#this is one of the softest moments in human history

[sweet-as-an-angel]

The One where Soap finds Himself in an ✨ Awkward ✨Situation. [ Ghost x Reader ]

Warnings: Suggestive Content, Soap Being Confused, Occasional Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader Except for ‘You’.

Summary: Hiding out at your house, the 141 are settling in for the evening. Soap ends up hearing something he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t have on his way to the bathroom. But why can’t he seem to stop listening ?

“Gah! Fuck–”

The voice splintering through the door made Soap jump – near caused him to soil his favourite pair of jeans as it rumbled through the wood, practically taking it off its hinges with how the nails shuddered in their slots. The voice was baritone, deep. Grizzled. A carnality slumbered in its tone, rearing its waking head.

Ghost.

“Shh, Simon ! You’re going to get us caught !”

Yours followed soon after, a reprimand Johnny would never dream of dishing to the most lethal man he’s ever known. And yet here you were, doing God-knows-what, speaking to him as if you were in control.

When all went quiet again, just for a moment, Soap stopped and wondered if it had all been a hallucination. One second, then two. A low moan slipped beneath the door. Johnny jumped.

He was just going to walk away. Truly, he was ! He – and the rest of the 141 – saw how much chemistry – history – you and Ghost shared. Although, he’d just never imagined you’d be sharing it with the rest of the house, too. 

Well, if Simon’s volume was anything to go by.

Johnny’s eyes drifted from the end of the hallway – where the beloved bathroom was – to the door beside him. He bit his lip, heart beating, still recovering from the fright. His curiosity was far from piqued – it shot through the bloody roof and left an impromptu skylight in its wake. And as imaginary sunlight filtered in through the hole, Johnny begged that divine intervention would tear him away from the scene unfolding beside him so he wouldn’t have to.

“God, don’t stop,” came Simon’s pleading tone, any harshness that was custom to it having melted away. Soap, against all better judgement and higher power, inched closer to the door. He cast a glance over his shoulder, once, twice. Nobody lurked behind. His ear was almost pressed to the wood. He could hear Simon panting, hear you humming as you did…something.

“I won’t – not until you’re finished.” There was little to be heard in the way of shame in your voice, especially in your gentle whisper: “I promise.” Soap swallowed thickly, then, blinking, began rubbing his ears. He couldn’t be hearing this right. He just couldn’t !

Only, when he had thoroughly cleared the imaginary poison from his ears, the issue remained.

“Shit–! That’s it, right there–”

“God, you’re so stiff, Simon. What have you been doing while you were away ?” There was almost a purr to your voice. Ghost only let out a moan as his response, muffled by what Johnny could only guess were pillows.

Why am I still here?! he all but screamed, remembering that he was no Pinocchio, trapped on this stage, bound by strings. He could have been a free man if he so wished. And trust, he did. So why was it that, when he went to walk away, to scour his ears with bleach, to finally embark upon his uninterrupted journey to the bathroom, that he found himself glued in place ?

Perhaps it was the primal instinct to know all that there is to know, to discern danger wherever it lay. Or, perhaps, he was so eneamoured with the idea of whatever could be happening on the other side of this door – Ghost being human for a change – that he couldn’t bring himself to pass up the opportunity to see him so…vulnerable.

That sounded about right.

“(Y/N),” Ghost’s voice husked, no longer dampened, restricted, by an unknown force. He groaned, long and unfiltered. The way he spoke your name was almost in the tone of love, its softest and most carnal form, as if tasting the gradient of your syllables, vowels and consonants upon his tongue. He all but growled. You gasped.

“(Y/N), you’re so close–”

“You want it there, Simon ?” You didn’t miss a beat. Soap’s breath caught in his throat. He looked over his shoulder to the imaginary camera filming his ordeal.

“Yes, yes, God – yes–”

“Doing so well for me, Si,” you said, soft and encouraging. Ghost’s breathing was at its heaviest now, heaving breaths as if they were bricks, building a tower from which he may never come down. A high he will never beat.

“We’re almost there,” you told him, to which he only let out a thick, strangled noise, bulging beneath invisible chains as he tried to conceal it. His moans only grew longer and more frequent, his jaw presumably dropping open to let them pass when he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

Soap began to wring his hands, thankful for the lack of a keyhole in the door so to spare him the intrusive desire to spy on the situation visually, too. Trapped in his own daze, his hurried, sweating, anxious contemplation was torn open by a sound so sharp and brilliant he never wanted to hear it again.

Ghost moaned.

Straight-up howled, roared, as he came to an end. 

Soap’s soul clung to his body as the sheer calamity Ghost’s booming voice brought with it shook the very ground he stood on. Johnny’s hands flew to his racing heart, trying to catch it as it jumped up his throat.

Simon’s voice tapered, muffled after most likely burying his face into a pillow. With every exhale, a sliver of euphoria would follow, eventually baying out like the tide, his breathing returning to a shallow rhythm. And all the while, you paid him words of comfort.

“Well done,” you said, the smile in your voice evident. “Took it so well, Simon,” Your voice was feather-light, belied the illicit nature of all Soap had heard you do.

Though, even in this dazed, mortified state, he couldn’t fathom how you sounded so…normal. As if you’d exerted no energy.

Perhaps (Y/N)’s just…strong…? Johnny’s reasoning left much to be desired, that much he knew. Even Ghost was winded, and he was by far the fittest of the 141.

In amongst his rampant thoughts, the idea to flee the scene came too late as, upon hearing you dismount Ghost, your footsteps fast approaching the door, Johnny’s eyes widened, the state he’d be in if either you or Ghost found him unintentionally spying flashing before his eyes as his life no doubt would later.

He couldn’t scramble away in time. He ran on the spot, a cartoon, his impending doom facing him head-on as you swung the door open. His eyes all but watered as he caught sight of you wiping your hands on a towel. You smiled.

“Oh, hey, Jo-Jo !” You said, his nickname rolling off your tongue as if Simon’s hadn’t been just minutes ago. You gave him a brief nod before walking past him, a spectre. A harbinger of death. Johnny stood, body reeling, mind freezing, as nothing became clearer to him except your blase manner. He released a short, puffed breath.

He saw the inside of your bedroom, your bed just out of sight, hidden by the door.

Breath quivering, Body shaking, Soap knew this was his chance.

His last chance.

He turned. Didn’t even make the floorboards creak as he did so.

“Fuck’re you lookin’ at, Johnny ?”

Ghost’s voice rolled across Soap’s mind like thunder clouds, despite the laxity of it, the slowness. He froze, ice rain slipping down the back of his shirt and making him stand up straight. Rigid.

“Uh…I–” He winced, his voice cracking, showing the uncertainty that lay below his usually obsidian tone.

“N-Nothing, Sir !”

Sir ? We’re not at base now, you daft fool–

“Somethin’s obviously botherin’ you,” came Ghost again. He let out a breath. “So come on.” His voice was free from the cotton-mouth effect of the pillows.

“Say it.”

Johnny swallowed, his voice prickling either with dehydration, tears, or an unsolvable mixture of both. When he said nothing – did nothing – Ghost sighed.

“Come on, Johnny,” he said, stark as ever. “Haven’t got all day.”

“W…Well–”

“And come out from ‘round that door. S’impolite not to face the person you’re talking to.”

