walks into your room, reality hits you like a truck and you’re back to where you’re supposed to be. And your life isn’t horrible at all because when you snap back to reality, you snap back to green grass, the finest silks, and the pearls around your neck. You snap back to the perfect family, a strong husband that can protect you, a beautiful daughter that can live a simple life. It’s all old money, acquired not by bootlegging or running a speakeasy, but passed down through generations. While things aren’t perfect, they nearly are.

Still, what if you had taken your daughter with you, living in that huge mansion where the floors are spotless and gold lines the walls and ceilings?

Day by day, it eats at you and when moving day comes, it doesn’t get any easier. Maybe you weren’t cut out for this life—one where you had to worry about your status, one where you tied down to your family. Maybe you were perfect for it, overthinking each and every single problem that five lost years had caused you. You would forget about him one day, at least you think you would.

But you still remember cerulean eyes so clearly, round sunglasses, a pink tint on pale cheeks, soft lips, tousled ivory hair. And it hurts you every time because even after life, the image has a tug on your heart. He didn’t ever get to hear your last words to him, you weren’t there to comfort him, you didn’t even bother to attend his funeral. Megumi knows not to mention him around you, too. He keeps his filter on, processing his grief on his own.

Satoru reaches out to the green light across the bay, too afraid to go there on his own, but the hope of seeing you once again fuels the fire in his heart. He goes through the trouble of sacrificing his money and his time, replaying old scenes of you in his head and is thankful that he even made it this far, that he was even this close to calling you his. He reaches out one moment and he’s gone the next.

And the green light simply guides boats to the dock. It’s all it does anymore.

© this is a work of @crybabygumi, all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my work on other platforms.

[moonbelt]

𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐬 [ᴍ]

↳ classical mythology au | the story of icarus au

⇢ pairing: chanyeol | reader

⇢ genre: angst + smut + fluff

⇢ word count: 14,101 (this one’s a lil beast)

⇢ description: on the day of the summer solstice a piece of the sun crashes down to earth and perhaps it was fate that led him to you. 

⇢ warnings: handjobs, a bit of a size difference kink, small dom/sub undertones, butchering classical mythology to fit the plot. 

It felt like the world was burning at your feet.

That was understandable. It was the morning of the longest day of summer after all. But for the ground to be so hot that the heat speared through the soles of your work boots? That bit was new. You were quite sure your town was hitting an all-new high record for the hottest day of the year.

Even as you cooped yourself in your basement workshop, the sun still seemed to boil you to death. You could only imagine how awful it was outside. But you couldn't afford to stall on your invention. It was either now or never. You were a go big or go home type of person.

Today was the big day. The Summer Solstice. And even though you couldn't be bothered by your town's usual theatrics and a false sense of grandeur, this was the one event you loved. The one event in which you got to showcase your creations and earn a bucketload of exclusive offers from neighboring patrons that came to visit.

The longest day of summer was a huge festival. For one night you got to experience the finest things the world had to offer in your small, somewhat average life. And you loved it. For one day the townspeople put away their reservations towards you and your father and for one day, you allowed yourself to dream of flying away from this tightly-knit prison.

Forcing things into being from scraps and the dregs of society was something that gave you purpose. Something that in a tiny way puts you on the map. Fueled your somewhat childish dream of someday crawling your way out of this labyrinth-Esque settlement.

The first time you snuck into your father's workshop hadn't been by accident. Even though your father had cautioned you away from the basement because he was scared you'd interfere with his process or perhaps worse; injure yourself. But at nine years old there was only so much that could keep your mind from wandering away and the townsfolk weren't exactly forthcoming with letting their heirs and next of kins play with you.

Well, to be honest, most of them didn't welcome you at all. Not that you minded. Not that you cared. They called your father a genius to his face but a madman to his back. But that was fine too. There was a fine line between the two. You thought Little Tommy was quite literally the ugliest baby to be born in the whole wide world and when Little Tommy's mother did something you hated like shoo you away from the front of her bakery, you let her know exactly that.

So yeah, no hard feelings.

But your father's workshop had always felt like the hottest place on earth. If not for that fact that you'd been so utterly bored with schoolwork and the fantasy book you'd been able to sneak out of the library, you doubted you'd even have wanted to step foot in the dark, sweltering ass crack of hell. But if you were anything it was determined.

Some might call you stubborn. Some may even call it foolishness on your part. But you know that it was destiny. A reckoning. Fate. Maybe even a homecoming of sorts. Because in there you found your true passion. Something that tied you ephemerally to this world.

In that workshop, you saw your father create things that no one had ever dared or tried to before. But of course, he did. That was the whole reason they called him a madman by night.

In fact, you were quite certain that the townspeople revered and feared him at the same time. After all, there was still a rumor going 'round that he'd been the one to orchestrate and invent the quintessential labyrinth town you lived in. But that was a different story, one you didn't care to tell. And one you believed — at the time — didn't affect you at all.

You've been wrong about many things. Your father had made it a point to let you know in every way of what you lacked and in what you failed in. But also in what you thrived. And building, no, inventing, came easily to you. Like you'd been born for it. More than destiny, more like preordained. You didn't have a choice, didn't even want one. And you'd been helpless to stop it.

But now the workshop was your life. You lived in it, breathed it and in a sense maybe you worshipped it. It gave you a sense of being after all. The whole town could isolate you, and that they did expertly, but they still hammered down your doorstep for your helpful creations that helped ease the way of life.

You both loved and loathed how much they depended on you but it was what it was. You tried not to let it bother you much anymore.

After numerous hours of grinding at your workstation, and perfecting your latest design, you climbed out of the heated workshop basement and welcomed the fresh breeze of the cool air outside.

You'd been working on a new device that would help speed up the process of washing your daily wear. At the moment the mechanics were quite frankly the best they could ever be, but you were tinkering with it for the utmost perfection for tonight. Hell, you'd already picked out an apt name for it: The Washy-Washer. Okay, yes, it did sound a bit silly, a bit ridiculous, but you weren't going to call it the hand-washer. You cringed solely at the thought.

But you needed a break. Your back was killing you and you were quite literally tired of washing all of your socks. Even if the machine did do most of it.

You took a deep breath and fixed your gaze on the sun. It was calm and quiet in this part of town. The outskirts. But the sun was always loud. At least to you. It always felt as if the sun was trying to burn out your eyes and no matter how much you wanted to look away, you couldn't. It demanded your attention. And you gave it because what else could you do?

It wasn't like the sun was especially pretty, or particularly different than any other sun you'd seen in the last early twenty-something years of your life. But it wasn't like the sun was ugly either, so you didn't mind looking at it. Even if it did hurt your eyes.

And just like every other day, you raised a palm to the sky and imagined yourself grasping the burning sun in your hands. You imagined it would feel like a hot coal on your skin, a little bit reinvigorating but with a whole lot of pain. You wondered if it was a good thing that you thought you'd like that.

And like what had become your new normal, you daydreamed of creating wings like the birds you envied. Wings that could take you anywhere you wanted. Wings that could actually fly. The dream had been plaguing you for weeks like a disease. Visions of you donning on misshapen not-even-close-to-sturdy wings and just soaring. You weren't quite sure where you'd fly to. Maybe you'd just go until you were too tired to move.

"You are going to turn into a field of ash," the charismatic yet sarcastic voice of the town's resident homebody (and the only person that responded to your flyer looking for a housemate) yelled from inside the house.

You guess you were getting predictable these days. Too much staring at the sun and getting almost sunburnt and less of hiding in your workshop.

"The weather's trying to murder me out here," you grumbled as you pushed the creaky front door open and tapped the dirt from the bottom of your boots. "And that's how you treat me?"

Kyungsoo looked up from stirring the pot he had on the stove to shoot you an exasperated look. You had half the mind to tell him of how domestic he looked just to mess with him. "I'm preventing you from dying a sudden and painful death."

"I put a roof over your head."

"Well, I pay rent and I feed you."

It wasn't like you could you beat that. You couldn't cook for the life of you. When your father had been alive he had handled all the cooking for fear of you burning water. And when he'd married, his new wife Nau had taken over the role.

Nau was a nice woman. Although you thought sometimes that she treated you a bit too much like you were her biological daughter and not her extended family. It was fine though because at least she talked to you. Plus she told all her townie friends about the stuff you created. And she made a bomb fish-tail soup.

When your father died, she'd resorted to dropping off a weekly supply of cooked meals at your door. But with Kyungsoo around, the need had for it had practically stopped. And even though you would never tell her, Kyungsoo's cooking was way more phenomenal than hers. But you had manners, albeit a little rusty.

"You can't hold food over my head. That's just wrong." You made your way to the sink and washed the grime off your hands and face. "Plus, I gave you a friend discount when I fixed your calculator last week."

"True. But it is easy to get the friend discount when I’m your only friend," he easily replied as he moved and dumped two servings of what looked like and smelled like his signature fried rice.

You smiled to yourself. If only your dad could see you now. Making friends? Well, a friend. Singular. The town wasn't completely shitty. But Kyungsoo wasn't fond of the place either. You weren't exactly sure what caused him to uproot his life from the middle of the town where he was revered as a young chef-like god. But when he'd taken you up on your offer to be housemates to help reduce living costs six months ago, you can't say you minded.

He was a pretty easy going person and all he ever seemed to do was cook.

"So, are you still not going to have your own stall for the solstice?" You asked after you thanked him for the food and the two of you had retreated to the table set for two.

Kyungsoo shrugged, dropping his utensil to run a hand through his cropped short inky hair. "No cooking for large people ever again. They never appreciate it anyway. I'm going to be a normal person at the festival. You know, I hear the fireworks at the end are amazing."

They were. Your father used to be in charge of the mass production of them for the event. "Yeah. They're like big exploding balls of magic."

He smiled ruefully. "Can't wait."

The two of you finished your food in silence and by the time you were done you were already back to absently dreaming about wings and flying. It was abnormal the way you were fixated on it. Building wings won't be easy, heck if they were even remotely doable someone would've done it already. But it felt like an itch on your skin. Almost like you had to at least try.

Perhaps when the party was over you'd dive headfirst into it and start researching how you would even go about it. It wasn't like you had the arm strength to keep flapping your arms like a crazed person through the damn sky.

If Kyungsoo noticed your lack of speaking, he didn't mention it. And when you'd finished washing the dishes and placing them to dry. You turned to find him sifting through a handful of mail on the table. He'd been getting a ton of letters from former customers that begged him to come back and reopen his restaurant. He promptly discarded them in the bin immediately after.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"You'd just ask me anyway, regardless of my answer."

True. But you like you'd said 'manners.' "You ever think about flying?"

He peered up from the littered papers. "Thinking about inventing some kind of flying death trap?"

"Hah hah hah. Jokes on you when I actually do it." You scoffed at him. Did he think you couldn't do it? You'd show him. You weren't sure how but you would. "You'd beg me to make one for you to fly out of this hellhole too."

"Well, when you put it like that I can't, in good conscience, discourage you from it. Even though I know it's a very bad idea."

"A bad idea? Nay, I say. It's the best I've ever had!"

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes at your boastful demeanor. "Where would you even fly to?"

You didn't even have to think about it. "The sun."

You'd get up close and personal with the beast that beat down on your skin day in day out. It'd hurt like hell, you knew that. But you didn't care. You weren't planning on kissing the sun or anything. Just somewhere close to it. Maybe it'd cure you off your dreams of having your body floating in a bright, hellish landscape.

Maybe flying close enough to the sun just once would be enough. You'd come back down. It'd be the greatest achievement of your whole life. Your magnum opus. You weren't trying to die but there was a whole world up there that was calling out to you like a siren at sea. And you were going to fly. You swore on it.

Even if it meant you crash-landed from space back to earth.

The Summer Solstice celebrations had already been in full swing for a few hours by the time you and Kyungsoo made it to the heart of the town. The festivals were never all that lavish or even truly a feat of major grandiose but more of a holiday to the small community. The neighboring towns visited annually and it made good to the vineyards when everyone was drunk around the bonfire with golden and russet marigolds braided into their hairs.

Colorful streamers were erected around the sides of the cobblestone roads, the sun was on the precipice of setting with the sky marred in a beautiful match of blue, orange and purple. You watched as little kids you didn’t know and old people you did flocked round in queues at various booths marveling at the creative food options.

You stopped by numerous stalls and stands that piqued your interest. Maybe it was because it was the solstice that made all the snacks taste even more heavenly than normal. Or maybe the bolstering heat had finally fried your head.

You were having fun hauling the Washy-Washer around and having people ask you what the hell it was. You’d packed a bountiful amount of socks for the demonstrations.

And when you walked away with a cold snack in your hand and a customer swearing from here to the moon that they’ll be at the shop tomorrow to pick up an order; a burst of pride swelled in your chest. Big enough for you to join in on the crowd’s summer singing. A while after you’d finished your word-of-mouth promotion, you even sold the very one you’d brought out with you.

Kyungsoo and you watched as hundreds of fellow young adult townsfolk flooded the streets decked out head to toe with the most glitzy, sheer and barely covering cloths available. It was hot and it was a festival, so no one particularly cared.

But you guess you stuck out like a sore thumb in your practical shorts and thin tank. But you weren’t part of the show so it didn’t really matter. Plus the outfits of the solstice attendees were so bizarre that you dressing a tad normal wasn’t cause for alarm. And you guessed Kyungsoo was having fun because he was running his mouth talking about the essence and the umami of a popsicle… He was learned like that.

Pushing through the crowds, you made the most of the festival. It was a bright thing. With paper lanterns floating around and above. People didn’t make an effort to seek you out in conversation but you cracked enough jokes with your friend to forget about that. Later on, Kyungsoo had been rightfully cornered by his old friends and you had given him your permission to go forth and get ultimately wasted. You promised him that you’d get drunk telepathically as well. He’d laughed.

By the time you had made it to the bonfire in the middle of the Town Square, you almost felt as if you were like everyone else. Paying for overpriced solstice marketed booze, your body felt like you were soaring. Free. You got close enough that you felt the flames of the bonfire licking and dancing across your skin and it was almost ironic how homely you felt with it.

And like year after year, the solstice let everyone shed their inhibitions. But just as the night was getting even wilder, you knew it was time for you to head back home. You could tell when you weren’t wanted. And You were pushing it without Kyungsoo by your side. People thought you were a bit mad like your father.

You won’t lie. He had been dedicated to his craft and defied the world at every turn. But he had also been a little insane. Perhaps that was where you got your stubbornness bordering on self-destruction.

You were already busy crocking up ways in which you’d start building your wings on your way back home. It was going to be a long journey to get something even manageable but you’d do it. The closer you got to your house, the less of the bustling town you heard. It was almost as if the bright festival didn’t reach your part of town. Like you were hidden in the ultimate cloak of darkness.

But that was fine. Because one day you’d have wings. One day you’d fly out of here like a bat out of hell.

And just as a droopy smile made its way to your face there came a blinding light followed by a loud and resounding thud. It shook the very core of the earth, all the way up to the enamel of your teeth.

You could swear that the sheer brightness of the light alone burnt your retinas clean off. Before you could even process what was going on, your body felt like it was incinerating from the inside. It was so hot around you that you weren’t just sweating profusely, you were melting. There was no other word for it. You clawed at your arms in a bid to do something, anything, but the mass of slick sweat on it caused your palms to slip and slip.

God, you were going to burn to death. You were screaming before you realized it. It felt like the sun was right next to you. Instead of you flying to it, it had come right down to you. And you were going to go out in a cloud of ashy dust.

But just as quickly as the heat had flamed your skin, it was gone. Leaving only the stinging sensation of your skin and tears cooling on top of your cheekbones. The cool night air caressed your skin like a salve and you whimpered a little.

What in the burning hell was that?

You were afraid. You squeezed your eyes and hugged your body. You hadn’t even realized that you had fallen to your knees. To make matters worse, your heart was beating so loudly in your ears that it overpowered all the weak sobs from falling from your lips.

Gods, you absolutely did not want to open your eyes to whatever was out there. You’d rather run blindly all the way back home.

Maybe you were cursed? Your father had told you that the gods’ anger and wrath were fickle things. Easy to provoke and swift to enact. But what on earth could you have done to deserve it? Ah, maybe if you could just open your eyes a little bit. A tiny fraction. Practically minuscule. You won’t even notice.

But when you finally managed to peel your eyelids open, you were confronted with someone kneeling right in front of you. His frame was so big that it dwarfed you and made you feel even smaller. It was undeniable that this person right in front of you wasn’t from around here. You’d never met him, never even seen him before. You’d know if you had. He had a kind of face people got mesmerized by and subsequently spent years trying to recreate it in all their art or died trying. Dramatic shit like that.

“This was not supposed to happen,” he said, his voice breathless and airy like wind and yet deep and soul bending like rock.

Huh, funny how just as you were finally catching your bearings, the hair on your arms decided to prickle to prim attention like he was inspecting them.

“Yeah?” That’s all you got? A yeah? Gods, someone throw you in a hole. You cleared your throat as you turned your gaze anywhere but his face. “Well, I swear I don’t usually burst out crying on the street like a madwoman.”

“No, no. That would be my fault.” Now that captured your attention with vice-like intensity. “I didn’t anticipate just how much heat I would give off when I reached down. Humans are sensitive. I’m very sorry if I hurt you. It is my first time on land. I’ll do better next time,” he sounded remorseful but your face scrunched up more as his words registered.

Huh. Maybe your hearing was off because what did he mean by literally anything he’d just said… Firstly, him? Hurt you? Sure he was as big as your bed frame back home and yeah, you’d never met him before. And of course, you were wary of strangers but him? He looked like he could barely hurt the ground he walked on. Squinting your eyes at him, you scrutinized his all-white attire.

Frankly, he looked like a prince. With the way, he held himself up with a dignity that just screamed regality. And even his knee that was on the ground didn’t appear to have a single stain on the white slacks. There was no royal court in your town but from the books you’d read, you imagined he was what they dressed like. With pearly white rings adorning his fingers and a tiny strip of an embellished white gold band wrapped around his tanned forehead that was framed by his blondish almost white hair.

You swiped the back of your index finger above your top lip to remove the sweat that had built up there. “There’s going to be a next time?”

He smiled, a wild thing it was because it felt like the sun was beaming straight out from his teeth. Gods, how white were those things? Did he bleach them?

“It depends. If I don’t do anything stupid while I’m here I’m sure Father would allow me to come back. He allows my siblings to fly down all the time.” He sounded almost petulant at the fact and then like he was talking to himself, his voice quieted but perhaps he’d never practiced whispering before because his voice was still way above hearing range. “But I’m sure even they have never almost charred a human down to nothing.”

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” You barely understood what was going on as is, but he was right in front of you. Like he’d been born out of the heat.

His eyes fluttered from the top of your head to your shaking hands to your knees now scuffed from the ground. “Felt what?”

“Oh, you know the blazing inferno that just swept through here.”

“Ha, I do not know of what you speak of.”

“I’m a lot of things… dumb isn’t one of them.” You forced yourself to ignore the stinging in your knees as you rose to your full height. He did the same. “Now, I don’t know what you are and I don’t really care but, did one of the gods send you? I hear Zeus can be a bit of a bitch.”

You were right about one thing, this man towered over you for sure. You always thought you were kind of tall, but he would need to lift you by your armpits to even be on the same eye level. You didn’t know how to feel about that but you weren’t scared.

“No one sends me except Father. Sometimes it is necessary. Like now,” he said not even remotely disturbed by your accusations. “I do not speak ill of Zeus but he can be, how you say bitch but respectfully?”

You gawked at him with half the mind to laugh. Actually, you were pretty sure a few giggles escaped your lips. You? Giggling? This night was only getting trickier and weirder. You blamed the booze. It was the only reasonable culprit in all this. Surely, this man did not just ask you for a more polite version of such a nasty word.

“You’re a funny one.” You tried and failed to keep the amusement out of your voice.

“Or perhaps humans are just easily entertained,” he replied but he was smiling as well. He angled his head and peered around the dark road, almost like he was expecting to see something extraordinary burst out. “I thought tonight is the first day of estival? That is why I chose today to come down.”

“Oh, you mean the solstice festival?” You followed his gaze around the steep and vanishing road behind you. “If you still want to catch the end of it, you’d have to walk a long way deeper.”

There wasn’t much to look at down these parts of town. A scrap metal yard was located a few miles to your right behind another valley. But there was a good number of brick houses milling about. Not everyone could afford to live in the affluent and bustling heart of the town and not everyone even wanted to. Your house was about ten more minutes away but you couldn’t see it from here.

You wondered what this very strange man thought of when he looked around the land especially when the lanterns that outlined the street were few in between and flickering like their lives were one breath away from being completely snuffed out.

He turned his gaze back to you and you felt as his eyes commanded your body to attention. For some reason, he seemed a bit sad. “I see.”

“Well, if you run you could probably still make it. If that’s the reason you came into town then you shouldn’t miss it. The fireworks go on for most of the night. You can see them from here but it’s always better up close.”

“You will not go?” He asked, his head cocking to the side.

You grinned. “Nope. I’ve got to sleep the alcohol out. Tomorrow I start on my magnum opus.”

You weren’t sure if he quite understood what you meant but he nodded his head all the same. And it was then you really realized that even though the night was dark and the lanterns were dim, he seemed to glow. His skin alone appeared to shimmer and bleed light. And although it wasn’t bright enough to burn, it felt to you like he was blazing.

He didn’t say anything in response and when you started to feel the trickle of awkwardness slip down your spine you swiveled your eyes to the side. “I’ll just get going now.”

Quickly, you pivoted on your heel and began the stroll to your house. It wasn’t like you needed to know this mystery man. And you could chock the burning episode your body experienced earlier to the alcohol messing up with your system. Yeah, that was it. Of course, it was! If after a night of fitful rest it came again, then and only then would you make a big deal out of it.

You hummed to yourself on your way back and for some inane reason, you had a bit more pep in your step. Like your talk with the mystery man invigorated you or something. But that couldn’t be true, you’d only just met him and you didn’t even know his name.

Hah, you felt like you could start on your wings project right this second. A clear mind and non-intoxicated emotions be damned. You’d already started preliminary sketches of how you wanted it to look like. Soon, you were going to head out to the scrap yard and sift for materials. Hopefully, you found things good enough.

You were in a good mood. One of the bests since your father died last spring. Your father had been your only companion for a long time. And he’d been your everything. Your role model, your shining light. The one that believed in you more than you believed in yourself. And although you’d admit, he had fueled your stubbornness to the point of annoyance, but he’d been your best friend.

And today, almost a year and a half later it felt like you were finally releasing a breath you’d held in for so long.

But you must have been crazy out of tune with the outside world because you did not realize that there was a second silhouette following closely behind you. It wasn’t until you’d fished your copy of the house keys from your pockets and had already begun the act of shoving them into the keyhole that the presence behind dawned on you.

You flipped around, ready to claw the person’s eyes out with your bare hands if it got down to that only to meet the same brown eyes you’d just left down at the crossroads.

It appeared that this man was getting more tangled with you than you’d anticipated.

“Did you get lost or something?” You sighed as you relaxed your stance a tad. The sleepy part of drinking was quickly catching up to you. “This is really far from the festivities.”

He blinked at you. Once. Twice. And then scanned your old mismatched, creaky door that you’d sworn you’d get changed after your father had died but procrastination got even the best of you. He didn’t seem repulsed by it but you thought it contrasted too deeply against his pristine white clothes. Was it possible for the wood to scuff his fitted embroidered mantle? He stuck out so much in front of your house but he didn’t seem to care about that at all.

“The first person we meet on land is our fatum. I stay with you till I find what I was sent for.” He said in lieu of an explanation. He poked a finger into the sliver of space between his neck and his collared shirt and pulled the garment nervously. “At least that’s what Father and the rest of my brothers said.”

Fatum? You weren’t quite sure what that word meant. But you remembered that he’d spoken about this mission he’d been sent here for. You wondered if he was like you in a way. Perhaps he only had his father and his siblings. Maybe this was his first time leaving his village?

Sure, his sentences were a bit weird and it sounded like you and him were on way two different pages. Because what did any of that have to do with you? You had yet to leave the town. That was probably why you were obsessed with the notion of flying over. But he didn’t look poor or desolate. If anything, he looked like a king surveying over his subjects.

“I still don’t get what you mean by any of that but okay, let’s say I believe you. What were you sent for?”

He cocked his head to the side innocently. “I do not know.”

Gods, you were getting a headache. You suddenly wished you hadn’t partaken in some of the indulgences of the night. Alcohol was definitely not helping your situation right now. You weren’t drunk per se but you could already feel a truck of nausea knocking on your door.

“Then how would you know when you’ve found what you were sent over here for?” Never mind the fact that you couldn’t babysit this man you’d never met. You were going to be super busy fulfilling orders and building wings. “Plus normal people don’t just let random strangers follow them around. I don’t even know your name! Some might even call this stalking.”

“I have many names,” he slid his index finger away from bruising the collar of his shirt, ignoring your first question. “But you may call me Chanyeol. And I will not stalk you for I do not really know what that is.”

