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no real warning except for the concept of love being fucked up in unum's head lol
--
before being dropped (literally) into The Void, you never really wondered if Gods could love.
pointless musings, really.
the abstract concept of Godsâ slipping away from the cracks of your fingers when you thought about it a moment too long.
and now you were basically roommates (parents?) with one.
you loved noor and shams, there really was no doubt about that. unum was a different case though. you knew he could consume you without a thought, if it werenât for his self restraint and curiosity about the human concept of change. you thought back to the first moments in his mansion, of being pinned to the floor, his mouth against your sternum, salivating, aching to tear, to taste, to bleed.
he didnât, though.
instead, he let you live.
he had his purpose for it, sure, but a God letting a human live sounded like it should be a big thing.
your body still couldnât understand the difference between flight or fight and affection.
you were okay with confusing them for a bit longer.
unum lay stretched out on the bed next to you, his robes discarded in the intimacy of the moment. too warm. the sun in your room. how did you not burn yet?
âa Godâs love is irreversible,â he said, like it was final (it should have been, coming from said Godâs mouth), âyou could erase my existence. change fate over. you canât rewrite a Godâs love.â
his hand was around your waist, a heavy weight, burning like the surface of the sun. you didnât know if you should pull away.
âGods donât love,â you said, tracing the stars in his eyes. âthen theyâre not Gods anymore.â
his starburst eyes flared brighter at your words, jagged smile growing wider. âoh?â he crooned, tilting your chin up with a finger. âyou think love Ungods me? that makes it better.â
he pressed your palm flat against his chestâ devoid of a heart, empty like space, and scorching you like you touched the sun. it didnât hurt, you thought. not like it should. âlook,â he said, voice reverent. âI am burning for you, and it doesnât even hurt! doesnât that mean something?"
he waved his hand carelessly in the air, producing a memory before your eyes, your first touch of him. it felt like a decaying prayer between you. unum laughed into your hair, curling his fingers into your clothes, as if he was afraid youâd leave.
as if heâd be afraid of anything.
âyou can rewrite me all you want, but this part stays true forever,â he said, an oath. you almost believed him.
âwhy love me, then? out of everyone else you could have..â you tried looking into his eyes, holding so much inside them that they appeared like a void. you couldnât even look at him without burning. âyou could kill me at any moment.â
his eyes flared for a split second, white hot and too bright, making you blink to adjust to the light. for the first time since youâd known him, unum looked smaller. his arm felt heavier on top of you, but he reeled his touch back before you could think too much of it. âkill you..â he murmured, tracing the line of your jaw thoughtfully. light spilled from his touch, too warm, all wrong.
âyou think I donât know?â a laugh spilled out of himâ too sharp-edged for joy. âI could burn this whole world down by accident before breakfast! but you..â he squeezed your palm against his chest. you could almost feel a heartbeat there if you lied hard enough. âyou are my only prayer,â he said finally, like he was passing down a law to the world.
you ached in places you didnât know how to name.
âgods donât pray,â you said instead, your voice cracked like your resolve.
his expression flickered. he wanted to laugh. or scream. maybe both.
instead, he swallowed, forcing his trembling hands to settle back on your skin. the warmth was almost painful now, the sheer light of him too much for mortal nerves to handle. âI do,â he murmured, his gaze fixing on your face. âI do.â
âI need you,â he whispered, the words not more than a ragged breath. âI need you like I need light.â
the ache spread, like fire under your skin. âunumââ you tried, your fingers grasping his shoulders to try and ground yourself.
he leaned into your touch, his breaths sharp. his starburst eyes almost flared again, a feverish glint in them. âdonât say it,â he pleaded. âdonât say you want me gone.â
he pulled you into his arms, his touch still too hot, his grip too tight. âI can do better,â he said desperately, breath warm against your ear. âanything. Iâll stop talking so much. Iâll stop walking into things. Iâll stop setting curtains on fire. just donât say it.â
fire flared in you, like kindlings catching a spark, lighting you up from within. ââm not saying it,â you said quietly. a lie? you didnât know. fearful all the same.
unum froze, his grip looseningâ just slightly, like a candle flame flickering uncertainly in the dark.
