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astraystayyh · 1 year

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Conversations with Hyunjin

or what i imagine dating Hyunjin would be like (kind of went overboard because i love this man).

warnings: reader feels insecure when hyunjin looks at them for too long. a little suggestive in the end. hyunjin is dramatic but we love him 🫶

if you enjoy please reblog or leave a comment,, means the world to me <3

Minho's version.

"Look a bit to the left... Perfect", Hyunjin gently grips your jaw, his paint-stained fingers slightly moving your head to the side. You were in Hyunjin's little art studio, and he was halfway through sketching a portrait of you.

He didn't explain why he suddenly wanted to draw one, but his multiple kisses on your face the night before were enough to convince you.

But now that you were sitting on this chair and he's been looking at you for the past half an hour, you can't help but feel self-conscious. He was intently staring at you- you wondered if he started to notice all the imperfections on your face.

Hyunjin's brush strokes falter when he realizes that you are fidgeting with your fingers. He tries to hold your gaze, but you avoid it each time, a tight smile drawn on your lips. You scratch your throat, once, twice, and he steps away from the canvas.

"Angel," he smiles when he's right before you. He doesn't have to look down to grab your hands- they find each other instinctively. "What's wrong?".

"Nothing," you attempt to smile, but your voice is strangled, and Hyunjin feels his heart drop in his chest.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?". His voice is quiet, a stark contrast to his excited demeanor when he just started painting you.

"No! No, baby. Never", you reassure, squeezing his hand tightly. "It's just... I feel like the more you stare at me, the more you'll notice my imperfections".

"What imperfections?" he questions seriously, his head tilted to the side as if the thought of you having a flaw was inconceivable.

"I don't know... I just don't like it when people stare at me a lot, I guess".

"My love, you are the most beautiful person I've ever seen," Hyunjin leans down, leveling his eyes with yours. He needed you to know how serious he was.

"You are only saying this because you love me," you smile, and he shakes his head no vehemently. "The first time I saw you, I squeezed Jisung's arm so bad I almost broke it."

You've lost count of how many times you've heard this story. Each time you hang out with the boys, Han has to remind Hyunjin that he was starstruck when he saw you. But it still made you feel warm inside- like a blanket tightly wrapped around you.

"You looked so beautiful, and you also had this alluring aura surrounding you. I wanted to talk to you as soon as I laid my eyes on you", he pecks your nose, and you scrunch it up in response.

"And I'm glad I did because not only you're the prettiest human alive," he leans away, his hands gesturing up and down in reverence, "but your soul is the most beautiful thing about you."

"Now," he gently flicks your forehead, and you laugh, "no more talk about imperfections."

"Yes, sir!" you giggle, and he smiles softly at you. "You know what? Let's leave the portrait for another day. Come sit with me while I draw?"

"You know I can't say no to that."

And so for the next hour, Hyunjin paints your favorite flowers with you curled up in his lap. You don't talk much as he draws, but his minty breath tickles your neck from time to time and you haven't felt this content in a while.

°°°°°°°°°°

"Babyyy, what's wrong?" you lean into Hyunjin's side, who was seemingly ignoring you. You've just returned from running some errands to find Hyunjin sulking on the bed.

"Nothing," he huffs, turning his head away from you.

"Then why aren't you kissing me?" you whine, and he steals a glance at you.

"Because you didn't kiss me first."

"What are you talking about?" you chuckle, making him sulk even more.

"In the morning, you didn't kiss me," he grumbles, and you internally melt at his antics. Sometimes Hyunjin made you feel as if he needed your kisses to breathe.

"I did, you were asleep, but I kissed your cheek."

"Well, I didn't feel it."

"Yeah, because you were asleep, dummy," you giggle, and he finally looks at you, his tongue poking slightly against his cheek. He knows he's been ridiculous but it was too late to back out now.

"Well, then you should've woken me up!"

"I will next time", you smile at him, and he brightens up, "You promise?"

"Pinky promise". You lace your pinky with his, and you both kiss your thumbs, stamping them together.

"Now come here" You open your arms wide, and he sinks into them. His mouth falls perfectly on top of your collarbone, and he grazes it gently with his teeth, making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

"Baby?", he calls out a while later.

"Mhm?"

"On second thought, don't wake me up. I probably need the sleep", he says sheepishly, and you giggle, "I know."

°°°°°°°°°°

"Hey, love," Hyunjin leans in to kiss your forehead, snapping you out of your haze.

"Hey," you turn your eyes back to the TV, hugging your knees tighter to your chest. You weren't really watching the movie you put on; you just needed something to take your mind off the weight on your chest.

"Bad day?" he asks, his tone soft, and you nod silently.

Hyunjin kisses your head again, and for a second, the world around you stills and you feel okay. But his lips quickly leave you, and you're left aching for his hold.

"Wait here," he tells you, and you hum in reply; you couldn't move even if you wanted to.

Ten minutes later, Hyunjin comes back to the living room. He pulls you up and leads you to the bathroom. There, you find some candles lit up and rose petals thrown on the ground.

"Let me take care of you," he says as he starts to undress you. You appreciated how he kept his voice barely above a whisper; the bathroom was fit for hushed conversations only.

When you are both bare in front of one another, he pulls you into the bath he filled- your back flush against his chest, and you sigh contently.

Hyunjin pours some gel wash into his hands, then rubs it on your skin, skillfully massaging your tense body. He's so gentle with you- his touch is featherlight, and his mouth leaves a sweet trail of kisses on your back. You feel as if you are floating in space, somewhere where no one can hurt you.

You notice that he used his body wash, not yours; and soon his scent surrounds you until all you could smell is him.

You know that this way, you'll carry Hyunjin with you throughout the night, and onto the following morning when he is no longer there with you.

His scent on your skin will remind you of how he took care of you, how he loved you, how he held you so close to him until you both became one.

°°°°°°°°°°°

"You don't have to stick your nose in the painting to see it", you giggle, and Hyunjin leans away, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

"I'm trying to see the details. Leave me alone", he pokes his tongue out at you, and you retaliate with the same childish gesture, which in turn makes the both of you chuckle.

You lean your cheek against Hyunjin's arm, and you both contemplate the painting in comfortable silence. "I really wanna be poetic, but this just looks like a child's drawing," you finally say, and he laughs loudly, head tipped back- you can't help but stare in awe at how much joy suits him.

"That's what I thought too!" he high-fives you excitedly before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the next painting.

It's one of a Renaissance couple kissing, their hands cradling each other's cheeks closely- as if they can't possibly get enough of each other.

"Now this is beautiful", you sigh, and he pokes your side gently. "Let's recreate it."

"You just want an excuse to kiss me", you wiggle your brows at him, and he holds your jaw, beckoning you closer to him.

"And what about it?" he smiles bashfully before crashing his soft lips on yours.

Hyunjin might be biased, but he thinks that if someone were to capture this moment, it would look much better than the painting behind you two.

°°°°°°°°°

"This bag is so heavy," Hyunjin whines, and you stare at him pointedly, "I told you not to buy all that stuff."

"But they were dumpling-themed toys for dogs! I had to get them for Kkami."

"That dog doesn't even like you," you tease, and Hyunjin screeches loudly, stopping in his tracks. "How dare you!"

As you two continue your bickering, an old couple passes you hand in hand. They are seemingly arguing, but as you near them, you can tell they are just joking- just like you two. The fond way they gazed at each other with was a clear testimony of their love.

You and Hyunjin both turn to look at each other; mouths slightly hang agape. "I just got chills," he whispers, and you nod in agreement, "I think we just saw our future selves."

"I can't believe you'll annoy me even when I'm seventy", he jokes, and you lightly punch his side. But in true Hyunjin fashion, he yelps loudly as if you had hurt him.

"Will you still be this dramatic when we are older?"

"This is the only correct way of living", he declares solemnly, and you laugh heartily. The truth is, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Hyunjin throws his arm over your shoulders, bringing you closer to his side. He presses a quick kiss to your head, and you wrap your arm around his middle, resuming your walk.

"I was always afraid of growing up, but it doesn't seem as daunting with you. Because I know I'll have you with me in the end", he says and you beam at his words.

"I can't wait to meet every version of ourselves."

"I know I'll love you in each."

"Yeah? Even if I annoy you every day?" you smile cheekily, and he pinches your cheek affectionately.

"Even then. You are my last love, yn".

°°°°°°°°°°

"Don't come in!", Hyunjin shouts as soon as you open the door. His arms are open wide like a shield blocking you from stepping forward.

"And why is that...?", you chuckle, slightly pushing him away to pass. He doesn't budge, and you frown.

"Please just go, go, go," he grabs your shoulders, spinning you around until you are facing the door again.

"Hyunjin, what are you hiding?" you ask, amused as you free yourself from his grip. He looks everywhere but at you, and doubt starts to seep inside you.

"Are you... are you with someone?"

"NO! God, no, how could you think that?"

"Well, you are acting suspicious, I don't know!" You throw your hands up in the air defensively, and he sighs.

"Fine, come see."

Hyunjin walks first into the kitchen, and you gasp softly. To say it's a mess would be an understatement. There are pots everywhere, flour on the ground, and some clearly not-edible cookies on the table.

"This is embarrassing" He hides his face between his hands, and you giggle, gently removing them.

"Did you try to bake for me?" you coo, leaning your face into his until your noses brush together.

"Yeah, I know you've been working hard, and I wanted to surprise you. But clearly, I shouldn't have."

You feel your heart clench at the defeated look on his face, so to cheer him up, you grab a cookie from the tray. Its brown color throws you off, but you still take a big bite. You try your hardest not to scrunch your nose because he definitely used salt and not sugar, and oh- that's an eggshell you are chewing right now.

"This is yummy," you force out, and he rolls his eyes at your blatant lies.

"Please spit it out. I don't want you to die from food poisoning."

You oblige eagerly, thankful for the opening, and Hyunjin leans against the counter, gazing sadly at the cookies.

"You are the best boyfriend in the world. You know that?"

He timidly shakes his head no, and you smile softly at him, "You are. Now let's clean this and order pizza. I'm starving."

"You are not mad?"

"Why would I be?"

"The kitchen is a mess."

"Well, it's our mess to clean up., And you doing this for me made me so so happy." You stand on your tiptoes and grab the back of his neck, pulling him downward for a kiss. When he leans away, you smile cheekily at him, and he rolls his eyes at you, "Come on, just say it."

"Leave the cookies to Felix."

"Noted."

°°°°°°°°°°°

"Guess who?" you whisper in Hyunjin's ears as you cover his eyes with your hands.

"An intruder who is oddly romantic?", Hyunjin jokes, and you flick the back of his head playfully, "I hate you."

Hyunjin turns around to grab your arm and drags you across the couch. "You love meee", he singsongs as he makes you stand between his legs.

"Yeah, I do" you giggle as he looks up at you, a huge smile on his face.

He looks so pretty from this angle, you think, his eyes wide and sincere poring into yours. You liked how Hyunjin never hid any of his emotions from you; and right now, you could clearly see the adoration he felt for you painted on his face.

You swipe your thumb affectionately across his cheek, and he leans into your touch, totally unguarded. "So... your birthday is in a month," you grin at him, "but since you'll be busy, I figured I'll give you your gift early on."

"You are my gift," his reply is instant. You once thought phrases like those were cheesy but you quickly realized that Hyunjin means them. He says them so easily because it's the truth for him.