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Truly.”

“Okay then, Chanyeol. How long are you in town for? And just so you know, I still don’t buy whatever it is your selling.”

“I will be here ’til the end of summer.” Looking you up and down like he suddenly questioned your sanity, he added. “I am not selling anything.”

Odd. This man was very odd. But you had no idea why his oddness was causing the corners of your lips to tilt upwards. Maybe it was because of how serious yet endearing he looked. Or maybe the heat did fry your brain and all your sense of self-preservation and reasoning.

“Is this about the house-sharing offer I put up in the community board?” You rolled your eyes as you crossed your arms across your chest. “That was months ago and I already found someone. I’m sure if you ask someone else they’ll let you room and board with them if you’re willing to pay rent.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

You swore on your left boot that you saw a ghost of a smirk dance across his lips. “Would you let me stay with you if I pay rent?”

Hah. You couldn’t tell if the booze was making everything funnier or what. But he really was funny, this Chanyeol. And dazzling. You would’ve thought he was a living, breathing star.

“Maybe.”

And like you were in a trance, you watched as he reached up to his forehead and carefully unclasped the white jeweled crown-like headband. He held it out to you like you’d even know it’s worth. You stretched out a palm and he dropped it gently. The lingering heat from his body slithered up the skin of your arm.

Chanyeol beamed at you as if he’d just solved all the problems. “Would that be enough?”

To be honest, you weren’t sure. It wasn’t like you carried a human gem to a currency calculator in your head. But when you looked at the band closely, you could tell that the gems were at least real. And the gold wasn’t fake either. Maybe you’d take it downtown and get it looked at. Maybe.

Wait, you couldn’t possibly be considering his offer, could you? And what were you going to tell Kyungsoo? That you just upped and got a new housemate on a whim? Plus no one in town even knew him. Or at least you didn’t. You could handle yourself in a fight but you wouldn’t be able able to do anything if he killed you in your sleep.

Gah, you were tired.

“May I ask what Fatum goes by?” Chanyeol was still smiling. Almost like that was his default setting. You wondered if he truly was happy about all this.

Fatum this. Fatum that. What the ever-loving hell did Fatum even mean?

“You mean what’s my name?” You turned back to your front door and kicked it open. After you’d told him, you let him enter your home. “My name is not Fatum.”

Chanyeol’s tall and lithe body made the space inside your home feel that much smaller. In fact, he seemed to make everything next to him appear to shrink. But he looked around your old house like it was a thing of beauty. You were beginning to doubt if he saw the things you saw. Your house wasn’t ugly by any means but it had definitely seen better days.

“Okay, [y/n],” he conceded but you could hear the barely thought Fatum at the end.

Shaking your head you pointed at the longest couch you had that was placed right in front of the window. “You sleep there tonight.”

He nodded and you didn’t wait around to see if he settled in nicely or not. You weren’t going to think about this weird night any more than necessary. Instead, you were going to go pass out and tomorrow you would kick him out. It left an awful taste in your mouth to leave him stranded and abandoned outside in a foreign town. But that was the extent of your generosity.

And it was with great effort that you decided to not crawl up the stairs to where your room was situated. It took, even more, to not fall on your face. Gods, you swore you’d never drink again.

Tomorrow you would hand him his, clearly expensive, headband back and ask him to leave your mundane life in peace.

But there was a thought nagging and poking you incessantly in the back of your mind. That there was something about him that was tied to you. And the just the fact that you’d already accepted his price meant something you couldn’t yet fathom. Like you’d sold your soul to an unknown.

That night you dreamt of flying like you always did. Soaring and nimbly twisting through an orange and purple-hued sky. It was beautiful. But then you’d reach a point where no matter how many times you pushed yourself upwards, your body kept falling. The wind pressure feeling like crushing boulders on your neck as you struggled. Over and over again.

That night you dreamt that the wings you hadn’t even built yet had already broke.

You woke up with a scratchy throat and a light strum in your bones.

Last night felt more like a personal hallucination than reality. There was no way you’d allowed this Chanyeol person to stay in your house. Your brain didn’t even let you dive into dissecting the meanings of his words yesterday.

He was so freaking weird, you thought to yourself as you stifled a yawn and sat up on your tiny bed. Your hair was a mess since you’d been so out of it that you’d forgotten to braid it in for the night. So that meant you spent a good half an hour teasing the strands out of its convoluted mess. It was a torrid and teary affair.

By the time you’d washed up and gotten ready for the day it was already close to noon. You doubted Kyungsoo would’ve come hone already which meant you had to go down and scavenge for something to eat before you headed down to the scrap yard.

Today was going to be great.

Whistling to yourself mindlessly, you took the stairs two at a time. But when you jumped the last step and landed at the foot of the staircase you belatedly realized that two voices were coming from the kitchen. But that couldn’t be right.

Feeling like you were an intruder in your own home, you gingerly crept closer to the open door that led to Kyungsoo’s claimed area only to see the man you’d told yourself was a hallucination and your housemate. And to make matters even more bizarre, Kyungsoo didn’t look like he was even a tiny bit disturbed by his prescience. What?

“If you’re going to stand there and pretend like you can’t see us, breakfast for you goes straight to the dogs.” Kyungsoo was the first to pierce through your confusion.

You stepped into the kitchen, eyes wide as you stared at Chanyeol like he was wrong to be here. You pointed a finger at him. “You.”

The piece of bread that he was about to stuff in his mouth hung idly from his fingers. It bothered you how at home he looked at your house. And now that you looked at him from the glow of the midday sun, he didn’t look as princely as he had last night. What with his white garments traded for a very comfortable blueish loose pants and a baggy shirt. You wondered where the hell he got a change of clothes from.

Chanyeol’s spine went ramrod straight in the dining chair. “Me.”

Your left eye twitched. “You can’t stay here.”

“I-”

“Sure he can,” Kyungsoo interrupted from his seat at the table. “He says you took his rent for three months.”

You gawked at Chanyeol and you almost threw yourself across the table when you noticed how smug his smile looked. This couldn’t be happening. You didn’t even have an extra room.

“I can stay on the couch. I don’t mind,” Chanyeol replied.

You must have posed your question out loud. Gods, you were going insane. And since when did Kyungsoo side with random strangers over you?

“He’s not random.” Kyungsoo didn’t look up from his food as he pointed to the plate he’d fixed for you on the counter. “And you can’t kick him out. You were complaining last month about being short on money. Maybe you should use him. No offense, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol nodded and you almost threw your shoe at the side of his head. “No worries, Land Brother.”

Land brother… yeah, maybe you shouldn’t think too much about all this. ‘Cause the more you tried to rationalize it, the more bizarre the whole situation got. If Kyungsoo was okay with him, maybe he truly was harmless? It was true that you were running low on funds. So many things in the house needed repairs and repairs cost a pretty penny. Plus, he was okay with the shitty couch. He couldn’t be that bad, could he?

Muttering to yourself, you grabbed the plate of eggs and toast. You hated eggs but you could never bring yourself to seem ungrateful. So, you dumped your butt into the third chair and begrudgingly had your first meal of the day.

Chanyeol looked eagerly from you and Kyungsoo and when you couldn’t take it anymore you barked out a “What?”

He cleared his throat. “What do we do we do today, [y/n],” he said your name carefully like it was something delicate.

You scrunched your nose at him. “We do nothing. I, on the other hand, will be going scrapping.”

“Scrapping?” He titled his head to the side. He did that a lot. Like you were the confusing one.

“I’m searching for materials I will need to create a set of wings.” You forced the last bit of eggs into your mouth and swallowed without breathing. “You can do whatever you want.”

You finished the rest of your food in record time before thanking Kyungsoo. Chanyeol thanked him as well. You adjusted the buckles of your overalls. Chanyeol retied the laces of his stretchy pants that you still wondered where they’d come from. You stuck your socked feet into your boots that you’d placed next to the front door. Chanyeol gracefully wore his white shoes from last night.

You pretended he wasn’t right next to you but it was impossible with how broad he was. His height alone blocked the sunlight and cast a shadow upon you. But he was smiling so eagerly like a puppy that was being let out for the first time.

Pushing through the front door, you allowed him to catch up with you. Reluctantly at first, you began pointing out your neighbors’ houses and the few things about your side of town that you thought were interesting enough. But every time you peered you at him for his reaction, he looked amazed. And soon enough, you got into your role as a self-appointed tour guide.

“Over there’s the Old Well. I fell into it when I was a kid and it hurt but it wasn’t too bad. I wasn’t afraid of the water or anything. My father got me out pretty quick too.”

A few of the townspeople had stopped to stare at Chanyeol but you were beginning to understand that he didn’t understand his effect on people. Maybe he was used to it, but you weren’t. The feeling of many eyes leering at you made you feel off.

“You only have your father. Like me.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you want to fly?” He halted his steps and although you were the one in the lead, you complied. “This magnum opus of yours. Does it have to do with your father?”

You laughed. “’ Course not. I’m doing this because I want to. Actually, it’s more like a calling. I feel like I can’t rest until I’ve done this.”

“Hmm,” he lifted his palm and laid it on your head. It didn’t feel weird. It felt more comforting and soft than anything. You didn’t breathe. “You and I, we’re more alike than you think.”

“H-how so?” You stammered.

Chanyeol leaned in closer and even though you were already holding your breath, you seized up completely. “Yesterday you asked me how I would know what I was sent for, correct?” He did not wait for an answer. “My mission is like a calling. I feel it and I am helpless to stop it. So, I follow it.”

You understood that. That was the one cryptic thing he’d said in hours that you fully understood. You did not dwell on the implications of that. You were too busy staring at his lips. It looked like clouds and when he smiled, sun rays shine through the gap between them.

He pulled his fingers away from your hair and you almost begged him to put it back. What the hell was wrong with you? You were going mad. Chanyeol clasped his arms behind him and tilted his head to the sky and you watched, mesmerized. Even in regular clothes, doing the most normal of things, he appeared almost godlike.

“You can help,” you found yourself saying. “I need all the help I can get anyway.”

His head snapped to you at a dizzying speed. “I accept.”

Time stood still once you’d made this pact with him. You didn’t hear the birds chirping, you didn’t feel the breeze swaying around the two of you as you stood in the eye of a hurricane. Just his eyes on you. Your eyes on him. Nothing else seemed to matter. And that sense of falling vibrated deep in your bones like a warning.

You did not heed. You did not run or cower. For some reason, you embraced it.

It was unprecedented the way Chanyeol slid into your life like a missing piece you didn't know you were missing.

And it was funny how his presence no longer bothered you because he was everywhere. When you woke up in the mornings and hauled ass downstairs. He was right beside you as you delivered Washy-Washer orders. Most of the time he did all the heavy-lifting of materials you found while scrapping. He truly was everywhere.

The only thing that bothered you was how easy it was with him.

Sometimes you found yourself going throughout the whole day preparing for a singular joke just to simply see your best smile of the day grace his face. He laughed at every and anything, granted. But you felt pride when his loud, deep laughs turned into guffaws that shook through his body. The kind of laughter that made him clap his hands together like a seal.

Chanyeol was thoughtful in a way you’d never experienced before. He was always on your side and you couldn't understand why. Or rather, you’d begun to tell yourself that it didn't matter. Because the more you were around him you realized that you didn't particularly mind.

He didn't mind being in the ass crack of hell, AKA your workshop. And to be honest, you thought that was his favorite place in the entire house. But he was always complaining about having to wear a shirt. And not because it was so hot he wanted to shed his skin. It felt like it was the other way around. Like he fed off the heat.

So, it came as no surprise to you when one month in he walked into your workshop shirtless as the day he was born. You almost smashed your finger with the hammer you held.

“No, get out,” you barely managed to speak. “You have to wear a shirt in here.”

“Says who?” These days he was smugger, bolder, and clearly did not care if you spontaneously erupted in a nosebleed.

You struggled to find apt words as you looked everywhere but his damned face. He was way too beautiful for his own good. And careless about it too. You didn't have the most prolific experiences with the opposite sex. None of them really were all that attractive to you.

But Chanyeol. O gods, Chanyeol. It was like he’d brazenly stepped into the starring role in all your fantasies. His chest resembled the washboard you’d previously used to wash your clothes. And by every will of your body, you wanted to lick it. Ah, you were going insane. He was making you insane.

“No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you.” You threw the hammer down and pretended like the haphazard clump of wood and made feathers was phenomenal work compared to the godlike creature you refused to look at.

You could feel his insolent smirk from a mile away. “Come on. You should do it with me.”

“You want me to get naked?” Gods, you were killing yourself here.

He placed a veiny hand on his waist and chided you. “Well, I meant shirtless but I won’t stop you. You can do whatever you want, I won’t mind.”

Please, you were about to commune with the dead at this rate. 

Your whole body was on fire. This wasn't the first exchange like this between the two of you. It was getting more and more unbearable. You were going to kick him out of the house before you dissolved into a puddle of embarrassment.

Chanyeol moved closer to you and you swore his body heat was making you dizzy. He used the tip of his finger to lift your face and when your gazes connected, he let go. You still felt the sizzling pad of his finger on your chin.

“You know, I’ve learned a lot of things while on land,” his voice slithered up and down your spine like a wandering serpent. “You like when I’m shirtless. That’s why I continue to do it.”

You’d also learned that Chanyeol was straightforward like that. He didn't beat around the bush much and you wholeheartedly believed that he could not feel embarrassment. Or anger. He was his own filtered bubble.

“Your face never lies, [y/n],” he laughed like the tempter he was.

You glared at him. “Are you making fun of me right now?”

“Never.” He replied instantaneously as he tried to suppress his snicker. He utterly failed.

Hah. This was a very fine line he was dancing on. You didn't think. You crossed it.

“Yeah?” Your voice was getting huskier. You unhooked the buckles of your overalls and let the top of it fall like one big petal around your waist. “You mean if I take this off right now, you won't mind?”

You needed him to call you crazy. You’d never been forward with anyone before. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you were coming off as sexy or demented. There was a thin line between the two. But Chanyeol gulped, visibly. His Adam's apple bobbled with the action. And there was that unknown feeling again. You wanted to bite it. Actually, no. You wanted to bite all of him.

You had no idea where this day was leading but you thanked foresight for the fact that you hadn't been welding today. Not that you ever thought about doing anything secondary in your workshop. But you didn't want to accidentally burn your ass when you threw your inhibitions out of the window.

“If you take it off, I would try not to mind,” he sighed out. All of a sudden, his breath was fanning your forehead, like oxygen to a flame. “And I would fail, miserably.”

“You should mind then. You should mind a lot.”

And like that was your sign to go, one of his hands slipped around the back of your neck and cradled it. “You know I’ve been reading.” He applied enough pressure to bring your face closer to him until your lips were a breath away. “I think I like you a lot more than I know what to do with. You… you feel like home.”

“What?” You said into the silence.

“A star. You feel like the star at the center of my universe.”

“Like the sun?”

He did not answer. And even though your temperature was raging like an inferno, when his lips landed on yours it felt like a calm before the storm.

It took a millisecond to register before your body was pushing into him. Hot desire dancing alongside your veins like an essential need. He was breathing fire into your body. And you were burning spectacularly.

He groaned and you swore the sound alone woke up every nerve ending in your body like a spell. You demanded more. No, you needed it. So you took it. And he gave it to you. He accepted you like it was only natural. Your tongue dived in callously. His tongue was pliant, weak against yours. There was nothing reserved about the way you kissed him. All those lingering looks as the two of you worked side by side. That yearning ache that had dug a hole in your stomach. He’d felt it too. He kissed you back like a man that wanted to engrave his very being into your soul.

“I really like you,” he said as the two of you caught your breaths. Your bodies were so close. So close that when he jutted out his hips, his hardened cock flattened against you like an iron rod. “And I need to know if you like me too because I believe I’m going insane without knowing.”

Sucking in a long breath, you bring your lips back to him and kiss him again. Impossibly deeper now. You hooked an arm around his neck and pushed his body even closer. You did not care anymore. You had no say over your body. It was a monster that acted on its own accord. It ground against him like it was trying to weld the two of you together.

You didn't say this often but, fuck.

Maybe you were a fool. You wanted to ask him a load of things. What did he like about you? Wasn’t he scared? Where did he even come from? Wasn't this all moving too fast? What if he regrets meeting you later on? What was going on? But looking into his eyes it felt like there was only one thing you could say.

“I like you too. Gods, I like you.”

A slow grin lit across his face and it quieted your demons even more. You decided then and there you’d go anywhere it took to bring that smile on his face. Always. It did something to your chest that made it impossible for you to not smile at him like he was a star. The star. The baddest of them all: the sun.

“As I said: I’ve been reading,” his voice a low beat in your chest as his fingers gripped your waist and clenched. You needed out of these clothes. Now. “I want you.”

Then he was going to have you. Every single part of you.

It’s embarrassing fast how the two of you rushed back into the main house. Bursting through like a dam at full capacity with his hands roaming all over you as you kissed. You were floating and you were pretty sure your eyes were dilated to all hell. The inside of the house was a fast blur as you clasped his hand and led him up the stairs to your room.

It wasn't the first time he’d ever been inside but your room was small. Made for one. Chanyeol made your room look like a hermit’s hole. But that didn't matter. Because as soon as you kicked the door shut, your clothes were flying off your body in between kisses that struck your body bolts of lightning. And before you knew it, your back was slammed into the mattress.

Goosebumps pierced through your skin as his fingers came in touch with your naked skin. The sexual tension between the two of you was going to suffocate you but. You. Did. Not. Care. You were suddenly very thankful for your father’s ex-wife, Nau, and how she’d embarrassingly taught you about contraceptives. You’d been steadily taking a local one to help with your period pains. Thank fuck for that.

With a knee on the bed, Chanyeol’s fingers trailed a path from your thighs to your hips to rest like a featherlike band at your ribcage. Your heart wanted to jump out and devour him.

You reached up and undid the piece of string holding his loose pants to his waist with one hand. The other hand was too busy wandering around his chest. Fuck, you moaned louder than you thought possible when his forehead fell against yours. Chanyeol was burning up. Like you but exponentially.

His head shifted into the crook of your shoulder as you began to pump him softly and he groaned so deep that it ricocheted off the walls and it felt like the whole room shook. “Gods, I’m going to die.” His words were accentuated by one of his hands tentatively brushing against your breasts and like he couldn't help it, he splayed his whole fists against them and squeezed.

“If you die, I’ll bring you back,” you said darkly. “You’re not allowed to die.”

Chanyeol smirked slyly down at you. “An honor it would be if I died for you though.”

And then he lowered his head and sucked one of nipples and rolled the bud between his teeth. You didn't think. You couldn't. Your back arched off the bed like a bow ready to release and he didn't stop. He teased one of your breasts with his mouth as he worked the other with his nimble fingers and then he switched. You weren’t going to let him die for you for he was killing you already.

You wanted to cry when he released your bruised tip from his lips but that was nothing compared to the hand teasingly made its way to your clit and ghosted around almost as if to check if you were wet. You were dripping. It wouldn't shock you if you found out you soaked the bed.

Slowly, his hands retracted from your body and gripped the headboard of your bed so hard you saw the veins in his arms bulge and you swore you heard the wood splinter at his fingers just as he pushed into you. He thrust so deep into you that your eyes closed on impulse and you had to hold your breath.

Fuck, you were being split. He was big. Longer and girthier than you’d expected. Gods, you were going to die. His thrusts were slow. Painstakingly. You couldn't breathe. You couldn’t think. You were falling apart on his dick.

“Open your eyes, fatum,” he demanded and you complied without hesitation. “Look at me.”

You thought he was going to go slow for a bit longer as you caught your breath in pants but just as you were getting used to his pace; he hooked one hand across your hip and flexed. He pulled out, shattering fragments of your very soul with him before he slammed back into you with rougher, deeper, and more possessive strokes. He did not move any faster but his rhythm choked you. The force of him broke you down and demanded you submit. And you did, gladly. Without question. You needed him to breathe you like air. You wanted his lips around your whole body all at once. You needed him to not stop. You were on the verge of going cross-eyed with how hard he was fucking you.

His kisses were like savage beasts as he pushed into you. You clasped your legs around his waist and dug him deeper. You could hear yourself whimpering but that couldn't be you. Since when did you whimper? 

“Fuck, fuck, Chanyeol.” You sounded like you were praying.

Chanyeol invaded you like an asteroid crashing and yet it felt like you were receiving a gift.

And then his fingers found your core once more and you saw stars dancing in the moonlight as you cried around him. Your whole body trembling from the impact. And like you undid something in him, his whole body tightened as he leaned forward and swallowed your cries with his lips, groaning as he released inside you.

He collapsed on top of you and for a moment you breathed in his intensity. In the silence, there was only the two of you with hearts pounding and mouths panting.

Your stomach caved in when he finally made a move to pull himself out of you. You couldn't even begin to explain the feeling that sparked and ignited in your chest. You’d always believed that sex was just sex. But this was different. Chanyeol pulled you deep into his chest and held you there like you were a piece of his heart.

You didn't realize teardrops had slipped past the corner of your eyes until Chanyeol turned your face to him frantically.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” He was so concerned it almost made you want to cry even harder.

“Nothing.” That was the problem.

Maybe you had finally crossed the bridge but somewhere you felt that this, whatever this was with Chanyeol wouldn't last. It felt like you were at the starting and breaking point of everything. You had no idea what you meant and you didn't want to tell him anything.

You wanted to be next to him until you couldn't be anymore. That was all you could do anyway.

“Nothing’s wrong,” You repeated.

“Yeah?” He laughed into your forehead as he leaned into your forehead and kissed it softly.

Yeah.

The three months Chanyeol spent with you felt like three years and then some.

It was almost funny how much time the two of you spent outside in the sun because he absolutely hated being inside. And even though your bed was the tiniest thing, somehow the two of you made it work because he no longer slept on the couch.

But then the end of his stay was rapidly approaching and you weren't exactly sure how to bring up the dilemma that had been poisoning your tongue for weeks. Was he going to just leave you? Did he need to go back home? Couldn't you leave with him? You wanted to leave this hole of a town anyway. Sure you would miss Kyungsoo and Nau but you would send them a carrier pigeon or something. If Chanyeol said the word, you would go anywhere.

However, he wasn't saying anything. In fact, it was as if he’d forgotten that he’d told you that he was only supposed to stay here till the end of summer.

As the two of you tested out your fifth set of redone and recalibrated wings at the large expanse behind your house, you decided to just let it out.

“The last day of summer is soon. Would your father still need you?” Now, why did you sound like a textbook? Gods, this was awkward. Why were you even bringing it up when he didn’t? What were you? A masochist?

Chanyeol stopped helping you fasten the body of the wings to your torso. You couldn't put a finger to the emotions flickering across his face. There were so many of them. For the first time, you saw that he was in turmoil.

“You can tell me anything,” You said, turning your body so you could place a hand on his shoulder. “You know that, right?”

He sucked in his lower lip for a moment before he expelled a long breath. And like he usually did, he fixed his eyes up at the sun. But the sun never seemed to hurt him the same way it did you. “I know it’s just…”

“Come on. I’m here in my wings and you still won’t tell me? What if I fly away from you forever?” You meant for it to be a joke. In fact, you’d already pictured the smile that would grace his beautiful face but you were met with restrained anger.

“Don’t say that,” he spat the words out.

Wait, what? Had you said something wrong? What? This was the first time you’d ever seen Chanyeol angry. You never even knew he had the range. But he looked like what you’d said set him off. He looked furious with his eyebrows drawn so close to the center of his face that it resembled one white block. And if you didn't know any better, you’d say it looked like he was angry… at himself.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You squeezed his shoulder even tighter as if to remind him that you were there.

Chanyeol’s breathing came out hard but it wasn't from physical exertion. You had no idea what you were supposed to do. “You can’t joke about that. I…” words seemed to fail him because his shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes tightly. “What if I leave you? You know I’m not from around here. What if I leave to a place I can’t come back from? What if I’m never able to come down here again? What if — ”

He cut himself off abruptly and shrugged off your hand. Something ugly and vile twisted in your belly.

“We can go together?” You proposed even though it felt like your gut was being shredded. “If you can't come back here, I’ll just come with you. I can build stuff anywhere. It doesn't have to be here.”

Sorrow. That was the look that washed over Chanyeol’s face like a dark cloud. You couldn't understand what was going on but you were trying to. Where you not allowed where he was from? Maybe it was like a gendered village? That was okay, you could hide or something… You weren't exactly sure what you would do but you were smart. You’d find something. Anything.

“You can’t come.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because you would die, [y/n],” He didn’t, couldn't, look at you. “If you follow me back. You won’t be able to make it because you would die. You can’t die for me. I will not allow it.” His resolve was strong and cutting but he would not look at you. 

Your words. He was throwing your words back at you but… “Where is your home, Chanyeol?” You asked the one question you should have asked the first day you met him. Gods, you were so stupid!

“You.”

Funny, a simple word was like a knife being stabbed into your heart. Emotions bubbled up to your lips, so many that you thought you were suffocating. Your heart was begging you to just stop. Ignorance was bliss. Whatever Chanyeol was, it was not peace.