ânot saying it?â he repeated, voice small and disbelieving. the glow of his eyes wavered as he searched your face for any hint of deception. his hands slid up to cradle your jaw with unbearable gentleness. it felt wrong. âyou mean that?â a pauseâ then his whole body shuddered forward into you with a sound halfway into manic glee. âliar. liar liar liarâ!â he nuzzled almost violently against your collarbone anyway, teeth grazing skin without actually breaking it. âI forgive you.â
Gods werenât meant to love without consuming, you knew. not because they wanted to, but because thatâs all they knew. to take. to consume. to pick at your organs with your own bones. heâd dig his hands into your innards right now, if you let him.
but maybe the choice of not doing that was his love for you.
youâd never understand how Gods loved.
unum shifted, bringing you closer into his embrace, cradling your head against his chest. the warmth was more bearable now, even if you knew itâd burn you away if you stayed too long. you looked up at him. his starry eyes were soft, like he knew the exact weight he needed to use to break you, so he wasnât. you were okay with burning, you decided.
âdonât you know what I could do to you like this?â he asked, each word dipped in unspoken prayer. âI could tear you apart right now. you know I want to. so why let me close?â
you sighed. âI donât know. fear?â
unum made a face at that, something complicated between offense and awe.
âfear?â he repeated, voice pitching. he ran his hand through his hair, red slipping through his fingers like liquid flame. âsay itâs not fear. say itâs something worse,â he said finally, his voice too close to pleading for either of your liking.
âwhats worse than fear?â you asked, pushing his hand away from his hair to smoothen out the wild locks. it felt too natural for it to be right.
he went still at the question. there was something almost thoughtful about the way he studied you, far too much knowledge in his eyes for someone who was deemed to be stupid. he didnât answer immediately; instead, he crowded you backwards until he was on top of you.
he pressed closer again, one hand pinning yours above your head, twining your fingers with his as he leaned over. âdesire.â his voice softer now, he uttered the word. âsay itâs desire.â
you looked up at him. he very much looked like the sun on top of you, too bright, too warm. âthatâs damning,â you said quietly.
he grinned, something manic glowing in his eyes. âyou've already gained a Godâs love,â he said softly, reverently, as if tasting his worship for you. ânothing can be more damning than that.â
you couldn't argue that.
so you pulled him close instead. if you were damned already, you might as well go out on your own terms, right?
unumâs lips were softer than they had any right to be, and yours against them felt like sin, like you touched something you weren't meant to. you felt more than heard him gasp against you, and you swallowed the sound without thinking.
your fingers dipped in red, stroking through his hair in mindless little circlesâ a touch meant to soothe him, or you? you didn't know.
you'd tasted a god. surely there was no saving you anymore.
he pulled back just enough to graze his sharp teeth over your lipsâ not punishing, pleading. his halo like third eye flickered, like it was debating if now was a good time to open up. golden light spilled from his shadow, surrounding you.
âoh,â he breathed out, giddy, delirious. âyou taste me? you taste divinity?â a laugh punched out of him, too loud for the room, something sounding scarily close to hunger. âI could carve my name into your tongue if you asked! let it linger there when you speak! let every word be mineââ
something unfurled in your chest. too soft for fear, too sharp for affection.
desire, then.
damn you.
it was a quieter fire than fear, desire.
it didnât scream in your bones or send your body bolting for exits that didnât exist. it settled insteadâ low and insistentâ curling around your ribs like it intended to stay. if you thought on it a second too long, you could imagine it being unumâs hand instead, cradling your heart like it was something precious. gripping it like it was his next meal.
âunum,â you said again, his name more of a warning this time. or a prayer. you werenât sure which one you were allowed to use.
he stilled at the sound of it. not because you said his nameâ but because you said it like it was nothing more than that. not a symbol. not the sun. but just unum. his grin faltered, the hunger melting into something more fragile.
âsay it again,â he murmured. âsay it like youâre choosing me.â
you swallowed. you could still taste him on your tongue, warm and sharp. entirely too wrong. âyouâre terrifying.â
he laughed, breathless. âI know.â
âand youâll ruin me.â
his eyes burned brighter. âyes.â
you lifted your trapped hand, until he let go of it just enough so you could press your palm to his chest. you wondered for a moment would he let you dig inside his chest. could you make him a heart if he let you open his insides? his empty chest remained still, unanswering.
âlove me, then,â you said softly, permission? oath. âwith all you have. I know it'll burn me.â
he sucked in a sharp breath, as if he physically felt your words. for a terrifying moment, he was still, too still. and thenâ
unum laughed. bright and flaring like the rays of the sun, lighting up the room with its ring. âalready do!â his voice cracked at the admission, like the weight of it was too heavy. âI love you until it hurt. until I burn so bright I forget my own name!â
then he shrunk, his voice quieter, almost ashamed. âyou can stop me if it gets too much.â
you hummed, pressing your palm against his chest again. a promise, maybe. if you squinted hard enough.