Johnny’s heart stopped.

No, he couldn’t have heard him properly.

“Are…you…sure…?”

Better safe than sorry.

“What’d’you– course I’m bloody sure. Now stop messin’ about and get in ‘ere.”

Taking a deep breath, and a leap of faith, Johnny rounded the door, the corner. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping and praying.

He heard Simon sigh.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake – at least open you eyes, you daft prick.”

Begrudgingly, hesitantly, Soap cracked one eye open, then the other.

His brain almost couldn’t fathom the dissonance between all that was there, all that wasn’t, and all that he’d expected there to be.

Simon was chest-down on your bed, arms surrounding a bundle of pillows, holding them as if they were collected sticks, his head resting atop one. He watched Johnny from the corner of his half-lidded eye. He was dressed from the waist down, and his back, wet with what Soap had initially come to the horrifying conclusion was sweat, was actually bronzed with what permeated the air: a soothing oil.

Lavender.

Soap’s gaze jumped from point to point, trying to find something – anything – of the reality that had played out behind the door.

“Well ?” Ghost said. “I’m listening.”

Johnny, for the last time, swallowed, rubbed the back of his neck. His frying nerves cooled, though electricity still ran through them.

“I thought–” he gave the room another once-over.

“I thought you and… (Y/N)... were…”

Simon huffed.

“Were…?”

Johnny let out a breath, an almost-laugh. He gave a feeble smile.

“Nothin’ Sir–”

“No, go on,” Ghost prodded, getting up onto his elbows and turning over, now facing Johnny. “I’m curious now.”

John bit his lip, trying to quell the incessant itch there. He could taste the sweat collecting on his top lip.

“I just thought that…” He couldn’t look SImon in the eyes, his gaze bouncing around the room. He could feel Simon’s eyes narrowing, his patience waning.

He sighed. The jig was up.

“I…thought– that you and (Y/N) were…” He looked to Ghost, who gave no indication of understanding what Johnny was getting at, his disposition monotone as ever. Even without the mask, he was no less imposing.

Johnny made a gesture with his fists, bumping them together.

Simon’s eyes widened by a fraction of a fraction.

He said nothing. Soap’s fight-or-flight instinct re-activated. He glanced at the door. The hallway. His narrow chance of escape.

“How–” Ghost’s voice drew Johnny back to the land of the living.

“How loud were we ?”

Johnny grimaced.

“Not really (Y/N), Sir,” he said. “Just…” his hand grew into the shape of what he was trying to say. “You.”

Upon seeing Simon’s eyes widen even more, Johnny’s gaze dropped. And found another, damning detail.

Quick, use your natural humour and charm !

“Though,” he smiled, crooked, sided and small. A start. “I can see something’s made you somewhat excited,”

Simon’s eyebrow raised, and following Soap’s gaze, his shoulders went rigid.

Oh no.

A tent had been pitched in his sweatpants, plain as day for all who looked to see. Johnny’s top set of teeth grappled with his bottom lip, trying to purse his lips shut.

A snort sneaked past, and he slapped a hand over his mouth immediately, as if trying to scoop it back in.

Ghost’s gaze hardened. His eyes concrete.

“Tell (Y/N), you die tonight.”

Soap, smiling widely, simply turned in the beginnings of his departure.

“Course, Lieutenant,” he said. “Aaanything you say.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

#mw2 ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #mw2 ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod ghost x reader #mw2 x reader #mw2 x you #mw2 fanfic #cod mw2 fanfic #cod mw2 ghost #soap mactavish #soap mctavish #soap mw2

[nanamimizz]

tags: wc: 600 sfw, gn reader, reader is getting older, crying,established relationship, mention of death and morality. angst and fluff. @itoshisoup for you miss mao.

synopsis: the woes of mortal life catch up to you, and you can't help but worry about what happens when you are no longer there.

You had found a gray hair.

That’s what started it all - Zhongli had come home late to your shared home with it all dark, not even the front lamp lit. He finds you in bed, wrapped in sheets and quilts as if to hide from the world. He sits on the side of the bed your body isn’t curled against and places his non-gloved hand on the formation of your head. The darkened flesh pulses with the energy of geo and the lines are the only light in the dim room.

You call his name and it’s muffled, but he is quick to affirm that yes, he is here. You take your head out of the blankets and he finds you with tear tracks and mussed hair.  Orange eyes goal like coals and soften as he looks at the mess you’ve made of yourself. Zhongli asks what’s wrong and fresh tears spring from your eyes.

“I’m getting older.” You say and something in the orange of Zhongli’s eyes softens from cor lapis to a flame, Zhongli is filled with some sort of melancholy at your despair.

“You are human my dear, it is how it must be.” You sniffle, wiping your nose with the back of your hand when a tear rounds down the edge of your nose. His hands come to hold the softest part of your face, just as his hands hold the softest parts of your heart.

“When I die, I won’t be with you anymore - what if,” You stumble over your words but manage to utter them with the comfort of his thumbs rubbing into the smooth panels of your face.

“What if when I die, you don’t remember me anymore,” you utter punctuated by another wave of tears that spill down your tears.

“That won’t ever come to pass my dear,” Zhongli says, his voice soft like the rumble of a lit hearth. Warm and kind, promising all sorts of comforts in the shape of teas and soups. You look at his red eyes and your own hands come to rest on his that still hold your face.

“If you could make me immortal - could you?” 

“No.” His answer comes swiftly and is as stern as stone. You deflate and hurt paints your face as his refusal but his hands anchor you in the moment rather than what you feel.

“Why not?” You feel like some sort of child asking for something that they can’t have and an emotion you can’t describe flashes across Zhongli’s handsome face. Pain, grief, jealousy, and acceptance dance in the embers of his eyes.

“Your human life is among the richest and most profound things in the world. It will give you more happiness than anything. You are so fortunate to be born a human and to have a mortal life.” He says and it’s like his words are gospel and the fog of your despair of events not passed is blown away; you understand why out of all beings in the vast history of Liyue he was the most followed and praised. You nod, following along with what it is he says.

“One day, you will die and I will be the one to bury your body. And I will envy the earth that wraps around you.” He reassures you and you let him press his lips to your forehead and from his lips he rests his own forehead on yours. Even with touch alone, you can feel the difference in your bodies - his weight, his warmth is unnatural but it is yours all the same.

“I will never love another the way I love you. Never.” He murmurs into your skin and those glowing arms wrap around your form with the same devolution as the earth that would one day hold your body in a way Zhongli could not, but for some time.

For now, Zhongli will savor every moment he has with you, like shards that will be for the king of all jewels and that there will never be another.

#lamb.writes #zhongli x reader #zhongli angst #zhongli fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin imagines #zhongli x you

[film-in-my-soul]

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Master Reclist · Personal Masterlist · Blog Nav.

#dreamling #dream/hob #dreamling reclist #reclist #fanfic reclist #the sandman reclist

[riplever]

[Translation] Translating my favorite moments from Shapolang

/*SPOILER WARNING*/

This is my prep work for future fic-writing.

Gu Yun suddenly goes, "Shall I leave the army to Chang Geng in the future?"

Shen Yi is stupefied. "Just how badly do you want him dead?"