"I think you'll really like this present," you smile excitedly as you pull out an envelope from your back pocket.

"Open it," you urge him, and he does as you say. He takes out two plane tickets and looks up at you, confused.

"What are those?"

"We are going to Paris!"

"We are?"

"Yes! In a week. I've prepared everything! I made all the reservations and a list of all the places we could visit. And I got us an exclusive tour of the exhibition you've been dying to see", you explain happily. You've been planning for this trip for a month now, you wanted it to be perfect for him.

Hyunjin's eyes well up with tears and he bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying. You knew how badly he wanted to go to Paris, and you went to all of these lengths to make him happy.

"Yn... I..." he stammers, and you hold his hands, gently squeezing them into yours. "It's okay, Jinnie. I know."

"No, I need to say it... I..." he pulls you onto his lap and you place your legs on either side of his body. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, and you pat his back gently, giving him a few moments to gather his thoughts.

"The reason why I wanted to draw your portrait is because I wanted you to see yourself how I see you. I wanted to capture you in a way only I can because I'm so in love with you," he pauses and you kiss his temple, overcome by emotion.

"I hoped that decades from now, someone would find those portraits and they will see how perfect you are. This way, you'll live again through my paintings and my love for you."

"Jinnie...." you whisper, at loss for words. Now it was your turn to tear up.

"Can I finish your portrait in Paris?", he clears his throat and you giggle through your tears, "Please."

"We also should get a portrait done of the two of us on the streets. And we'll hang it in the living room."

"Isn't that a bit pretentious?"

"It's our home. Who's picture are we going to frame? Han?"

"I mean he is our biggest supporter...", you trail off and he laughs at your words, "He really is. But I'm your number one fan."

"Prove it", you smirk and he flips you around until you are laying on the couch and he's caging you with his arms- the necklace he bought with your initial on it dangling over you.

"Oh I will."

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(if you want to know how Hyunjin celebrated op's birthday, you can read When I fell in love heheheh)

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drarrily-we-row-along · 2 years

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Day 156: Rhythm

When they came back for their 8th year at Hogwarts, the 8th year students were all assigned to one house, regardless of the house they'd formerly been a part of.

It honestly wasn't as bad as Harry might have imagined, mostly because everyone was simply too tired of fighting. They had all had a hard year and it seemed, for the most part, that everyone just wanted to keep to themselves.

The common room was nice enough; lots of space, comfy couches, a big fire place, bookshelves, and even a little area to store snacks.

And there was an upright piano that sat in the corner of the room. It was very rarely, if ever, used aside from the occasional plunk as a student walked past, but Harry was strangely attracted to it.

There was something about the idea of letting your fingers drift over the keys, about the act of creating something where there had been nothing only a moment prior, that Harry found immensely appealing.

So one night, when all of the other students were in bed, apparently not suffering from nightmares the way he did, Harry sat down at the piano.

It was slow going, but whenever Harry woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't fall back asleep, he'd wander down to the common room and cast a spell at the door to trap the noise in the room with him, and he'd play. Gradually he got better and by a few months in, he was playing things that sounded like music at the very least.

Then, on a very chilly December evening, when Harry was playing through something he'd made up in his head, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice said, "You haven't got the best sense of rhythm, Potter."

He spun around to see that Draco Malfoy had just entered the common room, looking a bit haggard, his face drawn and pale. And the snarky response he'd been about to fire back died on his lips. "Do you play piano?" he asked instead.

"When I was young," Malfoy replied as he headed toward the snack supply and pulled out a cauldron cake.

(Read more below the cut)

"Show me?" he asked.

Malfoy blinked at him, "It's been ages, Potter. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"Come on," he urged, scooching over on the bench to make room. "I promise not to judge you."

The other boy hesitated for just a moment before making his way over and gingerly sitting down next to Harry. His fingers traced over the keys for a moment, lighting on them without making a sound the way a butterfly touches a flower.

After a heartbeat that seemed to last an eternity to Harry, Malfoy started to play, and it was lovely. Harry watched as his fingers drifted over the keys, moving in difference directions, crossing over each other, as they made the most enchanting music.

When he finished, Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, "Wow," he breathed.

He looked over a Malfoy to see a delicate flush spreading across his cheeks and neck. "It's nothing," he said softly.

"Would you teach me?" Harry asked, the curl of desire to learn sparking in the back of his brain.

"Are you serious?" Malfoy asked, looking over at him and meeting his eyes.

"Yeah," Harry said earnestly. "I want to play like that."

Malfoy looked at him long and hard for a moment, "Alright," he agreed.

"Really?"

He nodded, "I'll ask my mother to send me some of the old books I had from when I was learning. For now, let's learn note names," he said.

And without further ado, they dug into learning.

-----------

It became a habit for them, sitting together at night and playing the piano when the nightmares were a bit too close.

At first, they didn't really talk much, Draco just instructed him and helped to develop proper technique.

But at some point, playing piano turned into playing piano together for a while, then sitting on the sofa and playing chess.

Which turned into playing the piano and then just sitting on the sofa and talking.

And by the time Harry realized what was happening, he was already in love with Draco Malfoy.

One night, in late March, when all of the feelings that he kept bound up were banging against his chest to get free, Harry asked, "If you could have one thing, what would it be?"

"Define thing," Draco said as he tucked his cold feet under Harry's thigh and Harry let him because he would accept intimacy in any form with Draco.

"Like if you could have one wish granted," he said, "What would you wish for."

Draco hummed, "For someone to love me," he said after a moment. "I just want someone who wants to walk through life with me," he added. "I'm not an easy person to love and my past has made it harder-"

"I think you're an easy person to love," he blurted.

"Right," he said, rolling his eyes. "Because you've been like programmed to love people. All of that trauma and emotional manipulation-"

"Right," Harry interrupted because the words stung and he didn't really want to hear more about all of the ways that he was broken inside.

"Harry-"

"No, it's fine," he said, shaking his head and warding off whatever words of pity might be coming next. "It's fine. You're right."

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't-"

"It's fine, Draco," he repeated. "Just," he shook his head, "Forget I said anything."

He was quiet for a moment, picking at his cuticles the way he did when his anxiety got to be too much. "What would you say?" he asked. "What's the wish you'd want granted?"

He shrugged, "The same thing."

"But-"

Harry stood up, "I'm tired," he said, "It's making me weird," he raked his fingers through his hair. "I'm just going to go to bed-"

"Harry," Draco said, reaching out for him and clasping his hand.

And something broke inside of him, "Don't," he said, snatching his hand away.

The other boy held up his hands in surrender, "What is the matter with you tonight?"

"Nothing!" he said, turning away again and heading toward the door that led to the boys dorm room.

"Why do you always do this?" Draco asked, the bitterness and hurt in his voice made Harry's heart trip painfully in his chest.

He spun around, "Do what?"

"Dangle friendship over my head and snatch it away!" he shouted. "It's like you realize that you're getting too close so you back out. And it's exhausting."

He shook his head, "Probably all of that trauma," he spat. "I'm just too messed up and broken."

"I didn't say that," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah you did," he said, turning around and heading toward the stairs.

"What happened to you?" Draco asked. "You're supposed to be the brave one aren't you? You could walk straight to your death but you walk away from a simple conversation."

He turned around, "What happened to me?" he asked incredulously. "I fucking died. That's what happened to me."

Draco froze as though he wasn't expecting that answer.

"So, yeah, I feel like I'm entitled to being a little fucked up about that. I feel like I'm entitled to walk away from things that make me wish I'd just stayed dead!"

Draco cracked. He saw the moment when he broke the other boy to pieces and it broke him too.

"Not you," he said quickly, trying to clarify, trying to fix the mess he'd made. "Draco, I didn't mean you."

But it was too late, and Harry wasn't sure what he could say that would fix it. Draco swiped at the tear on his cheek and circled his arm around his waist, looking anywhere but at Harry. "You should go."

"I didn't-"

"Please," he whispered, voice raw, lower lip trembling. "Just go."

He didn't know what else to do, and the thought of staying and trying to fix everything was so overwhelming that he just turned and fled back up the stairs to the room. Harry crawled into bed, cast a muffliato, and he let himself cry until he fell asleep.

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

He didn't see Draco at all the next day in their classes or at meal times, and then he sat and waited at the piano bench for two hours before letting himself believe what he knew to be true, Draco wasn't coming.

So he did the only thing that he could do, he snuck into the dorm room and pulled out the Marauder's Map and searched for Draco. He shouldn't have been surprised when he found his name in Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom, but he really wished he was somewhere else.

Harry slipped on his cloak, even though he knew he wasn't going to get into trouble if someone caught him out past hours, and made his way to Myrtle's bathroom. Before the door had even closed, before he'd said a word or even managed to take his cloak off after entering, he heard Draco sigh.

"You shouldn't have come, Potter."

He took off the cloak and stared at Draco where he was sitting against the sink. He opened his mouth to say something, to apologize but all that came out was, "I love you." Like it was the only thing he knew. And at this point, maybe it was.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, his face that careful blank canvas that it was when he was thinking and feeling too many things at once.

And again, Harry opened his mouth to reply but, "I love you," came out again. Simple. Honest. And somehow, Harry didn't panic; he didn't feel like the world was about to end. On the contrary, he actually felt like everything that had been whipping around in his mind and in his heart just stopped.

"Explain."

He laughed, a soft huff of a chuckle as he sat down on the floor in front of Draco. "I can't," he confessed. "I just love you. I love your wit and your dark sense of humor. I love the way that strand of hair," he said, pointing at the one he was talking about, "falls into your eyes. I love your long, delicate fingers. I love watching you play the piano. I love talking to you. I love that you challenge me and push me. I love that you don't see me as the savior of the world, that I'm just a person. I love your cleverness. I love that you're always cold and that you're such a tactile person. I-"

But what he was about to say was interrupted as Draco lunged forward and kissed him, his cold fingers grasping Harry's neck.

"I hate you," Draco said, when they broke the kiss to gasp in a few deep breaths. "It shouldn't be possible for one person to make me feel such a wide range of emotions in such a short span of time."

"I'm sorry," he said softly, pressing his forehead to Draco's. "I shouldn't have said that yesterday," he murmured.

"I'm sorry, too," Draco murmured. "I shouldn't have kept pushing you. And I shouldn't have taken out my fear of being alone on you."

"Forgiven," he whispered, catching the hem of Draco's shirt in his fist and holding on. "Can you forgive me?"

The other boy nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "No more running, okay?"

He nodded in agreement, "No more running. Not from you," he promised.

And it was a promise he kept until the day he died.

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

Day 155: Bubbles | Day 157: Sectumsempra

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #drarry #drarry drabble #drarry ficlet #drarry fanfic #hogwarts eighth year #dealing with trauma #love confessions #musical instruments

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 3 years

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Quiver (bbh)

Summary: You meet a man who seems to know nearly everything about you, save your name.

As with nearly every Baek fic I write, for @illneverrecover! Although she actually paid me for this one hahaha

Also thank you to my sister for betaing and making my gorgeous banner!

Warnings: angst, violence and death tw, unprotected sex, outdoors sex, oral sex (f. receiving), this is more soft and sad than horny tbh

Word Count: 10,219

Deja vu is something you don't feel very often, and so when it washes over you in a wave that leaves goosebumps on your flesh, you look around.