âI will.â
you may never understand how the Gods loved.
but looking at unum right nowâ bright eyed, laughing like the world was in his hands, like it was made in your shape..
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the golden blooded ones were those who were meant to carry the weight of divinity.
you were not one.
you with your silk robes, flowing behind you like the ripples of a clear stream as you walked. you with your soft voice, meant to soothe and comfort and bless every soul that wept at your feet for help. you, who by no means, had the body to carry something as vast as the miracles of the titans, yet you did.
you held it close, cradled it to your chest, whispered secrets you wouldnât tell a soul to it. you rotted with it. twined your fingers with the decay just so it wouldnât leave you, because if you werenât the child of the divine, what were you?
this is all you knew.
the prayers. the songs. the worship.
it was your whole world, as you were its world. it gave you reason to carry the weight of everyoneâs pleas, and you gave it home.
anaxagoras was the first person to argue otherwise.
anaxagoras, your dear anaxagoras. the blasphemer, the heretic, the lunatic who defied the gods in a world where finding their coreflames was the only way to gain salvation. heâd look at your divine texts and scoff. hear the begging chorus of the mass at your feet and laugh. it should have been infuriating. it should have been everything you were against.
but how could you find him anything but a part of the starry skies when he looked at you like youâd given him new life?
love was difficult. it was messy, and complicated, and you were more than half certain that you had no ability to feel that emotion until it fell into your arms in the shape of a weary scholar.
even when the weight of the holy inside your chest (your lungs, your heart, every single blood cellâ) screamed and writhed in protest. when the decay pooled into your mouth like ink spilling from a bottle. the divine were cruel, you knew, but you never could quite get used to the way your body would fail under its load. but even then, when you were falling, anaxagoras was there to hold you.
heâd be the one to catch you, to hold you close, to shush your tears till the storm passed. you never understood why. you were everything he was against, yet he loved you like you were his last breath. held you like heâd seen the shape of the universe in your palms.
because even anaxagoras, for all his heresy, was a devotee when it came to you.
not for the divine in you. not for the blessings you gave out. but for you. the person who sang to the flowers in the garden because it âhelped them grow better.â who could recite a prayer from heart, but forgot the names of high priests within five minutes. who kissed him and meant it, then hid away from embarrassment for a good ten minutes.
he didnât need the titansâ blessing in you to find divinity in your soul. you were divine because you existed, and he was a hopeless fool in love.
heâd call you every pet name under the sun: my star, my sun, my dear, my heart, because to him, you were everything. even when your body failed you.
the nights were the most difficult.
your bouts of rot had a tendency to strike during nighttime, when your body was too exhausted to hold off the waves. heâd hold you through it, uncaring of the decay staining him, murmuring assurances in your ear. heâd never say itâd be okay, that itâd get better, because you both knew that was a lie, and anaxagoras did not lie. instead, heâd talk about his day. gripe about snarky students and hard headed sages. heâd tell you about the dromases in okhema heâd want to visit. about the way the stars reflecting in your eyes that looked like a galaxy of their own.
he didnât care if the rot touched himâ let it. let it take him whole, consume him entirely, because even if it did, it couldnât erase his love for you. a fact of the world, heâd call it. and even when he felt his lungs constricting, filling with ink, heâd hold you closer, grumbling about petty work concerns.
because love, to him, meant choosing his own ruin, as long as it was with you.
heâd told you the story of icarus one time. the boy who touched the sun. and when you called it a romance, heâd nearly scoffed. âyou call everything romantic,â heâd said. you simply smiled. âthatâs because thereâs love in everything.â
absurd.
and then you gave him that smile that made him lose his train of thought, and he forgot all about the argument.
it was only when you were dying, that he realized you were right.
there was only so much a mortal body could take, you both knew. and the limits of yours had long been crossed. it felt like a betrayal to all his reason, the thought of you not being by his side. like his identity was stolen away from him. because anaxagoras had a lot of names given to him, but anaxa was only ever yours.
icarus would always fall for the sun, even when it took the shape of someone dying.
and so this time, the sun fell instead of icarus. and it took all of his love away with it.
--
okay listen I was definitely in a manic episode when I wrote this so it's chaotic af I apologize
the grove of epiphany was silent as ever when you stepped back into your home.
cercesâ mercy, you were tired. you would be content with sleeping for the next week. being a healer wasnât something you had any objections with. youâd go as far as to say you even liked your job, despite the hours being long.
except for today.
youâd been busy with patients the entire day, and you were ready to collapse into your bed and not get up for the next twelve hours. how did hyacine do this?
your house was warm, dimly lit from the late hour, and the scent of whatever candle anaxagoras had lit earlier. you stepped inside, shoulders achingâ actually everything achingâ but you persevered. you slipped off your shoes, stepping inside the house, your mind feeling foggy.
so foggy, in fact, that you almost missed the figure waiting on the couch.
almost.