From the look on his face, Shen Yi is very much taking pleasure in his suffering. Gu Yun reaches for the back of head and shoves him face-down into the blankets; then he drifts away listlessly, thinking it might be time to hang himself with a waistband of sorts.

Gu Yun knows the human heart all too well — he knows the more you avoid some things, the more heinously taboo it becomes; like what happens when poison reaches the bone — in far too deep to be removed. So it's with that logic in mind that he decides to show Chang Geng all he has to show — it's just his body after all, what else is there to it?

"If I were born a decade earlier..." Chang Geng suddenly starts.

Liao Ran's eyelid twitches.

Word by heavy word, Chang Geng finishes his sentence: "This world would be a different one."

And he never would ever let Gu Yun go.

Gu Yun does feel that he has the bigger responsibility in this whole affair, and for that he even feels guilty. Under ordinary circumstances, Chang Geng never would have gotten this close to him were if not for his unspoken approval. And even if he hadn't had enough wits to react on the spot back then, thereby leading to their "accident", he still should not have procrastinated... and allowed things to get to their present state.

"That's why..." Gu Yun could only utter those two words. His voice is cracked beyond recognition, and it was physically taxing for him to clear his throat enough to finish the sentence. "So that's why you prescribed him tranquilizers."

(T/N: I find it so interesting that 安神药 is translated as "tranquilizers" in the fandom. It's not the first thing I would have thought of, but it's quite fitting for the wild wolf analogy and is a very chilling word to see.)

At the end of his flute performance, an extremely self-satisfied Gu Yun turns around with a face full of expectations and prompts him. "Wasn't that just lovely?"

"..." Chang Geng hesitates not for a short period of time, and in the end answers sincerely. "It invigorates one's spirit and... will definitely keep our enemies at bay."

Chang Geng couldn't resist any longer. He leans down and plugs Gu Yun's lips with his own.

"My general," his thinks, heart at once sweetened and sorrowed. "Throughout history, how many have been able to shed their armors and retire in one piece from the battlefield? What was that promise for, if none other than to break my heart?"

Unlike the parting kiss on the city wall all those years ago, this one contained much less desperate passion. All of a sudden, a section of Gu Yun's armored heart caves inwards, revealing its softest and most vulnerable underbelly. It's this heart that thinks, "From here on, this person is mine."

That look in Chang Geng's eyes, that expression — Shen Yi's eyes are blinded, and he gravely regrets stepping foot in the manor at this time. Gu Yun, for his part, is just as mute — his waist was pained simply from hearing the word "Stepfather".

Gu Yun wipes the salt from his mouth, reeling from the accusation at being called an "animal". He felt so grievously misunderstood that he could do no more than sit mutely in his corner, unable to plead his own case.

As he chewed on the salted yellow fish, a thought occurs to Gu Yun and he puts half of it in Shen Yi bowl. "How about you finish up dinner and get going soon? You were born with eyes, surely with them you can see how busy he is from having worked so hard all day long. Don't impose here."

An insulted Shen Yi very nearly chokes on the damned salted yellow fish bone. He retaliates lowly, "I come all this way here to play counsellor to your worries, and this is how you thank me? Gu Zixi, you would rather lust for sex than be loyal to our friendship — so this is what they mean when they say time reveals all colors!"

Gu Yun hasn't even gotten the last syllable out of his mouth when he feels a sudden warm wetness on the side of his neck. It's Chang Geng — taking advantage of the present chaos to lick a strip across Gu Yun's skin.

Through the cacophony, he could hear that low voice murmuring right inside his ear. "It's fairly romantic to die for love in this manner, wouldn't you say?"

Gu Yun is speechless.

(My favorite #2)

Perhaps the most unpredictable thing in this world is not the ill intents of one's enemies, but the heart of one's lover — oftentimes sincere, yet still, at times — fleeting.

Chang Geng pleads, "Zixi..."

"There's no need for Zixi," Gu Yun responds evenly. "You may continue addressing me as 'Stepfather'."

Chang Geng smiles without shame, and kisses him with the intent to please. This is something he'd recently discovered — that Gu Yun likes these sticky little kisses, a kind of light pressure between lips. And if he tops this off by staring at him with a careful and attentive expression afterwards, then Gu Yun will say "yes" to just about anything he asks for.

(My favorite #1)

As he said this, there is an almost imperceptible furrow between his brows, his expression practically bleak. Chang Geng has only ever seen this expression one other time, and it was during that new year's eve when they were aboard the Yuan. The Gu Yun of then had toasted three cups of wine to a legion of departed souls, his face etched with this exact same stinging loneliness — as though not even the combined might of all the lanterns in the city could bring him into light.

Chang Geng's eyes flash, and seeing that no one on the cart was paying them any mind, offers in a tantalizingly low voice, "Let me again tonight and I'll show you the blueprint for the railroad."

Horse whip in hand, Gu Yun leans back. "Let you? How many times have I let you? You've used your injuries as an excuse countless of times and you've never let me have my way. Forget it."

Liao Ran raises his eyes to meet his gaze.

Chang Geng's expression is inscrutable. "Ask Chen Qingxu for all the Gu Zixi secrets she's been keeping from me."

(My favorite #3)

Chang Geng's grip tightens as he holds Gu Yun almost protectively. For the first time in his heart, there's none of the dependency he feels towards his little stepfather, and none of the desire he feels towards his beloved. Instead, he feels as though he's cradling a young and delicate child in his arms.

In all the time he's spent ruminating on impossible what-ifs and what-could-have-beens, Chang Geng often tried to imagine what their relationship would have been like had he been been born ten, or even twenty years earlier.

And today, on the bitingly cold frontlines of the Jiangbei warfront, the missing time that he yearned so wretchedly for shrinks to a few tiny inches, left to the dust as he crosses those decades in a single step.

From head to toe, Gu Yun's body is soft everywhere. There seemed to be an invisible wound on his chest, aching dully at the lighest of efforts. He fumbles around blindly by his side, finding his monocle glasses with some fluster. "Let me..."

His head lowered, Chang Geng ignores him. He gently grips Gu Yun's wrist and pushes it back down.

(My favorite #4)

Chang Geng takes the blade and leaves.

To show that he had most definitely kept his word, and had not even so much as tip-toed past the flap of his tent, Gu Yun stood by the entrance as he waited for Chang Geng. He didn't care for any of the blood, sweat or dirt and immediately pulled him into an embrace.

It's only now that Chang Geng feels that bone-deep fatigue. Wobbling ever so slightly, he grasps Gu Yun by the waist and mutters into his ear: "I'm never letting you fight another battle again."

In his ear, Chang Geng whines "pitifully": "I don't have any money to give you. My man took all of it and spent it on wine and women. Why don't you take my body instead?"

His accent is impressive for having spent those few months between the two camps — though Gu Yun doesn't know from whence exactly he'd picked up this wet, nasally cadence from. The syllables for "my man" were especially exaggerated, drawled so petulantly long that it seeped deep into Gu Yun's ears and sent a shiver running straight down his spine. He's hapless against the guiles of a beauty like this one, and can only hand over everything as demanded.

But without any avenue to share his joy, the Yan King could only satisfy himself in secret guilty pleasure. After sending Miss Chen away, he crept back to the manor at night, and wrote a letter to Gu Yun from his room. He didn't post it, and instead tucked it under Gu Yun's pillow when the words had dried.