You're not sure what you're looking for, but you feel that when you find it, you'll know.

Your eyes fall on a man sitting at a table, looking down at a book. His hair is slicked back but with pieces falling into his face, and as if he knows you're staring, he looks up at you.

He has the warmest brown eyes, and something like a shock shoots through your heart. Your feet are moving before you realize it.

"Have we met before?"

He smiles, and your heart flutters.

"Maybe in another life."

His name, it turns out, is Baekhyun, and he works at some investment firm you've never heard of but it doesn't matter because he has the most endearing way of smiling at you while you're speaking to him.

You assume he has money because the car he leads you to is nice, not ridiculously so but expensive to upkeep, a foreign model that's sleek and your favorite color: red.

"Why red?" You ask, sliding into the leather seat of this stranger's car because you just know he's safe, somewhere in you.

He gives you that half smile again, the one that gives you something akin to deja vu.

"Reminds me of someone."

You wonder if you might fuck him on the first date, if coffee even counts as a first date, and it's the first time you've ever done that but when he makes you tea and you lean against his kitchen counter he gives you this look. It's like there's something dark and deep in his brown eyes, something both flirty and almost darkly lustful.

It makes your heart flip. It makes your body tingle. It makes you a little afraid.

But you've never been one to run from fear, especially when it's all wrapped up with excitement and lust.

When you're sitting on his couch and sipping tea he's swiveled his body toward you just slightly, open and inviting, but he doesn't make a move, just watches you, listens as you fill the silence, laughs when you make a face when you pick up his tea instead of yours, which is bitter and devoid of the sugar you love.

You make the first move, in fact, end up clutching at his shirt as you kiss his mouth over and over because it feels soft and his tongue is hot and it feels familiar.

His hands skate up your sides once, above your shirt, and then again, under it, and that feels familiar too, long fingers on your flesh.

"You haven't met your soulmate yet," the tarot reader said. You and a friend had visited her a few years ago, when you were half drunk at a carnival.

"At least," she'd continued, "not in this lifetime."

"Are you sure we haven't met before?" You ask, two weeks later when you've spent almost all

your free time with him, and most of it in his bed.

"Maybe in your dreams," he'd quipped, and you elbow him but he's already spooning you and you're too half asleep to do much damage.

"Always in mine," he says, softly, just as you're drifting to sleep, and you can't pry your eyes open long enough to ask what that means.

You start a fling of sorts with this mysterious man, and for the most part, you’re happy. But then you start having these dreams.

Sometimes, there’s fire on a wall in front of you and when you turn around it’s behind you, too.

You can feel your skin burning and you can barely breathe when you wake.

Sometimes there’s thunder booming all around you, lightning that streaks across the sky and you’re running and running toward someone, a man with warm brown eyes, but you can’t get there and when you look down you’re running in water up to your waist.

Always, he’s there. You suppose it’s because you and Baekhyun have been spending so much time together, that he’s in your head all the time as much as you hate to admit it.

Finally, he’s next to you in bed when you bolt upright, frightened by the thunder because it’s one of those fire dreams, one where you can feel the flesh on your arms crinkling, and it burns burns burns until it doesn’t, until you feel so cold you wake up shivering.

You’re afraid and disoriented and the dream all comes out in a rush — you tell him everything, small details about how you’re clutching a rosary in one hand, how the baubles on it popped n the flames, and he puts his arms around you, lets you bury your face in his chest as your heart rate slows down.

“Your name was Eva, then,” he murmurs, so quietly you’d think you were still dreaming.

Something about it rings true. You wonder if you’d heard that in the dream and told him still half asleep, so you nod against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into your neck after pulling you into his lap and it’s so mournful it almost frightens you.

“You can’t help my dreams,” you say playfully, trying to forget it, and he gives you the saddest smile.

“No, not those.”

You keep having those dreams, and they get more and more detailed and sometimes your name is Eva and sometimes it’s Yui and sometimes it’s Sarabeth and they’re all different, you look different, but you always feel how it ends.

And Baekhyun is always there. He looks the same, unlike you, and sometimes he’s your enemy, sometimes he’s your friend but most of the time, he’s your lover.

The dream that finally makes you confront him goes like this.

Your name is Angelica and your father was royalty but you’re just a bastard, your mother a commoner, a servant of the crown.

Once you’re old enough to have his eyes, you have to stay hidden like some fairy tale princess. Except you’re no princess in your dusty cabin, and you learn to hunt small game so that your mother doesn’t have to steal so much from the castle. It’s good that you learn, because your mother stops coming to the cabin and you learn that the plague has taken her.

The plague has taken nearly everyone, and you haven’t seen another person in months when you happen upon a man.

You have your bow drawn before he ever sees you, the string (made of rabbit sinew because it’s all you had, the bow made of oak that you’d chopped yourself) and arrow pointed straight and true.

He shifts, turns around and you hesitate just a moment when you catch his gaze, something familiar in his deep brown eyes. It’s long enough for him to draw his own bow, and he’s quick, quicker than you are, so you let your arrow fly.

His arrow flies a second after yours and they meet in the space between you, shredding each other in two.

You’d thought, then, that it was an omen.

Good or bad, you didn’t know.

You’d run back to the cabin and locked yourself in, but he’d followed you.

A few hours later, he knocked on the door and your heart started to race. Your mother had warned you what men could do to an unattended woman.

There was nothing else, though, and you waited half an hour to open the door.

A basket is sitting on the doorstep, and it contains dried meat and fresh cherries and peaches.

You hadn’t had fruit in years. There’s also a small bouquet of flowers, filled with dandelion fluff and baby’s breath, a few blossoms of lavender. It smells lovely.

You take your time eating the peaches, they have the sweetest juice that you let run down your chin like a child.

It’s been so long since you’ve eaten well that you overdo it and your stomach feels tied in a knot, but you’re smiling when you fall asleep that night, for what feels like the first time.

There’s another basket at the end of the week but he’s standing on the doorstep with it, smiling.

“Maiden, I was wondering if you had any water?”

“Will you draw your bow again when I turn my back?” You ask, wary, and he shakes his head, laughing softly.

“You drew yours first, maiden. I was surprised. The plague has taken so many it seems like I’m the only one left in all the world.”

He doesn’t look intimidating, doesn’t look as if he’s about to rush you, but you’ll be damned if you’ll let a strange man into your home, so you sit on the doorstep with him and eat the peaches he’d brought.

He watches the juice drip down your fingers, how you lick it off, with something in his eyes you haven’t seen before.

You sit and chat for a while, still wary, but he keeps looking at you like that, and you wonder if this is what it feels like, if this is what is to be wanted.

Three days and three dinners of peaches and dried meat later, you let him inside for a glass of water drawn from the well out back.

He drinks it down like he’s been thirsty for days, and you feel guilty for not letting him in earlier.

The way he licks his lips when he’s done makes something flutter inside your stomach and you put a hand there, low, almost on your pubic bone.

He watches every move you make, this mystery man who doesn’t have a hint of facial hair despite living in the woods, watches where you place your hands and fingers, how you move your mouth. He watches you as if you’re something fascinating, like watching fire burn wood down to embers.

When you were young, your mother took you to the Maypole festival, and all the children had been given these long sticks to dip in the fire, to twirl them around and make shapes in the night sky. You’d done it over and over until the stick was burned down too far and even then, you tried to dip it and burned your wrist.

He looks at you like you’d looked at the shapes you’d made with the lit stick. With wonder.

The first time he touches you it feels like the first time you’d felt warm water on your skin as a child, warmed on the fire with an iron pot, your mother spooning it over you slowly.

He touches you that way, slowly, murmuring bits of your name and it slides off his tongue like honey.

“Angelica. Angel,” he murmurs, right at the shell of your ear, and your bones seem to turn to jelly as you melt into him, your back against his chest.

Your mother had told you that one day you’d have a lover.

“Not a king,” she’d said, “but something more.”

You’d asked her what’s more than a king and she’d only smiled, held a finger to her lips as if the two of you shared a secret.

You did, your secret was that you existed, that your father was who he was and that your mother wasn’t his queen, at least not in name.

You tremble underneath his hands and when he turns you around, presses his mouth to yours, he does it slowly. You’re the one who grabs the back of his head, threads your fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck, wanting him closer, so close, wanting to burrow inside him and live there because you’re aching for him all over and you don’t know what it means.

“Let me call you by your name,” you plead when he’s kneeling before you, pulling down your underclothes, spreading the curls at your core where you’re hot and aching and wet.

He shakes his head. “I have too many names.”

“Tell me one of them,” you beg.

He doesn’t answer, presses his mouth to your cunt and you gasp, tugging his hair hard and he makes a low groan, throat exposed, that makes something come awake in your lower stomach, something somehow both like fire and honey, hot and slow and sweet.

“Give me your name,” you demand.

One corner of his mouth turns up.

“My name is Love,” he tells you, and presses his face back into your cunt, inhales like he loves the scent of you, his hands spreading apart your thighs so roughly that you brace your hands on the table behind you.

It isn’t a name you’d heard any man to have, but maybe he isn’t a man, maybe he’s one of the fae your Irish born mother told you stories about when you were a girl.

Maybe that’s the something more your mother told you about your future lover after reading your palm when you were sixteen.

You hunt together, and you’re in awe of how quick he is with his bow, how he shoots straight through the heart of even the smallest animals, voles and rabbits that you roast over the fire and feast on while he tells you wild tales about his brothers and sisters.

One rules the sea, he tells you, with a magic trident. One makes lightning bolts for his father deep underground where there’s fire so hot it melts rock and stone.

You’re fascinated, sit for hours just watching his mouth as he speaks and sometimes you vault into his lap mid sentence, silence him with your mouth on his because you want want want.

Your mother had told you many things about your future lover, about how you should be demure just like a man wants, but you can’t even try, not with him. Not with your mysterious, many named, no named lover, because he presses your nails deep into his chest when you straddle his hips, hisses when you leave bite marks along his throat and collarbone.

You pretend to be demure sometimes, if only to make him frown, to make him throw you down on your bedclothes roughly, to bite your lip bloody.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have talons, angel,” he growled, and you can’t help the way you laugh loud and open, even with your legs spread wantonly.

Physical love isn’t at all like your mother had described it, and you wonder if she’d only ever been with the king, with a man who cared so little for his paramours that he’d allowed your mother to die alone in the slums, locking her out from the castle so that his heirs might live.

It isn’t something that you lie down and take the way your mother must have, sometimes it’s animalistic, feral like you’d seen horses mate at the castle’s stables when you were young.

You present yourself on all fours and he slides his hands down your ass, grabs the flesh there to part you, presses his face into your cunt until your thighs are shaking. It’s not love that you feel during those times, not exactly, more like that want want want that you feel so often with him.

Your breath catches when he pulls your hair, wraps it around his fist so that your back arches, so that you twist to look at him. Later, when you’re both sweaty and sated, that’s when the love comes, loud and blooming in your chest as he kisses the fingerprint bruises he’s left on your hips, his fingers gentle on your sensitive skin until your breath slows.

Love is a thing that blooms, you would write if you’d ever been taught how. Love is my man’s name and it’s blooming in me like spring flowers.

You go for walks to gather berries because you’re too busy fucking to hunt and you can get by on a few more fruits and you don’t want to wake him. Once you’d brought home rose petals for tea and a piece of a honey comb that had made his eyes light up.