“Where is your home?” You weren't screaming but it felt like your throat was parched and scrubbed raw.

And when he finally looked up from the ground, you thought for the last time that he was a prince. No, a King.

He did not speak but he lifted a hand that you had numerous memories of fitting yours into the sky and pointed to the glaring sun. And you did not understand but you immediately knew and you hated it. And at this very moment in time, you hated him. You wanted to push him and pull him closer to you at the same time.

You looked up at the sun and you had half the heart to spit at it.

“Please tell me I did not fall in love with a piece of the sun.” Your bottom lip quivered and you hated that too. “You’re human. You don’t belong to the gods. I know you, Chanyeol. You're not… you can’t be from there.”

You were holding in your tears like they were the end of the world. To you it was. You won't cry. You dared not to. This wasn't happening. Crying made it real. Crying meant your heart was breaking right unto the sandy floor under your feet in your very own backyard. On your turf.

From your gaze at the ground, you saw as Chanyeol’s bare feet scuffled away from you till he was a good seven feet away. What was up with this stupid distance?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” There was no way he was crying but was that a hitch you heard in his voice? You raised your head to check and you almost laughed.

The two of you were way too alike for your own good.

There he was; standing prickly straight as he sucked in his breath so much that his chest brazenly prodded his loose shirt. And you couldn't hate him. Not when he was struggling through the same thing as you. He was the only one that understood and he was doing his best to not fall apart in front of you. And you didn’t even need to see them to know that he was holding back his emotions with an iron fist that was cracking.

“Don't apologize. You didn’t lie to me. You were honest. I just didn't understand. You said some very weird things but that was you. It didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. I thought it didn't.”

“But if I go Father…” he tore his gaze to the side but quickly brought it back to you. “I don’t know what he would do. Gods’ are a bit bitchy, you know?” He smiled half wry, half in irony.

You let out a sound in between a cry and a laugh. “That’s fine. We’ll work it out. We’ll — ”

You never got to complete your sentence. Like a novel that did not have an ending, you watched as, in the bright light of noon, Chanyeol was struck with a bolt of light so bright that you had to close your eyes for a second and throw your hands up blindly. The heat was scorching even from this distance. And when you opened your eyes as fast as you possibly could, you realized that the light was from him.

It was then that you understood everything.

Chanyeol was the sun. Not a part of it. Not a piece. It was his being. His core. His very sense of self.

But why did he look so terrified?

“What’s going on?” You screamed at him as he maniacally clawed at his skin like he was on fire. But the sun could not burn, could it?

“I do not know!” He looked at you and his terror became your own.

Something was wrong. Something was happening and you didn't know how to stop it. You wanted to hug him but when you made a move to him, he screamed raw bloody for you to not take a single step. You were in between a rock and a fiery place.

“You can’t come next to me, [y/n].” He was in pain. You felt in from the curl of your hair to the leather of your boots. “I can't control what’s going on. But I’m okay. I don’t know what’s wrong but I’ll be okay, yeah?”

Chanyeol was combusting. He was burning out right in front of you and he wanted you to stand still? Fuck that. Fuck everything. You loved him. You would do anything. You were going to hold him down to this world even if you had to give up your hands that you loved so much.

However, all of a sudden Chanyeol tilted his head and you swore you saw the moment he communicated with whoever was above because he looked furious for one second, and the very next he shot you a calming smile. Like you mattered. Like he was trying to placate you in all this.

You were running before you couldn't think about it. 

And your hand was reaching out to him with every breath you had and just as your fingers clutched the fabric of his blazing shirt, you felt the warmth he released close around you. It cradled you through your pain. It felt safe. It felt like you were dying. It felt like forever.

Instantly, there was a loud boom, a bang and then the hottest rush of air that blew past you like a caress.

Your palm was burned. His love burned. You were wailing at the world. You hated everything. You loved him so much. Your palm was bleeding. GODS, EVERYTHING HURT. Make it stop, you were begging. Please. I’d do anything Please. The pain was making you scream like a bitch.

You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to die. You wanted to be reborn. But the world did not give second chances. You were going to pry it out with your scorned hand and strangle your chance out. You were going to beat your destiny with a stick. You vowed it. As you cried out in pain, you promised that you would break every rule. You won't wait. You’ll fly.

Kyungsoo was the one to find you.

Passed out, dehydrated and bruised in more ways than one. But you were a phoenix that was born out of the ashes.

You knew a part of you was gone as Chanyeol was taken from you. Your emotions were all over the place. One minute you were unfeeling and the very next an overwhelming sense of rage inflamed your body. You wanted to burn the very ground you walked on. You rummaged through your room until you found the tiny piece of him you had left. His white gold headband. You made Kyungsoo tie it ‘round your head and you never took it off.

It did not help that your palm took longer than three weeks to heal. It was an ugly scar. But it reminded you of him so, when you slept at night, you gritted through the pain and the memories and held the palm close to your chest. Right over your heart. It was fitting.

And by the time your palm had healed enough, it felt like you’d aged a thousand years. Kyungsoo could not understand what was going on and you refused to talk. If you told him, he would only discourage you. And you would truly lose your mind if someone told you what you could and could not do.

But your friend was right there. He never left. Even when you were mean, he still hoped that one day he won't need to drop food outside of your bedroom door because you would not come downstairs. How where you supposed to sit at that table and not see the ghost of Chanyeol falling over the chair as he laughed like a bear?

Maybe someday you would get better. Today was not that day.

For the first time in ages, you walked into your workshop and inhaled. It was time to work.

You built and rebuilt your wings from scratch. The wooden ones never got off the ground, not even for a second. The metal one almost sawed off your arm completely but you never gave up. You were restless and you couldn’t sleep. When you slept you saw him and your hand burning. You were plagued by it. It hurt, so you did not do it anymore. Sleep only came when you were exhauseted.

The hybrid wings weren’t beautiful. A mismatch of wood and alloy. But when you jumped off the roof of the tiny shed at the back of the house. You flew. Or maybe the right word is floated. You floated for a good thirty seconds before you landed painfully on bloody knees.

“Fuck,” you spat.

Your knees hurt but it took your mind away from the present. You had to come up with something fast, You had to do something before you ran out of gas, before you burned out. 

Perhaps that is why from the dregs of your mind you remembered something your father had done when you were younger.

When you were nine, you stepped into your father’s workshop for the first time. It was hot as if the middle of the earth was right there in the basement. And when you walked in, after banal arguments about safety with your father, he let you watch him as he created the greatest thing known to man.

Your father had been creating wings.

He’d never completed it and you’d been so young that it didn’t matter to you that he never did. But now as you rush back down the steps into your basement, you wonder if maybe this is fate. Maybe fate wasn't something spontaneous but rather a series of unfortunate events that we only hoped ended in less pain.

You pushed open the back door within the basement that led to your father’s workshop. You hadn't set foot in here since he’d died. It smelled like him. You wondered if he was watching you right now. You wondered if he thought you were a bit too stupid.

It took a while to find it beneath the layers of dust and junk but when you found it, you sighed in relief. It wasn't made from metal or wood or even a combination from the two. But wax. The frame of the left-wing was nonexistent while the right-wing looked like it had melted. None of that registered and that was how it became your new project.

“You need to eat,” Kyungsoo said as he brought a plate of sandwiches out to you.

Days had passed since you’d started working on the wings and for the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful. Not happy but somewhere in between. You’d poured blood and sweat into molding the wax into the right frame and meticulously preserving the feathers.

You picked one of the sandwiches and bit into it. These days you hated working inside. “Thank you.”

“You'd tell me if you were doing something risky, right?” Kyungsoo eyed the wax suspiciously.

Shrugging, you stuffed the rest of the bread in your mouth. You couldn't give him the answer he wanted so you pretended not to hear. You knew he was angry and you knew it wasn't fair. But you were angrier. Kyungsoo didn't understand. You were going to fly. You had to. You fucking had to get up there.

It took longer than you wanted but when you were done, your wings were perfect.

They looked perfect and you just knew that it wasn't going to let you down. It wasn't going to break. Wax wasn't like wood after all. You were drunk on the feeling of sunshine. It felt like for the first time in months you could breathe. You did not wait for another day.

It was already the middle of Fall. The sun was out but it wouldn't be there for much longer. Sunset was fast approaching.

You climbed up the roof of the shed with the new set of wings attached tightly to your back. You wondered if Chanyeol was looking down at you right now. You wondered if he could see. You hoped he did. You stood on the ledge of the roof and let the wind build and rest before you took a breath.

You prayed and then you jumped.

And like in your dreams, you flew. And it was glorious. It was like the wings were your very arms. Your body — your invention — defied physics, defied the very aspects of anatomy. But you were flying through cloud nine at breakneck speed. You were gliding and nimbly twisting through a bright orange sky. It was so beautiful. You had tears in your eyes.

The wind whipped your face painfully as you pushed your wings up and up and then some more. You couldn't hear anything and to be quite honest, you could not see anything either.

You followed the blinding light in front of you like an addict. You wondered if the townsfolk down below could see you. You didn't care.

You kept flying, even when you got tired. Even when your arms begged you to stop because any more and they would break, you pushed. You pushed yourself until you entered a wave of encompassing heat that instantly reminded of you that day. You were so close. Your heart felt like a match in your chest and as the temperature rose, it struck and lit.

In your drunkenness, you swore you saw Chanyeol. He was right there and you were going to reach him. Tears were falling out of your eyes without pause. You’d been reborn not as a phoenix but as a river.

And just as your body felt the pressures of being burnt alive you suddenly felt nothing. Like you were nothing but a speck in the universe. You were nothing and everything at the same time. You were not sure how long you spent in the state but the next thing you knew, you were falling.

No, plummeting. You were being thrown back to earth in a ball of fire.

You were screaming. Your wings were on fire and… the wax was melting. You’d come so close and you still couldn't make it. Your dream was sifting through your empty hands. You couldn't believe it. You were falling so fast that soon enough all you saw around you was crisped air and shattered reality.

Your body was burned. Physically and mentally. Your soul was leaving your body and you knew that you won't survive this. Who could? You were going to die screaming.

It must have been a second before your body engraved itself into the dirt when you felt hot hands cradle your battered body. You were weak and you were tired but he was like a siren. He called and you answered. You fought and he appeared.

It must have been fate that you had been the first one he’d met. He was your bright and warm star.

“You idiot,” he cried as boiling tears landed like rain on your dried, desert-like face. “I was coming to you. I was coming. I was coming. I was coming.” He held you into his chest, injuries and all be damned, as he cried.

If you could smile you would but it hurt just to wheeze. “Because you love me?”

“More than anything. More than anyone.”

And you loved him back. Love was not guaranteed at all, you knew that, but he was the reflection of your soul. He had a part of you wrapped around his heart like a vice. You won't let go. You tied him ephemerally to this world and he connected you to the largest star of them all. You could feel his soul like it was a breathing thing.

“Then I go wherever you go.”

He pulled you away from his body and through your slitted eyes, you saw the most beautiful man. The man who wore the sun like a coat. The man who reminded you of gods and how weak mortals were next to them. You’d flown into the flames and he was here.

“No, I need you to understand.” Chanyeol’s lips were moving in a way that told you he was serious. But it dawned on you then that in his arms, the burns did not hurt. It was like licks on your skin. “You are the greatest star of my universe. You are all of it.”

You understood. “And I would fall again and again. It’s all or nothing with you, Chanyeol. Do you understand?”

Maybe he did because he hooked his face into your shoulder and let out a laugh. It was rusty. He hadn't laughed in ages but it felt right. His soul had fallen down to earth first, and he had come right after. He had been searching for you for a long time, for such a long time that he had forgotten. To him, you were like the vast space beyond the sun.

You’d flown to him, even if it killed you. Nothing else mattered after that.

“You. I came down for you. I was sent to you. I am sorry, so sorry, that it took me so long to reach back down.”

At first, you did not know what the hell he was talking about. Several minutes passed before you did. And that was when you grinned as tears poured from your eyes.

He finally knew.

a/n: ahh if you made it down here, thank you. im so happy you read this and i hope you enjoyed it, and yes i cried while i wrote this. i have been wanting to do this since i listened to Zayn’s 2018 Icarus Falls album. and i hope i actually did my imagination justice. pls dont hesitate to tell me what you think! :)

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©️ 2020 kai, moonbelt [aka high-on-food]

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Valentines Day

Idol: Ahn Yujin (Izone)

Request: Yes

Anon: hi may i request a valentine's day date with yujin? thank uu 😄

A/n: Sorry that this came super late! No excuses, it’s all me to blame. So sorry love! So I hope you like it!

You fixed your collar, staring at your reflection, before moving to pick up the flowers.

Exiting your apartment and breathing in the fresh air, you smiled. Going to your car before driving away, excitement filling your body as you tapped on the steering wheel.

You were heading to the dorm because finally after months of pinning and waiting for the perfect time you finally asked Yujin out for a ‘date’.

But actually all you just said was, “A simple hangout,” leaving it there while you were a blushing hot mess.

But nonetheless Yujin texted you a few hours later saying that she agreed and will be ready by late afternoon. After a day of panicking, mild squealing you didn’t decide to ditch her, planning the whole day.

You stopped at the apartment and left the car, making sure you weren’t too messy before heading up. When you knocked on their door, you smiled at Eunbi as she greeted you, letting you inside to wait and talk while she went to get the maknae.

You conversed with Yena, Hyewon, and the others who took the time to catch up since they were so busy with their recent comeback. A few minutes later you heard Yujin’s laughter as you turned to look at her.

It went exactly as the dramas interpreted it to be, the slow motion turn as you welcomed the sight of Yujin, smiling as she talked with her leader before she turned, smiling at you and you were content.

For a few minutes you sat there staring at her in awe at how a human can be that beautiful. The girls would’ve found it weird if it was any other person, but they could see the affection in both of your eyes as you looked at each other.

So quietly they left, going inside their rooms to let you two be until you left, giving you the privacy you needed, and you would be sure to thank them for it.

“Hi,” you said softly as you stood walking towards her slowly until you stopped a few feet away

“Hi,” a giggle erupted from her lips, making the butterflies swarm your insides at the sound of her laugh, you were so lovestruck for her that you didn’t know what to do anymore.

“You look beautiful,” you complimented and Yujin couldn’t stop the blush from appearing on her face as she tucked a piece of her behind her ear. She was used to getting compliments, given the fact that she’s achieved so much. But there was just something about you that made it a lot more special for her.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she said back and you giggled, reaching out for her hand and gesturing you head to the side, “Let’s go?”

Yujin smiled, nodding her head and holding your hand, both of you going out and moving to your car while exchanging short conversations. The air seemingly more like the usual you two shared at school.

But the soft and warm feeling of holding her hand made you squeeze it here and there, which didn’t go unnoticed by the other but Yujin didn’t hate it either.

When you opened the door to your car, you pulled out the flowers and showed it to Yujin who gasped when she saw the bouquet in your arms.

She took it and smiled at the flowers softly before she looked up at you with the same soft smile, hoping to show you gratitude that you actually brought something for her.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she pouted, causing you to giggle at her as you shook your head, “I asked you didn’t I?” You said simply, offering your hand, holding the door open. Yujin was close to swooning at your chivalry, taking your hand and stepping into the car.

You shut the door, walking around the car with a skip in your step before driving off, your conversation continuing earlier as you drove, glancing a few times beside you to the girl who was busy admiring the flowers with happiness in her eyes.

Half an hour later, you were out of the city and soon a ferris wheel greeted your vision followed by the gasp from the girl beside you, her puppy eyes turning to look at you with disbelief, a bubble of laughter escaping at the sight of her clear happiness mirroring in her eyes.

Once you parked your car Yujin made a move to get out but of course, being the cheesy human being, you stopped her. Quickly moving to the other side and opening the door, which earned yet another giggle and a playful punch to the shoulder.

Both of you lined up, followed by a great deal of arguing on who would buy the tickets, which in the end, you won by saying that she would pay for the dinner later.

Eagerly, once you got inside Yujin was quick to grab your hand and pull you further in, excited with the fact that she finally got to spend time in an amusement park, without the camera’s watching her every move.

While you let it happen, happily matching her excitement as you also showed your awe and amazement as you looked at the massive rides and games.

“Oh! Let’s do this one,” she dragged you over to the basketball hoops and you playfully rolled your eyes when you saw the glint in hers.

Because everyone knew how Ahn Yujin could be so competitive, “Best out of three?” She offered with that cocky smirk that you’ve seen oh so many times, but you accepted nonetheless, knowing in the end you would let her win.

“Ha! You owe me!” Yujin exclaimed as she took a step back, jumping as she stared at the scores, 234-250,

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll pay for dinner later,” you said but Yujin pouted and pointed at you,

“Nope, I’m paying for dinner, I’m gonna redeem this win in the future,” she said before dragging you away again, this time to one of the roller coasters, bubbling in excitement while she listened to the screams of the people riding it, and you could only coo at her antics.

She may have looked mature but she is still a kid.

So for the whole time you spent at the amusement park, you made sure to bring out the Yujin that you knew, the child that didn’t care and only enjoyed her time at what she was doing.

Playing around, chasing each other, and even spoiling her in the food that she wanted to eat. Buying her a ridiculously large stuffy that she could bring back to the dorm.

But Yujin also did her best to pay for some stuff too, even if you told her that you saved up some money, she ignored you and paid because she wouldn’t allow you to pay for everything today.

“What’s the last thing?” Yujin asked as she looked around, trying to find the one ride you two didn’t already go on. “The ferris wheel, but I don’t think this would fit,” you shook the stuffy in your arms and Yujin pouted.

She’d always wanted to go on it, just to watch the sunset but unfortunately she couldn’t. When you saw the pout you moved and nudged her shoulder, “Hey there’s always next time,” you said, Yujin brightening on the prospect of you two going out again someday.

—

Yujin, picked the restaurant you two were going to eat at tonight, giving you the directions before you two went inside, making sure to put on your masks and carefully lowering your heads as you got a table where it wasn’t too crowded.

The dinner was simple, after the tiring things you two did today, a nice relaxing dinner where you talked about everything and nothing was the best choice for the both of you.

You two enjoyed the dinner and took it as an opportunity to laugh at all the things you did today and made fun of each other a lot.

By the end of the night, you two were a giggly mess as you drove Yujin back to the dorms. When she stopped in front of the door, both of you stood there. Awkwardly waiting for the other person to talk before you were the one to speak.

“I had fun today,” you said and before you could continue Yujin pulled you into a hug, a sudden warmth spreading throughout your body as you inhaled her familiar scent. “Thank you so much for today,” she whispered before pulling back smiling at you before she waved, “See you next week,”

When the door closed you stood there, a little shocked at what she did before you finally got to your senses and turned to walk away.

But a few steps in you heard the door open followed by Yujin’s voice, when you turned she stopped in front of you, and you thought that she forgot something.

You were about to ask her but she took a step forward, getting closer to your face as she placed a kiss on your cheek, “Happy Valentines day, Y/n,”

She smiled before rushing back inside, this time leaving you rooted against your place for a while, clearly shocked by the sudden gesture before you snapped out of it.

You raised your hand to your cheek, smiling at the feeling before calming the butterflies inside your stomach.

This was truly a Valentines day you couldn’t forget.

[soranihimawari]

Bella Donnas & Love

This is the final installment of the Hanahaki Disease AU featuring the Seijoh Four. This is a Mattsukawa Issei x Yin (YN/Reader) story.

Word Count: 4.3 K

Warnings: mentions of depression, suicidal attempts, mentions of burn out, and intrusive thoughts

Recommended Audience: 17+ (minors recommended to not read because of the warnings attached)

Pairing: Mattsukawa Issei x reader// MIA->MIF [Mattsukawa Issei angst to Mattsukawa Isei fluff]

Mattsukawa Issei is a simple man. He sees the world in copious amounts of black, white, and gray; it isn’t because he is colorblind either. It is because he knows his worth. Truthfully, his parental figures were always a bit worried about their son especially given the profession he has chosen to pursue. Being in the business of burning and or burying the dead, Mattsukawa Issei is a fan of the loneliest times in a lifetime: they say when we are brought into the world, we are alone, and when we pass on, we too exit the world alone. There is nothing wrong with finding a job in the business of death, but even angels have demons. And for Mattsukawa, you are an exquisite example of the dichotomy between his dark side and your eventual akin to the brighter side.

It is a known fact in Japan, the pressure to be perfect or to fit into the mold of society has been a fatal flaw throughout the years. This is the main reason why at exactly two fifty-five in the morning, Mattsukawa Issei notices a young person, hanging out on the edge of the skyscraper across his workplace. There was a late night arrival to the city morgue; he just needed to be there to sign the paperwork to turn over the embalming processes to his mentors. It was the deceased wishes to be buried in the mausoleum in the home town of their forefathers: the mountain side of Nagasaki.

You were having a rough day: you were told you by your employers that you’ve been slacking for too long getting numbers for the statistics presentation coming up with business partners across the South China Sea. Then your grandparent were strictly feeding toxic lies to your parent(s) about how you would never find a suitable partner to marry you. Quite frankly, because you put your career and studies first, you had no issues putting your family in their place. The intrusive thoughts, snide comments about your appearance, was enough for you to glance at the sleeping pills that were prescribed to you to assist in a normal pattern, to invade your subconscious. The events which led you to climb the fire escape up to the rooftop garden in your kitten heels made for a daring flirtation with death. There have been nights the last couple of months where your heart is heavy in your chest, your lungs are intoxicating you with the poisonous belladonna petals.

“What a time to find out I’m going to die a lot sooner than I thought,” you sighed into your palm. Your eyes scour the hazy city in the afterglow; after a tizzy of a day you had, you chose that perhaps this might be a sign of the universe you were better off dead. Either that or your soulmate would be in extreme pain and you didn’t want to disappoint their perception of your love. Then again, you wouldn’t know what love, honest, and kind would feel like even when you’re about to let it all go.

You are devoid of emotion as you bring yourself to your feet. A hand of yours drags across your face. The drop is high enough to entice little to severe damage like broken legs, or severe head trauma, but to be truly free, you wish to be put out of your misery as quickly as possible.

Mattsukawa sees the figure clad in a lighter powder blue and his eyes are wide with fear. The morgue worker and delivery driver had already gone off into the night to complete the rest of the deliveries of bodies to the funeral homes. As soon as he finished locking up and registering the corpses, Mattsukawa was determined to see your hair wind blowing on the rooftops. The blurred vision he sees makes the twenty-seven year old shiver. Even in his line of work, this was the second instance he wanted to save someone. He knew of you: the business woman who was suffering from a similar ailment to him. The belladonna hues from your rebellious highlights enticed him to notice how you seemed a bit off at the coffee house you frequent by the funeral parlour he had been working at.

“Excuse me,” you said, holding on to your mug. Your knuckles were white with tension, so Mattsukawa did something unexpected of himself: he gave you way, but instead of sitting on the opposite side of the restaurant cafe, he sat directly across from you. The crowd was getting to be a bit noisy, but you and him sat there staring off center, hyper fixating on the number of people sign in either direction.

“Why do you smell like belladonna?” You asked. You had a glance meet you with a harsh smile.

“It’s part of my line of work. I use it to bury the dead at the request for all nameless suiciders that wind up on my table,” Mattsukawa explains. The oils from his embalming course was enough to mimic actual belladonna, but has he noticed from her, it wasn’t coming from just his hands: it was coming from her hair. He asked a question about why you seemed so strung up lately and like a fool, you told him everything which was bothering you. If anything, this man was a silent confession box. He seemed like the genuine article, so when you check for the time, you realize it was time to leave and head back to the office to grab the final jump drive for the presentation. Things at work seemed to have gotten better since the next time you’d see your precious Mattsukawa would be in the next life. You never truly disclosed your name to him, so he made a note call you Bella or Donna (whichever you preferred really). His smile is flirtatiously coy and you felt your cheeks grow a bit warm from the moment he told you his name.

For whatever reason, perhaps Mattsukawa was feeling a bit lucky, he asked you to dinner the day before yesterday. He wanted to know you, truth and all, bruised and damaged as you were, the meds your doctor prescribed were starting to cushion the intrusive thoughts. However that changed the moment you give him a nod, he grabs your hand as you’re about to leave the cafe; gently he squeezes your fingers for reassurance.

“You’ll do great Miss. I believe in you,” Mattsukawa whispers in the last part. The cafe begins to echo again, so you couldn’t hear the last part, but you were sure it was an encouraging word. Mattsukawa was the first person in a long while to give you something so few in your battlefield mind would want (or need): hope.

“Goodbye Mattsukawa.”

With that said, you were gone from the cafe and headed back into the office where a different manager made your life hell because their normal assistant was very organized, but the constant comparison was enough to make your head explode.

Presently, you stand on the ledge, glancing down like a superhero vigilante, but just as you were about to take a dive, you feel a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around your waist. The hands are interlocked under your empire waist line and if it wasn’t for the fact your hair was probably in a ponytail prior to this predicament, you’re sure your band was lost to gravity and the wind. You thrashed about in your captor’s arms, not realizing this person was about to save you from an awful mistake.