That still wasn't gratifying enough. Retrieving his treasure trove containing all of Gu Yun's letters, he laid on the bed and re-read every single one of them until each and every last handwritten character and turn of phrase was freshly etched into his brain. With all that in mind, his next move was to craft a "reply" from Gu Yun by imitating his love's handwriting and prose to the letter. His one-man performance only felt deserving then.

In an instant, the General's tent falls quiet — while Gu Yun alone was silenced out of fear, the others were shocked speechless to see the "new emperor" mentioned in the letter standing right here in the flesh.

Only a man like Shen Yi would break an ice this thick. "... Don't even think of blaming me for delivering the message slow."

#sha po lang #stars of chaos #gu yun #chang geng #changgu #my translations

[kpopimagi]

A Flower Under The Rain [Part 11-1]

Characters: Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and Kang Gyuri (OC) Genre: Angst, Romance Au: Hanahaki!Au  Type: Series  Word count: 6,403

It all began with a cough and then, a subtle sting in her chest. Kang Gyuri cried, knowing that in a matter of months, she would be another figure in the death toll of the most dangerous and cruelest outbreak in human history.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8-1 | Part 8-2 | Part 9 | Part 10-1 | Part 10-2 | Part 11-2

Warning! Once again, I'll leave another big chapter split up in two. So, part 2 will be posted right after this one. Enjoy the pain!

“Hyung, help me, please.”

That was the last thing she heard. The fog slowly lifted, and all she wanted was to talk to him. To tell him that she was alright. That she was awake. Gyuri took a deep breath and opened her eyes. 

Her eyes did not open. She struggled as if someone had glued her eyelids together. She tried to rub whatever was keeping her from opening her eyes, but something rough scratched the skin around her eyes, making her wince. She tried again, whimpering in desperation, until that voice and that warmth she had become so dependent on reached her.

“Wait a second,” he said in a gentle tone she found so assuring. “I’ll do it for you.”

She relaxed just a little, waiting for him, unable to see what he was doing until something hot rubbed her eyes. She let out a little squeak, taken by surprise by the sudden heat. He was gentle, removing whatever kept her eyes closed, although she disliked the sensation of pealing something off her skin.

Once the surprise of waking up was gone and she waited patiently for the writer to work around her eyes, she finally noticed her own lack of movement. She tried a tiny bit of movement, aware of how much it hurt before, but nothing in her body seemed to get the signal. She couldn’t move. There was something heavy on her back, hindering any type of movement.

“I’m almost done.” He whispered, noticing her squirming in discomfort, “Gyuri, calm down.”

“Where—“ She wanted to ask, but her throat hurt with a coarse burning.

Before he could clean her eyes completely, her desperation got the best of her, and she snapped her eyes open. The sunlight blinded her momentarily, making her wince again, and everything around her was suddenly dark. He called her name with a tone that infuriated her more, and the more he did, the more she could feel his hands touching her, trying to calm her down.

“You’re safe, Gyuri,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re safe now.”

As if his words had some sort of power, whatever panic had her on edge disappeared, and she was finally aware of her body. It was his closeness that seemed to help her settle, his lips peppering her skin with the softest of comforts, and his hand pressing hers against his chest where she could hear his steady heart.

Gyuri eventually calmed down, engulfed in his embrace, and for a moment, she wanted to stay like that forever. It was the instant that she tried to move again that brought her back to reality.

“Am I dead?”

“No.”

And then silence. He pulled away, taking all of the comfort with him, and the dark and round eyes that found her were even worse, if that was possible. She saw his jaw clench and blink. Kyungsoo was there, and once again, he was the witness to her lowest point.

“You have to tell him.” He said, “Gyuri, Baekhyun needs to know.”

Gyuri flinched at the words. The sweetness that just minutes earlier could’ve saved her from doom was now dry and gone. He didn’t even look at her in the eyes, and she stared at him dumbfounded, wondering if she was actually dead. A living Kyungsoo would never say such a thing. He would never meddle in her business about the curse. He never had.

“He knows something's wrong.” He kept on, his fingers anxiously fidgeting with her hand. “He's looking for you and is bombarding your parent's phones with calls and texts. He won't stop until he knows.”

If she wasn’t dead, she must’ve been dreaming because the words that came out of his mouth couldn’t be true.

“Don't make them lie for you.” He begged in a whisper.

She wasn’t dreaming. The strength of his hands holding her let her know. The warmth of his skin was too overwhelming for her mind to simulate. So the writer himself, Do Kyungsoo, was indeed asking her to do the very first thing she decided to avoid. He, the one who had been with her from the beginning, was meddling. He was trying.

She pulled her hand away, making him finally look at her, and for an instant, a hint of anger flashed across his eyes. He stepped away, and what she saw rattled her core. He looked exhausted, his clothes splattered in blood. So it hadn’t been that long since she collapsed.

"Don't," she croaked, refusing to believe that he would even ask.

“Gyuri, you have to.”

“No.”

“He doesn't hate you.” He argued back, his eyes glistening. “Why would he spend an entire hour knocking at your door and waiting for you or your parents to come back?”

Gyuri shook her head, unable to talk and feeling her eyes watering. He asked again. He pleaded under his breath, his voice cracking, and she refused once again. She felt her face burn in anger. If she didn’t tell Baekhyun before, what made the writer believe she would tell him now that she was a step away from her impending doom? 

Did she say all that out loud? She didn’t know, but his face was twisted in frustration. Kyungsoo closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. What she never expected was for him to change. The Kyungsoo who opened his eyes was a much harsher and less patient man. His eyes hardened, looking at her with nothing but emptiness, and Gyuri shivered at the coldness that followed his words.

“Just know that you’re killing him just as slowly.”

With that, he pressed the red button on the panel board next to the bed. The buzz of an alarm distracted her, and soon the room buzzed with activity. Her parents came in, gushing over her, crying, and showering her with love. As horribly upset as she felt, she just couldn’t push them away. She bit back the annoyance and let them shed their tears in peace.

Once the mood settled and her mother stopped crying, Gyuri heard someone come into the room. She was lying down on her side, so she couldn’t see who it was, and when the male greeted everyone present, she couldn’t recognize the voice. Then she saw the man in the impeccably white coat show up in her peripheral vision, and the face was awfully familiar, but Gyuri couldn’t tell where it came from.

“Hello, Gyuri,” The man said with a tender white smile that was charming. “I’m Dr. Kim Junmyeon, and I’ll be looking out for you from now on.” 

That name rang a bell in her memory, and she observed the doctor as he walked around the bed where she was lying, trying to connect the dots. It was not until he stood right in front of her and bowed his head to her that Gyuri finally recognized him. He was beautiful. She always marveled at how handsome he looked on the brochure but never thought he would be so overwhelmingly beautiful in the flesh. She even wondered if she was still dreaming.

“Wait, you’re the researcher.” Gyuri pointed out, struggling to keep the astonishment out of her voice, "You’re the head of the Korean WHO division and the youngest doctor in the entire organization.”

“I see you did your homework.” He said this, trying to keep his smile small and not blind her with his beauty.

“It was one of those days.” She replied with a shrug.