He’d spread the honey across your nipples, suckled and nipped there until you were sore, and one day, you want that again, especially the way his brown eyes sparkled when he’d seen it.

You have a way with the bees, after all, a way of singing high and sweet that makes them buzz around you slowly instead of angrily.

You’re halfway down the path before you realize you’ve left your quiver and bow. Love (both the man and the feeling) makes you feel stupid, heady and slow, and you pause for a moment, wondering if you should turn back.

Instead, you head forward because it’ll be sunset soon and you won’t be able to find that tree, the one with the beehive and honeycomb that your man loves so much.

It happens so quickly it feels like an instant. You step out from the bushes after gathering some blackberries, so juicy they’ve stained your fingers, and the next thing you know, you’re on the ground. When you try to stand, you can’t, a pain blooming (a lot like love) through your stomach and you’re sure there weren’t any raspberries so what’s this red spreading out onto the ground?

You see your man’s boots, barely laced, before you see his face and someone behind you is stuttering but you hear the swish of your lover’s arrow, a choked, gurgling sound and then he’s knelt down at your side.

“Angel, angel,” he whispers, and he’s crying and you want to tell him not to because it makes you afraid.

What’s happened? What’s wrong?

You don’t realize you’re not actually speaking until he cradles your face, lies down in the dirt to face you, and everything but his touch, his eyes, seems far away and unimportant.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly. “I need you to remember. When next we meet, remember my name.”

You want to. You want to remember everything about him but you’re sure that you’re floating away now.

“Baekhyun,” he tells you. “My name will be Baekhyun.”

As an immortal, it's hard to remember every moment. Years and decades blur together. The only moments Baekhyun can call to mind in perfect recall are the first times he's seen you

For a while, he’d thought Rome might be the worst lifetime he’d ever have.

He knows what he’s supposed to do, knows it’s his job, but he can barely ever bring himself to do it.

In Rome, you’re excited, young, bouncing around with your hair braided. Fire red, always red, always as fiery as your personality. “Eros, right? God of love.”

He’d smiled, wondering if he looked as tired as he felt. “You think I’m a god? I’m flattered.”

You scoff, swirl your dress around as you turn, speaking with your hands as always and his heart aches with how familiar it all is. “Don’t think that means you’re special.”

Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes. Means that you’re here to help me fall in love.”

“Is that so?” He can’t stop smiling at you, despite knowing what will inevitably happen next.

“Mmhm.” You’d taken his hand, flipped your braid over to the other side of your shoulder. He always tries. He always tries, gods damn it, damn his father and his brothers and sisters, he tries.

But there’s always this moment, where you take his hand, or brush your knuckles against his lips just so, or you just look at him up under your lashes, and the arrow he’s supposed to be aiming feels like it goes straight through his heart.

“I have someone in mind.”

It’s like the arrow in his heart twists, and gods know his arrows have always been true and fatal.

Your smile is so bright, and his heart is so full but it hurts at the same time and what a curse this is, to be able to fall in love with you so easily but have you fall for someone else just as fast.

He tells himself that he won’t try to change your mind, that he won’t let himself get close to you as you go on this search for your true mate.

You’d been childhood sweethearts, you and your match, but he’s been called away to war and you’ve been in mourning ever since.

He’s a god, but he is the god of love, after all, and with all your heart you believed that you loved another. He tells himself he’s doing the right thing… for the third time.

The first time, when it had all started, he’d fallen in love with you and seduced you and you’d forgotten all about your true match and it had all ended in fire and blood.

In Rome, in your third lifetime, he tells himself he won’t let that happen again. So when you put your hand on his thigh when you crouch down to drink on your journey, he wills his skin not to heat and his heart not to skip.

Three weeks in and you’re exhausted, your feet are swollen and bleeding from all the walking and you slide into his furs instead of your own, press your face against his chest.

“Maybe he’s gone,” you say, quietly, and Baekhyun is as still as death, telling himself he doesn’t want to lean down to kiss you, to tell you that it doesn’t matter where your sweetheart is because he’s here and ready and he wants you more than anything.

“We’ll find him,” he promises, and it’s a promise he keeps, even when you press your mouth to his and he takes it, this small comfort, until you fall into a fitful sleep.

Greece was bittersweet, because you found your match in the end and Baekhyun shot his arrow hoping that he’d miss. But his arrow was true, shot straight into the heart of your paramore.

You found your true match, fell in love, had children, and Baekhyun could have gone. Could have sailed away at sea, gone anywhere in the world. But even in Greece he’d spent three lifetimes with you (in one way or another) and he can’t bring himself to be more than a few miles away from you.

Instead, he’d watch you playing with your daughter in the garden, watch you kiss your husband, laughing into his mouth when he picked you up.

He watched you grow old, have grandchildren, plant roses that still never bloomed. You were never a gardener, no matter how you tried. It’s odd, how happy he feels for you, and how his heart clenches in his chest, how hard he wishes it were him.

He would never grow old, and he would never have you more than a few fleeting weeks, months, once even two wonderful years. Eros is love, and love isn’t supposed to fall in love.

So when he did, all those years ago, his father cursed him to find your match, over and over and over. It was you then and it’s you in Greece and Rome and England and Portugal and a thousand other countries that didn’t even have names when he’d met you there.

He’d thought Greece would be the worst because of the longing, because of the jealousy that brewed vile in the back of his throat, but Rome was much worse.

The Church ruled everything and at first Baekhyun thought that was normal. After all, when he was young he and his family had ruled everything. These are just different gods, although perhaps harsher ones.

They called you a harlot because of the fire red of your hair, the way you wore dresses slit up to your hip, the way you'd laugh if someone asked the last time you'd gone to confession.

"You should go to Mass," he'd warned with a lock of that fire red hair slipping through his fingers.

You'd smiled at him. "Why's that, lover? You want to hear my confession?"

He tugs your hair, exposing your throat as you let out a raspy moan, grinding against his thigh.

"What have you to confess, stellina?”

(Of all the languages and all the pet names he'd called you, stellina is his favorite, translates to star, and you burn so bright and beautiful it breaks his heart.)

"Impure thoughts," you muse. "Fornication before marriage.”

You pause. "This might take some time, amore."

You slide down under the linen, leaving open mouthed kisses and nips on his hip bones and thighs, and he forgets what he was going to warn you about.

(He loves any term you call him, in Spain mi corazon, in England love, in German liebling. But his true favorite is when you learn his name, his true name.)

You die fighting, that lifetime, clawing at the priests who’ve decided a witch needs baptism, holding you under the water until you finally stop, your nails broken and bloody.

Baekhyun finds you there, hours too late because he’d been sleeping off the night before, when he’d warned you about Mass, when you’d both stayed up all night, love talk and making love and a good deal of fucking, too, and he hates himself.

Hates that even though he is what he is, he needs sleep and food and water. He hates himself when he lifts you up, your fire red hair darkened by the water, hates himself when he kisses your bloody nails one by one and buries you behind the garden where you used to plant roses that never bloomed.

He hates himself most because it never gets easier, seeing you die, never gets easier knowing that he can’t, that he’s cursed to do this over and over.

In 1402, in Malaysia, you’d just had two streaks of red locks in the front, tendrils that stuck to the sides of your face when you were sweating, and you’re sweating when he first sees you, although you hit him before he ever sees your face.

You’d dropped down from a tree branch, locked your arms around his neck and cut off his airflow. It isn’t as if you could have killed him, but he respects it, all the same. You’ve got this little knife and you slice his throat but it doesn’t bleed, closes up as you watch and you drop to your knees, wide eyed but still, not submitting. Even when you know he’s a god, you never submit. At least, not that way.

Later, he kisses all the scars on your forearms and wrists, defensive wounds from battles and scuffles with the male soldiers who’d found you out.

"I never let them break me," you'd said, proudly, but there's something behind your eyes that makes him want to slaughter all the male soldiers in their sleep, bring you their heads, a sacrifice like the old gods had demanded.

As he had once demanded, before he met a human girl with an immortal soul full of fire and was punished for worshipping her.

Now it's 2021 and he's been through so many years, and he's tired. He's changed his name, over and over, from Eros to Cupid to then more common names.

He's been Baekhyun the last four lifetimes because you seem to like it, it makes you giggle in 1924 when your red (always red, red like fire and blood and love and all things that are important to him) hair was bobbed and you were wearing a black sequined dress at a speakeasy.

"Baek," you'd laughed, tipsy, one hand on his arm and he couldn't stop smiling at you. "Almost like Bark, like a dog."

"I'll be whatever you want me to be," he'd answered, flirting but also honest. He'd always been whatever you wanted because he got so few years with you, each time.

"You'd be my dog?" Your eyes sparkled with booze and excitement.

He nodded. "Follow you around like a puppy."

When you'd given him an incredulous smile, he'd opened his mouth in the middle of a packed speakeasy in New York City and barked like a dog.

The way you'd laughed is something he can hear in his dreams years later, tries to make it the memory he remembers most instead of the ones where you'd died screaming.

Now, there are no more gods who want you for sacrifice, all of his kind who were vengeful had gone silent, moved on or passed on, including his father who'd cursed him in the first place.

He's hoping, every lifetime, that this is where it ends. He's hoping that this time he doesn't have to tell you.

He's wrong, just like he had been in 1425 and 1604 and 1976. The curse outs itself, as curses always do.

You sit up in bed, watching him sleep and shivering, for what seems like hours after that dream.

He wakes slowly, but scrambles up into a seated position as soon as he’s fully conscious, being careful not to touch you.

“Do you remember?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumble, even if you have a feeling you do.

“At some point, you always remember.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you so goddamn cryptic?” Your voice is hoarse and loud.

He nods, as if expecting your outburst.

“Sometimes you’re not ready to hear.”

You want to scream in frustration. “Hear what?”

“What I am. What we are.”

“And what are we?”

“Immortals.”

You gawk at him. He makes it sound so simple, like he’s talking to a child.

“You’re an immortal?”

“You, too.” He pauses. “Well, in a different way.”

“So what, you’re telling me that was real? My dream? Angelica?”

Baekhyun lets out a long breath, shifts on the bed to face you.

“You were Eva. Angelica. Yui. In Greece I called you stellina. You’ve had more names than I have.”

You look up into his eyes and if he’s lying, he deserves an Academy award for the performance.

“What… what are you?”

You aren’t sure if you’re frightened or intrigued or both.

Baekhyun smiles then, wryly.

“Eros. Cupid. Angelica simply called me Love.”

“You’re telling me you’re like... the god of love? The one with the arrows?”

He looks as if he wants to laugh at you but wisely, he doesn’t. Instead he nods.

“Is it… is it always like it was when… when I was Angelica?” You ask, breathing in deeply because you remembered the pain in your chest, the way the blood spread out on the dirt in your lucid dream.

“Almost always,” he says softly, and reaches out to put his hands on yours.

You would have thought you would have flinched away but instead, his touch seems to comfort you and you lean into him.

“What happens when I don’t?” You ask, curiously, and something shutters over his eyes.

“You’re happy.” He rubs your knuckles between his fingers.

It’s a lot to take in and you have a million more questions but also, you can’t think of a single one that you can put into words. You pace around the bedroom and when that’s not enough, your entire apartment, and then outside to the elevator and back and he stays put, sitting cross legged in bed and looking at you with those deep brown eyes.