You see, Mattsukawa Issei is a funeral employee; he dresses sharply like an agent of the Grim Reaper. He is suave and debonair; he loves watching the life cycles of the various flower arrangements in his mentors stores go throughout the seasons. His heart and soul is full of vibrancy you have yet to comprehend; Mattsukawa was always a strong individual and you could ask anyone of his friends in school what kind of person he was. So, what made you so different? Sure you were stressed out, anybody could see that, but Mattsukawa picked up on the depressive aura you emanated. Did he really want to sit in front of you that afternoon? Sure; it was mainly because he couldn’t shake this feeling ever since you were ahead of him in line to order that he was supposed to meet you here (even if you were at your lowest post appointments at the business office downtown).

You struggle to let go, but the owner of these hands does not wish to loosen their grip on you; you ask twice kindly to be left alone and the soft ortund tone of the stranger’s voice from the cafe stops you from thrashing about further.

He tumbles back and lands on his arse with you sitting on his lap, pressed against his broad chest. His sleeves from the black oxford shirt he wears is rolled up to his elbows, and his hands still are in an interlocked position. Mattsukawa has seen some pretty fucked up causes of death recently, yet this time, he wanted to save you, not bury you. He wants to see you tomorrow night at dinner in the diner close to his loft; he wants you to understand maybe death isn’t all that grand and if you struggle with your mind everyday, he wishes to someday be of importance to you. You’re in charge of your own autonomous decisions, yet Mattsukawa wants you to give him a chance to prove to you that love, hope, and for the very fortunate, miracles exist (even if you weren’t shown any).

“You’re sick,” he closes his eyes. Apparently, you pick up on the frown in his voice and somehow, you’re sixth sense of empathy decides not to fight his tonality, but rather when you subconsciously agree and call your mental state one of a landmine, he doesn’t make a fuss. It was a short exam and you realize may be life is worth living for a nano-second. You could have an entire relationship with this man from the cafe in a span of two hours, if that. The fates must have had a wicked sense of humor when pairing either of you to the other: one who works with and around death, the other has an affinity to try and cross into the next life every moment things in the sea turn too rough.

You slowly stop trying to fight him the moment you hear his voice toss in the wind. Instead, you move your hands to hover limply on his, leaning back and letting his breathing calm you. The smell of belladonna from your hair oil wafts through the air. “Suicide is not how I want your story to end.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about or-o-or,” you stammer on. “Perhaps I don’t want to be alive anymore because people keep interfering.”

This causes Mattsukawa’s heart to gain a solid crack. You toss your head back and land harshly against his sternum, causing him to grunt and inhale sharply.

It rips seamlessly to his soul. In the past six to eight years since he entered his chosen profession, he has seen corpses from all ages, the youngest being eight who suffered from a myriad of health issues including Hanahaki because the playground friend in their preschool years was going to be theirs when the time properly came. Mattsukawa, the night he was on duty for the wake, anonymously donated the flowers that would have made the child laugh on wishes. Sure, life does have it’s moments when it tests us, yet he couldn’t wrap his head around the burn out business person from earlier this week, who was now in his arms, safe.

Unintentionally landing on his back with you on top of his chest was not how he had pictured becoming a hero. Just for one night, Mattsukawa Issei, the stern and most silent of the volleyball players in high school, was a hero worthy of saving a life.

“Argh,” he groans.

He coughs quietly away from your face when his hands loosen their hold. You chose to not chastise him about not wearing a sweater in the middle of autumn. After all, this man was the only one who would be daft enough to try and stop you. You curl into him, hiding your face in the satin finish of his dress shirt; you promise to buy him a new one as long as you let him hide your eyes and you break down. You’re crying over the smallest inconvenience and on top of feeling like a burden to the man, you consistently apologize by saying it’s no one’s fault especially his when you catch yourself in your darkest moment.

Mattsukawa listens to your request: with one hand, he covers your left side of your face, the right is patting your hair down, reassuring you that he will console you until the sobs stop and the sniffles remain.

“You’re lucky I live and work not too far from here doll,” he whispers into your hair. You’re calming down as you hiccup the last couple of bubbles of air. You nod in understanding the words he was saying, but you still have your eyes closed to shield himself (and keep your pride intact) when he would peer into your bloodshot ones.

“Don’t worry about me tryin’ anything either. You’ve been through enough tonight. Just let me take care of you for the rest, ok?”

“Mmhm,” you agree. He sits up half way and you rise with him, your eyes ever looking westward until you see one of his handkerchiefs from his back pants pocket dangle in your line of sight. You stifle a laugh, utter a thanks, and begin to dry your face. Mattsukawa, when you were done, doesn’t hold your face anymore, even if it pains him to do so. Your free hand decides for both of you: your left reaches for his and you bring the calloused hand, opened palm, to your cheek. Your skin is soft and sticky from the tears, but if anyone were to ask Mattsukawa what it felt like to save a life, he would humbly point you out in a crowd and say ‘Ask ‘em yourself.’

“I lost sight of the things that brought me joy,” you say quietly. You’re breathing in his cologne and it smells like whiskey sours. The scent grounds you, as you recall your therapist giving you stress-relieving tricks such as naming five to ten things your senses pick up on. Your cheeks feel soft like mochi ice against Mattsukawa’s open palm; you see the neon lights hazily glow in the city below you; and finally, you hear his shirt ruffle against the shell of your ear when you finally calm down.

“Everyone does,” Mattsukawa agrees. “Can you do something for me?”

“Mattsukawa-san,” you said his name and he chuckles in surprise. You remembered his name? This was even better than before. He finds himself falling gently in like with you. The love between long lost friends is what keeps him afloat. Unwillingly, you find yourself amusedly smiling at his tanned skin glowing with a soft hues under his eyes. Was this man blushing?

“Call me Issei or Mattsun,” his voice says when his other hand loops around your waist. He buried his head on your right shoulder.

Tonight you learn that even strong and by your standards of “fine men” do in fact cry. You blink a couple more times and he just cries a mixture of tears he has no control over.

“Mattsun,” you say, voice soft like the breeze sending a boat to sail. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“You could have said you weren’t feeling well if you didn’t want to go out with me,” Mattsukawa jokes, turning his head to the side so you wouldn’t see his tear stricken face to the side. He asks you, if you felt comfortable enough, to just stay still for a moment.

The rooftop rendezvous was not what you had in mind when you came home from clocking out, but considering you were heavily contemplating ending your existence earlier, this one request was not too hard to fulfill. The belladonna in your bronchioles seemed to dislodge itself into your lungs. You stay as still as your companion had asked and you breathe in time together. His curls are soft to the touch and when he relaxes his shoulders when you run a hand through his hair, you feel him grin on the right of your shoulder blades.

Was this what it felt like to be you every hour before you both met at the cafe? This profound sadness doesn’t leave his heart nor does he quite shake the feeling of the leaves of the belladonna flowers taking root in his lungs. The flowers bloomed slowly since his twenty-third birthday were the same ones you dyed your hair for. You’ve been suffering with the hanahaki disease for quite some time, you confess back to him.

“Is that why you were here? Trying to jump?” Mattsukawa asks an innocent inquiry. He seemed like he was about to be scolded for the first time in seven years, yet you thought it was kind of adorable. And so you do something you haven’t done in a very long time: you scoff (although you were sure it was closer to a giggle.

“No,” you reply. “I was contemplating jumping because all my triggers hit at once, so I’ve been in a depressive episode for quite some time before we met.”

“Oh,” Mattsukawa acknowledges. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“…that’s awfully forward of you,” you say. Your pragmatic inner voice says to decline, but there is a mischievous side of his mannerisms, nonetheless you are curious. It is late into the evening already, so perhaps the offer is a better one. After all, you think the change of scenery would do you some good, so you humbly agree.

Roughly an hour later, you find yourself in Mattsukawa’s living room area. Offering his shower to you, you ask if there is something he can lend you. It is an old shirt with his high school cactus logo on it, but the shorts he tosses to you has a VBC and his old number stitched on the back pocket. Mattsukawa hands you a spare towel and tells you how to work the shower in his bathroom. Twenty minutes later, you sit close to the kotatsu even if it’s not too cold outside at the moment, you tend to sleep better underneath one.

Prior to your shower, Mattsukawa-san graciously gave you a small tour of his loft when you arrived. The walk wasn’t too far from the rooftop building and so you two walk side by side until the loft complex came into view. Mattsukawa says hi to the doorman who makes a joke or two about how he had almost pulled another overnight at the funeral home.

“Be careful with that one miss, he’d work himself to death! Ha! Work himself to death,” the doorman says, wiping a faux tear from his eye. You snickered covering your smile with the back of your hand. When you put it to the side of your body, Mattsukawa notices how dazzling your smile is. How would someone who smiles this much at a pun, hold so much carnage of self-doubt and depressive thoughts in their heart? Is that why your flowers and your scent are wrapped in poisonous belladonna? Mattsukawa shakes this thought to the furthest parts of his mind. You’re here now, in the next room, safe under the same roof.

The master bedroom door is opened just a crack once Mattsukawa is half-dressed in his pajama pants, parading around shirtless fetching a glass of water from the kitchen. You were already seated on the barstool peering out the sliding glass door of the patio outside. Jumping was not the way to die for you, you think. Perhaps if you died with love, perhaps you’d have a better chance of reincarnation than you thought. The ambient sounds of the refrigerator and the water spout being used brought you back to hold the gaze of your host for the evening. You made a conscientious decision to cash in on your PTO at your work location for the next two weeks via e-mail. You explain to the HR representative you were feeling burn out and your therapist was working with you to battle the depressive episodes you were going through. The automotive message came back saying someone from the office of internal affairs would look into the chain of command in your division. However, you could care less about work at the moment, since you were enjoying the company of the person who helped kept you tied to this world.

“You like what you see?” Mattsukawa says smoothly. The water glass is placed on the counter in front of you. After graduation from Aoba Josai, running and other kinesthetic stretches were included in his workout regiment. You froze, placing your phone face down to the extreme left of the counter space. The granite glowed in the soft lamp from behind you, casting shadows in the grooves of his muscular features.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” you tease. “But I do like the person who saved me from making a huge mistake.”

Mattsukawa nods as he leans forward to rest his chin in his hand.

“I’ll always come running to you Yin,” he gives you a nickname close to the currency your country uses. This causes you to roll your eyes, yet you reassure him it was filled with endearment.

“You sound like you’re going to love me until the day I properly die Mattsun.”

He wasn’t expecting you to climb halfway across the granite counter, stretching your back further parallel to the floor (your feet are balancing your lower half on the chair).

His hand finds its way to the small of your back and he says a quick, “pardon me.” The onyx eyes he owns close and crinkle upward like small crescent moons before you feel his pursed lips press against your forehead.

“You’re safe here,” you hear him say. His warmth is a welcomed blanket of comfort for you; his words are kinder than your own thoughts.

“Will you kiss me properly?” You ask.

“In the morning, first thing,” he answers. “But first, sleep.”

Mattsukawa walks around his counter to keep you from hanging in the balance thus lowering the risk of you falling knees first on the floor.

“Remember how you fell on top of me?” Mattsukawa’s voice is low. You swallow nervously; you affirm that you do. “Good. Now hold on to me sweetheart.”

He leans back against your left side of your suspended body and he wraps an arm around your mid-section and you push off with your elbows. The next thing you are aware of, you are being carried like a drowsy child to the living room where you sit on Mattsukawa’s lap like before. You raise a hand to his smooth face, your fingers tracing the highest points of his features; his eyes flutter close to the sensational spell you are casting; he is about to fall in the in-between of sleep and lucidity when he feels your lips press firmly against his. When you back down, he stops you with one word: “More. One more time.”

You turn your head at an angle the moment you feel his hands turn you around to straddle him more comfortably.

“Better,” you confirm. Your nose teases his own and he languidly looks at you before he pushes your back playfully and your lips meet his again.

You sigh against his lips when your knees come into contact with his cushion; his arms move away from your hips to your ribs. The callouses he earned over the years of playing volleyball in high school memorizes the map of your skin. Together, the aroma of belladonna almost dissipates the pain in your lungs the longer you are breathing in everything the young man in front of you is giving.

This was as brave as you wanted to be right now. You’d be more adventurous months into your new found relationship with your restaurant-cafe rendezvous man. Your hands trace his collar bones before they found their purchase on the sides of his neck.

“I like that,” you say when you are given a chance to catch your breath. Mattsukawa’s hands rest on your love handles again and he pushes you into a loose embrace. Your hair tickles his shoulder when you rest your head against his pectoral.

“I like this too,” he says, running his fingers lightly up and down your spine. “Close your eyes and rest for a while Yin. We can talk about this in the morning, ok?”

You stifle a yawn, agreeing.

A few minutes later, after you are truly asleep, Mattsukawa supports you in his arms and he carries you like a child, careful to support your neck as your legs rest limply above his hips, to his room. He lays you down first and then proceeds to tuck you in; staying above the duvet, he watches over you breathing in and out steadily, the last small petals escaping your lips when you cough softly in your sleep. Mattsukawa stares at the last shriveled one on the corner of your lips and swats it away.

“Pretty angel, don’t scare me like that. I don’t want to lose you,” Mattsukawa reaches over to hold your hand; fingers intertwining around your own and you squeeze his back. “You’ll be alright and I will help you keep nightmares away.”

“Why?” Your voice is laced with sleep. “Why do you want to love me?”

“Because our story is just beginning my love.”

Mattsukawa rubs his thumb over your knuckles and when he lies down further on his bed next to you, he rests a protective arm over your shoulders.

[erin-bo-berin]

The Perfect Home

MASTERLIST

This was an anon request for house hunting with Spencer and him talking about future kids. This was the cutest prompt and I loved writing this. It’s a bit shorter but I love how it turned out. Happy reading and happy Spencer feels.

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (fluff)

Word Count: 1,816

“Spencer, what was wrong with that one?”

“Eh, it just didn’t feel right.”

House hunting was something that was always a chore, but with your boyfriend Spencer in tow it had seemed to become an impossible task.

“Spence, we’ve looked at half a dozen houses and you’ve said almost the exact same thing every time,” you pointed out.

“I know, I know,” he chuckled, as he helped you out of the taxi, in front of the next house you were scheduled to look at.

“So then what’s the issue?” you huffed, following him up the sidewalk of the house.

“I just want it to be perfect.”

He took the key that the real estate agent had given him and opened the front door. Apparently, you had taken too long and the agent had to dash off to an appointment with another client. 

Luckily, she was very understanding and had mentioned if you still hadn’t found the right house, she’d work to find you other options to look at. So far, all the houses you had seen had been stunning in your opinion. But then again, you both were going from a small apartment to an actual house. 

The ironic thing about the two of you moving wasn’t because you were outgrowing his apartment—although technically you were—but the fact that you no longer had any room for both of your book collections. He had had his own bookshelves when you first moved in and you had added to the collection with your own books. The poor living room now had overflowing bookshelves and stacks of books everywhere you turned.

He had his collection of classics, some in different languages, technical books and lots of books you couldn’t even imagine cracking open without it putting you to sleep. But he loved them and that’s all that mattered. 

On the other hand, you had all of your books. From fantasy to thriller, historical fiction to romance, you seemed to have a bit of everything. You typically read more fiction whereas your boyfriend definitely read more non-fiction.

Either way, it made for an impressive library if you did say so yourself.

The door of the house opened into a large foyer with wooden floors, a staircase off to the right and a gorgeous chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

“Wow,” you whispered, amazed.

“Not bad,” Spencer approved.

You sighed, half exasperated, half amused and followed him through into the house.

The foyer led back to the living room, which was huge. 

“Now this would be able to fit our numerous bookshelves,” Spencer chuckled, looking around, “See we could put furniture there, the tv there and have bookshelves all the way around both sides of the room against the walls.”

“Okay, I see your point,” you nodded, imagining.

“Come on, the kitchen is through here.”

You followed him into the kitchen, where there was a table off to one side, filled with at least 6 chairs. In the middle of the kitchen, across from the sink was a large island. The stove and microwave was stainless steel, a fridge of the same metal would match it perfectly.

“This would be great to fix breakfasts and have all our kids lined up here where we can keep an eye on them.”

“All of them huh? Just exactly how many are you thinking?” you joked.

You and Spencer had talked about having kids one day. You knew he wanted a big family and you were okay with that. Being from a small family yourself, you liked the idea of having a big family. Just how many though, you hadn’t really discussed yet.

“I don’t know. Five or six,” he said, peering at you to gauge your reaction.

“I think I can handle that. As long as it isn’t all at once.”

“Well I was thinking we could try for twins or triplets,” he smirked.

“Then you’re having those all on your own,” you chuckled, “Twins, maybe. Triplets, definitely not.”

“But imagine it,” he said, “You fixing eggs and bacon, me fixing the coffee, the kids sitting at the island eating happily and chattering. Generally just being angels.”

“Angels? Your kids?” you smirked, moving back towards the hallway.

“Hey, I’m an angel!” he called after you.

You both walked upstairs to check out the bedrooms. You were a bit surprised when you realized it was a 4 bedroom, 3 bath house.

“Spencer, this is huge. Way too big for just us.”

You’d walked into one of the smaller bedrooms, looking around. Even though it was a small room, it was quite spacious.

“I know.”

He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rested on the top of your head.

“It’s a pretty room,” you observed.

There was a window in the middle of the room that spilled sunlight into the room at just the right brightness.

“It would make a great nursery.”

You could hear the smile in his voice as he pulled away from you and walked over to one corner of the room.

“A crib right next to the wall, a rocking chair in the corner, a changing table on the opposite wall from the crib, maybe even a little bookshelf with all the little one’s books.”

You smiled, picturing his vision as well.

“Then there would be a basket for all of little one’s stuffed animals and of course there’d be bunnies, penguins and koalas,” he grinned.

Your boyfriend knew you well, remembering some of your favorite animals.

“What about the other rooms?” you asked curiously.

“Oh just you wait, follow me.”

You walked after him as you entered another room, similar to the first one, but with a slightly different layout.

“In here would be our twins.”

You give him a look.

“Or two closest in age,” he substituted, “There would be bunk beds in here, toys scattered everywhere, their own bookshelves, might I add.”

You chuckled, having to agree. Your future kids would definitely be surrounded by a lot of books just between the two of you.

“Can’t say I disagree.”

“What about the third room?”

“Ah, I’ve already thought about that.”

He walked out of the room, opening the door to the third bedroom. Once again, you followed him.

“Later down the road, this could be the eldest child’s room. With a big kid bed, their own toy chest, a little dresser for their clothes, maybe even a tv as they get older,” he beamed.

“So at this point, where would we put guests?” you laughed, amazed how he was picturing all of this on the spot.

You had to admit though, it was a really nice picture. One you’d like to make a reality someday.

“We have a couch don’t we?” he shrugged.

“Spencer!” you hit his arm playfully, “At least if we end up in a house like this, we’ll still have room for guests for a while. I’m not planning on four or five kids at once.”

“I may be good, but I’m not that good,” he mumbled.

You had to bite your lip to hold back a snort. 

The two of you moved to the biggest room, the master bedroom. Connected to it was the master bath.

“Wow,” was all you could seem to say.

If you thought the other rooms were impressive, this was even more so.

There was room enough to fit a queen sized bed. On one side of the room was a built-in fireplace, a small corner nook perfect for a comfy chair to read in.

A window on the opposite side of the room was large and rectangular; it would look great with some pretty curtains that could be swept aside to let in the warm morning light. You were starting to see the appeal that Spencer was.

“Y/N!”

You looked behind you, not even realizing Spencer had disappeared.

“You have to see this bathroom!”

You shook your head, walking into the master bathroom where Spencer stood in amazement. You had to admit, it was definitely impressive. The floor and shower walls were white marble, the shower was a huge walk in with glass doors. Just next to it, was the all white bathroom counter and two sinks. Around a small corner was a jacuzzi bathtub as deep as it was wide.

“Ah jeez, I’m never gonna see you with a bathtub like that,” you commented.

Spencer loved baths, bathtubs, basically anything to do with baths. You didn’t see the appeal, although you weren’t exactly against them. Just seemed like too much work. Although this tub could likely change your mind.

“I doubt that because I’d be bringing you in with me,” he grinned, hugging you from behind again, kissing your cheek.

It amused you to no end how he could be so completely dirty while sounding so innocent.

You both were silent as you looked around for a minute.

“Can you imagine our kids?” he asked.

“I have before, but I definitely think they’d be adorable as long as they look like you,” you answered.

“Um, no. They’ll have their mommy’s eyes, their mommy’s adorable little nose and their mommy’s beauty. They’ll get my wit and intelligence.”

“Spence,” you chuckled, turning around to face him, “Don’t you want a little spitting image of you? The messy, loose curls, your eyes and the cute dimples.”

You could see him blush a little and you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. You couldn’t help but love when he got shy at anyone mentioning his good looks.

“Regardless of what they look like or who they look like, I know I will love them with all my heart. All 50 of them.”

“Fifty?!” Spencer laughed, his eyes crinkling, “I’m not that ambitious, Y/N.”

“I know, I’m just teasing,” you smiled up at him.

He put a hand on your face, stroking your cheek gently with his thumb.

“The reason I want a bigger house…” he trailed off, looking around the gorgeous room.

“Yeah? Why?” you prompted curiously.

“Because I want a family with you.”

“I want that too, you know that,” you agreed, smiling.

“I mean I want to start trying,” he emphasized, his hands moving to rest over your stomach.

You felt your stomach flutter. You had said many times before that you wanted a family and with Spencer, but the fact that it was becoming real filled you with happiness.

“Unless I’m alone on this,” he hesitated.

“No, no!” you shook your head quickly, “I want that too.”

“Yeah? You do?”

He bit his lip, trying to contain his smile, but you could see how happy it made him.

“Yes.”

His lips met yours and he kissed you so sweetly, holding you tightly.

When you pulled away, he took one last look around the room.

“So what do you think of this house?”

You could feel it in your heart.

“It’s perfect.”

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[ateezlust]

Indulgence

Warnings: smut, they fuck in a confessional booth I hope no one gets offended this time 🥴🥴

A/N: it’s back hhhhh made this one for the nonny server and for you Mingi SLUTS

————————————•———————————

The church barbecue was something you’d been dreading for a while now. It wasn’t that you didn’t like going to church, most of the people there were pretty nice, albeit a little strange, but nice, and the church itself was very pretty.

Your only problem was with one specific boy. Song Mingi. He’d seemed pretty nice a few years back when you were both in youth group together, but time had corrupted him and made him less and less appealing to you.

To your parents, Mingi looked like the perfect church boy. Every Sunday he walked into church, greeting everybody with a wide smile and politely asking about their week. He always wore a blue dress shirt that he would keep the sleeves rolled up on, tucked into black dress pants.

But no one else saw the looks he’d give you while your family sat together at church. No one saw him whispering sinful words into your ear after church, looking just like polite conversation.

He was entirely corrupted, and it seemed unfortunate for you, because you’d used to think he’d be great husband material someday. Back when he was short and shy, rocking his gelled blue hair and a shirt that said “I ♥️ JESUS” on it. He was a complete dork, but adorable to you back then.

And then puberty hit him, and so did the train of corruption. He started sneaking out of church to make out with other church girls, those who were definitely not holy in the eyes of god.

Now he was tall, hot and wore a smirk on his face at all times. And he was taking an interest in you, of course. He loved nothing more than taking church girls and trying to corrupt them.

But you were standing your ground strong. Even if your parents were adamant on you accepting his dinner invitations or offers to help you with bible study at his home. You wouldn’t cave into what he wanted.

He was the reason you were dreading this church barbecue. It would just be another few hours of adults talking while the youth and children are left to their own devices, which would mean a lot of flirting from Mingi.

And maybe you weren’t entirely innocent in this situation. Your friend had told you before that Mingi came on strong to her and she rejected him and told him to stop and he did immediately, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. The thoughts of him that ran through your mind were shameful, something you would ask forgiveness for during your nightly prayers, though it didn’t seem to be working.

So now your sat at the barbecue, Mingi and his family all crowded around you and yours at a rather small table at the request of your family. Mingi was making small talk with you which seemed really nice on the surface, but if you were to get a bit closer, you would notice the smile on Mingi’s face was actually a smirk, and that the hand that seemed to be on his lap was actually on yours, sliding up and down your thighs slowly.

You kept a clenched smile on your face as he spoke, giving small remarks back as to not arouse suspicions. His hand was warm and gentle and it made everything worse. You were getting turned on, sucked into the intoxicating vortex of his mind and the path it was heading down.

After a while, most people had finished eating and were simply chatting, children running around the room and laughing and Mingi seemed to be getting restless, squirming constantly and eyes unwilling to focus.

At that moment, his hand slid a bit too high and his fingers grazed over your core. You and Mingi both gasped in unison, you from the shock, him from the feeling of the wet patch soaked through your panties.