Gyuri meant to make it sound lighthearted, but the doctor barely smiled in response. He nodded in agreement, probably highly aware of what she meant, and pulled a light pen out of his coat instead and held it in front of her eyes.

"Where am I? What's this place?" She asked as he directed her to follow the light left and right.

"A precaution." Dr. Kim said, turning the light pen off and putting it back in his coat pocket. "Kyungsoo got this place in case the disease came back for him. He got all the equipment and staff ready on standby."

The doctor gave her a meaningful look. He knew just how crazy what he said was, and Gyuri heard her mother gasp in surprise. If her parents didn’t know already, they knew now. The secret was out, and she felt bad for the writer. He just kept giving out parts of himself and the privacy of his life to accommodate her wellbeing.  

“How are you feeling?” The doctor asked, his polite smile going away.

And she hated everything about that question. She couldn’t even tell where she was exactly, and she was expected to tell the kind doctor how she felt. She didn’t know. She had never known for sure, and it was so hard to come up with the right words that Gyuri got so worked up that a machine started beeping out of control.

“Relax,” he said, placing his hand gently over her shoulder. “There are no wrong answers to this; just tell me how you feel. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t make sense right now.”

The doctor’s word helped. She relaxed, but not enough to actually bring out an answer from her, and seemingly aware of that, Dr. Kim never lost his patience. His entire posture remained serious yet gentle. Gyuri suspected that there was nothing she could say that would make the doctor stumble.

“Are you in pain?” He asked, and she nodded. “What does it hurt?”

“Everything.”

“What about your back?” He said, looking away from her face to her back, making her feel self-conscious of what she couldn’t see, “Your parents told me they heard it snap.”

“I can feel my legs.” She said this, focusing all of her attention on her legs.

“You can?” He said, with a curious pout, “Can you feel this?”

Dr. Kim disappeared from her view for a moment, and Gyuri felt a pinch on the sole of her foot. She automatically jolted in surprise, making her and the doctor chuckle.

“I can move my toes too.” She said, wiggling her toes, which earned a pleased smile from the doctor.

“Well, that’s good!”

“I felt something break, though.” She wondered, trying to move her torso, but once again, she couldn’t.

“That should have been your back, but you just proved me wrong.” He said and for a split second, she watched as his eyes furrowed in worry. “We took some x-rays while you were unconscious.”

Gyuri didn’t like the tone in his voice. It was the same expression the other Dr. Kim had when he delivered the grave news of her diagnosis months ago. She watched the young doctor pull a white frame equipped with wheels out and place it in front of her. He placed the x-rays up on the screen and lit them up, revealing part of her squeleton.  

“This is what came up.” The doctor said, pulling a rolling stool in between her bed and the light frame, “It was impossible to tell if there was any damage to your spine.”

She suspected as much. Gyuri wasn’t knowledgeable in the slightest when it came to the human body, but she knew what a normal squeleton should look like. What the x-rays were showing wasn’t normal. Not only the white and whirling lines that had sprouted through her body were as unseatling as the white mass that went from her hips up to her shoulder plates. Whatever that was, it couldn’t be normal. Something had invaded her torso, and it made sense why she couldn’t move.

“What’s on my spine?” She asked, watching the x-rays in disbelief.

“It is not on it.” He said, sitting closer to her, “That is your spine.”

Gyuri had no chance to react. She heard her mother, somewhere in the room, burst into tears and her father comforting her. It was just as bad as she thought, and she couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down the side of her face. She never thought she would stay alive to see something like this happen to her body, and a wave of desperation urged her to move. She tried to get up, to stand up, and to make sure it wasn’t real, but the doctor stopped her, assuring her that he was there to answer her every question.

“Just tell me, no lies.” She said, her voice trembling in fear to hear the answer, “What’s exactly happening to me?”

“Are you aware of the several types of flower corpses?” He asked.

Gyuri has seen the pictures. On one of those bad days, she just let her sadness take her to a dark and morbid place as she watched hundreds of pictures of corpses. She’d seen the ones that had the stem protruding from their mouths, or the mounds of flower petals and juices. 

“Which one am I turning into?” She asked, trying her best not to succumb to the desperation while her mother kept silently crying in the background, “By the dahlia flowers that invaded my house, I’m assuming I’ll be covered in some kind of ground bush, right?”

“It’s more complicated than that.” The doctor said, getting himself more comfortable in the small stool, although his expression remained just as serious, “You have a variant of the Hanahaki disease that is extremely rare. The stem won’t come out of your mouth as any other case does, nor will you throw up so many petals that you’ll disintegrate or get covered in grass.”

“What are you trying to say?” Her mother asked, finally coming closer to where the doctor was talking to Gyuri, “What will happen to her?”

Dr. Kim brought out a tablet and showed Gyuri the gallery with what looked like hundreds of pictures of her back. The bruises were gone, and her breath got stuck in the knot in her throat at the sight of her skin split open, red, bleeding, and alive, and the rough edges of something dark protruding through her flesh right between her shoulder blades. No wonder she could barely move.

“What you see there are crusts covering what is growing from your back.” The doctor explained, "We believe this is the stem of the plant you're turning into, and it will be quite a painful transformation.”

Overwhelmed by the news, Gyuri turned the tablet off and handed it to the doctor. She noticed in the motion that her knuckles were not just hurting with the scratches of her own nails; the wounds were bigger and more horrible. The very same thing that was growing on her back was now also sprouting through the skin of her hands. That was what hurt her eyes when she tried to scratch them open. 

“Your joints hurt, right?” The doctor kept on with the explanation. 

“It feels like they’re glued to each other.” She replied, trying to move her fingers, although she found it harder than she thought.

“They kind of are.” Dr. Kim agreed, taking her hand in his to point out the scabs around the rough edges of the wounds. “Your ligaments are hardening and will eventually become sapwood. Your skin isn’t just drying up. It is solidifying into bark.”

Everything went still. As if sensing Gyuri needed a minute to put her thoughts together, the doctor stayed quiet, observing her reaction, and she appreciated the brief break. She needed it as her brain went overboard with the recollections of everything she had ever felt in the last few months. Finally, every symptom—the stiffness in her back, her knees and heels hurting and stopping working out of nowhere, the insane amounts of moisturizer and body cream—made sense.

“I’ll become a tree, you say.” Gyuri finally said out loud, letting the idea sink in.

“Essentially.” He agreed, giving her a small smile full of emotion.

“I’ve never heard of that before.”

“That’s because your case might be one in billions.” He said, looking at the x-rays with a frown, “I’ve never heard of a case like yours registered since the breakout.”

“Wow, so it turns out I’m actually special.” Gyuri chuckled at the irony of the entire situation, but the comment had the opposite reaction, making her mother burst into a crying fit again. “Mom, I’m joking. Don’t cry; I was joking!”

“That’s not something you joke about.” Her mother argued back, but her father was by her side.

“Why don’t we let our pumpkin talk to the doctor alone?” He said, embracing his wife and slowly walking away.

Gyuri and the doctor watched her parents leave the room as her mother kept on complaining about her lack of seriousness. As much as it hurt to see them suffering, a part of her warmed at the immense love she felt for them and their well-meaning concern. Then she caught the doctor observing the x-rays again, and she couldn't come up with an accurate read on his expression.  