Finally, you plop down on the edge of the bed, exhausted.

“So what do we do?”

He just looks at you, again with that bemused smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

“How do we fix it?” You demand.

Instead of responding, he takes your hands in his again, brushes his lips across your knuckles but this time you do recoil.

“I’m not going to die horribly again. You can’t want that.”

“Of course I don’t,” he murmurs, and you want a reaction, something other than the way he’s just looking at you so you shove him and he just lets you, falls back on the bed when you do it a second time.

“You just keep letting me die?” You accuse, crawling up onto the bed and he makes a growl in the back of his throat, grasps your wrists with one of his hands and pins you when you try to shove him again.

“I never let you die. I try over and over and over to save you, but I can’t. The only way I can save you is by finding-”

He looks away from you, shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth and you wriggle under him.

“Finding what?” You insist.

He lets you go, rolls over and puts his forearm over his eyes.

“Your true match. In all the lifetimes that you’ve lived to old age in, I shot my arrow to find your true match.”

You deflate, lying there next to him and staring up at the ceiling.

“So you’re saying in order to live like a normal person, I have to fall in love with someone else?”

“Yes,” he says miserably. After a few moments, he lifts his arm and opens one eye to look at you. “Got anyone in mind?”

You shove at his arm, but not as hard this time, and he breaks into a smile, takes you into his arms. You melt against him, just like before, because that’s what feels right, that’s what feels natural.

“That happened? Before?” You ask, stroking his hair and usually he preens at the attention, leans back to kiss you but now he buries his face in your hair, avoiding your gaze.

He murmurs something in affirmation and kisses just under your earlobe.

“You found someone else for me?”

He nods, still not lifting his head, and you huff out a breath, wanting some kind of reaction out of him.

“Was he hot?”

Baekhyun groans and laughs, rolls over onto his back. ‘You always do this.”

“Always do what?” You demand, poking at his side. “You know all these things about me...or well, some version of me, and I don’t know anything about you.”

He looks at you, smiling just a little. “You know everything about me.”

You huff, frustrated. “It doesn’t feel like it. I want to know more. I want to know how I died, why I died, what all this means.”

To his credit, Baekhyun tries to explain it to you. The curse, his family, but it’s all twisted up in your mind with these memories you have of him in past lives, of being so in love with him you can barely breathe, wanting him so badly you can barely sit still, and it ends with you tearing off his clothes and him laughing into your mouth as you guide him inside you.

After, you’re contrite, kissing along his collarbone.

“I don’t want you to find anyone else for me.”

Baekhyun makes a sound in the back of his throat and you don’t know if it’s surprise or something else.

“I don’t want anyone but you,” you continue, orgasm drunk and with this fire burning under your skin, remembering how Angelica felt, how Yui felt, moving closer to him on the bed because you can’t bear to have your skin not touching his in every place you can.

He pulls you on top of him, kissing you after you squeal in surprise and your lips feel swollen and bruised already but it’s the sweetest ache.

“I don’t think I could, even if you asked,” he admits, and something about the way he says it makes you proud, makes your heart swell. His hands skate over your upper arms and his touch gives you goosebumps.

“No?” You shift to spread your thighs, liking the way he hardens under you with just the barest movement.

Baekhyun shakes his head, his tongue coming out slowly to lick his lips. You see that you’ve bitten his bottom lip bloody and it sends a shot of heat through you.

“Usually I never found anyone else for you, not after I’d touched you. I started out meaning to find someone for you. Touching you first… having you first… it makes things complicated.”

You don’t speak but shift again and it seems to spur him on.

His face is flushed and it’s cute, makes you smile.

“You know why.”

“Do I?” You’re grinning now, like the cat that ate the canary, and he groans but he’s smiling.

He sits up suddenly, bracing himself against the headboard and he puts his hands on your hips to move you backwards so that his half hard erection sits right at the cleft of your cunt and when you gasp and try to guide him inside you, he tightens his hands with a slight shake of his head.

“You gonna make me say it?”

“You know I am.”

You gasp when he puts pressure on your clit with his thumb, humming in the back of his throat.

“I’ve loved you for centuries, and I’ll love you for centuries more, stellina.”

“What does that mean?” You gasp, your insides on fire with lust and love and full to bursting, rocking your hips forward and he gives you what you want, puts more pressure on your clit and lets you guide his cock inside you.

“Star,” he says softly, moving a hand up to cup your cheek. “Because you burn.”

You do burn, you burn inside and out and you want to tell him that you burn for him but he sticks his thumb in your mouth, presses down on your tongue just how you like and all you can do is moan around it.

He keeps his other thumb positioned just right so that you can rock against his hand and lift your ass so that his cock slides against your g-spot and you suck on his thumb until he hisses and bucks beneath you, moving so that you can lean down and kiss him hard, brace your hands on either side of him so that you can get more traction.

You’re sure that you’ll be sore in the morning, ever since you’ve met him (in this lifetime, at least) you’ve been in some type of bittersweet pain, an ache across your throat, soreness in your thighs and hips and ass where you’ve been riding him, a rawness deep inside from too much sex and not enough rest.

There’s never enough, never enough of your sweat misted skin sliding across his, never enough of his hand fisted in your hair, of his cock at the back of your throat, of his fingers hooked inside you. The past couple of weeks you’ve only left his apartment for work and a few changes of clothes (not that you wore them much, anyway).

It makes you feel more sane, knowing that you’ve wanted him this way in other lifetimes, makes you feel like the way you feel makes more sense, because you were beginning to think you were going crazy.

It isn’t as if he’s some kind of sex god, exactly, he just seems to know exactly what you like, exactly what you want, right away. That makes a kind of sense, now, how even when you’re on top he knows exactly what to do and say to get you to tip over the edge.

“I love the way you look like this,” he rasps, looking up at you as if maybe you are a star exploding and it isn’t just some nickname he gave you in Rome. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You cry out his name, throwing your head back when you cum and he palms his hands across your breasts and the stimulation across your nipples sends an aftershock through you right after. You’re like a ragdoll for a few moments after your orgasm and he shifts you around just like one, using you to get off and you kiss and kiss and kiss him, loving the way it feels when he spills inside you.

You say it then, maybe because he said it to you first or maybe just because your heart is full to bursting with it.

“I love you.” It’s almost defiant. “I love you, and I don’t want to love anyone else.”

He strokes your cheek where you’re still lying on top of him.

“I don’t know if we get a choice, stellina.”

There’s always questions when you find out, and Baekhyun is prepared for them. There’s often questions that hurt, somewhere deep in his bones, questions you’d asked over and over again.

Sometimes you’re curious about your other perfect matches, and that stings. Sometimes you want to know about your deaths, and those are hard memories to bring to the surface.

The question that always hurts the most, though, is the one you ask after you’ve both showered, lying sated and exhausted in his bed, the curtains blacking out the sun outside.

“Did we ever have children?”

You’re rubbing your stomach and there’s something caught in his throat and he has to cough to clear it.

“We didn’t. You did. Sometimes.”

You look up at him and frown. “With my true match?”

Baekhyun heaves a sigh so deep it hurts his chest. “With him, yes.”

You pause. “Was it the same guy? Same… soul, I guess?”

Baekhyun nods slowly, his heart sinking, but you don’t ask anything more, you just lie your head on his shoulder.

He wonders what you’re thinking, wonders where it branches off from here. He’s been here so many times before. He feels more tired than he should.

But instead of asking more questions or storming out crying or any of the things you’d done after you’d found out, you start to snore softly, curled up next to him.

Baekhyun wonders idly if he’ll be able to sleep, but he’s drifting off before he’s even completed the thought.

When he wakes, you’re gone, and he scrambles out of bed in his boxers to pace around the house. He can feel you aren’t around and it’s like a hole in his chest. It’s always been that way, he knows when you’re close and when you’re not, and you must be miles away because now, there’s nothing.

When he checks his phone you’ve texted that you’ll be back with food. He’s shocked that it’s nearly noon, it hadn’t even been sunset when he’d dozed off.

Perhaps immortals can be just as bone tired as mortals, sometimes. After a dozen lifetimes of fighting, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

He waits for you, sitting on the couch and idly flipping through the channels, and he thinks about when it all ends. His father had moved on, had no one worshipping his name anymore, and it isn’t as if school children are learning much about Eros, Cupid relegated to only one day out of a year with awful sour sweet candy and paper mache hearts. He’s stored his bow a few hundred miles away, hoping that this lifetime he wouldn’t need it, hadn’t actually found a true match for anyone but you in centuries.

Baekhyun wonders, with no real sense of urgency or fear, if this is the last lifetime. There’s a kind of exhaustion he’s never felt before that seems to weigh him down, and he’s finding it hard to care about anything but you. He hopes it happens before you pass, before the curse ends your life too young and too violently. He wants to move on and set you free, because he knows he can’t resist you for more than a couple of lifetimes. He’s tried too many times and failed.

You return bright eyed and with half a dozen books and a notebook, a pen pinched between your teeth.

At your urging he goes out to the car and brings in the breakfast you’d bought and you spread your books across the table.

“Greek and Roman Mythology for Dummies.” He reads aloud, laughing, and you look up at him from the floor and frown.

“Don’t judge me, this is all new to me.”

He holds up his hands. “Not judging. What’s all this for?”

“I’m going to find a way to end the curse, of course.”

Baekhyun sits down hard on the couch. “Oh.”

“What does that mean?” You demand, your nose scrunching up just a little.

He can’t help but smile at you, and he shrugs.

No reason to shoot down your hopes. Not yet, at least.

Four hours later, your eyes red rimmed from staring at books and your laptop screen, you jump onto the couch and into his lap.

“I found it!” You screech, and kiss all over his face.

Baekhyun smiles, kisses you back, and you make love there on the couch. You want to be bent over, his hand on the small of your back to keep you over the couch arm, up on your tiptoes and making a little grunting noise every time he thrusts into you.

Baekhyun may be exhausted after all this time but he never gets tired of this. He never gets tired of you.

Your moans are muffled in the couch cushions but he hears his name, the one he always uses with you, ever since you were Angelica and that hunter’s arrow had pinned you to the ground.

Baekhyun is tired. He’s tired in a way he’s sure no human ever could be. He’s tired of all the times he’s lost you, to your true match and then worse, to death, and he’s tired of living them over and over again.

But when you stand up, twist his face to kiss him, your eyes bright when you grin against his mouth, he thinks that it’s all been worth it.

You’re always worth it, and the thought of getting to meet you again, another you, is all it takes for him to keep going.

It takes a few months to get the time off work, match up travel plans, and get supplies.

Supplies meaning mostly travel gear and light clothes and a passport, the place you need to get to is high up on a cliffside in Northern Greece.

Baekhyun’s supportive enough, you guess, but you feel a bit nervous about his lack of excitement when you’re finally there, in Greece, at a gorgeous resort near the cliffside. Money hadn’t been a problem. Apparently when you’re immortal you manage to accrue a bit of savings.

“Aren’t you happy? Doesn’t this feel like home?”

Baekhyun laughs, loud and open, for what seems like the first time since you’d found out.

“This isn’t my home, stellina. I’m older than Greece.’

You blink, shocked. “But you are Eros.”

He nods. “I’m Eros, and Cupid, and Ishtar, and Kuni. Many gods and goddesses, different names. My duty and purpose was always the same, but I’ve never had a home. Except with you.”