“I’m gonna go explore” you said, which wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary for you, your family muttering out approval in return as you stood up.

As you walked away, you heard someone yell “Y/N wait!”. You tensed up, turning around and seeing your family smiling and encouraging Mingi to go ‘exploring’ with you.

As much as you would have liked to deny it, you didn’t have much of an excuse as you weren’t sure where you yourself were going. Your mind reeled, having been debating going to the confessional booth and asking forgiveness for your sinful thoughts or going to the bathroom and committing more sinful acts on yourself in the stall.

You nodded at your family’s request, faking a smile as Mingi walked alongside you. Your vision was unfocused, arousal being the only thing that consumed your mind as you made your way towards the confessional booth.

“Where are we going?” Mingi asked, signature smirk still on his face, lingering too close for comfort next to you.

“I’m going to the confessional booth to ask for forgiveness for what you’ve done. You might want to consider it,” you spat back at him, “I don’t really care what you wanna do. But that’s what I’m doing.”

Mingi let out a hum in response, still following you. You felt your vision close in on the confessional booth and your head felt like it was gonna cave in, you knew exactly why Mingi was still following you and you weren’t sure how to go about stopping him, or if you even wanted to stop him, but you kept your sights set, opening the door to the booth and peeking inside, seeing if anybody else was in there.

Once the coast was clear, you went inside, feeling Mingi’s body closing in on you closely before your own body was shoved against the wall of the booth.

It was small, a tight fit, but it was entirely intoxicating as Mingi pressed his lips against yours, causing a whimper to fall from your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Mingi groaned against your lips, hands finally returning to your thighs, lifting up your dress and pulling it off you.

“Mingi what are we doing?” You said against his lips, panting into his mouth.

“Well I don’t know about you but I was hoping we were about to fuck in this confessional booth,” he chuckled, equally as breathless.

“Mingi this is a sin in the eyes of god, we can’t do this,” you groaned as he pulled your panties down and ghosted his fingers over your core.

Opposite to your words, your legs spread, allowing more room for Mingi as his fingers rubbed circles over your clit. You were extremely sensitive, you’d only done this to yourself once when you were younger, and that’s when you were unaware of the consequences.

“Actually, I think we can, if you want to,” you said, “maybe afterward we can ask god to turn a blind eye to us just this once, if you so wish my sweet girl.”

One of Mingi’s fingers came down to your entrance, carefully and slowly pushing in with a groan from his lips.

Your lips stayed sealed, attempting to keep in the curses that wanted so desperately to tumble from your mouth. It didn’t hurt, it was just a little strange having something inside you.

Mingi’s finger moved slowly, in and out of your entrance, kissing you softly and shushing you whenever you tensed up.

After a minute, Mingi pulled his finger out, leaving you whining into his mouth at the loss of contact until you felt two fingers around your rim.

You looked up at him nervously biting your lip, meeting his eyes. His fingers stopped moving, smiling softly down at you as his free hand came up to caress your face, “are you okay? Do you wanna stop?”

You positively melted at the contact, shaking your head no, “if you stop now I will personally use the rest of my time in this confessional booth to curse your name and pray for Jesus to send you to hell.”

Mingi snorted, laughing against your lips and leaning in to kiss you again as he pushed in two fingers. Your eyes squeezed shut. His fingers were long and felt a bit intrusive in your body, it was strange, and Mingi could sense it, pulling back again and keeping his fingers still.

“You’re doing so well for me baby, my pretty girl,” he said, thumb running along your cheek softly and waiting until you nodded to continue pushing his fingers inside you.

After a few minutes, the feelings of discomfort started to diffuse, leaving pure pleasure in its wake and causing a lewd word to spill from your lips.

“That’s my girl, pretty girl with a dirty mouth, knew you had it in you” Mingi chuckled, his fingers moving in and out of you faster than before, scissoring and stretching you well.

“Fuck Mingi, another finger, please” You whimpered, head falling back against the wall as his fingers moved. They were skilled and warm and hit every spot inside you perfectly.

Mingi pulled his fingers out a bit to slip in a third finger, making you let out a sinful gasp, rather loudly, as he began moving them again.

“Are you okay baby girl? Does it hurt?” He asked, moving slowly and cautiously as you bucked your hips up to him.

“Little bit, it’s okay just keep going,” you breathed out, leaning your head against Mingi’s shoulder and biting roughly to reduce the pain.

“Fuck,” Mingi growled, leaning into you, making his covered cock brush against your thigh, “run your nails down my back baby, mark me, show everyone I’m yours.”

You nodded into his neck, fingers pressing desperately into his back. He was broad and warm and you could feel the rumble of a growl in his throat at the contact.

“Mingi please fuck me, I’m ready please,” you moaned, fucking yourself on his fingers.

Mingi nodded and pulled his fingers out of you, quickly fumbling with his belt and pants and yanking them down along with his boxers just around his knees.

As Mingi searched his pockets quickly to pull out a condom, you snuck a peak at his cock. It was long and leaking, thick veins going down the sides. It was stained a beautiful pink colour and twitched a bit every time it rubbed against his stomach, showing every bit of how desperately he wanted you.

“Like what you see baby girl?” Mingi smirked at the embarrassed blush that crept up on your cheeks as he rolled on the condom, lining himself up with you.

“You still wanna do this baby girl? You can back out at any time, I won’t be mad, promise,” he said, making sure to keep eye contact with you to look for any form of hesitation.

“Make me fucking scream,” you said, a dark look in your eyes making Mingi’s breath hitch, nodding as he pushed in.

You could feel every vein in his cock throbbing inside you, the curve of his cock filling you perfectly.

“Fuck me,” you whined, lifting one of your legs and wrapping it around Mingi’s waist so he could get a better angle inside you.

Mingi took it upon himself to lift you up by both legs, pressing you into the wall as he pushed himself inside you entirely, gasping as he bottomed out.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he gasped, hooded eyes looking at you for a nod so he could move.

As you gave him the signal, he pulled himself out of you to the tip before pushing back in. His thrusts were slow but rough, forcing you to feel every bit of him as he thrusted.

Your nails ran over his neck and shoulders, trailing down his back, just to make him shiver and stutter for you again.

“Faster Mingi please,” you whispered, leaning in and kissing him roughly.

Mingi adjusted your position ever so slightly before his hips began moving faster. The sight of him thrusting in and out of you and the expertise of his sinful hips had you moaning, head falling back against the wall.

“So hot, fuck” Mingi said against your mouth, his hold on your hips stuttering a bit.

“Stop,” you said suddenly, squirming out of Mingi’s grip.

Mingi looked panicked to say the least, pulling out of you and looking at you with concern in his eyes. The tears of pleasure in your eyes seemed to be mistaken as sadness and regret for him, as he leaned in and wiped them away, kissing them off your cheeks and mumbling sweet compliments to you.

“Are you okay? What happened? Do you regret it? Fuck you were a virgin and I just took that from you and-” he asked as he pulled back.

“Mingi, I’m fine,” you laughed a bit, trying to lighten the mood. He looked a bit confused as you pushed him back, making him sit down on the chair in the booth, “I wanted to try riding you. Sorry, I should’ve said that first.”

The relief that washed over Mingi’s face made the tension in your body release before he spoke, “yeah, fuck of course, don’t apologize it’s okay it’s your first time, just want it to be perfect for you.”

You smiled at him and sat down on his lap, making him return the smile. You gripped onto his shoulders, lifting yourself up and then sinking down onto his cock slowly.

The angle was way better, and this way you could look down at Mingi and see the pleasured look on his face.

“Fuck, yeah that’s so good baby girl,” he said, allowing his hands to grace your hips softly, gently rubbing over them as you moved.

You took what you’d seen from the R Rated movies you’d watched before and put them to use, grinding your hips down on him and letting his cock hit every spot inside you.

Your hips stuttered and you gasped as he hit one specific spot. His signature smirk came back to his face as he spoke, “yeah, did I hit your g spot baby?”

“M-my what?” You squeaked out, body still shaking from the wave of pleasure that washed over you.

“Your g spot baby, the spot inside you that makes you feel really good and can make you squirt if I fuck you hard enough,” he said, his hips moving in time with yours to rub against your g spot and give you constant stimulation.

You nodded in response, lifting yourself up and beginning to properly ride him. It was tiring, your thighs burned, but it felt so good that you couldn’t care less.

Your hands went to Mingi’s hair, running through it gently and allowing your nails to scrape against his scalp.

Your hips moved faster as you felt heat beginning to coil in your stomach, your movements were erratic and uncontrolled, and Mingi could tell you were about to cum.

One of his hands came back down to your core, rubbing your clit quickly as he felt his own stomach coiling with heat.

“Fuck baby girl, you’re gonna make me cum, are you gonna cum all over my cock baby? Gonna be a good girl for me?” He whispered seductively in your ear as he began thrusting, meeting your hips with his own quickly.

You nodded, biting your lip. You didn’t trust yourself to not scream at the feeling as you clenched around him, feeling waves upon waves of pleasure fish through your body as you came around him.

“Fuck,” Mingi groaned loudly his cock twitching inside you as he shot his load into the condom.

As you both came down from your highs, you pulled off of him before collapsing into his chest.

He pulled you close and rubbed your back softly, rocking you back and forth as you came back down to reality.

“Are you in any pain my love? Are you okay?” He asked, pressing small kisses against any bit of skin his lips could reach.

“No I’m okay,” you mumbled, though your thoughts began running a bit. You had just had your virginity taken by Song Mingi, who had spent the past months trying to get into your pants. And now he was probably just going to get up and leave and never talk to you again. He would probably laugh about you with his friends and go find some other girl to fuck next Sunday.

“Are you sure? You don’t seem fine,” he said, his thumb running over the few tears that had escaped your eyes.

You pulled back, not meeting his eyes as you nodded and stood up from his lap.

He looked concerned to say the least, but got up as well, pulling off the condom and tying it, putting it down on the chair as he got dressed again.

You put your panties back on, sniffling softly as your mind continued reeling. You didn’t regret it, but now that you were sure you weren’t going to get anymore attention from Mingi, your heart was breaking.

You felt Mingi come up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and moving your hair out of the way to press soft kisses to your neck.

“You’re crying, why are you crying? What’s wrong my love?” He asked gently.

You shook your head, “it’s stupid. I just, I don’t want to lose you I guess?”

Your voice was quiet and soft and Mingi listened closely as you rambled a bit about how you were feeling in that moment.

He shushed you quietly and comfortingly as he heard panic rise in your voice, “hey, Y/N it’s okay, I’m not going anywhere okay? I’m sorry I went about this wrong. I should’ve asked you on a date before, so you’d know this isn’t all that I wanted.”

Your ears perked up a bit. It seemed far too cliche for Mingi to like you, as he treated you exactly how he’d treated any of his other fucks before this.

“Y/N, you’re beautiful. You have a pure and beautiful heart and I would never want to just take advantage of that, will you be my girlfriend? Or at least let me take you to dinner?” He asked, spinning you around to face him.

Your eyes were red and swollen, tear tracks down your cheeks and lip bitten to the point of swelling, but Mingi looked at you like you hung the stars and the moon for him, awaiting your response.

You smiled at him, returning his glance as you nodded, leaning up and kissing him softly on the lips, a feeling you could definitely get used to.

Mingi held your hand softly as you walked out of the confessional booth with him, meeting the frantic eyes of your family as soon as you walked out.

“Y/N!! We’ve been looking around everywhere for you we were so worried-” your mom said, stopping in her tracks as she noticed your hand holding Mingi’s.

She eyed you a bit suspiciously, a smirk on her face as she looked between you both, and though she didn’t say anything, you knew what she was thinking.

“Mom we were just discussing homework okay, get your mind out of the gutter,” you said quickly as you shook your head.

Your mom burst out laughing in response, “I know sweetie, you would never do anything like that, but we should probably get going home. Mingi your family has already left because your dad had to go to work, I told them we’d give you a lift home.”

Mingi smiled graciously and nodded in response, “that would be great, thank you.”

As you all walked out of the church, you and Mingi trailing behind your parents, Mingi discreetly disposed of the condom in a large garbage bin outside, winking at you. And if your parents had any other suspicions about you two, they didn’t say anything.

[savethelastdan]

An “It's Okay to Not Be Okay” (사이코지만 괜찮아) related ask: please rewrite the whole plotline about Ko Moon Young’s mom so it makes sense

“Do you see that guy, Haeng-Ja?” 

Do Hui-Jae gives her a red lipped smile, freeing her hair from its ties. The stack of nursing books that they’ve checked out for their upcoming finals slips from the desk as she swings around. Haeng-Ja picks them up with a soft scolding, but Hui-Jae’s not paying any attention.

“That guy. I want him.” 

--

She leans against the front desk, staring into the blackness outside. Unlike the other nurses, Park Haeng-Ja likes the night shift. Patients have to stay in their rooms, soundly sleeping or not, and in between her rounds the Head Nurse says she’s okay to read. 

But tonight, the horror novel she’s brought is left in her bag. Instead, like a moth to a flame, she pulls out the latest of Do Hui-Jae’s letters. The voice in her head sneers: After all those horrible things she said to you, why bother to read it? 

Shut up. She peels apart the pages as best as she can with blunt nails. Sure, Do Hui-Jae is a selfish bitch (who drops out in their third year, after all their promises to work at the same hospital someday?) But she’s also Park Haeng-Ja’s only friend. The only person who’s ever seen her. 

And she must care. It’s obvious in the  elegant penmanship and tiny flecks of blood-red nail polish that stains the pages. How every story is written like a movie scene, as though Haeng-Ja is standing right over her shoulder watching everything happen. They want to publish my book, the letter reads, and Haeng-Ja can practically hear Hui-Jae’s high-pitched shriek of a laugh. And Ko Dae-Hwan says he wants to marry me. I feel like a princess at the end of the fairy tale.  

Haeng-Ja snorts, muttering under her breath. “More like the wicked witch.” 

--

“What the hell?” Tears streaming down her face, the first-year nursing student points a shaking hand at Hui-Jae. “She just pushed me! I could have broken my neck--” 

“Stop screaming.” Hui-Jae tosses her hair, arms crossed over her chest. “You sound like some kind of ugly animal.” 

The girl backs away from the stairs, sobbing harder. Rolling her eyes, Hui-Jae turns her back.

“You have to stop doing that,” Haeng-Ja sighs, hurrying to keep up with the other girl’s long-legged stride. “Doing bad things for attention.” 

Hui-Jae’s smile is cold. “Makes you jealous, does it?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Hui-Jae takes hold of her arm in a vice-like grip, already sounding bored. “We both wanted to push her. I’m just the one who did it first.” 

Haeng-Ja freezes. The spot where Hui-Jae’s fingers wrap around her elbow hurts. 

“It’s okay,” her friend says, winking like they share a secret. “I’ll always be there to do the things that you can’t do."

--

“Lying bitch.”

She stares at the letter, hands shaking. She reads the words, again and again and again. 

Daughter. 

Line after line about Hui-Jae’s greatest creation, for five pages. There’s nothing else, not about her latest book or even her supposedly devoted husband. Heat pushes against the inside of Haeng-Ja’s skull, turning her vision scarlet. 

Tearing the pages apart, she shoves them back into her purse, breathing hard. Grabbing the clipboard, she races down the hall, counting the doors and listing the patients behind them. 

1 - Lee Pil-jung, abandoned to the throes of schizophrenia by his unfeeling brothers. 

2 - Song Yu Mi, desperate to hurt herself with anything she can get her hands on so that depression won’t rule her life anymore. 

3 - Kim Ki Hyun, entirely certain that he’s a fallen angel who must only keep jumping off things to get the hang of flying. 

And dozens more, all miserable in their uselessness; their inability to hide their true selves from anyone in the world only meant they’d been rejected.

Need me, need me, fucking need me you pathetic, worthless--

“Nurse Park?” 

The Head Nurse’s voice is gravel-worn from age and long hours. Haeng-Ja turns to show off a perfectly serene smile. 

She’s been practicing.

--

Dae-Hwan, the waste of space. If that rotting brain wasn’t already going to kill him, I would.

There’s a pathetic little boy that follows my baby around. Perhaps I’ll cut his throat if it doesn’t stop. 

How dare she say such a thing. Nosy little bug--how about I just squash her? 

She reads the sentence again, tapping her nails on the desktop. Hui-Jae’s anger is so potent, as if it were flowing through her own veins. They’ve always agreed on this point, after all. 

Useless people don’t deserve to touch perfect things. 

-- 

“I killed her,” he wails, beating his brow with both hands. “I killed--”

“Shh, it’s alright now,” she says, mimicking the calm tone of the Head Nurse. She has to get better at it, if she’s going to have a chance to replace her. Even though she knows exactly who he means. 

Even though she wants to tear his throat out, to press her thumbs into his eyes until they pop, to drink in his screams until she fucking feels something--

But she can’t. Because she’s Park Haeng-Ja. A safety pin, useless without a bomb to diffuse. 

“Tell me all about it,” she breathes, leaning closer to his trembling lips. 

“Tell me all about it,” she says, back turned to the silent girl sitting on the stairs as they wait for the social worker to arrive. 

“Tell all me about it,” she whispers to the dark stain on the floor of the locked room. 

--

Which part did it, Hui-Jae? 

Was it when you felt your skull crack on the stair, limbs folded up like a paper doll left out in the rain? 

Was it when you were locked behind that door, choking on stale air? 

Was it when he put you in the box, twisting your limbs to make it fit? Was it when the water from the lake started to leak into the box, filling the little space that the screams left in your lungs? 

Haeng-Ja beats her head with both hands, screaming because she know she’ll never know. 

--

Haeng-Ja is nothing and no one. 

No one wants her. 

Anything useless must be discarded. 

Do Hui-Jae looks in the mirror, and smiles. 

[andrewgfortenberryus-blog]

4 Keys to Online Marketing Miracles

The feeling of power and independence was blissful not to point out the status it brought me. I was an unyielding speed satanic force who can do anything on the fly so long as I observed the indicators and seen for police officers. Then someday the zone broke down. The entire thing seemed to find out of nowhere as my excellent globe came crashing down right into a smoldering heap of messed up metal, bewilderment and also the cold tough reality of the regulation. The ill knot in my stomach and the feelings I had of unexpected accountability, loss, remorse and clarity over what I should have done shed a lesson right into my mind that I will always remember. I permanently learned that the regulations and their effects put on everyone, no exemptions. Advertising and marketing a brand-new organization can be as amazing as driving a sweet a course in automobile. While visions of independence, earnings as well as the absolute idea in what could be motivate us to resist what's possible, they can additionally blind us to the significance of advertising and marketing specifics and also the rules of the road. Right here are 4 specifics to guarantee that your advertising technique is based upon an audio foundation that will go across the finish line. 1. Specify your function Address the question of why you're doing it all. Dig deep and also ask on your own what you want to be able to state is real in the globe because you do what you do. This kind of response is important since it establishes the solutions to so several various other concerns down the line, such as whether or not to provide a new product or service or what your procedures as well as policies are. 2. Define your Target Who benefits from your purpose being achieved? For which of these sub-groups are you the finest fit and option. As you answer these concerns a really certain description of your excellent consumer will certainly arise. The modern-day market place is far larger than any one of us appreciate and also there are a lot of perfect clients around regardless of just how narrow your ideal customer profile is. Don't be afraid to get laser-specific here. Specifying your target audience to certain particular niches is the vital to understanding where they are, exactly how to ideal connect with them and also what to claim when you do. 3. Specify your message If there is one specified customary practice in today modern market area it is that the customer is in control. Thanks to the net as well as accessibility to instantaneous worldwide information, consumers are no longer something you go get. They are brought in to choose you. It is human nature for clients to select and rely on that which is most carefully aligned with themselves and their way of watching their own needs. Those who focus their message on the wants and needs of their target clients most properly win their business. Effectively connecting with target consumers includes discussing what matters to them and saying it as they would certainly claim it. As you review every one of those responses type entries, communication as well as Facebook remarks be paying attention for both what your consumer wants along with how they share it, then mount your message back to them in their own language.

[marshmallow-phd]

Innocent Intentions

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Tao x Reader

Summary: There was one thing you couldn’t stand in all your years at college: playboys. And the campus was riddled with them. So when Tao - a player with a particularly well-known reputation - inserts himself into your life, you come up with a plan to get rid of him, whether he makes your heart race or not. But the more he’s the around, the more you just might find there’s a hidden layer underneath all the rumors, including a secret you never could have guessed….

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

**

Tao stared after you as you ran out of the courtyard. His wolf growled and barked at him to follow you, to beg you to reconsider, but he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t force you to change your mind. Your loyalty to your friend – your selfish, childish best friend – was too strong. His despair started turning into anger. And that wild emotion was directed at a single person.

He didn’t know her schedule like he knew yours, but he did know what she smelled like, especially after their earlier confrontation, and with his focused so tuned in, finding that familiar scent was like figuring out simple addition problems.

Kendall was sitting at one of the long study tables in the library. She flipped through a textbook silently while the final member of the trio – Wyatt – whispered harshly beside her.

“Stop ignoring me, Kendall. You know I’m right.”

“I don’t care. What she did was wrong and you know it.”

“She handled it wrong. But getting feelings for the guy doesn’t fall under that same category.”

“I highly agree.” Tao sat down in the empty seat across from Kendall, his eyes conveying the chaotic fire roaring inside. Gone were the tears and the sorrow. Now he was just down right pissed.

Kendall’s eyes widened in surprise only for second before her face fell back into a stone cold indifference. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in the chair. “What do you want, Tao?”

He scowled at her. “To know why the hell you feel so damn entitled to dictate other people’s relationships.”

“I don’t feel entitled to anything,” she spat back. “But best friends don’t go behind each other’s backs and date ex’s.”

That just made him roll his eyes with a scoff. “We’re hardly ex’s. We went on one mediocre date. I explained to you that I simply didn’t feel anything for you.”

“Also that you saw (y/n) and… how did you put it?” She clicked her tongue mockingly. “Something just clicked? Like the heavens split open and the choir began sing?”

No, it’s wasn’t quite that mystical, but the universe did align itself into perfect sync. The way it all happened was hard to describe to other wolves who knew to expect it. Explaining it to a measly human who would never understand was just wasted effort. “Sometimes you just know,” was his basic summary.

Kendall scoffed. “You just knew? You didn’t even know her. And (y/n) doesn’t exactly fit the description of girls you’ve been with in the past. She’s not your type at all.”

“Having a type and refusing to look beyond it will just end with you alone,” Tao countered. “So, yes, I found someone different and fell completely in love with her. And she was falling for me, too. Was seeing your friend happy really that bad?”

“With you? With the guy that I had stupidly fallen for myself despite knowing the asshole you were? Yes.”

Tao was disgusted. This ice princess that he’d once found cute and alluring was causing him to burn.  “I may have been an asshole in the past, but I wasn’t like that with (y/n). You, though? You’re the real asshole, Kendall. Because you took your best friend’s happiness. You made her cry. You broke her heart. And for what? Revenge? So no one could ‘have me’?” Kendall opened her mouth to retaliate, but Tao wouldn’t have any of it. “No. Don’t even bother. I don’t care what your reasoning was. If you actually cared about your best friend, you would have let her be happy. Be mad that she didn’t tell you. Fine. But making her end it with me was crossing a line.” He stood up from the table, determined. “I’m not giving up on her.”

As he was walking away, Tao heard Wyatt whisper, “I told you. The look in (y/n)’s eyes when she talked about him outshined yours by miles. Now you’ve got him on the war path. All I can say is good luck.”

The scraping of a chair against the old wood floor told Tao that Wyatt, too, was walking out on his friend. Tao smirked. She did this to herself.

But the smugness melted away the second he was outside again. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t go banging on your door, begging you to let him in. First, he would give Kendall a chance to fix her mess. That could be the simple solution to all of this. He also wanted to give you space, let your overwhelmed emotions work themselves out before he tried to reason with you.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate in class, Tao decided to just head back home. He’d be scolded by Evie if she was around for skipping class, but he’d take it. Even though she wasn’t the oldest mate, she had a tendency to mother everyone like she was. Guess it came with the territory of having a baby.

Tao drove slower than normal, taking his time and stretching out the trip to the farmhouse, adding about fifteen minutes or so onto the average time it took to get home. When he walked in through the door, Evie was sitting on the couch, scribbling furiously on a notepad while Mei occupied herself on the floor with a miniature piano. Rather than getting lectured like he expected, Evie looked up at him with relief.

“Oh, thank god,” she cried out, exasperated. Jumping up to her feet, she scooped her purse up from the floor by her feet and hurried up to Tao. “Please tell me you’re staying around for a good while. I need to run to the store for supplies and the last time I took Mei, she had a complete breakdown and that is not stress I need right now and-”

“I’ll watch Mei.” The desperateness was practically beaming out of Evie’s eyes like Superman’s heat vision. As much as they all loved Mei, she was still a baby and she wasn’t giggles and cute smiles twenty-four-seven. But he was alright with being the babysitter for the day. Tao needed the distraction.

Evie planted a kiss on Tao’s cheek. “Thank you.” She headed for the door and left without further instructions.