“What do you need then?” She asked, bringing his attention back to her, “You’ve been studying this disease your entire career, and I happen to be a one in a billion case. I’m extraordinary, am I?”

“That’s right, you’re extraordinary.” He said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and be at her eye level. “But I’m more concerned about making it less painful.”

“Thank you, but I’m dying already.” She said, thinking in all the moments she wished everything could be over. “Whether you do a couple of experiments or not, I’ll die either way.”

“I’m sorry.” Dr. Kim said it with genuine concern.

“Don’t be. I am the fool who fell in love.”

“Falling in love isn’t foolish, Gyuri.” He said with such seriousness that Gyuri felt exposed under the doctor’s eyes. 

“Tell that to my heart.” She laughed, trying to deflect the intensity of his words, but regretted it instantly when her chest hurt. “Will it help anyone?”

“Any sample from you would give us new clues to follow the main strand of the disease.” He said, sitting straight, that it felt like the doctor was getting in a better mood just by talking about it. “That might be the key to finding a way to stop the cellular corruption, or at least an answer to how it actually works.”

“What did Kyungsoo’s samples tell you?” She asked, her mind feeling more and more alive as time went by. "Oh, I'm sorry; I shouldn't have asked."

"Don't worry," Dr. Kim said, waving his hands, and Gyuri just looked at him in absolute awe at the brightness of his smiling face and his eyes turning in the smallest crescent moons. “I wasn't on the case; I was still a student back then, and he didn’t let them take any samples.” 

“Why?” She wanted to know.

Gyuri wasn’t sure if it was alright to ask such a question. The young doctor was suddenly lost in his thoughts. He crossed his legs, and she was sure she could almost hear his mind working at full speed.  

“Back then, no one had the right equipment to run any proper test, except maybe for the Japanese.” He said, his hands resting on his knees, and for a split second, the man looked a lot younger. “And not even them. People were dropping dead like flies, and no one knew where to go. If you wanted a shot at getting tested, that meant submitting your name to the long waiting lists in the hopes of getting a chance. He didn’t want any of that.”

“It does sound scary.” Gyuri mumbled, remembering the chaos reigning on those days.

“It isn’t like that anymore.” Dr. Kim added with a proud smile, “You’d be surprised by the number of tests I can run right in this complex just with a tube of your blood.”

“Let’s do it then.”

Something in the atmosphere changed. The young doctor sat up straight again and looked at her with a curious glint in his eyes that made Gyuri wonder if there was something wrong, but at the same time, she had never been more sure of anything in her life. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, “Are your parents aware of what you want?” 

“They’re not exactly happy, but yeah. They’re okay with it.” She replied, recalling that her mother just burst into tears not that long ago but knew she ultimately wouldn’t object to her wishes. 

“You’re extremely brave for doing this.”

“That’s not something people tell me often.” She chuckled, making the doctor smile with such an immense amount of compassion that Gyuri had to look away. “But it’s fine; I guess it won’t hurt more than it already does.”

“We’ll do our best to make it as comfortable as possible,” Dr. Kim assured, finally standing up and making a sign somewhere behind her back. “This is Kim Jongdae; he’ll be your nurse, and I’ll leave you to him so he can explain what will happen from here on."

As if on cue, a young man stepped into her view, pushing a cart, and with a wide smile across his face, he introduced himself again. Gyuri felt suddenly out of place. She thanked the doctor, but he was already walking away, and she stumbled on her words when the nurse asked her something. 

"Are you comfortable with me being around you?" He asked, working on the fluid bag hanging next to the bed, "I'll have to give you a bath eventually."

Gyuri couldn't hide the surprise or the embarrassment burning in her cheeks. She was so taken aback by the sudden prospect of a man giving her a bath that she felt her words getting stuck in her throat, which only managed to make the young male nurse chuckle in amusement.

"Don't worry about it; there will be a female nurse around for that." He said, pulling the rolling stool next to her bed, "I'll be too busy assisting Dr. Kim anyway."

The relief was instant. Gyuri couldn’t hide it, and the sigh of relief felt louder than ever. The young nurse looked at her from his clipboard and subjected her to the biggest pout she had ever seen. The little noise of disbelief was adorable, and even his brows moved as if on their own, making the nurse’s entire face contract.

“Your loss," he said, holding on to his pout. “I give very good sponge baths.”

The nurse sulked in his place, and Gyuri couldn’t help it; she chuckled at the pout and the almost childish little whine. It was impossible that someone older than her could look so adorable on command. 

“There it is! Such a beautiful smile.” He perked up, mirroring her smile, and said, "Now I’ll explain some of the equipment that we'll use with you."

As if by magic, Gyuri felt calm and relaxed in the presence of the new stranger who would take care of her. She felt at ease enough to welcome his every explanation and even snicker at every other little joke the man threw at her for the next hour.

***

Kyungsoo left the room on a whim. He stormed out, angry and frustrated, but he had nowhere else to go. He had been sitting in his car in silence for God knows how long, trying to find an excuse good enough to make him leave the premises he had prepared so long ago for a situation like this. He had everything ready for an eventuality of this kind, but he wasn’t the patient this time. He wasn’t the one withering away in a bed in a room of the secluded villa deep in the countryside. He had defeated the curse. He was safe, but why didn’t he feel like it?

He wanted to leave to gather himself, but he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. There was no place he wanted to be as much as he wanted to be there, holding her hand. Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car and walked inside the villa, back to her.

He reached the hallway to his room, a room that was designed to be his when the time came, and ignoring the dreadful feeling in his chest, he kept walking. When he finally reached the room, he halted, watching Jongdae collect more blood while Gyuri read something from a clipboard. He heard her ask if the bone marrow biopsy hurt as much as she imagined it would. The nurse explained, admitting that it was a very uncomfortable procedure.

“You can’t do it.” He said, bringing their attention to him. “Don’t do it.”

“Kyungsoo…” Gyuri called him with such softness that he almost stopped.

“They’ll turn you into a lab rat.” He said, as he walked around the bed to see her face.

“I’m already a freak; I might as well do something good about it.” She added, handing the clipboard back to the nurse.

“Don’t do it.”

“Like you didn’t do it back then.” She asked, making the writer and the nurse freeze in their spots.

Gathering all of his equipment, nurse Kim apologized and left the room, pushing the little cart that suddenly made so much noise that it was unbearable.

“Kyungsoo, I want to do it.” Gyuri explained, looking away from him, “I just want to bring something good out of all of this.”

“It will be painful.”

“I’m in pain already!” She raised her voice, looking at him with a fiery glint in her eyes, but as soon as the outburst happened, she settled back and said, “Nothing will change my mind.”

He didn’t know what could break through her determination, and his jaw clenched and his fingers worked themselves, picking the nails in frustration. He might be quiet and look collected, but Gyuri looked at him, and he knew she could see the storm brewing in his eyes. The tension in his jaw and the impatience in his hands were hard to miss.

"What?" She asked, seeing right through him.

“I can’t see you suffering.” He finally said.

“You’ve seen me suffering for months now." She said, finally softening and looking a lot more exhausted and spent than she looked just seconds before, “Out of everyone, you’re the one that has seen me at my worst. What's different now?”

“I don’t want you to do it.” He pleaded, closing the distance between them to grab her hand. “Please, don’t do it.”