He brushes your cheek with his nose and you sigh, hate that the way he says that so simply, as if it’s the whole truth, makes your heart clench.

“Still, you remember being here.”

Baekyun nods, staring out at the sea, reliving some life you only half remember.

You don’t ask many more questions, at least not until the next day when Baekhyun is listlessly pulling on his clothes and you’re tugging at his hands, excited, wanting to hurry and have this curse looming over your head end, so that you can stop thinking about it.

“Why aren’t you happier about this?” You pout, but you quiet when he looks up at you, his usually warm brown eyes dull and exhausted.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” You ask, softer now.

Baekhyun shrugs. “Some.”

Then he grins at you and there’s a flicker of life in his eyes. “I’m a very old man, you know. I need my rest.”

It makes you laugh, makes you forget, and you don’t think of it again until you’re hiking up the trail, about an hour’s long journey to reach the top.

He’s behind you by a few hundred feet and you frown at him, waiting until he reaches you. You’ve never seen him out of breath.

You take his hand, tug him further up the trail but it’s only a few moments before he stops, bracing himself on a tree near the trail.

“Stop,” he wheezes, and you do, tilting your head at him in confusion.

“Baekhyun, we have to-”

“Just stop,” He insists, and you’d think he was angry if his voice weren’t shaking.

“Why? What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?” You fire off at him, moving closer, and he shakes his head.

You take his chin in your hand and force him to look at you.

His brown eyes are still as tired as earlier, and wet now, too.

“I don’t want to do this again,” he manages hoarsely.

You take a step back. “Have we done this before? Have we been here before?”

Baekhyun doesn’t answer, but there’s a truth in his silence.

Your eyes begin to well with tears. “So what? Maybe this time it’ll work, maybe this is different-”

“It’s not different. In France you were called Jacqueline and we came here. You read books about it, forced me here just like you did this time. You were so certain it had worked.”

You shake your head but he keeps talking.

“You were so certain that after a couple of months, I was certain too. Three months later, there was a bus accident.” His voice breaks and he’s quiet again and you feel like you can’t breathe properly for the ache in your throat.

“We don’t know that will happen again.”

“I know!” He bursts out. “I know it will happen because it does, over and over again! Listen, we should go back to the hotel. I can get my bow out of storage and-”

“No!” You cry, stalking over to him. “No, that’s not the way to fix this.”

Baekhyun laughs bitterly, and he won’t look at you. “There’s no way to fix this.”

“You don’t know that,” you say stubbornly. “Whoever I’ve been in the past, I’ve never been this person, and I know I can fix it.”

He pushes himself away from the tree as if it takes effort to do it. “You always say that,” he says, and he doesn’t sound angry anymore, just tired.

You’re angry, heat rushing through your veins, and you don’t know if it’s at him or the fact that some ancient curse has decided to come through your life like a brushfire.

You push at him and he doesn’t fight back, doesn’t even keep you from pushing him against the tree.

“You don’t care, is that it? You’re what, bored of this? You want to get your bow so you can get rid of me?”

His jaw tightens and he looks away from you. “Maybe I do.”

You push him again and he has nowhere to go, backed up against the tree so he just takes it, stands there.

“Coward.” You spit. “You’d rather match me with someone else. You’d rather let someone else-”

“Stop it,” he says, something like a warning in his voice and you want to laugh or cry or both.

“Look at you. You can’t even hear me say it, but you’re going to marry me off like some 14th century child bride-”

“I’m not-” Baekhyun huffs, then stops, runs his hand through his hair. “He’s your true match. You… you always love him, when you meet him.” He struggles with the last sentence but he maintains eye contact, jaw working.

“Fuck my true match. And fuck you if that’s your answer to this.” You rage.

He doesn’t speak. “You’re always happy when you find him.” His voice is weak and it sounds like a weak excuse to your ears and you’re shaking with anger and fear.

You have this memory, sudden and sharp like a knife.

You're in this stone room, an inn you think, and you're half asleep but you can hear a low murmur from the room. It's familiar, from your traveling companion of the last few weeks.

His name is on your lips as you sit up but he's pacing around the room, not paying any attention to you. The way he's talking to himself makes you worried.

"You have to do this. You have to, you know you do," he mutters and there's something liquid in his voice.

Suddenly he slaps himself across the face and you yelp his name, stand up to take his wrist in your hand.

"Baekhyun," you whisper. "What are you doing?"

His face is flushed and his eyes look so tired, so worn, like he's lived a thousand years.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he manages, pulling away from your touch as if you'd burn him.

A few days later, his hands are shaking when he draws his bow, and your eyes are on him instead of your true match.

"Wh-what if you miss?" You whisper.

Baekhyun smiles but he won't look at you. "I don't miss."

He doesn't, but part of you wishes he had.

The memory just makes you angrier, makes you want to push him again.

“Am I? And what about you? What about you, Baek, are you happy without me? Are you happy giving me away?”

He scoffs, finally looking at you.

“No, really. Tell me. You must be happy giving me away because you want to do it so badly-”

“I hate it!” He bursts out. “I fucking hate it, every single time. I hate the way you look at him. I even hate how happy he makes you. I should be happy giving you away so that you can be safe, so that you can have the family that you want, but I fucking hate it.”

“Why do you hate it?” You demand to know, tears streaming down your face.

“You know-” he starts and you shake your head.

“I need you to tell me.”

Baekhyun puffs out his cheeks, he does that when he’s frustrated, when he wants to scream but you don’t have time to think about how cute it is right now.

“I hate it because I love you. I hate it because whoever your true match is, you’re mine.” He says, finally, heaving in a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“Because I’m yours,” you parrot back at him, and his mouth opens, brows furrowed in a frown.

He takes a step toward you, now, but you don’t back away, and you don’t flinch when he takes your hips in his hands, tugs you toward him, claiming your mouth.

You claw at him, can’t help yourself and you don’t care that brambles are scratching your legs when he lies you down on the ground, don’t care because he’s panting your name into your ear, your name, not all those previous yous. You don’t care because you’ve chosen him, despite whatever the gods had determined to be your “true match.”

“We have to do this,” you tell him as you’re adjusting your clothes and he’s still lying there, panting.

He nods, as if humoring you, but he isn’t as listless when he starts back up the trail with you, keeping up with you and stealing kisses and making small talk.

You’re sweating by the time the two of you reach the top of the mountain, and when you look back, Baekhyun has fallen behind a bit, struggling up the hill.

You startle when thunder cracks overhead, sudden and close, but you walk back down the path to him, put your hand on his arm and he’s trembling.

“We’ve never made it this far,” he says, voice hoarse. “I don’t know what will happen next.”

“We don’t ever know what happens next, Baekhyun, but you know what happens when we don’t.”

Baekhyun shakes his head. “Not if you let me get my arrows, we can stop all of this, we can-”

“No!” You yell. “No, shut up about that, I can make my own choices!”

You tug on his arm and he stumbles forward only a few steps before stopping again and you can see the circle of stones at the top of the hill, where you’re supposed to stand according to the legends, and you haven’t done weeks of research and travelled across the world for nothing.

You take his hand in yours, squeeze, and look into his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you promise, and you have no idea what’s about to happen and it’s raining now, cold against your skin, but you know that you have to do this.

Baekhyun looks at you and there’s nothing in his eyes but fear and uncertainty but you tug at his hand again anyway and this time he follows without resistance.

It happens so quickly after that.

You step into the circle first, and he pauses, hesitating before breaking the barrier by stepping over one of the irregular stones. The second he does, lightning cracks above your head and you cry out, frightened.

Baekhyun grabs you out of instinct or some desire to protect you and you go down, scraping your elbows against the rock and sand as you try to catch yourself. Baekhyun puts his hands on either side of your head and it’s raining so hard that it’s all you can hear, that and the thunder, and there’s lightning everywhere, lighting up his features as he looks down at you.

“I was never strong enough to do this before,” he says, nearly yelling over the storm. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t-”

He’s cut off by another crack of lightning and he seems to be… lighting up, somehow, some glow that you think is from the lightning but then you see it’s coming from inside him. He arches his back, his face lined with pain and you realize something’s happening, something bad but when you reach up to touch him, he’s giving off so much heat that the tips of your fingers burn.

“Baek,” you whisper, and he manages to focus on you again. When he does, his face… it isn’t his face, but somehow you recognize it anyway and it keeps changing, cycling through all the lifetimes you’ve shared together.

“I’ve been so many things,” he says, and his voice is strong even over the chaos. “but I’ve always been yours.”

He manages to touch his forehead to yours and you’re terrified by the storm and what’s happening and especially how it seems to pain him to even move, how he’s glowing brighter and brighter until your eyes start watering.

He says your name but it’s your name and Jacqueline and Eva and Yui and so many others, all wrapped into one, and kisses you, the bright light coming from him forcing your eyes shut as he gets closer.

When you open them, there’s no sound of the rain or thunder and the ground under you is dry, as if you’d imagined it all.

But you can taste the rainwater in your mouth. You can still taste him there, too, but he’s gone.

You scramble up, yelling out his name and there’s nothing, just the sound of the birds in the trees. Moments before, the sky had been black, but now it’s sunny again.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the tears running down your throat as you stumble down the path.

You’re sobbing by the bottom of the path because there’s nothing, no evidence he was even there at all. You’re remembering what he said, how he said you’d never been that far before, but you’re wondering if he’d known, anyway.

You’re wondering if breaking the curse means that he has to die and how all of this is your fault your fault your fault.

There’s a sound in the woods and you barely realize it until there’s a man standing next to you.

“Miss? Are you all right?”

You sniffle, looking up at him, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Baekhyun, just the same, wearing the wet and sandy clothes he’d been wearing just a few moments ago, but something’s wrong and you can’t rush to him like you want to.

“Baekhyun?”

He rubs the back of his neck, smiles a little sheepishly. “Is that my name? I seem to have forgotten it. I think… I think I got lost.”

You think about how this feels, how there’s not a single light of recognition in his eyes and it feels like your chest has cracked wide open. You think about how he must have felt this, over and over again, and understand why he didn’t want you to have to feel it.

You take a deep, shaky breath and wipe at your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“You’re not lost,” you tell him, and take his hand.

Baekhyun looks down at your hand in his and then back up to you, a smile breaking across his face. “No, doesn’t seem like it anymore.”

You’re trying not to cry as you lead him back to the resort when he stops and you turn back to look at him.

“I know this might seem like an odd question, but… have we met before?”

It hurts but you crack a smile anyway, remembering how he’d done this for you over and over, remembering what he’d said to you a few months ago.

“Maybe in another life.”

#supermnet #noonasinnetwork #byun baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x reader #super m imagine #exo imagone #baekhyun imagine

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syubub · 3 years

Text

ENERGY CHECKUP: YOONGI (again)

Now, I know I've already done an energy check up on yoon but I wanted to see how he was doing now that he's gotten his shoulder surgery!

Disclaimer time: tarot is not to be takes as fact and is my interpretation if the cards :) entertainment purposes only~

SHIT IS STRANGE (it is Yoongi though so I'm not too shocked)

So. For starters, his energy is pretty calm and chill. He's also a bit more quiet?

I wrote a note that tomorrow is exciting... idk I wrote it down and I'm not sure if its exciting for him or for us? Maybe its just a general like, "tomorrow is a good day" type thing.