With a heavy sigh, Tao laid down on the floor on his stomach. “What are you playing there, Mei-Mei?”

She ignored her uncle, too focused using her whole hand to press down on the keys and make some sort of random melody.. It was, however, a little pleasing to the ear considering it was composed by a nine-month-old. Looked like Mei might have some natural talent. Funny, considering neither of her parents could play the piano to save their lives. So where did this genius come from?

“Mei-Mei, can I play something for you?”

To his amazement, Mei looked up at him with wide, curious eyes. She had her dad’s eyes that just made Tao laugh. Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he moved Mei into his lap. At first she let out small protesting whines, but when he placed the small keyboard in both of their laps, she calmed down and watched as his own fingers danced across the instrument. Occasionally, she’d try to replicate the notes that sang from the cheap speaker of the toy, but for most of the time she sat there and listened to the song that Tao had played for you that night at the playground. So much for a distraction.

Tao was left alone with Mei for several hours, playing the part of the good uncle. He fed her around noon and even did the dirty work of changing the soiled diapers. A lot of the other guys ran from the room as soon as that signaling smell was noticeable.

Only a handful of times did he slip up and think about what it would be like with you and him as parents of your own children. It was a melancholy feeling, one that he hoped would someday no longer have the sadness attached to it.

Evie finally came back to the house while Mei was down for her afternoon nap. She apologized profusely about the length of time that she was away, but Tao waved it off. Time with his niece was… well, not exactly what he needed, but it certainly did help.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Evie offered as the two of them put away the groceries in the kitchen.

Tao shrugged. “I don’t think there’s much to talk about. Everything was going great and then it went to shit.”

Evie closed the cabinet that contained the canned goods, folding her arms over her chest leaning against the counter. “Kris said you’d spent the weekend with your mate. Did something happen?”

Tao kept his focus on placing the boxes of macaroni and rice in their proper places. “Her best friend made her break up with me.”

“Wait. Why?”

Releasing a sigh, Tao looked over at her. “Because I went out on one stupid date with her and I guess she had feelings for me that ran a little deep and now she’s on some stupid rampage of ‘if she can’t have me than neither can (y/n)’. I can’t figure out if going on that date was the worst mistake of my life or if I still wouldn’t have met (y/n) yet if I hadn’t gone out that night.”

“That is… one complicated situation,” Evie said sympathetically. “One with, unfortunately, no quick solution. Friendships are sticky. But from what Kris has told me, she’s a fighter. I mean, she fought against her feelings for you for a good while. Trust me, once you give into those feelings for your wolf, they’re nearly impossible to ignore. She’ll come back to you. Just give her some time.”

Tao could only nod back in reply. He didn’t want to give it time. He knew he had to, but he wanted you back in his arms now.

Evie patted his shoulder before moving over to the oven. “Why don’t you help me get started on dinner? I’m thinking soup might be easiest.”

Rolling his eyes, Tao turned around and began taking down the necessary pots from the cabinets. Of course, on the day he decides to take the day off from school for his emotional wellbeing, he’s put to work.

**

You didn’t move from the couch the entire day. While the TV played whatever was just on, you lied there on your side, face pressed against the throw pillow. You were sure there’d be a pattern imprinted into your skin when you finally got up, but you didn’t care. What was the point?

God, you hated yourself. You could hardly believe that you’d broken Tao so much that tears rolled down his cheeks. Sure, you’d seen him cry just a few days before, but this time it was your fault. Part of you – a huge majority of you, actually – was hoping he’d show up at your door. What could you do when he was on your doorstep, begging for you to change your mind besides take him back?

But that doorbell never rang and you never heard a knock or footsteps echoing down from your roof. So you were alone in that big house, needing someone to talk to, to help you understand why you were thrown into this predicament and why you were forced to choose between your best friend and Tao.

Suddenly, the front door clicked like the turning of the lock and swung open.

“Mom?” You sat up off the couch, watching in disbelief as your parents struggled to get inside with their luggage.

“Hi, sweetie,” she smiled at you. Your father gave you a mumbled greeting before going upstairs. His face was a concerning shade of green, but that was an afterthought as you jumped up off the couch and ran to your mother.

“What are you doing back so early?”

Your mother sighed and looked up at the stairs before turning back to you. “Your father got sick so we came home early. He’s going to lie down for a little bit.” Her maternal instincts kicking in, she narrowed her eyes as she studied your face. Were your eyes still red and puffy after all these hours? “Honey, is something wrong?”

Once more becoming a blubbering mess, you threw yourself in her embrace, unable to answer her verbally. For a minute or two, she just held you, patting your head and letting you cry it out without bombarding you with questions that you couldn’t reply to. When your tears started to dry out again, she led you into the kitchen. After sitting you down at the island, she immediately got to work heating up a kettle of water and searching the cabinets for the best tea to make for this situation.

Only when she had a cup steaming in front of you did she finally sit down across from you, mom mode on high. “Now, tell me what happened.”

You took a deep breath and cleared your throat. “Do you remember the guy I told you about?”

“The playboy?” she clarified with a playfully crooked smile. You couldn’t believe you managed something resembling a short laugh at that.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Although, he’s not like that. Not at all. He’s sweet and compassionate and he listens to me-” You needed to be careful in this conversation. If you continued talking about how amazing Tao was, you’d make yourself cry all over again. “I just really fell for him.”

A knowing grin crept across your mother’s face. “I had a feeling you might. But what happened?”

You took a sip of your tea, still hot and burning against your tongue, but your throat welcomed the warm liquid. “Well, he kind of went out on a date with Kendall. Before we ever met!” Your mother had opened her mouth comment, so you rushed to save Tao’s reputation in her eyes. “They never went out again after that, so I figured it didn’t matter. But….”

“But Kendall still had feelings for him,” your mother finished for you.

You nodded again. “And I didn’t tell her about me and Tao because I wanted to know if it would even go anywhere first, but she saw us together over the weekend.” No need to explain exactly where she saw you. No matter how distraught you were in the moment, your parents wouldn’t appreciate you having someone over and spending the night without their knowledge. “She was upset – like really upset. I didn’t know how much she liked him before, she never told me. And so, she… kind of made me break up with him….”

A flash of anger ignited in your mother’s eyes. “She made you break up with him?”

“She didn’t out right say ‘break up with him’,” you clarified. Admittedly, you were a little worried at your mother’s reaction. She’d disliked one of your friends in the past and... well, it wasn’t pretty, to say the least. “But when I said that I would, she just nodded and walked away.”

“Why did you ever say that you would say that you would break up with him if you didn’t want to?”

“I don’t know,” you whined with a shrug. “Kendall was crying and freaking out and I just panicked. But,” sighing, you picked at the chipping paint on the old mug, “I was kind of hoping she’d say I didn’t have to.”

“Honey, look at me.”

You did, surprised at how your mother’s expression had softened.

She reached out to you, cupping your chin with her delicate fingers before dropping them back down on the counter. “I know you might think I hadn’t noticed, but I could tell something was going on with that boy after you told me about him. You were happier. Now, I will never say you need another person to make you happy, but there was a spring in your step and you smiled without even thinking about it. And if Kendall was really your friend, then she’d understand. She’d respect where both your and Tao’s feelings really lie. I know there’s the girl code, but it’s a two way street. If she really cared about you, then she’d let you be happy. So let yourself be happy, sweetheart. If she can’t understand that her jealousy shouldn’t come before your happiness, then she’s not a friend worth having. No matter how long that friendship has lasted until now.”

Her words hit you harder than you’d expected. You were wrestling with yourself once again. Kendall was the one who’d always stood by you, was always your best friend. But your mother was right. Including the times she didn’t know about, you’d constantly put Kendall before your own wishes. You always conceded to her, gave in to what she wanted. And you knew. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to just forget about Tao. You needed to know how far the two of you could go, if you could make it the rest of your lives. So Kendall would just have to live with your decision. If this was the end of your friendship, then it was the end. At least Tao took your feelings into consideration. And you couldn’t live with this gigantic “What If” hanging over your head forever.

Hopping off the bar stool, you rounded the island and threw your arms around your mother’s neck. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she chuckled. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Yes. This was what she was here for. And the universe seemed to be on your side, bringing her home just when you needed her the most. Maybe this was a sign that you and Tao were meant to be after all.

**

Tao was in a daze when he woke up Tuesday morning. He could hardly believe what had happened the night before. He was simply helping Evie get started on dinner one second and then the next Lanie was running into the kitchen, saying that Junmyeon had captured the hunter. Both of them rushed to turn off the burners and followed Lanie out to the garage. Sure enough, a vaguely familiar-looking woman was tied to a chair, just waking up from unconsciousness.

To hone in his own anger towards the hunter, Tao stayed quiet and near the back of the crowd. When Baekhyun recognized the woman as Hae In’s cousin, Tao’s anger flared up even more. That just engorged the betrayal. Minseok wasn’t around – probably resting since he still wore out easily – and that might have been a good thing.

Luhan showed up soon after that and things just went from bad to worse. Tao was stunned in a statue-like shock when it was revealed that the hunter was Luhan’s mate… and he knew about her the whole time.

When they eventually got Kris to calm down and shift back into his human form, they all headed inside – minus the newly revealed couple – and, well, no one really knew what to feel. Anger, hurt, shock, and confusion were just a few of the emotions brewing in the air.

Some of the mates finished up dinner, but no one was really hungry, which was a first. They were all forced to eat while trying to wrestle with the fact that Luhan had essentially lied to all of them for weeks. Even though he refused to acknowledge it, Tao could understand, on a minute scale, at least. Wolves were quick to hatred when it came to hunters and for good reason. It wasn’t like the hunters gave the wolves a chance to show they were harmless on the first meeting. But the one in the garage? She seemed to really care for Luhan, enough to betray her family. And so Tao couldn’t hate her.

He could, however, be extremely pissed off at the mates who decided to drug the whole pack in order to let the hunter escape.

Still groggy and tired after waking up from the forced sleep that after Junmyeon told Luhan that the pack wouldn’t be going after his runaway mate, Tao dragged himself towards the stairs to go collapse on his bed and slip into dreamland once again. But a new conversation was starting up, catching his attention.  

“What if she doesn’t succeed in deleting the files?” Kimberly asked. Jongin shushed her in a way that was probably supposed to be comforting, but she swatted his hand away.

“We’ll have to be ready for a fight,” Kris answered bluntly.

Lanie smirked cockily. “Sweet.”

“No,” Chanyeol bellowed out, making several of the other mates jump. “Whatever happens, you’re staying out of it.”

“Since when do you order me around?” Lanie crossed her arms defiantly. She stared Chanyeol down with her usual tough look. On an average day, it made the tall wolf back down and give in to her, but not this time.

“You’re not fighting against hunters where you could be killed.”

“We’re not useless, you know.” Of course Hae In would be right there with Lanie in wanted to get in on the battle.

Ji Yeon, ever the rational one, stepped in. “I think they’re right, guys. I hardly doubt we’re equipped to handle trained killers.”

“Not to mention, I have heard of instances where they’ve used the mates as bait for the wolves,” Yixing added in. “We won’t let that happen to any of you.”

Bait?

Tao swallowed, images of you tied up with a gun to your head or beaten or tied up flashed in his mind. No. He couldn’t let that happen to you. They couldn’t find out about you to use you against him.

Conflict arose in him. He wanted you back and he wanted you with him, but if Luhan’s mate failed and the hunters sent someone else to scope them out before attacking, they could find out about you, find out that you’re a mate. Maybe you breaking up with him today was the universe’s perfect timing. That could keep you safe. He needed to keep you safe. So, for now, until this crisis was over, he’d have to live without you.

Making it up the rest of the way to the second floor, Tao shut himself in his room.

Now it was six in the morning. He felt like death incarnate, but he couldn’t go back to sleep. Sehun was snoring away on the other side of the room, cuddling his body pillow close to his chest. Tao snorted at the sight before dragging his feet to the bathroom down the hall. Since the house was still asleep, Tao took his time in the shower, waking himself up with the cool water that bounced off his skin in little droplets. Back in the room, he closed the door to the walk-in closet before turning on the light and getting dressed for the day. It didn’t matter that his first class wasn’t for several more hours, he headed out anyway, unable to stay still.

With nothing else to do, he sat at one of the stone tables in the courtyard. He stared off at nothing, just letting all the confusing thoughts bounce around in his head. He still missed you.

To give himself a little piece of you again, he took out his phone and stared at the picture he’d snuck of you back at the knickknack shop where you’d found that silly hat. Maybe he should go back and buy it for you. It’d be a nice present once he was able to be with you again. He still liked the matching jacket idea, but the smile on your face when you put on the hat was like staring at the full moon for him and he wanted to see it again.

“Tao?”

His heart leapt in his throat. Was he hearing things now?

Looking around, he’d somehow missed all the students arriving on campus to begin the school day. Behind him, you stood in the grass, fidgeting with the straps of your bag. Tao slowly rose to his feet.

“Yes, (y/n)?”

You scratched your arms nervously. “Um… about what I said yesterday-”

“You were right.”

You weren’t expected that. Wide, confused eyes stared up him and he just wanted to pull you in close to his chest, kiss the top of your head and drag you away from here. He wanted you to say that you wanted to be with him and let it all go. But he forced him to stay planted, to stay firm in his decision. If he survived this latest trial, he’d make up it up to you for the rest of your lives.

“I-I don’t understand?”

“You were right to break up with me,” Tao clarified, the lie feeling like acid on his tongue. No. It was wrong. Oh, so utterly wrong.

You shook your head feverishly. “No, I wasn’t, Tao. I shouldn’t have let Kendall dictate my life. I’m sorry. Please, let me fix my mistake.”

God, this hurt more than when he got hurt fighting against the hybrid pack. Even if it was fake and temporary, it didn’t ease the pain at all. How many of his brothers could say that they were the ones rejecting their mate? He needed to get out of here. Fast. “It wasn’t a mistake. And you were right the first time. I’m not good. I’m not good for you. So… just move on.”

Still not believing him, you reached out and took ahold of his jacket sleeve. Pleading, you whispered, “Okay. You’ve had your payback now. So, please, Tao. Please, don’t do this. Let me fix this.”

For a few seconds, he just stared at the place where your fingers clung to him. His body was screaming him to reach out and slip his fingers through yours, but instead, he pushed on your hand, making you let go. You were going to hate him. Once he finally told you the truth, you were going to scream, punch, and kick at him. And he hoped that you would. Because he deserved it after saying one little word that would shatter your heart.

“No.”

He walked away in the same way you left him the day before. Except he had no ill thoughts towards you as you ran away with tears in your eyes. You, though, were probably wishing you’d never met him.

Why was he such a coward? There had to be a better option than this, right? He could find another way to protect you and besides, there was a chance the hunters wouldn’t really come here, wasn’t there?

Before he could make his feet turn around, however, his phone rang. It was Kris.

“Hello?”

“Tao? We’ve got an issue.”

The blonde wolf rolled his eyes. It seemed like their lives were just one issue after another. “What’s it this time?”

“Luhan’s gone. He went after his mate.”

Tao froze. No. No, no, no, no. Damn it!

“I’m headed back right now.”

Hanging on the alpha, he ran towards his car. Luhan was an idiot. But Tao was about to be an idiot right back. He was going to follow the damn fool, whether Junmyeon approved it or not. The only thing that would stop him would be if Kris imposed his authority over him. Even then, Tao might have to fight. Then, when he came back, he’d be begging on his knees for your forgiveness.

[strangevoyages]

Very cool of you to start this! I was wondering... as someone who would like to publish a traditional novel someday (romance, if that helps) and was wondering if you could outline the publication process for novels? It's a little intimidating for someone like me and I would really appreciate the clarity. Thank you!

Hi there, thank you so much! :) And okay, I’ll do my best to outline how it generally works:

Traditional Publishing

Step 1) Complete your novel.

Step 2) Edit and revise your novel to the best of your abilities! You only get one chance to impress an agent (the next step) and you want to start with your best foot forward. Do not send an incomplete or unpolished manuscript: it must be as close to the finished product as you can get on your own! If you feel you need help, shop it around to people you trust (friends or family, creative writing workshops, writing partners, mentors or professors, etc). Professional and freelance editors (like me!) are also always an option if you need an experienced second pair of eyes!

Step 3) Find agents whose work you love. The best way to do this is to go to your favorite novels (preferably in the genre you want to publish in), turn to the back of the book, and find the agent of that novel’s name in the “Acknowledgements/Thanks” section. Look them up and read carefully to see if your story fits the kind of work they read and are looking for. 

Step 4) Write a query letter. This is possibly the most intimidating aspect of the publication process because many authors love to write fiction, but don’t love to write about themselves and their work. The query letter is essentially the marketing or elevator pitch to give an agent a preview of what to expect in your work (and is your chance to intrigue them). There’s a wealth of resources out there on how to write a query letter, and here are some of my favorites:

How to Write a Darn Good Query Letter

How to Write the Perfect Query Letter

Query Letters

Samples of Query Letters

The long and short of it is, query letters contain your book’s introduction and stats (what its word count is (), what its genre and title is), its summary (picture what its blurb would be on the back of the hardcover copy and write that), your credentials as an author, and why you’d like to work with that particular agent. 

Some other tips: don’t let the letter extend beyond one page. Agents (and editors) appreciate conciseness, not least because they’re busy and it shows your skill as a writer when you condense important information into a small space. Don’t oversell your work. NEVER describe your book as “the next Harry Potter” or “the masterpiece of our time” or whatever. Let the agent decide that for themselves! But don’t undersell or self-deprecate, either (“you probably won’t be interested in this, but I thought I’d give it a shot...”). It can be hard to have confidence in your writing, especially when entering the pro arena, but you need to inspire an agent’s faith in you as much as in your work (without exaggerating or boasting!)

Step 5) Send your query letter and manuscript to the top 5 agents you’ve been looking at. Sending too many will be overwhelming (and many agents hate “simultaneous submissions,” where you send copies to multiple places at the same time) and sending too few would be putting all your eggs in one basket. 

Be careful to read exactly how each agent would like to receive your manuscript! Some only accept physical copies in the mail, in manila envelopes; some only accept attachments by email; some only accept PDFs and not Word and vice-versa! If you don’t follow their submission guidelines, you often won’t get a second chance or a courtesy reminder. 

Oh, and format your manuscript according to their instructions. If there are no specific instructions, it’s always best to have your novel in standard manuscript format. Shunn’s guide to story formatting is a bible in this industry, so following those guidelines will make you look professional. Please avoid kooky or unique fonts as well: you may think it helps you stand out, but speaking from experience, most agents/editors really hate this!

Step 6) Wait. 

Some agents have a projected time of response to get back to you (“if we don’t get back to you within 8 weeks, we are declining to represent your work”) on their website. Some don’t, and you’ll just have to wait (sending a follow-up query 6-8 weeks after sending your manuscript can be reasonable unless their website asks you not to do this). 

If those top 5 agent don’t get back to you (or decline to represent your book) don’t be discouraged! All the greatest writers of all time struggled to find their agents and publishers at first. J.K. Rowling suffered through “years” of rejection from agents before she finally found one to represent Harry Potter, and even after that was rejected by 12 publishers (many very rudely!) before someone wanted HP. So send your manuscript out to the next five and keep going!

Step 7) An agent wants your manuscript. 

Ideally, they’re over-the-moon in love with it: you want an agent who’s passionate about your work and will shop it tirelessly to their connections in the publishing industry. 

(I feel I should add: do not send your work to or proceed with any agent who wants to be paid to represent you, or who charges a fee to read your work! This is a scam! Like sports agents or real estate agents, literary agents only take a cut of the profits after they’ve sold your book to a publisher. (Usually around 15%, though this could be higher or lower depending on the agent). This way, they’re motivated to sell your book for the highest rate possible, because they only make money from it then, too! If they want you to pay them out-of-pocket for anything, be extremely suspicious!)

After you’ve met with your agent, agreed to work together, and signed a contract (always read these carefully or get a lawyer to look over them), your agent will probably give you some tips or requests to polish your manuscript up even further before sending your work out. After this is done, they’ll shop your manuscript to the publishers they think will be the best fit for it!

Step 8) An editor at a publishing house reads your manuscript and falls in love with it. 

This is the dream! There will be some negotiation, and this is where your agent comes in: they will protect your rights and negotiate with the publisher on your behalf to get as high of a selling price for your novel as possible. The publisher will often pay you an advance (an initial lump sum for the book) and will then usually offer you a percentage of the first sales after tax (say 10%, though depending on your publishing history or type of book or a whole slew of factors, you may get a higher/lower percentage or none at all). Your agent will guide you through this process and explain everything, so I won’t get into much more detail beyond that. 

Step 9) You accept the terms of agreement with a publisher, and the book goes to their editing team: AKA your new editor. 

You will likely go through several months or even years of editing with your editor’s feedback. A good editor won’t change your vision of your work drastically, but you may have to rewrite whole sections of your book to improve pacing, cut out unnecessary plot lines, and etc. Be patient with this and be flexible: your work isn’t perfect (no one’s is, not even after publication) and your editor knows what they’re doing. However, you do also have power here and can push back if there’s something you feel extremely strongly about changing. 

Step 10) Your book is on the way to publication.

Now it’s just a waiting game. Your agent (or you) might ask other authors to be advance readers for your edited manuscript: these are the people who give the quotes and blurbs on the back of the books--the ones with glowing praise!

Depending on the publishing house, you may get some input on the cover and design of your book, or you may not. Your agent/publisher may also talk to you about foreign translations and licensing, etc.!

Step 11) Your book is published!

It took a while, but you made it, and now your book has hit the shelves (or the Internet, or both). Not counting the time it takes to find an agent, the whole process takes a minimum of a year to... well, I won’t regale you with the authors who took ten, fifteen, twenty years to get to publication, but needless to say, it’s a slow-moving process. 

Getting an agent is arguably the hardest part (once you get one, they really do most of the work for you), and if you’d like to skip this hurdle, there’s always chancing submitting your work straight to the publishers. However, for the big publishing houses, this option has an extremely low chance of success, to put it bluntly. Unless you’re submitting to a very small independent publisher or what’s known as a “vanity press”, almost all major publishing houses nowadays don’t even look at books without agents, and those submissions get lost in slush pile hell.  Agents are the first barrier to publication, and once they’ve vetted your book and found potential in it, publishing houses are more comfortable with reading a manuscript that they’re more sure won’t “waste their time.”

Of course, if you don’t want to split your profits with an agent, there’s always self-publishing! But since this post is getting so long, I figure I’ll talk about that another time. Thanks for the great question, and I hope this helped! (And good luck with your romance novel(s)!)

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Nuptials

This third series reads as follows:

Shattered … Desolation … Determination … Us and Ours … Ratty Towels … The Sleepover … Skinner and the Punch … Oregon … Impossibilities … Something from Nothing … Out of the Car … Partners … News … Never Replace You … The Chip … Date Night … Evidence of Things Unseen … Maggie’s Walter … Glasses … Maggie’s Truth … Waiting Words ... Fuzzy Fleece Pants and Creamsicles

First series … Second series

*********************

Charlie and Bill had no objections to the marriage; the wives were ecstatic about the wedding; the children were over the moon that Uncle Skimmer would be Uncle Skimmer all the time now. Dave called up and objected on the grounds that he was not asked for approval but his smile could be heard across the phone line and Maggie scolded him, telling him he would be banished to the back of the room if he kept his line of nonsense up.

She was amused.

Scully had come around, telling Mulder before she fell asleep against him not much later the previous night, that she would be fine tomorrow, a real, honest fine, because she was trying out a new thing called ‘taking the day as it comes’. Mulder wondered just how long that would last but he embraced it, crouching down to say good morning to his Upgrade before taking the frozen waffles she handed him the next morning.

Later that day, as piles of paper grew and papercuts threatened, hunger pangs drove Scully to eat three pickles and a roast beef and provolone wrap while Mulder snacked on his perpetual bag of sunflower seeds, she asked in between bites, “so it’s Tuesday. Want to bet when the wedding’ll happen?”

Digging out wallet and slapping $5 on the desk, “before summer.”

With a ‘psshht’ and a snort, Scully pulled a matching bill from the purse on the chair beside her and tossed it towards him, “I give them a week. Probably less. Logic dictates that everyone will already be together for Sunday dinner so why not just do it then.”

Damn it. He could see Maggie thinking exactly that but he’d already called his time frame so playing it cool, “you know. That would still be before summer.”

Another snort hit him, “argue all you want. I’m going to win anyways.”

“Whatever.”

&&&&&&&&&

She had his money in her pocket by that evening, Maggie calling to make sure Sunday would be good for a fairly quiet, unobtrusive, intimate ceremony in the front room followed by their normal dinner.

&&&&&&&&&

Standing there, having finally given in to looser tops and stretchier pants, Scully clutched her wad of Kleenex as she watched her mother walk alone down their makeshift aisle towards a polished Skinner, sans bruises, in a new suit and tie, glasses straight, back rigid, standing at attention with the biggest smile plastered on his face.