“Ok, tell me why, and I’ll think about it.” She said, looking at their holding hands with a hopeful expression, “Maybe if it’s a good reason, I'll change my mind.”

But he had no good reasons other than his own selfishness. All he wanted was for her to stop suffering. He would give his entire fortune to ease her pain, and signing up for the research program was totally against that. She would die in the worst of pain, and he couldn’t stay there to witness it. His face must’ve expressed every doubt and concern because her hands slipped from his to his face, and as small and delicate as they were, her touch felt surprisingly strong and steady.

“I’m sorry.” She said.

Not only her eyes, but her voice was so soft and filled with understanding that Kyungsoo flinched in response. He knew there was nothing he could say to persuade her. Just as she bravely tackled every challenge head-on, she would face her end with her head high.

Kyungsoo stepped away from her. He wanted to be angry at everything and at her, at her damned goodness and her seemingly blind faith in Junmyeon, but the resolution in her eyes did not falter for a second. He staggered back, refusing to believe that was all he could do to convince her.

He left the room again, torn between what he wanted and what he knew she needed, and burst into the main office, ready to fight the only person he could blame for this. Of course, he was still working to find a cure. If someone could find it, it was him. What angered him the most was his calm demeanor. The doctor didn’t even flinch when he came in and seemed to be waiting for him.

“What did you tell her?” He said while walking to the doctor.

“Kyungsoo, calm down first.” Junmyeon said, walking up to him as well.

“What did you tell her?!” Kyungsoo snapped at his calmness, throwing his hands at him, but someone pulled him back before he could even get any closer.

“It is what she wants.”

“You don’t know what she wants!” The writer yelled, trying to free himself.

Whoever had him in the tightest of locks pulled him even farther from Junmyeon while another door burst open and Minseok ran in, alarmed.

“What’s going on?” The editor asked, assessing the situation.

“Kyungsoo, she filled out the forms to join the program months ago.” Junmyeon said, never looking away from him.

“This is what you always wanted.” Kyungsoo ignored everything around him and focused all of his anger at the doctor, saying, “To become the famous doctor who found the cure. At her expense!”

“You brought me here!” The doctor finally snapped, “You kept calling me, and not once did I reject any of your calls, no matter how many times you hung up on me. I’m here for you!”

Realizing that he had lost control of himself, Junmyeon took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Kyungsoo seemed just as taken aback by the sudden burst of emotion from the doctor that he had stopped struggling against whoever was holding him back. The doctor made a small sign and the hold loosened, giving Kyungsoo the freedom to move, and then he heard nurse Kim apologize before letting him go for good.

“Believe it or not, as much as I want to push this research forward,” Junmyeon explained slowly and as easily as he could. “I know she’s suffering, and I want to relieve that pain, foremost.”

Kyungsoo scoffed in response, but the doctor remained calm and kept on with his explanation.

“That’s right, and just as I respected your wishes to stay out of your case, even if it meant saving lives,” he said, and Kyungsoo noticed the editor squirm in his spot. “All I’m asking is for you to do the same; respect her wishes.”

“Minseok,” Kyungsoo said, without even looking at him, “Yixing should be arriving anytime soon. Make sure he comes here quietly and straight from the airport.”

The reaction on Junmyeon’s face indicated to him that he had crossed a line, and when the writer looked over his shoulder, he found Minseok staring at him with his arms crossed over his chest and his head cocked to one side. He wasn’t visibly angry, but he knew well enough that his words did not sit well with his oldest hyung. He regretted it almost immediately.

“Drop that tone with me.” Minseok warned him, his eyes twitching in anger.

“Hyung…”

“Don’t.” The editor stopped him, and Kyungsoo felt the smallest he had felt in years. “You’ve been treating me as a simple employee on your payroll; I might as well start acting like one so you won’t have to worry. If she’s the asset that’s making you write again, I know how to handle tough situations quietly, Kyungsoo. I have a business to protect too.”

Minseok had already pulled his phone to his ear before Kyungsoo could even begin to apologize. He still tried. He called him again, but the editor exited the room while he spoke to his assistant, leaving him behind with his regret.

"We're your friends, Kyungsoo. We always have been,” Junmyeon added, looking at him with his characteristic kind smile, “so don't push us away, not again."

“I’m sorry.” That was all he managed to say.

Kyungsoo left the office, his entire body feeling heavier, and went to the only place he felt remotely better, even though it had wrung all the warmth out of him lately. He came back into her room. She was silent and deep in thought, her slender fingers absently picking on the crusts of her other hand. She stopped when he came into her view, and he wasn’t brave enough to speak first. At least not while she looked at him the way she did. Her eyes bore into him, almost piercing through his soul, and he wondered if he would be strong enough to see the light slowly fade out of them.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He said in a whisper.

“Like what?” She asked, her eyes observing him thoroughly.

“As if I’m wounded.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re pitying me.” He said, finally holding her gaze.

“I’m just wondering how lonely and bad you must’ve felt then that you thought that letting it all go was the only course of action.” She said, looking away as if it were rude of her to do so, “It doesn’t make any sense.” 

“I just want you to stop hurting.”

“Then why!?” Gyuri fired up, almost sitting up in a surge of anger that startled him. “Why do you keep trying to make me tell Baekhyun!?”

Kyungsoo found himself jumping back, afraid of her. Afraid of her pretty face twisting in rage, her once sweet and caring eyes went wild and bloodshot. Gyuri propped herself on her hands, as if getting ready to pounce on him, when her body contorted, and as soon as the anger took over her, the violence disappeared, and she brought a hand to her mouth. She gagged a couple of times, making Kyungsoo flinch when flower petals and red juices poured out of her. He just stayed there, horrified and unable to react. It was not until the curse gave her a split second of a break that she looked at him and called his name in the smallest of whispers, yet it was loud enough to bring him back to action. Kyungsoo finally found the will to move and went to her, holding her small frame and moving her body so she wouldn’t choke on the petals. He didn’t have to push the red bottom again; every machine connected to her body started to blare in alarm, and he just had to wait for help to arrive.

It took longer than he thought. Kyungsoo cursed under his breath when his feet started slipping from all of the fluids that kept falling from her mouth. And for what it felt like minutes later, Junmyeon and Jongdae came into the room, dressed up in full surgical gowns and face masks that looked more like they were brought out of a zombie movie than real life. He urged them to help, but they hesitated, looking at him, frozen in their spots.

Gyuri contorted again as a new wave of flower petals gushed out of her, making Kyungsoo struggle to keep her steady, and with that, the doctor and the nurse started moving again. Jongdae was next to Gyuri, pulling a bucket out of nowhere, and held her in place while Junmyeon approached the writer with caution.

“Kyungsoo, you can smell it, right?” He asked, and although his voice was muffled by the face mask, it was obvious there was a hint of urgency in it. “Can you smell the stench?”

The question distracted him. It caught his attention enough to look at the doctor searching for an answer to such a question when he realized that he was standing still, looking at his own hands covered in flower petals, while the nurse took over holding Gyuri.

“It smells like her.” Kyungsoo said to himself, watching the petals tint his skin bright red.

“The gastric juices are toxic in large doses,” Junmyeon explained, grabbing him by the arms and gently pulling him away from the bed. “They can be poisonous enough for a grown adult after prolonged exposure.”