Now. 11... I wrote this down and I'm not sure why though I believe that he might be seeing 11:11 on the clock or possibly that something exciting is happening for him at 11:11 (I just checked and thats in like an hour and a half from when I'm writing this down(( update i just finished writing the whole post and it is about 11 minutes away)) idk. I make no promises but I wrote it down so there you go.

I also kept seeing plants and I'm not sure if people got him flowers or plants as a "get well" type thing or maybe he's stressing bc someone has to water his plants lol

Okay. Okay. Hear me out. Black bean noodles. It popped into my head and I was told to write it down but I'm also really hungry so take that with a grain of fucking salt. (I even pictured a nice elaborate bowl that was red as well as the take out container. Yum. Send me noodles)

MOVING ON

Here's the actual reading lol. He is bored.

Thats all. Thank you for coming.

I joke. The cards give me a kind of frazzled feeling? Its the struggle of knowing hes done something good but it comes at a cost. Yoongi works. A lot. All the goddamn time. So what now? He's having this shake up thats forcing him to deal with stuff. Him having this surgery also may have brought back some less than favorable memories/ feelings that hes being forced to deal with now. Over all though he feels like its good. The 6 of wands makes me think that he's thinking of our response when he comes back. Its like he's gonna be so much more confident in himself and his dancing and he can finally move on from the car accident? It happed so long ago but he literally carried this burden with him. Its good. The wheel of fortune and is about a change and the 8 of swords is about self imposed restriction, imprisonment and over all bad/ negative feelings. I pulled the wheel of fortune first and asked what was changing and that was the 8 of swords. This surgery is helping to free him from this restricting, painful thing that may have been reminding him of the past! YES HEALING

Now. For this section I just kinda asked "whats up?" And got, easy does it, divine life purpose l, balancing masculine and feminine energies and uplift your thoughts. He may be resting but he's got his mind working on 3,000 my dude. Its the regular "yoongi is woke af" bullshit but damn. The cards say what they say. He's preparing. I'll come back to this.

Now the 7 of cups and the 3 of swords. I asked how he felt about missing out on promoting. He's heart broken with the 3 of swords. It genuinely pains him. And with the 7 of cups he might feel like there's a lot of ways this can play out and he's considered a lot of options.

I was curious how he felt about me coming into his energy so I asked him what he thought of me. Lol. These each came out separately. We got, 2 of cups, four of wands, the empress, justice, the magician, the sun and the lovers. Ha

So. To add to the mood setting my guide said "he's a drama queen" lol yeah he is.

So so so so so. I was confused? Still am a little confused but I'm like 80.9% sure that he isn't bothered by me poking around in his energy n shit. In fact my theory is that he's using this connection to his advantage? Lol sounds dumb but my best guess is that home boy sees my energy/ what I'm doing as a way to figure out his own shit? Idk maybe he thinks I'm his energetic therapist. Maybe even a matchmaker (I mean... I have been putting a lot of energy and work into finding/ connecting with his soulmate so maybe he's letting me do all the dirty work) I really don't understand but I got no further explanation.

Oki oki oki. Now. I was drawn to 2 books. The kybalion and the prophet. I asked yoon if there was any messages that we wanted to point out through the books and I got a number for each book so I took it as page numbers. 28 for the prophet and 54 for the kybalion

Take what you will from these if it calls to you. I haven't read these since I was around 13? The sentiments for each felt important to me so I'm curious what you all might think/ feel when reading these? ( I also get the feeling that Yoongi has read the prophet idk why)

Okay. At this point I was like cool, let's wrap this up but I need to talk about his pjs? Green/grey? Plaid pj bottoms don't ask me don't ask me don't ask me I don't know but It wouldn't go away so I had write it down? Help.

I had written yoongis brother down too. Theres something about him? I'm not sure what but thats all I got lol

I was very strongly told that I needed to remember 7, that its important. Got it. Worth it down.

Oki. As I was going back to the platform blah blah blah the string turned blue too. The cord is usually white or silver but it was blue so that was a fun thing and then I was like "nice. Cool. Thanks. This was awesome, get healthy blah blah" and go to leave/ end the connection but the cord wouldn't go away.

???

What.

Then the string (idk if I said but that string shit is like on the third eye? Its connected to my forehead and his too.) Kind tightens.

I'm like, "oh shit."

Listen. Usually everything is smooth and nice and I just leave.

All is well though bc my guide is like, "stop being a little bitch" so I just let it happen.

Yoon shoves me back off the edge of the platform. Why he gotta be like that?

Now. This is strange. I had dropped down into a library.

Y'ALL

I almost shit my fucking pants. Dear god.

THE AKASHIC RECORDS MY DUDE

He started walking me around until he found a blue book. His mother fucking book.

Home boy brought me to his fucking Akashic fucking blue fucking book.

I was big mad. "YOU LITTLE FUCKER! YOUVE KNOWN ABIUT THIS SHIT?" And he was like, "duh"

I've never felt more disrespect lol

Also the way the library was presented was way way way different from how it looks to me. So thats an interesting note. Looking at his book, on the base of the spine is a number 7...

Oki. Cool. I asked if I could look and he said, "Sure, when you can find your way back."

This mother fucker threw me out of a meditative state. Have you ever woken up just before you hit the ground in one of those falling dreams? THAT WAS THE FEELING.

?? I'm not sure what the fuck just happened or if it holds actual significance.

Anyway. After cursing the fuck out of yoobi I started thinking what else 7 ment.

I was specifically told to remember 7 and it was on his book. Then It popped into my head (I want to say its because I'm smart and thought of it all by myself but I think that was my guide wanting me to keep my last brain cell safe). What is yoongis life path number?

Now I don't know shot about life path numbers but imma read up on them tonight. I used a life path calculator on Google. HIS LIFE PATH NUMBER IS 7 Y'ALL.

Maybe I'm dumb as fuck but yoobi never disappoints.

Conclusion: Yoon is fine. Hes just being a yoongi and a yoongi does.

⬆️Me after this reading⬆️

⬆️ Yoongi rn playing 12D chess⬆️

#bts #bts tarot #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts rm #namjoon imagine #jin #kim seokjin #yoongi #yoongi imagine #min suga #min yoongi #hoseok #jhope #bts jimin #taehyung #jungkook #jk

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singularitxe · 5 years

Text

Goodnight 🌟

Summary : After your second date with Taehyung, you overcome your anxieties and finally make a move.

Pairing : Taehyung x Reader

Word Count : 905 words

Contains : FLUFF this is literally just fluff, an anxious reader because I'm extremely anxious and this is about a dream I had, low key bad writing because this is like my second fic ever

(A/N) : I said it above but this is about a dream I had that I just had to write out ! I haven't ever posted my writing and I'm not a writer so please excuse any mistakes I may have missed and how repetitive I can be, I just had to get this out of my system lol.

It's only your second date with Taehyung. You'd known each other for a few months, texting constantly until you could find the time in your busy schedules to meet. Tonight was even more wonderful than your first date- you'd gone to a gallery opening, then dinner, then walked in the park talking hand in hand until the sun had finally set and you had only the moonlight to guide you back to his car. He'd graciously offered to drive you home, and you'd accepted, happy for the opportunity to spend more time with him in person.

Now you're outside and he's standing there just looking at you, a hand in his pocket, and god does he look beautiful; the street lamp outside of your apartment is casting a warm light on him that makes him glow, eyes shimmering. You stand in front of him, bodies inches apart, and you expect him to give you a chaste kiss like he did after the first date, but he just… looks at you with a glint in his eye, expecting. Expecting you to make the move.

The attention drawn from his gaze on your face and the pressure for you to do something, say something, anything- it has your stomach in knots. You're anxious, as always; your mind is rushing in circles with thoughts you've fought for years. 'If he wanted anything, he would ask. Clearly he isn't feeling the same way, I can't…' you think, but you fight it. You have to try.

Finally you get yourself to reach out and breach the few inches between your hand and his hanging at his side, interlocking your fingers and mustering the courage to look into his eyes. He smiles, gentle, and waits.

Taking a deep breath, your worried eyes shoot down to busy themselves with the floral patterns adorning his shirt, and finally you decide to go for it. Heart beating out of your chest, voice low, eyes still down, you ask, "Can I…" but your voice trails off and betrays you.

He lets out a gentle chuckle at this, and you look back up at him, greeted with a smirk. "Can you what, beautiful?"

"Kiss you…" you start, grip tightening on his hand, and he squeezes back. Despite his playful demeanor, you're grateful that he seems to understand your nerves. "Can I, uh… Can I kiss you?"

His smirk melts back into that charmingly soft smile. "Of course," he says, and then you find yourself slowly reaching up to place your free hand on his cheek, leaning forward to gingerly press your lips to his. He takes his hand from his pocket and plants it on the small of your back, gently pulling you flush to his chest as he kisses you back.

You nearly melt into him. His lips are so soft and he smells so good that you feel like his hand on your back and your grip around his fingers are the only things keeping you grounded. When the two of you part you're ready to dive back in, but he takes his hand from yours and winds it between you, gently running his thumb over your bottom lip.

Again you find yourself just staring at him as he stands there looking at you, but this time it's different. He's drinking in the look on your face, flushed and eager, lips already blooming pinker. Eventually he breaks the silence.

"It's getting late and it's cold, you should get in," he says, finally dropping his hand and stepping back from you.

You're confused. Was it not good? Already over in just one kiss? You want him to stay, want just a bit more. "You could come in? I'll make tea-"

"I should get going," he interjects, planting his hand back in his pocket. "You're so cute, all nervous and blushing, and you look beautiful… At this rate, I'll fall in love with you."

You're blushing all over again, and you can't help but smile at the mention of love. The feeling is mutual. "Is that such a bad thing?"

"Definitely not. But if I fall in love with you right here on our second date, what're we gonna do on the third?" With that he blesses you with a boxy grin, and the flush creeps back onto your cheeks.

"The third?"

He nods. "I can cancel my plans this weekend and we could go to that new amusement park? Maybe… Pick up where we're leaving off?" The insinuation he's making and the thought of kissing you again has a soft blush adoring his own pretty cheeks.

"Sounds like a plan," you grin, and your chest feels warm. "Just one more thing before you go?"

"Yeah?"

You lean in and press another quick kiss to his lips and he gladly accepts until you pull away. "I couldn't help it," you say, eyes going back to the flowers on his shirt, and you reach to smooth a wrinkle on his chest. "Now you're the one looking all cute."

He gives you that boxy smile that makes your heart sing, and starts to turn away. "Get inside before you catch a cold, cutie."

"Text me when you're home safe?"

"Of course."

You turn to your door, reaching into your purse for your keys, but quickly pivot back to him- you want one last look at his beautiful face. "Good night, Taehyung."

You exchange soft smiles.

"Good night, beautiful."

#my posts #bts imagine #bts x reader #taehyung #taehyung imagine #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #bts fanfiction #bts scenario #taehyung scenario #fics #my fics #bts drabble #taehyung drabble

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alka-di-kijarr · 3 years

Text

Hunters Journey - 014

Disclaimer. The following part of the hunters journey was connected to my #CallOfThePharah on deviantArt in april2020. English is still not my native language, but I wish you a lot of fun reading the next adventure of Nero, Vaas and all the other hunters.

Grimwolf species is a closed species. If you want to get your own, please contact me.