â..anaxa?â
he looked up from the book in his hands, the candlelight painting his pale hair and tracing the sharp line of his jaw. his usual long coat was gone, replaced withâ
with..
pale mint lace hugged his lean frame, the soft, almost flowery design on them outlining the slight swell of his chest and hips, delicate straps framing his thighs in an overall sinful picture.
he was wearing lingerie.
the fucker was wearing lingerie.
you had to blink a few times to make sure that this was actually real and not a product of some sort of exhaustion induced hallucination. they had to be, right?
âI take it your day was difficult,â he finally spoke up, his voice a dry drawl as usual, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. he even set his book down with care, posture composed. âI thought a visual reprieve might.. improve your mood.â
you could hear how carefully he was choosing his words. the way he was trying his hardest to hold back a smirk. the sight made you want to strangle himâ or kiss him stupid. you didnât know.
âanaxa..â you started, voice strangled.
âitâs anaxagoras,â he corrected, as usual. the dry tone made you come back to earth a little. âI merely thought a little.. gift would be nice after all the hard work youâve been putting in,â he said, tilting his head in a mock innocent gesture that made his hair fall just the right way, and you wanted to sink your fingers into it and pullâ
âthis counts as a gift?â you asked, your voice more of a squeak than anything.
anaxaâs lips twitched, just barely. âare you displeased?â he asked, tone still carefully neutral, but you could hear the faint hints of nervousness there, buried under layers of practiced calm.
you opened your mouth. then closed it again, flustered beyond words. your brain struggled to assemble any words through the repeated chants of anaxa, my anaxa, sitting there in sheer mint lace, one leg elegantly crossed over the other as if he were giving a lecture and not melting your entire sense of shame or composure.
âI..â you took a breath, half laughing, half groaning. âI think Iâm more horny than anything right now.â
his visible eye gleamed, an amused mischief lighting it up. he tilted his head. âgood. that was the intended reaction.â
that did it.
whatever last bit of restraint you had evaporated. you crossed the space between you in two quick strides, your hands reaching out to grab his face and pull him into a desperate kiss.
he made a startled sound, low in his throat, and immediately melted into the touch, kissing you back with just as much fervour. his hands found your hips, pulling you in till you were standing between his legs.
the lace was softer than youâd imaginedâ and so much more sinful up close. you could feel the fine fabric shift under your fingers as you dragged your palms down his chest, over his ribs.
âwas this really just a âgiftâ?â you murmured against his lips, breath warm.
he looked up at you through a half lidded gaze, the faintest of smirks tugging at his mouth even when his cheeks were flushed with color. âperhaps.. a controlled experiment.â
âoh? testing what, exactly?â
âhow long you could maintain rational thought.â
you laughedâ breathless and incredulousâ and kissed him again, harder this time. âI hope youâre taking notes then,â you murmured, your hand tracing down the lace on his chest to the skimpy panties he was wearing. you slipped your hand inside the soft material, wrapping your hand around his hard on, already staining the lace.
he made a quiet, choked noise, his hips bucking up into your touch. âmm,â you hummed against his lips. âyour experiment will fail without sufficient data.â
his breath hitched. âthen.. I suppose I must document the results firsthand..â
you grinned, stroking him in the usual fast pace that he liked, too turned on to even think about teasing right now. he moaned quietly, biting his lip to muffle the seemingly undignified sound. your hand reached up, pulling his bottom lip from under his teeth. âyouâll skew the data,â you chided playfully.
your thumb rubbed the tip of his length, spreading the pooling pre cum to make the slide of your hand easier. his hips were bucking up without a care now, fucking your hand as he panted underneath you. âyou.. are being awfully bold tonight..â he breathed, his voice shaky and torn with pleasure. you smiled. âlets say Iâm.. motivated.â
you could tell he was close by the way his moans were slipping out a bit more freely now, hips fucking up into your hand desperately. âgo on, cum for me, pretty,â you cooed, twisting your hand just the way he liked.
and off he went, spilling into your hand with a strangled moan, ruining the lacy panties. you kept moving your hand until he had to grasp your wrist for a break. you smiled, satisfied and utterly whipped for the menace of a man underneath you.
âis that enough data for your experiment?â you teased. he took a moment to answer, catching his breath, and when he did, you found your positions flipped, his hands pulling you down and pinning you underneath him on the couch. he tilted his head in mock contemplation.
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