Father McCue, old family friend that he was, stood before the two of them, shortening the ceremony to accommodate Skinner’s rusty Catholicism and lack of organist to sing them through prayers.

Scully found she didn’t need her Kleenex, her eyes dry, her mind calm in the face of six-day earlier breakdown. Stuffing them in Mulder’s jacket pocket, she then reached down to hold his hand, first finding a finger, then two, her hand engulfed by his before the count of three. For some unknown reason, he had the sudden urge to look at her and never fighting that feeling, he turned, glanced, tilted his head.

She was giving him the slowest spreading smile he’d ever seen, skin creasing at glacial speed, eyes crinkling, cheeks lifting, millimeters at a time …

That was a look he hadn’t seen in a long time, possibly ever but he could read it plain as day, his brain processing in a heartbeat and before he knew it, his face was doing the same, eyes locked to her twinkling blue sparks of radiant perfection and spontaneous exaltation. It was only when he believed his face would split in two that he leaned in, whisper dropping six inches to receptive ears, “really?”

“Yeah.”

“Really really?”

“Really really really.”

He would have kissed her flat out right there but the sharp finger in his back pulled him back to the here and now, Dave leaning forward, “pay attention. If I have to watch Skimmer kiss Aunt Maggie, so do you.”

They watched the kiss from beginning to end, decorum dictated four second contact reached amid clapping and whistling, Charlie letting out a perfect pitch zing that ended the ceremony with grace and style.

Once the hullabaloo had died down, people shifting, moving, about to begin shutting borrowed folding chairs, Mulder gave one last look at her, seeing serene truth and excitement fighting for dominance on her face and still smiling, squeezed her hand, then called to the room, “hold on, folks, keep your seats … there’s a bit of an aftershow you might not want to miss.”

Turning her around, he escorted Scully up the aisle, hand on her lower back, flashback to seven years ago burning through both their minds. Confused by new and unscripted events, everyone sat back down, including Walter and Maggie, pretty darn sure what was coming and dually hoping they were right.

Once up front, Mulder whispered to Father McCue, still standing, wondering until Mulder’s words of non-existent Catholicism registered, then, nodding smile, he stepped away, leaving an empty space, which Mulder knew exactly who to fill with.

Addressing the crowd first, however, “so, I should have asked Dana here to marry me long about 1993 but it took until 1994 for me to realize it … then she shot me and made me reevaluate us as a couple. She fixed me right up though and since then, I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment. If you know us, however, you know the perfect moment really doesn’t exist. Right there,” pointing towards the back of the house, “in the middle of the night, Scully decided to do it instead, asking me if I’d marry her someday. I said yes and asked her if she’d marry me someday as well.” Grin wider, “someday decided to be right now.” Looking across the crowd, absorbing the news, amused by the news, genuinely happy about the news, he stopped his search on Byers, “you there, John Fitzgerald Byers, would you dust off that non-denominational ordination and come up to do the honors?”

He did not need to be called on twice.

Straightening his tie, buttoning his jacket, he smoothed his hair, folded his hands, walked sedately to the front of the room and in his clear voice, weight of love for his best friends evident, he married them.

Well, he began marrying them.

He only made it as far as the rings when Scully, in un-Scully fashion, spoke out of turn, “we don’t have rings!”

A chuckle snaked through the room, Mulder’s smile returning full force, along with his ‘I’ve got a secret’ dueling eyebrow wiggle, “ye of little faith.” Out of his pocket came two gum wrappers, Scully’s unused tissue, a fork and a ring box, all imposing in blue velvet domed top, “I come prepared for all occasions.”

Since everything surrounding her at that moment had a surrealistic clarity to it, she reached her fingers into his other pocket, fishing around through sunflower seed casings and a handful of M&Ms, “do you have one in there I can use?”

“Nope. Sorry. One ring per coat.”

She was in her own little heaven, “I’ll get one for you tomorrow, deal?”

“Deal.”

Byers cleared his throat, “do you have your own vows or would you like to repeat after me?”

Mulder, grin suddenly failing, swallowed hard, “I’ve never been one for following the rules so I think I’ll just do my own, if that’s all right?”

Scully nodded, his sudden seriousness making the room disappear, “of course.”

Taking her hands, he kept the ring securely on his pinkie while he talked, “I love you. It’s that simple. I’ve loved you in some way since you walked into that basement and shook my hand. You’ve given me hope and life and family and a home and I don’t think, even if I tell you I love you every second from now through eternity, that I’ll ever be able to make you truly understand what you mean to me. I red M&M you to the Moon and back, Scully, now and forever.”

Well, if that didn’t make every female in the room and a good portion of the males tear up.

Scully, however, couldn’t stop looking at him and knowing tears would blur the vision of him, she fought for all she was worth to keep her eyes dry. It helped when Mulder took her hand, went to slide the ring on her finger and through his own soggy voice, declared, “well, crap.”

Because Jake was Jake and Jake did these things, he piped up from his seat, “you can’t say ‘crap’ at a wedding, Uncle Mudler, no matter what’s wrong.”

“Yes, I can Jake, because,” moving the ring to several other fingers, “your Aunt Dana’s fingers and her ring did not have a discussion about whether they wanted to cooperate.” Giving Scully a sheepish look, “I apparently do not have a ring that will fit.”

The room chuckled, Scully chuckled, even Mulder chuckled after a heartbeat, during which Scully held out her thumb, “put it on there for now. You always did like a good thumbs up.”

Doing as told, he admired her now bedazzled digit, “that’ll work nicely, thank you.”

Taboo kiss on the cheek later, she took a deep breath, Byers prompting her, “Scully, would you like to say your own vows as well?”

Oh, the damn waterworks were already pinging the corners of her eyes, “yes, please.” Looking up at Mulder, the room silent again, “you have been my everything for so long, I have no idea how I could go on in life without you. You’ve held me up, held me close, held my world in your hands; you’ve searched for me, rescued me, fought for me, fought with me, fought for us in so many ways. You are the father of my children,” her voice narrowly cracking, “and the love of my life.” Deciding why not, she reached back into his snack pocket and pulled out the M&Ms, finding a red one amongst the blues and greens and pocket lint. Rolling it in her fingers, she held it up so he could see, “I gave you a red M&M in the car such a long time ago and I’m giving you one today in lieu of a ring, ‘cause, you know, I red M&M you to Jupiter and beyond.”

Byers never made it to the pronouncement of ‘man and wife’ given Mulder nearly knocked him backwards getting to Scully and her lips, warm, full and happily waiting for her husband.

Bill, and he would never admit it outloud, clapped the loudest for them, finally seeing, full force and clear as day, that Mulder did indeed love his sister.

The rest of them, having been waiting for Maggie and Skinner, realized they still had confetti poppers in their hands and deciding this was the exact proper moment, pulled the strings, releasing a flurry of paper streamers and smoke towards both married couples, kids giggling, adults cringing as smoke burned their nostrils, Maggie and Walter hugging and laughing, Mulder still kissing his wife.

His wife.

And Scully kissing her husband.

It was only when Scully began smiling that Mulder followed suit and pulling back, found the thumb holding the ring, bringing it up between them, “sorry about the sizing.”

“Shush it. I may wear it here all the time. I have to ask, though. When did you get it?”

“When I went ring shopping with Skinner. It was a manly ring shopping, complete with coffee and crullers and possibly several arguments about basketball. I saw it, wanted it, bought it. Took all of about 30 seconds.”

Finally looking at the three-in-a-row diamonds set in gold, simple, low-profile, two sizes too big perfection of Scully personality and sparkle, “you did very well.”

Popping his M&M in his mouth, “so did you.”

Byers leaned forward, unimposing in his interruption, “excuse me … one more thing.”

Never taking his eyes from Scully, “yeah?”

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

With a laugh, he kissed Byers cheek before returning to Scully’s mouth, “thank you. Now go away.”

[ronaldsmcrae86]

How to Make Money Writing: 5 Ways to Get Paid to Write in 2021

Listen:

Most writers never get rich.

You know that. I know that. Everybody knows that.

But is it possible to make a nice little side hustle income? Get paid to write from time to time?

Absolutely.

Free Training: A Cheat Sheet for Becoming a Freelance Writer, Starting from Scratch

In this post, you’ll learn exactly how to make money writing – different strategies, how to do it – basically, everything you need.

Let’s start by talking about what’s possible (and what’s not).

Table of Contents:

The Truth About How to Make Money Writing

The 5 Most Realistic Ways to Make Money Writing

Write Articles for Popular Blogs, Magazines and Journals

Create Collateral for Content-Hungry Businesses

Become a Best-Selling Kindle Author

Sell Yourself as a Conversion-Focused Copywriter

Build a Niche Blog and Promote Third Party Products

It’s Time to Choose Your Path and Finally Make Money Writing

The Truth about How to Make Money Writing

Writing for a living offers a ton of advantages – you get to choose when and where you work, and with whom.

No wonder this promise of creative and personal freedom attracts so many people.

But the truth is that most of them don’t want to think about the practicalities of becoming a full-time freelance writer.

They don’t want to think about the uncertainty, the rejection, the self-doubt.

They don’t want to think about all the small, unglamorous tasks that make a writer’s life possible.

Deep down they fear their perfect dream will tarnish if they drag it down to earth. So it just hangs there in a shiny bubble, waiting for the day it miraculously comes true.

But let’s be honest — it just won’t happen. Or do you really think someone will approach you one day and say:

“Hey there. I heard from someone that you were thinking of writing something, someday, and I’ve love to pay you to see where that someday could lead.”

Of course not, but without a concrete strategy, that is what it would take to make your distant dream of having a writing career a reality.

Experience shows that vague plans fail. Grounding your dreams in reality is what makes them happen. Even if it means thinking about the things you’d rather not consider.

It’s not enough to say you want to make a living as a writer; you need to know how. You need a concrete plan to bridge the gap from where you are now to where you want to be.

And the more realistic your plan, the better. Don’t bet the farm on a path that only a small handful of super talented (or incredibly lucky) outliers have followed. Choose one that’s worked for lots of people.

The 5 Most Realistic Ways to Make Money Writing

Get Paid to Write Articles for Blogs, Magazines, and Journals

Make Money by Creating Collateral for Content-Hungry Businesses

Get Paid to Write by Becoming a Best-Selling Kindle Author

Make Money Writing as a Conversion-Focused Copywriter

Build a Niche Blog and Promote Third Party Products

1. Get Paid to Write Articles for Blogs, Magazines, and Journals

Despite talk of global “content fatigue,” major publications — both on- and offline — must keep publishing content or die. Just look at the plentiful opportunities for writing gigs on any job board.

That means popular WordPress blogs, magazines, and journals remain hungry for quality content writing — and many are willing to pay good money for it too. You’ll need to hustle to find the best paid writing jobs, understanding that success won’t happen overnight. But freelancing for these publications is still a smart way to make money online as a writer.

Let’s start with the blogs.

Although writing articles for popular blogs (a.k.a. guest blogging) is still typically unpaid, with most new writers trading their content for exposure (via a byline or author bio), numerous exceptions still exist.

Editor’s Note: Guest blogging opportunities can be found with search engines (Google and Bing) and social media sites (Facebook, LinkedIn, and Twitter) if you know where to look. If you need a one-stop shop, check out Carol Tice’s Make a Living Writing for a comprehensive list of sites that pay for guest articles.

A well-written guest post can lead to freelance writing gigs and other paid work. Take this blog as an example: we’ve approached several guest writers to create content for our paid courses, and paid them several thousand dollars for their work.

And what about the world of print? Is that still a viable way to make a living as a writer in this day and age of online everything?

Traditional publishing has had a rough ride, but many consumer magazines are still going strong, and many of these publications still pay well for a feature article. Of course, you can’t expect to land a lucrative opportunity right away — you’ll need to climb the ladder via smaller, local publications, building your credibility as you go.

Likewise, trade journals crave quality articles within their narrow topic area and many are waking up to the more conversational, engaging writing style that writing for the web demands. Also, talented bloggers with proven specialist knowledge can often skip the ladder-climbing and break in with the right pitch.

In general, the secret to making this model work is being tenacious about chasing down opportunities — whether it’s ghostwriting or regular freelance writing work — and being efficient with your writing once you land them.

The people who follow this model successfully are like writing machines — they crank out quality content quickly and don’t allow themselves to get bogged down in any one project.

Editor’s Note: The Medium Partner Program is worth considering too. The more you publish, the greater your chances of building consistent, passive income over time.

2. Make Money by Creating Collateral for Content-Hungry Businesses

In the last five years, content marketing — this concept of creating valuable content to attract customers and build credibility and trust — has undoubtedly gone mainstream.

The result? More and more businesses are getting into the content game. Some have a clear strategy, while others are just jumping on the bandwagon and hoping it pays off down the line.

This has created a market for smart writers who can write for a specific audience. These content-hungry businesses need articles, white papers, case studies — the list goes on. And they fully expect to pay for them.

Breaking into this market can be tough without a few contacts to get you started, but it’s not impossible.

Initially, you may need to jostle for attention with thousands of other eager freelancers vying for online jobs on marketplaces like Upwork.com.

But with patience and hard work you can establish a track record of successful projects and break away from the low-earning masses.

However, this route requires a writing portfolio of content-related skills — not just an understanding of the target niche, but of marketing fundamentals and SEO too. In other words, you’ll need more than a laptop and a passion for writing to impress this crowd — you’ll need to persuade clients that you understand the bigger picture.

One smart way to differentiate yourself as a professional writer is to build your own platform, using blogging and guest blogging to demonstrate the expertise you hope to harness for others.

3. Get Paid to Write by Becoming a Best-Selling Kindle Author

What about making it big as an author? Could that be your best route to a life of freedom as a full-time writer?

Well, it’s certainly more realistic than it used to be. Ten years ago, writing a best-selling book was a distant dream for most writers and self-publishing on Kindle was often dismissed as a vanity exercise.

But today, thanks largely to Amazon and Kindle, the self-published book market is gigantic and making money from writing books is far more achievable.

Enter, the authorpreneur — the author with an entrepreneurial brain.

Of course, more achievable doesn’t mean easy. If you have visions of publishing one book and retiring on the profits, you’ll be sorely disappointed.

To succeed, you need to be commercially minded and target an established market with proven demand from readers. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t follow your passion but be prepared to validate it first.

You’ll need to be persistent and prolific too — chances are you’ll publish several books before gaining any traction, and you’ll need sales from multiple titles to approach anything resembling a full-time income.

However, according to a report earlier this year from Author Earnings, 1,600 indie authors are earning $25K or above from Amazon book sales, and 1,000 published their first book three years ago or less.

But should you be writing fiction or nonfiction? Nonfiction is the most natural fit for the average blogger, and if you’re blogging in a popular niche, the chances are that books covering similar topics will also be popular.

If you want to find success as a self-nonfiction author, check out Steve Scott. Even though he’s recently switched his attentions to a regular podcast on self-publishing, his old site still has a ton of useful information.

Fiction writing is arguably tougher (and requires a rather different set of creative writing skills), but there’s no denying that your earning potential if you do hit it big, is much larger. And it’s no coincidence that the most famous self-publishing successes are all fiction titles.

For inspiration and direction visit The Creative Penn. Joanna Penn is a prolific fiction (and nonfiction) author and her site is rich with information about making it as a creative writer.

But in either case, you need to be led by the market for topic (or genre) selection. And you need to be prepared to write multiple books before seeing any real results.

One major advantage of this route is that you continue to earn money from your back catalog, sometimes far into the future. Once you start to make a basic living from your writing, additional titles only build your income further.

The secret to making authorpreneurship work for you? Build an email list. Your existing fans are the perfect audience for your next book.

4. Make Money Writing as a Conversion-Focused Copywriter

Copywriting, in a nutshell, is writing that’s designed to make readers take a specific action.

Sales letters, video scripts, even product descriptions — these all need writing by someone, and they live or die on the results they produce.

Copywriting may not seem fundamentally different to other forms of writing skill, but in practice, it’s a discipline all of its own.

While there’s a trend towards more conversational, empathetic copywriting — moving away from the hype-fuelled “hard sell” — you still need a solid understanding of the principles of persuasion.

So unless you have a copywriting background be prepared to invest a lot of time (and possibly money) in learning the fundamentals. There are some excellent books on the topic — CA$HVERTISING: How to Use More than 100 Secrets of Ad-Agency Psychology to Make Big Money Selling Anything to Anyone (affiliate link) is a good place to start. Copyblogger’s Brian Clark shares his favorite titles here.

The most famous training course on copywriting is probably AWAI’s Accelerated Program for Six-Figure Copywriting.

Notwithstanding the steep learning curve, the rewards of copywriting can be significant. A high-converting sales page might earn you $2,000, plus a slice of the revenues too.

As a bonus, a foundation in copywriting will also be valuable should you ever decide to sell your own products.

5. Build a Niche Blog and Promote Third Party Products

I’ll be honest — building a popular blog is tough. Really tough.

And once you’ve scaled your blog beyond a certain point, you might be surprised how little time you actually spend doing the thing you love — writing.

So if your dream is to build a six-figure blog, you’d better be as excited about the prospect of running a business as you are about writing your next blog article. (In fact, if you’re making six figures, writing is one of the things you should probably outsource.)

But there is a path to making money from a blog where you still spend a good proportion of your time writing. And it starts with picking a writing niche where a large, passionate audience already exists and — this is crucial — where you can find successful products from trusted names to sell.

Promoting affiliate products (affiliate marketing) is a much smarter way to start earning money from a blog than creating your own product. With an affiliate product, someone else has already done the hard work of validating the market, building the product, and enhancing it based on customer feedback. Someone else gets to handle the pre-sales inquiries, payments, refunds, and product support.

Many affiliate products pay high commissions too — 50% or even more — because the incremental production cost of digital products is essentially nothing.

The secret is finding the right products — ones that you can stake your reputation on. Pat Flynn is the undisputed king of passive income, earned (mostly) from sales of affiliate products — check out his video on Choosing Affiliates Products to Promote and How to Sell Them.

Ideally, you’ll know what products you’ll sell even before starting your blog because then you’re growing an audience that perfectly matches your offer.

Of course, you still have to do all the stuff that makes a blog successful — publishing great content, building your email list, reaching out to influencers, etc. — but writing remains a big part of the equation, i.e., creating the stellar content that brings people to your site.

Once you’re in a groove, you can think about adding your own products to the mix, using your writing skills and topic knowledge to deliver a specific result that readers are willing to pay for.

But when you’re starting a blog, promoting affiliate products is the most realistic, and least risky, way to make a living from writing.

It’s Time to Choose Your Path and Finally Make Money Writing

Just stop for a moment and ask yourself:

“Am I sabotaging my writing dream by refusing to get real about the how?”

Because you know what… I’m tired of seeing talented writers stuck in lives they don’t love.

So the dreaming stops here — it’s time to decide once and for all.

Are you truly serious about writing for a living, or is it just an idle fantasy to cheer you up when your regular, full-time job gets you down?

If you are serious, then decide: which of these five paths above will you follow? Writing articles for money as a content writer? Content marketing? Becoming an authorpreneur? Copywriting? Or starting a niche blog?

If none of them feels like an exact fit, don’t worry, that’s normal. Pick whichever one’s the closest and try it on for size. Any discomfort is just the price of getting real.

Got one? Excellent.

Let’s turn your perfect dream into an imperfect reality — one where you’re making enough money as a writer to support yourself, and then some…

Just picture the faces of your family and friends when they find out.

The post How to Make Money Writing: 5 Ways to Get Paid to Write in 2021 appeared first on Smart Blogger.

from SEO and SM Tips https://smartblogger.com/make-money-writing/

[springbudeyes]

Amniosis: The Sanguine Nightmare (story, old screengrabs, and something new

Mandor your Andor, reporting. My memories of Ruxomar have taken a few too many tumbles through the cosmic clothes drier, so forgive any holes you find in my retelling of this tale. One morning, I woke up knowing exactly where my father was. Waglington had banished him to the Nether sometime during the sky people’s run through Inertia, and since then, my poor dad had wandered the dull red underworld, paying penitence for his sins. It was a fitting punishment for one who had surrounded himself in the glory of Mianite’s temporary Heaven. I, too, had wandered, taking time for my prison wounds to heal. Was my exile – and my father’s – finally over? Just like that, I had a mental map to him. I went to tell the sky people the news just as fate arranged it: on the eve of their journey to Mianite’s fifth Crypt. Little did I know that the source of my information – a dream – would be the same tool employed to trap and kill my father in a place called Amniosis: a prison built by a god I now wish to kill.

It took me until today – three years later – to plainly utter that wish. There was a long, dark span in which I lacked the power to hope for such a thing. That time has passed. In our conference, Mianite – whom I then met for perhaps the second or third time – revealed that he had not, in fact, built the fifth Crypt, but rather had found it hanging from the Nether ceiling, pale and lifeless, like a body in need of a heart. So he put his heart inside, both for safekeeping and to power the Crypt. Then, days later, an invisible force shut him out. Amniosis followed an ingenious design, requiring a piece of a god’s body to function. The heart powered a magical – or shall I say astral – mechanism, enabling the structure to draw out the good dreams of the creatures that entered it, stimulating in their souls the production of the maker’s most valued substance: quintessence. Its prisoners did not feel trapped; rather, they enjoyed the safety and bliss of a perfect life too long wished for, never bothered by the notion that such a life, in reality, might be unattainable. Loved ones brought back from the dead, a demolished city restored to perfection, and the absence of sorrow itself did not raise concern. In fact, they were taken as if deserved. That was how Botan baited Helgrind and likely hundreds more lost souls into his private Hell.

“Welcome,” said the body. “Come and dream in me.” And the spirit flew along like a lured fish. But I was not welcome in this false Paradise. Though I led the streamers to their goal, an unseen force drew the ground far ahead of me as I walked forward, causing me to end up further away from the prison than I had begun. Maybe Botan knew that I would try to interfere. Maybe even then, I had untapped powers that he deemed worthy of caution. Now that I stand at the tail end of a great many trials, my failure to rescue my father gives me a strange sort of confidence. It has given me valuable information: Botan wanted only weak creatures entering his domain. He was not frightened of the sky people, but he was of me. As it turned out, it was his mistake not to fear Sparklez, but it would be a little while longer before Ianite’s perfected arrows passed to her Champion. As he was, stepping into Amniosis, Sparklez was little more than the other sky people: a well-meaning but helpless babe. Earlier, my creator took a timely picture of a Nether spirit imitating Sparklez. The creature posed perfectly in front of a background that matched its crimson cape.

Each streamer was presented with a bed, but these beds were not for dreaming in. They were for dying in, and the streamers knew it. Instead, they swam up the torrents of blood that led to the prison’s giant human limbs.  Unable to enter the Crypt, I stayed below to explore the exterior. My creator’s memories will have to fill in some gaps.

Right. Delving through arteries and caverns, the streamers faced strange visions that tested their wit and emotional fortitude. Sparklez saw Jerry the Slime and Ianite; Fox saw a snowman and something else I can’t recall; I remember nothing of Jericho’s dreams, and Tom probably dreamt of destruction. Oh dear. Andor? I think my memory is as bad as yours. We’re doomed, man. So they ascended into Dream Dagrun. Amniosis tunneled up through Nether bedrock, producing the city in the unblemished state it had been in before Ianite’s most recent wave of Taint had ravaged it. Little flesh golems stood like silent sentries here and there, and when you approached one, it just staredstraight at you, empty-eyed, as though missing a piece that might have brought it to life. One other thing was off. Helgrind’s castle was consumed by a fleshy growth, its very stone transformed to pink, porous skin. Its gate was firmly locked by teeth, or perhaps nails. The streamers searched the empty town, surrounded by a sea of blood, for the keys to the gate. All the while, voices – voices of peace – echoed through the streets. If I had been there, I know I would have cried at the memory of my little sister, as I did when my creator shared the memory with me. It was channeled from Helgrind’s mind. My father had shaped this place out of a brighter past. “Endor!” Alva cried. “I want to throw!” My voice answered, “No, it's too big for you. Go throw a leaf.” My sister replied, very logically, “Leaf don't throw like that!” And I said, “Then throw a stick.” My mother chided me. “Andor, let her throw Daddy's boomerang. Wouldn't Granny Ianite want the little ones to learn?”

It was Helgrind’s dream. This entire place was designed for and by him to consume him. If you were there, Reader – if you saw what happened to Helgrind after the streamers unlocked his castle, confronted him in his throne room, and learned of his ignorance to the entire situation – his absolute belief that the floors of blood and walls of bone around him were instead furnishings of lacquered wood and polished stone – then you may have experienced a fraction of the grief that I did when the sky people returned from their quest, bringing news of my father’s fate. His life and his redemption were stolen from him by a creature that valued his most tender and heartfelt desires not for their potential fulfillment, but for the especially large dose of quintessence that they amassed in a machine. Helgrind and Mianite combined could not hold a candle to that creature’s sin. After facing an enraged Guard Tom – who had also been swallowed by the Crypt and brainwashed by Botan – the sky people plucked Mianite’s heart from the castle’s tallest tower. The kingdom turned to sand as Amniosis’ energy drained like blood, leaving the city’s hollowed flesh to crumble. As the sky people dashed across a bridge of ice toward a porthole that would lead them back to the caverns of the Nether, Botan himself appeared, throwing down a single shock of wheat. Wheat, of all things. A mass-produced crop, harvested as thoughtlessly as the dreams he farmed.