The winner of this design - and so the new owner is - HashtagOctothorpe

Hunters Journey - 014

A few days were spent into the eager tries of finally finding some peace, after Nero had encountered this weird flower-fox-thing. He felt the warmth of the midday sun on his skin, while the wind stroke his blonde hair and a smell of sweet flowers tickled his nose. Every day since the event Nero came back to the garden, sat down on a bench and tried to remember what he had seen in this night. Or felt.

Unexpectedly his memories had gone blurry, with each hour passing after the creature had left the place again. Sighing from exhaustion and frustration Nero laid his face in his hands, trying to slow down the storm of thoughts in his head. What happened to him?

A rarely heard voice appeared next to the young hunter and a shadow covered him, squeezing between him and the sun. He lifted his face and found himself fixated by the gaze of Avon. The greatest medic of the guild was standing beside him, despite the fact that he hated the burning sun, the dazzling light and the heat. A chamber-crawler far away from his very chamber.

"Master Avon, wha-"

"Are you the hunter who got touched by the Flowki?"

"Y-yeah, I guess, what exactly is a Flow-"

"Follow me."

Without further explanations, the oldtimer turned around and left with flying steps in the direction of the medic quarters. It took Nero a moment, but finally, he jumped up of the bench and tried to catch up with Avon. This old man was really fast, contrary to his age and his appearance. Together they walked through the corridors, passed by different nurses and young medics who cared for whomever was in need of help. Nero always had a fascination for people who joined the medics, but he would never switch the place with one of them. Invisible enemies, bringing pain and death, no chance to either catch them or destroy them easily. Tons of elixirs, potions and poisons, which can cure, but also kill. The line between those attributes is just a milligram of the dose. A whiff between wonder and failure. Deadly failure. Until this very day Nero had not made up his mind on the question of who had the more thrilling and more dangerous job. The medics, or the nurses...

Caught in his own thoughts, Nero nearly ran into Avon, who stopped in front of a giant door. Nero had passed this door several times, but never had anyone entered or left the room behind it. Somehow the feeling of a giant rock in his stomach, dragging down his curiosity and his hope, appeared as Avon opened the gigantic door with a heavy key, slipped through the gab and ordered Nero to follow him.

The door made a deep, scratching sound when Avon closed it behind the young hunter.

"Follow me. Fast." The old man took a lantern, inflamed it and walked down a spiral staircase.

If Nero wouldn't know it any better, he would have said Avon was running. Was this some kind of weird panic attack of his? From all the sun and the outside climate? Nero had heard plenty of rumours about the greatest medic of the BlackBestia-Guild, but never had a chance to build an opinion of his own about Avon. After they reached the end of the stairs, a long - really damn long - corridor lead them through the darkness.

It was more like a tunnel, but Nero had no time to think about his fear of narrow paths, slippery stones under his shoes and the smell of rotting material swimming in ancient water. At least it was what it smelled like. Without any word they followed the tunnel, turned right once, and left it behind shortly after. Nero saw many other tunnels splitting away and vanishing in the deepest darkness he had ever seen. His heart raced and at one point he nearly passed Avon. But trying not to be rude, he stayed behind the old man - but as close to his lantern, as Nero could.

Eventually, they reached the beginning of another spiral staircase, leading upwards. Avon suddenly stopped. Nero could hear his rapid breathing as the old man smoothed out his clothings and walked upwards. Slowly. As if there had been no rush or pressure before, Avon took the stairs one after the other.

It felt likes ages, before the stairs finally found an end and Avon stopped in front of a door. This time the door made no noise, and Nero saw Avon turning to him, meaningful laying a finger on his lips, before he passed the threshold. Nero felt a dumpling hanging in his throat, but didn't dare to clear it.

Together they entered a room, broad walls, filled with hanging fabric. Nero touched one of them, it was made from the softest silk he had ever felt between his fingers. The room was litten up by huge windows with thin paper glued onto them. It gave the place a calm atmosphere. Somewhere in the room Nero could hear the lapping of water and the discreet scent of flowers filled the air. The young hunter felt the soft touch of a slowly flowing wind, but there was no open window anywhere.

"Avon. It has been a long time."

"Lady Eyrie." Nero saw how Avon bowed down, so he did the same - more out of reflex than anything else - even though he didn't see the person Avon talked to. After they rose again, Nero followed Avon through the labyrinth of flowing fabrics. One moment he saw nothing, the other, one of the fabrics turned to the side, and his eyes found a woman sitting on a big pillow in the middle of...well everything.

"What brings you to me, Avon?"

"Lady Eyrie, you know I would never invade your space or steal your precious time, if it was not for a very important reason."

Neros brain was still digesting what he encountered here, so the talk between the two nearly passed him entirely. The woman in front of them had dark hair with a soft blue shimmer.

"I know, Avon. I have felt it."

"What have you felt, Lady Eyrie?"

The woman arose from her pillow, soft feathers forming a dress, shining in the reflection of the warm light. She walked down the stairs in front of her, and two long, entirely black wings, formed in front of Nero. As if they had been hidden in nowhere. Exactly like the creature in the garden.

Neros heart raced. His throat was dry and his legs felt incredibly weak. Now the woman turned her ice-blue eyes to him.

"He has been touched."

"Y-yes, Mylady."

She walked towards him and a strong grasp around Neros heart nearly made him jump off and leave, but Avon formed a sign with his hands. Everything is okay. The woman came closer and Nero could sense the same kind of aura that Gemini had. Pushing him away, strongly, but not as strict as Geminis. More like flowing water, capturing him kindly in the middle, but also showing strength and straining him a little. She layed her hand on Neros chest and the poor young hunter nearly lost his breath, his eyes fixating the wide wings this woman had. Just now he realized that her hands were covered in scales, with long talons on the end of each finger.

Avon came close and laid one hand on Neros back.

"Excuse me, Lady Eyrie, the young hunter has never made an encounter with a Theres-Harpy."

"Oh, I don't blame him, Avon. My species is hiding for a purpose. I would have been more perplexed if he had known me...or my kind."

"Young man, Lady Eyrie is not only a Harpy, she is a weaver."

A weaver. A WEAVER?! Neros eyes jumped between the two figures who seemed to fixate him. He felt a little betrayed by Avon, but also felt a bit of ease, to know that he was here.

"Why am I here?" It was his first sentence, since they had started their journey from the garden.

"You are here, so Lady Eyrie can see if she finds the reason for your unstable health, since you have been touched by the Flowki."

"This again, what is a Flowki?" Lady Eyrie rose her eyebrows, giggling a bit into Avons direction.

"So Seth is still not teaching the hunters about the Kahoré realm?"

Avon seemed to turn red on his cheeks, turning his eyes down.

"No, Mylady."

"I haven't expected anything else. Now, Nero-" How did she know his name?! He hadn't told her.

"A Flowki is a creature of the spirit dimension, Kahoré. The fact that is was able to touch you, as well as the fact that you and the others could see it, tells us a lot about the current situation."

"Does it?" Avon was in thoughts, leaving his guard down for a moment.

"Eh, Mylady, I apologise. What exactly does it tell us?"

The harpy smiled but her eyes felt like piercing needles of ice.

"The barrier between the dimensions got manipulated. I assume the dark creatures are the reason for it."

"But how can that be? They were made out of mass - they got hurt and they have hurt people by contact."

"You can touch me too, young Nero." The careless way Nero had talked got scolded with silent words by Avon, but the Harpy just smiled, when she took his hand and guided it onto the middle of her chest. Nero turned as red as a tomato, feeling her heartbeat. But there was more to it. A sparkling feeling. Like electric voltage. The moment felt like an eternity, yet like a fracture of a second.

"Flowkis are known to be shy, and they don't interact with your realm. Normally they don't even pay attention to your kind. Something seems to happen in the dimensions layers...and I am not sure whether if it's good or bad."

"Are there more creatures in the Kahoré,...Mylady?"

"Yes. A lot more. Some shy and peaceful. Some far more dangerous."

She let go of the hand, which was grasping Neros the entire time, and turned to leave.

"Do you know what a Grimwolf is?"

"N-no, I-I am sorry Lady Eyrie." The fascination was drawn all over Neros face and somehow he followed her a few steps, until Avon caught his arm, softly pulling him back.

"They are harbingers of plentiful deaths as a consequence of a contract someone made with them."

"A contract?"

"Yes. In Padunay there is a story which got told through the centuries: The prestige tale of Shamki the merchant. He sold humans, which he had caught before, to people with a lot of money and prestigue. But not only poor people from the streets fell into his arms. He robbed babies from their parents, children from their families. Leaving nothing behind but agony and despair. Some day, one of his "sells" got lifted out of his social standing and became the student of a magician. And how the fate plays, he found the book of summonings, which his master believed, was very well hidden." The harpy took place on her pillow, stretched the wings back and folded her hands in her lap.

"What happened then?" She just smiled.

"The young men was full of hate and rage. He searched for the most powerful spirit he could summon, together with a piece of clothing he had ripped off of Shamki and kept hidden for all the long years. The appearing Grimwolf was a monster among the beasts. His eyes, holding three pupils on each side, the tail with the head of a snake on the end, holding a lantern with screeching souls inside. Only those who are really eager to make a contract, survive the first encounter. If the Grimwolf decides that you are weak,...well, he will devour your soul without further questions. But the young men was strong-willed. So the Grimwolf took the piece of fabric and left to find its rightful owner. The story goes that Shamki the torturer suffered a horrible death."

Nero was pale and even Avon seemed to be sucked into the story Eyrie was telling.

"What did the grimwolf do to him?"

"You know...there is the weaver who can weave things into your soul and the one who can unweave things from your soul. And then there are creatures like the Grimwolf. Ripping your soul into parts before they mingle them together and start all over. At the end, your soul, your precious, shining, wonderful soul, is nothing more than a chunk of chewed up material. And you are awake and alive the entire time. Until they rip off the chunk of the last strain that holds it to your real body and vanishes. Depending on which culture you are living, people say you will have no chance to find a peaceful end, nor the chance to find your beloved ones in the afterlife."

"There is an afterlife?"

Again she smiled. Knowing, teasing, but silent. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Who knows, young hunter. Well....but, at the end, even the Grimwolf is no monster."

"H-how can it not be?"

"It is a scavenger, eating up the contaminated souls of lost creatures, before it will die one day and release nothing but cleansed energy to the Ao, so the great Ao can form new life again."

"We will leave you now, lady Eyrie." Avon grabbed Neros arm again. Nero was thrilled. Confused. Angry. Sad. Overexcited. He was everything but calm, nor ready to leave already.

"So will it be, Avon, old friend."

The old man nodded, turned with Nero, who wanted to stay so desperately.

"And Avon..." He stopped.

"...the Flowki caused no harm to our young hunter Nero. The symptoms will fade soon. But it might be...that your youngster will see the world differently now. And you should talk to Seth, about my thesis. If the layers are damaged, we can only hope there won't be other Atmas roaming and leaving their home dimension. None of you...would be ready."

Avon clenched his fist and Nero could see how hard he was pushing his jaws together. Without any further word, they left the place, left Lady Eyrie behind.

But what would stay, were all the questions.

So many questions. No answers.

For now.

#story time #fantasy story #worldbuilding #story idea #grimwolf #hunters #alka-di-kijarr #fantasy art #adoptable oc #adoptable design #adoptable #contest winner #writer #writing

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