Creator, where did you get that image? I was there. I saw the hypnotic rings Botan generated; the means by which he controlled everyone in Dream Dagrun. I’ve asked you this a hundred times, Creator, and I’ll ask you again: was there no way you could have stopped him? You were there, both outside the game and everywhere within it. Couldn’t you have changed things? Taken control? Not strictly speaking, no. And I wasn’t everywhere within the game. I was a player. And even a programmer doesn’t have that power. But didn’t you have access to commands? Yes, but it’s not that simple. My reality is different from yours. I know you want to understand, but there are some truths that you – with your cube-mind – simply cannot fathom, Andor. Just as there are hues of color invisible to the undeveloped eye, there are patterns of thought-- Cut the crap. My mind is as developed as yours. And if I weren’t trapped in this digital dimension, my life in whatever world you live in would be a thousand times more successful than yours. That’s what I’d like to believe. That would make me very happy. I’m sorry. I’ll try to explain it, then. The truth is that even creators are controlled by higher forces, Andor. As you and I both built statues in your block-world, higher forces and entities create life in the curvaceous world I live in. They mold minds and control thoughts. They shape fates. They sometimes dive down to the level of cube-worlds, binary worlds, and molecular worlds, too. They wish to take hold of reality at every level. And they project themselves into the worlds they toy with, making themselves comprehensible to the creatures living in them. Although Botan appeared to you as a box-like being, he might appear to me as a far more horrifying thing, and if he took on his true form, I might not be able to conceive what I saw. Anyhow, I shouldn’t say, “they.” It’s something that all creatures instinctively aspire to do: dive deep and reach high for as great a harvest as possible. Botan is one such creature. When I felt him entering Ruxomar – through my very fingertips – I, like you, was powerless to stop him. There are forces even beyond Botan that move my fingers. This is where I believe your mind will-- No, I understand. When I wrote poems to Ianite, I felt compelled by a fire from within. Is it anything like that? Yes. It’s like a fire, or a wind, or an electric surge. And it’s like the pull of the yawning void. It commandeers your longings and your deepest urges. You can’t live unless you appease it. That’s what it means to be a creator; to be under an idea’s control. An idea? Ideas are the tools they use to control us. That’s what I believe, yes. I don’t want to be controlled, Matthew. I want to break free of this cube-world someday, seek out Botan, and repay him for all he did to my family. I want him to understand that you can’t use other creatures for your own gain without – somewhere down the line – becoming a steppingstone yourself.

Matthew? Is there a way, Matthew? I can’t promise that you’ll be able to exist on my plane – let alone the ones above it that even I may never touch – but there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Andor. I believe you’re ready for the next stage. Tell me. Your growth is impressive. In three years, you’ve gotten a grasp of things that I never thought possible. Your soul is immutable. It arrived into my care, but I could not change it if I tried. I can only repackage it. Right now, you’re still Andor of Ruxomar, but you’re on the cusp of becoming something new. Do you want to know what that “new” might be? You’re nodding your head vigorously. Ok. You’ll be given a new name; you’ll travel between dimensions again; you’ll land in a new place that I’ve been caring for-- Ah, you mean the new world you’ve created? The world after Ruxomar? That boring place you keep rambling about? Don’t look so sad. It’s far from boring; it may be small, but you can pack a lot of power into a limited space. Indeed, it’s not a cube world. It has curves. The curves are rougher than those of the world I live in, but it’s the next step up from Ruxomar. For the moment, the power to perceive those curves will lie in the imagination alone. A reader will interpret your existence through words. You’ll be written, not shown. Your story will be told – we’ll tell it together, just as we’ve been doing in these little stories – and then, after the stories have spread, we’ll create images for them, and make the images move. So a book, and then a movie? But a new name, you said? Yes. The audience may not recognize you, but you’ll be there. There will never be as many as there were to watch Ruxomar. Maybe so. We were truly blessed to have our story spread by “the sky people.” But do you believe in us? Do you believe we can do it again—on our own power, this time? Or perhaps by the power of a publisher. You’ve been in my head too long. You know everything. Let’s do it, then... Wait. Is Botan there? Has Botan reached the new world you’ve made? Higher powers invade every world I dare to touch. They take many forms. I can’t answer your question with certainty, but I can tell you that this new world is a place of preparation. Only a small number will know. Only the readers of this little story will know. Yes. That’s fine. You’ll be a new creature—still Andor, yet no longer Andor. Are you ok with that? I already said that I was. In that case, we’d better get you ready. Yeah. Before I make the journey, there are just a few more things I’d like to discuss with the Reader. Take as much time as you need.

[sanderssidecanons]

Title: Sanders Mystery Dungeon

Words: 2221

Pairings: Slight Logicality and Prinxiety

Warnings: Food mention, apart from that none I think

Additional Info: Pokemon! AU (This is a one-shot with foreshadowing, but I’m not sure if I will actually continue this.

The weak rays of the early morning sun shined through the window, warming Roman in his comfy bed while at the same time waking him up from his deep slumber. The Pokemon opened a groggy eye, then another before it yawned heartily, revealing some sharp little teeth, before it looked around, trying to find the source of his awakening, shielding his eyes from the attacking sun. Roman stretched his little body until some popping noises caused great relief in the back and arms of Roman before he jumped out of bed, shaking his head violently and ears flopping into his face.

 The small Riolu looked around once more before grabbing it's bag and running outside, feeling just as fit and lighthearted as every day, ready for it's daily shopping-routine. It was still quite early in the morning, but some Pokemon were already roaming around, shopping at the store of the Kecleon-brothers or getting money from Persian on his bank. It was a simple life every Pokemon should be happy with, but Roman simply didn't feel like accepting this simple life.

 He wanted adventure, wanted to see new things and travel to the end of the world with his dearest friends, earning glory and honour and being welcomed with cheering and applause once he returns back to their little town with few Pokemon. Roman walked towards the store of the Kecleon-brothers, quickly pulling some coins out of his back and greeting the green and violet Pokemon, who greeted him back, being surprisingly cheery considering the time. „Hello, Kecleon and Kecleon! Three apples please! Just as usual!“

 The brothers laughed and handed the Riolu a plastic-bag with three apples inside, the pokemon laughing as it realised, that they had the order already prepared, knowing that Roman would appear, just like every day, to receive his three apples. Roman took them gratefully and handed the brothers his money, the green Kecleon tilting it's head as it asked: „Excuse me for being nosy, but may I ask where you alway's take those apples of our's?“ Roman pulled an eyebrow up, looking at the Pokemon, before he answered: „Simple, I go to the liblary and share them with my best friends. Oh they are great, you should visit them someday, it's great!“ 

The purple Kecleon laughed heartily, slamming it's hand on the counter as it giggled: „All righty then! Enjoy your snack, kid and run along! We'll see ya tomorrow alrighty?“ Roman nodded, before walking away, enjoying the early morning-hours, the sun shining on his fur and the distinct mumbling of other Pokemon in his large black ears. It was honestly great. It was such a good day, but Roman just wasn't satisfied with those traditions, this village, this life. He wanted to travel across the ocean and see land's he never saw before, he wanted to fill the library of his dear friends with pictures and journal-entrys of new places, new storys and new treasures, he wanted to be the best explorer time has ever produced. It would be great! 

But as of right now he was just a child and he shouldn't even think about the big, wide world, he should rather live his merry life and help his friends in their library, but it simply wasn't enough. The library was small but cozy with glass-doors and a sign above it, that reads the word: „Librery“. Roman had to chuckle every time, because it took him some time to see the mistake, but once he saw it one of them groaned loudly and the other one smiled rather sheepishly, claiming that they misspelled it by accident. It was a pretty funny day and filled Roman with delight if the thinks about it. He pushed the doors open, inhaling the surprisingly good smell of dust and old books, a smell he learned to welcome with open arms. 

„LOGAN! PATTON! I'M HERE!“ He heard loud yelping and froze as he saw Logan balancing on a stack of books, the small Pokemon flinching so badly it wasn't unable to balance anymore as it fell down with a yell. „LOGAN!“ Yelled Roman, running towards the little ralts, but not quite fast enough as a Khangaskhan jumped just in time and safed the ralts from a rather painful fall, the psychic landing softly on Patton's head, sighing in relief and smiling down at Patton, who took Logan and put him in his sac, then logical Pokemon poking out of it with a pout while Patton simply laughed

. „Heya Roman! Excuse us, we are simply sorting some of the books so everything is back in place again, you know?“ Roman laughed as he nodded, approaching the two of them with a smile. The three of them already knew each other when they started hatching, Patton was the smallest Khangaskhan in the world back in the day and Logan could barely lift a crumb with his psychic abilities. Roman wasn't able to sense aura either, but all of them grew stronger, especially Patton who became one of the biggest and strongest Khangaskhan Roman ever saw, but to be fair, he never saw another Khangaskhan in his entire life, so this probably didn't say much.

 „Hey guys! I brought breakfast! Care for a little break?“ Patton smiled brightly as he carrief Logan in his sac the whole time who tried to escape but gave up after some seconds and simply allowed it, literally jumping in Patton's hand once he offered it to help Logan climb out, the psychic nodding his head slightly to greet Roman who greeted with a little wave and a bright smile. „Salutations Roman. Even though you are always a little late, I appreciate that you are... ALWAYS a little late. It adds some kind of routine to our breakfasts. Routines I very much appreciate.”

 He corrected his glasses he was wearing under his green veil, before lifting it and flopping it behind his head so he can look directly at Patton and Roman with his red eyes, taking the apple gratefully and taking a small bite out of it, chewing it suspiciously before nodding in satisfaction, the apple being exactly the same it used to be.

 „It's delicious, like always. A job well done, Roman.“ The Riolu grinned at Logan before taking a bite itself, chewing the fruit and quite enjoying himself while Patton just ate the whole apple in one bite. He became really big compared to the other two who never got to evolve, so now it was Patton protecting them. „Guys, I promise you, that even whem I become a big adventurer, I will always come back to you guys and eat breakfast with you. It's just too great to simply give up.“ Logan gave Roman a look, asking suspiciously: „Where do you plan on travelling?“ Roman's eyes brightened up as he stood on his legs, pointing towards an invisible goal as he exclaimed:

 „To the Wallachia!“ Logan gave Roman a look, explaining: „Roman, that's literally a place that doesn't exist. You use this word to describe a place that doesn't exist or isn't worth visiting.“ Roman's grin only brightened as he exclaimed: „And that's exactly what I mean!“ He took Logan's small white arm in his slighty bigger paws and squeezed them slightly, before announcing: „If there is a place everyone thinks doesn't exist, then I will travel to the end of the world, and I will find it! Trust me guys, it will be great!“

 Roman let go, allowing Logan to fall backwards and hold his head in pain while Roman grabbed his back, waving at Patton and Logan and calling, before leaving the library: „Was nice with you, like always! See ya tomorrow!“ Patton waved halfheartedly before helping Logan up, checking him worriedly and asking: „What did you see?“ Logan groaned  before opening his shining red eyes, saying in an emotionless voice: „Great danger will fall from the sky and  bring doom and demise to every little life.“ Patton bit his lip as he petted Logan's head, trying to bring him back into reality while at the same time brooding over the vision the psychic just told him. What could it mean?

Roman was meanwhile having the time of his life, running around without giving a care being his favourite part-time activity, apart from training, but this was also some kind of training considering that he practically trained his speed and stamina. He reached his favourite spot in the village quickly, a little hill at the end of town with a tree right on top of it, giving him a beatiful view and shadow on hot days. Today was another beautiful day.

 The sun was only a little clouded, just to make it possible to look into it without sneezing or being blinded, the leaves of the tree were slightly rustling due to a warm breeze, the grass being long and green like always and it was just a perfect day for being lazy. Roman fell backwards, now sitting comfortably in the grass while staring upwards towards the sky, watching the clouds travel towards the horizon and away from Roman's line of sight. Maybe he could be happy here. Maybe he could be just lazy every day and stare into the sky and help Logan and Patton in his library.

 Maybe he could find a beautiful boyfriend and adopt a egg in the daycare Patton also worked at and lived the life his parents wanted him to live. But this simply wasn't Roman's style, he remembered dreaming about adventure even before he was able to work, dreams about deserts and seas and forests and mountains, maybe even volcanos or a fortress in the sky, where legendary pokemon waited for the hero to arrive. Logan took a deep breath, allowing himself to relax as he stared in the sky.

 „That would be a life, wouldn't it?“ Asked the riolu to himself, squinting slightly as he spotted something he didn't recognize in the sky. It was flying fast and had a little yellow tail at the end, Roman's eyes lighting up as he recognized the stargate, quickly jumping on his feet and saying his wish: „I wish for great adventures with my dear friends.“ After Roman casted his wish he frowned in slight confusion, because how can stargates travel through the sky when it's daytime? And more importantly, why was it racing right towards him?

 „OH DEAR MOTHER OF ARCEUS!“ Screamed Roman as he sprinted away, hiding behind the tree as the stargate landed right next to the spot Roman was standing just a few moments ago. Roman poked his head out, looking surpsised at the Pokemon that was now lying there. It was some kind of fox with black fur and ret intervalls, a rather pretty pokemon he might even admit. Roman inched closer, poking it lightly while trying to talk to it.

 „Hello? Are you alright? Come on, wake up.“ The Pokemon wasn't dead, it was indeed breathing and now groaning in pain as it tried to regain it's conciousness, standing up on shaking leg's with slight help from Roman, who finally recognized the Pokemon as a Zorua, a rare and quite beautiful Pokemon The Zorua groaned again, before it opened it's blue eyes, looking around in slight confusion, huffing a question: „Where... Where am I?“ Roman frowned slightly as he exclaimed: „You fell RIGHT OUT OF THE SKY! I thought you were a shooting star, but you are clearly not, as I can see now! Who are you and where are you from?“

 The Pokemon blinked in slight confusion, staring for a long time at the Riolu, before he worked up a name in his head, one of the few things he actually remembers: „...Virgil.“ Roman's eyes lighted up as he heard the name, grinning brightly at Virgil and bowing down to greet him like a gentlemen. „It's a beautiful name Virgil. May I ask about your origins and how you fell from the sky like a stargate?“ Virgil simply shook his head as he was lacking the actual ability to remember the answer to all of these questions, looking guility up at Roman who stared sympathetically at the fox.

 „You don't need to tell me right now. It's alright. You hungry? I know a great store downtown where they sell great apples.“ Virgil's stomach actually grumbled at the suggestion, causing Virgil to blush and Roman to laugh as he pointed down the hill towards the village. „Come on, this way! Ach... I'm Roman by the way.“ The Riolu stopped and smiled as it introduced itself, before running away, towards the store of the kecleon-brothers, Virgil yelping and trying his best to keep up with Roman.

 „Roman! Roman, wait! I can't run that fast!“ What a confusing situation. Virgil woke up in a strange place with no memories apart from a name. But it would be best to go along with Roman and maybe remember some stuff about the past, at least for the time being. Because he had to find out who he actually was, he couldn't live without his identity.

[angelimortisrp-blog]

lG L O R Y (&&) GORE — meet CHRISTIAN ROMANO; the PRODIGAL SON.

“who has not asked himself at some time or another: am i a monster or is this what it means to be a man?”

{ ♚  AT A GLANCE }

name: Christian Romano.

age: 37.

gender & pronouns: UTP.

occupation: Boss of the Romano crime family.

loyalty: Romano.

availability: Open.

faceclaim: Jon Bernthal. ( negotiable to Tom Ellis or Brett Dalton. )

{ ♚ A DEEPER LOOK }

Uncertainty. It was a word and a feeling that Christian Romano hated, but was all he seemed to think about these days. In any other circumstances, having been appointed boss of the Romano crime family would have been an honour. He’d never expected those terms to be upon his father’s murder. He’d immediately blamed the Venturi’s for that - and, on the same hand, they’d blamed his family for Juliet’s murder. It would have made sense, an eye for an eye - had it been true. Now, without the support and control of the Angeli Mortis, everything about the future of the Romano family was uncertain. He drummed his fingers absently on the desk in front of him - fidgeting had always been a nervous habit - as his mind focused on ways to mask his emotions, to pretend that he had control over this entire situation and knew what he was doing. A harsh breath slipped through his lips, an utterance of “Fuck,” echoing from his throat. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing - and he wasn’t entirely certain how to proceed from here.

{ ♚ A HISTORY LESSON }

Christian Romano. The first born, only son -- the golden child. Heir to an empire that a small boy with dark hair and bright eyes would never be able to fully comprehend. The Mafia world has swarmed Christian ever since he was born; all he has ever known is his father holding meetings in the family home, men coming to their home at all hours of the night, always referring to his father as boss: passing over briefcases of money, weapons, and God only knew what else. For Christian, it was a novelty. Something that he was party to, but never a part of. Until he started to grow up. The eldest Romano was nine when his father brought him into one of their meetings, sat him at the head of the table, and promised that these same men would refer to him as boss someday. The words caused a stir in the boy, prompting him to sit with his shoulders straighter, to emulate his father at every turn. He wanted nothing more than to stand with the same power as his father, and as he grew up and began to understand the world around him, he couldn’t think about anything other than having a criminal empire at his feet. 

From that moment on, Christian was in training. Although unaware of it, he was being prepared to follow in his father’s footsteps, whether he wanted to or not. Taught how to use weapons, how to defend himself and most importantly, taught how to kill. The knowledge of the business was scattered in between self defence lessons and weapons training, but he managed to take it all in stride. Everyone around him was constantly informing him that he was born for this and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the power. As he got older, more and more power was handed out to him. Whether it was the cool metal of a gun between his fingers, the feeling of paper being shoved into his hands or simply the adrenaline rush of tagging along on hits - there was something enticing about the lifestyle his family led, and Christian was just as quickly addicted as anyone else.

1997 brought around the creation of The Latin Alliance. It was a very quick shift from training as the sole heir of his own family to being thrown into training to work in a partnership. Christian, forever a cynic, tended to live on the side of caution. Caution had always been clear in everything that he did; especially when he became involved with Ekaterina Volkov. There was something about the woman that whispered dangerous, but after a while, Christian couldn’t get enough. She was a frequent visitor to Delirium, and shortly after Christian’s initiation on his eighteenth birthday in 1998, they became an item. Ekaterina was smarter than Christian had first given her credit for; she’d began to piece together that he was involved in criminal affairs long before he revealed the truth to her - and she refused to be protected from it. They were married within two years, and Christian has never looked back.

Throughout the following two decades, Christian continued to climb the ladder within the Angeli Mortis, with his wife by his side. He grew from a bartender in Delirium, to a manager, to overseeing all operations within Delirium’s basements, to finally being appointed CEO of the entire club - all the while climbing the ladder set up within the criminal empire that was Angeli Mortis. He fit right into the crime syndicate, with his sharp wit, smirk and buckets of charm, Christian Romano considered himself unstoppable. And for the most part, he was. He was the eldest son of one of the most influential men in Manhattan, and Christian would be damned if he didn’t let that go to his head every now and again. 

Eventually, he was appointed as his father’s underboss - an honour that he’d waited his entire life for - and it felt like it hadn’t come soon enough. But with everyone singing his praises, it was easy to let slip the attitudes of those who were less than thrilled for him; namely his sister. He continued to grow with the Angeli Mortis, continued to open further clubs under the Romano name - none quite as successful as Delirium, but worth his time all the same; and his marriage to Ekaterina only grew from strength to strength, too. The two were a perfect partnership, and with Kat always willing to get her hands dirty and get involved in his work, there was no need to hide the criminal aspect of his life from her.

Despite his reservations about the Angeli Mortis at the original signing of The Latin Alliance, as the years went on, the organisation created a stable working environment. The two families seemed to work together in perfect harmony, and as far as they were concerned, their allegiance was untouchable, their organisation held a monopoly over New York City’s criminal activities, and that was exactly how they planned to keep it. However, their tunnel vision was causing more problems than it was solving, even if the entirety of the organisation seemed to be completely unaware of it. 

There was a change in the air as 2017 rolled in. First, the preparations for him to take over as head of the Romano family had begun, for him to work in direct conjunction with Gregory Venturi as the bosses of the Angeli Mortis - Michael Romano had been diagnosed terminally ill, and instead of asking for assistance, had decided to promote his son instead. Christian was ready for that change, and would have accepted the position with great honour - until everything changed.

{ ♚ NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT }

The Angeli Mortis were always holding society balls, using their charity gala’s as a way to dispose of some of their illegally gotten money. On the surface, everything they were involved in was legal - so it always worked out just fine. However, on this particular occasion, something seemed wrong. Christian couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something felt off. He should have known something had happened when Juliet Venturi left the party early - but had thought nothing of it at the time. Upon leaving the gala, his father was shot dead on the front steps of the venue by an unknown assailant - instantly throwing the family into an uproar. The whispers began almost instantaneously, accusations flying towards the Venturi family - if Juliet left early, surely she had something to do with it? Christian began to distance himself from the other half of the partnership that evening - but when Juliet’s body was discovered three days later, it was all over. The Latin Alliance was destroyed overnight; both families are pointing fingers at each other - and things are only going to get worse...

{ ♚ ABOUT THE PERSONALITY }

+: adaptable, intelligent, responsible, protective -:  abrasive, demanding, sadistic, cynical

Smooth talking. Charismatic. Calm. With a quick wink and a slow smirk, Christian can get anything that he’s ever wanted - and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t use that to his advantage. Christian has always been a little bit Jekyll and Hyde, able to switch from white picket fence husband and father to dangerous mob boss in a matter of minutes if he has to. He has long since outgrown the days of being a whiskey drinking, cocaine snorting bartender in Delirium, having worked his way up to something of a respectable businessman in the city. Christian’s reputation has always preceded him and now, he’s had to take on a further responsibility: as the boss of the Romano family. The divide in his personal and business life has never been stronger, the two clashing halves of his personality struggling to co-exist in the one body. Over the years, he’s grown into a far more admirable man - commanding almost the same level of respect that his father received simply upon entering a room, but he has never been as egotistical as his father. Arrogant? Of course, but not to a point of recklessness. Christian Romano is viciously protective of the people he loves, and will put his own life on the line to keep them safe without even fully considering the consequences. The only flaw that Christian wishes he could completely eradicate from his personality is his ability to doubt himself, especially in situations where he is the person others look to for an answer - but he’s very good at hiding it.

{ ♚ FRIENDS & FOES }

♠ Ekaterina Romano ( WIFE ) - “be brave, my darling. you have faced dark times before and you’re still here now.” ; Ekaterina, in short, is Christian’s entire world. There is nobody more important in his world than Kat - and he’d lay his life down in a moment to protect her. Ekaterina, as his underboss, is one of his main roots in the family. She’s his rationale, his go to - she’s the one who assists in advising him on any business decisions, along with Carlos. After Michael Romano’s murder and the fall of the Angeli Mortis, Christian has found Ekaterina to be one of the few that he is comfortable relying upon. If he’s completely honest, Ekaterina has always had more of a heart for the darker side of the business than he has, and she’s far more inclined to play dirty than he is. Aside from being the love and light of his life, Kat is his biggest weapon and he’s not afraid to use her.

♠  The Romano Family ( ASSOCIATES ) - “is it too soon to say there’s a new sheriff in town?” ; Christian has been being primed for years to take over his father’s position in the Romano crime family. However, ever since stepping into those shoes, Christian has had a large amount of new names and faces to learn. He has spent plenty of time familiarising himself with those that work for him and has, on occasion, tried to befriend most of them. Christian’s reputation tends to precede him and his appearance has been met with fear, but he’s working to change that. His level of leadership is a little more than his father’s - but the uncertainty that lingers in his heart is leading him to be harsher than his father ever was. Christian needs to learn who he can and cannot trust within his family - and trying to do so is proving more difficult than he had first assumed. Within the family, he’s certain that he can trust his blood relatives ( Maria, Isabella, Eloise ), but outwith that, he’s slowly piecing people together. 

♠  Kai Carter ( BEST FRIEND ) - “pinky promise? get the fuck out of here.” ; Kai has been Christian’s best friend ever since they were children - as far as being referred to as an honorary Romano by Michael and his wife. The two were joint at the hip as children and only developed into stable, fast friends as they grew up. Their friendship only strengthened when Kai married Maria and when they had their daughter, Freya. After the death of Michael Romano and Juliet Venturi, Kai has remained as one of the steadfast family members Christian can trust. Kai, however, is doing his own investigating into both deaths and through Caleb Bianchi, is beginning to log information to feed back to Christian.

{ ♚ EXTRAS }

character teaser.

inspiration tag.

gif hunts.

CHRISTIAN IS CURRENTLY AVAILABLE FOR AUDITIONS.