“Hyung, it just smells like her.” The writer said again.

“Listen to me now; I need you to stay here, alright?” Junmyeon said, still slowly dragging him away from Gyuri, “Did you hear me? I need you to stay here.”

Feeling lightheaded, Kyungsoo nodded. Satisfied with his answer, Junmyeon gave orders away and let him go, leaving him in the arms of someone else who nudged him forward. He couldn’t look away from his tinted hands, trying to find another smell other than her scent, but that was all he had. Her perfume. Her flower petals stuck to his skin, and as horrible as they were, they all smelled like her.

The writer lost track of time. He was seated in the office, but he had no recollection of how he got there. He only managed to gather himself when Junmyeon was back. With his surgical gown and face mask gone and looking beyond worried, Kyungsoo watched him explain something to Minseok. That was when he realized the editor, most likely, was the one that brought him there and kept him company while they stabilized Gyuri back to normal.

“She’s fine.” Junmyeon said to him when he was done talking with Minseok.

The news seemed to release a chokehold around his entire body, and Kyungsoo felt like he could breathe again. He closed his eyes, letting the immense amount of relief help ease the sinking feeling in his chest, but the doctor, bringing a chair closer, stopped it. Junmyeon sat right in front of him, and the worried look on his face scared him.

“I know I promised you years ago that I wouldn’t ask again, but this is a development no one has ever seen.” He started, and everything in him sounded serious. “Would you let me interview you on the record and film the session for research purposes? I swear, it is all kept in anonymity.”

“Would it help now?” Kyungsoo asked, trying to rub the red tint off his skin, “If I decide to let you test my blood, would it help her somehow?”

“I don’t know.” He said, “How long has it been since the last time you threw up petals? 4 years? Probably more, which means there might not be any traces of the disease in your blood anymore, or maybe there are, but there’s no way to know until we analyze it.”

“Do it.” Kyungsoo said, looking the doctor straight in the eye, “Take whatever you need.”

“Kyungsoo, are you sure?”

“Take whatever you need to save her.”

---> Keep Reading Here <---

#AFUTR #EXO #Baekhyun #Kyungsoo #EXO Fanfic #EXO Fanfiction #Angst #Romance #Hanahaki #Hanahaki Disease

[highwayphantoms]

OC Tag Game :3

Tagged by @thedastrash <3 ty!!

Gonna limit myself to Dragon Age OCs just because I have a ton of them and I'd be here all night if I tried to pick favorites out of all of my characters, lolololol.

Favorite OC: making me pick my favorite child is cruel how dare you it's Serafina LOL. She's an awful terrible gremlin, salty and bitter, and she'll bite you for saying so but she does have a soft heart somewhere underneath all the hostility.

Newest OC: Hmmm I think Emmy is the newest, and she's not even that new tbh, that was less than a year ago. She's a Fenhawke kid who, of course, inherited magic, and her mother is Determined that she will have the stable childhood that none of the Hawke children got. Things don't quite work out that well, but Briar tries.

Oldest OC: Serafina again! She's been through a half dozen incarnations but there is a 10k fic I wrote back in 2015 that features one of the early versions of her. It's on my old AO3, so good luck finding it lol, but this was before she was a mage, before she was named Serafina, but the bones of her character are there.

Meanest OC: You might think I'm going to say Serafina again but no, it's Tabris. Who is from the same worldstate as Serafina, if I am remembering my worldstates correctly. There's a wip somewhere in my files of them getting to be Salty and Angry About Everything together and it's great fun. But yeah, Tabris is all rough edges and not shy about it.

Softest OC: Oh that's a hard question. I want to say Emmy, but you know, I don't think that's true. I think Cyren is the softest. Which... that seems appropriate, he is a healer haha.

Most Aloof/Standoffish OC: A close tie between Serafina and Tabris. Serafina has a long history of avoiding social interaction and people in general as a method of hiding her magic (if no one knows you exist, no one can report you to the templars, or so her logic goes), and Tabris just plain doesn't like most people.

Dumbest OC: Serafina sure has her moments lmao.

Smartest OC: Very probably Cal. They keep their cards close to their chest, but Cal is well-read (as well-read as one can get in the Circle, anyway) and tends to collect all sorts of information without even trying. You need a solution for a weird problem? Cal can probably help.

OC I'd Be Friends With: Honestly, most of them. Erik is an asshole so not him, and Tabris probably wouldn't give me the time of day, but the rest of them are mostly decent folk. Oriana and Cyren, for sure (aside from the part where I'm human lmao). Cal and Briar, too.

And lest I make this any longer than it already is... I'll tag @lost-inthyme, @sulky-valkyrie, and anyone else who wants to talk about their OCs for a minute!

(Don't know who any of these characters are and want to? This hasn't been updated in a hot minute but go here)

#jay speaks #tag game #my characters

[nvrcmplt]

Saori remember naught but the sensation of blood spreading at her paws - the feeling of a hand upon her head between her ears and the softest of voices call out; Ko. She remembers the awe in the surrounding gasping beings, as she felt stone crumble from her fur making her pelt no longer leaden and heavy. Trapped would be a word to use, but it didn’t make sense since they chose to become statues to lie in wait for their next Master.

Now found - her Spirit form released by a blood oath and sacrifice of a beloved family dog, the Wisdom holder eased herself to the dog’s corpse. Taking it for her own and reshaping it to her breed. Thus - when the light and smoke cleared from the gathering of Onmyōji under the ▇▇▇▇▇▇ Clan Name, she found herself staring at only one of them… This one - the Chosen Blood - had her bead - her name on his tongue and now his vision shared with her own. This was the one that summoned her from her lengthy sleep.

The moment they locked eyes - and the being lowered to a knee - Saori’s form moved with ease to greet him with her nose to the back of his palm. Tail wagging with delight upon the smell of old blood - this was a strong clan and would be stronger in the future. “Master.” It was the first word to be uttered between them, and it was all that it took for the rest of her life here to be involved in ▇▇▇▇▇▇'s history.

Saori’s Wisdom bead gave her the IQ and understanding of world matters quickly, to take on stories of the humans of the ▇▇▇▇▇▇ Clan, to understand that war still happens but much more secretive. Thus, in her sphere of information, she took it upon herself to ask of the Clan Head - He, who she was bound to by soul and name - told him of her siblings.

The Hakkenden / Hakkenshi of Legends.

They were not just a story of Warriors in times of battle and children games to distract them from Warring states. But real Inu-yasha that protected a sacred person or place. Their beads were the symbol of their loyalty - larger in the past but became smaller to match the present times of everything they were.

The first bead, Devotion - also written as 'wisdom' - was placed upon the wrist of the ▇▇▇▇▇▇'s Clan’s head- and with its power - he was able to find answers to what he sees and heard in passing. To look beneath the underneath - to pull apart layers of lies or half-truths and find their real meanings.

Wisdom - holds the talent to see through lies of man. Whilst Saori - at his side, took upon the form of a pure white Hokkaido-inu - she stood regal in her white coat and with eyes akin to a ghost - ever silent - ever watchful.

From those years onward, Saori aided the clan head and his successors - a single heir, to claim another statue of her brother and sisters.

After Devotion, came Benevolence - Akinori a spitfire Akita.

Michinori of Gratitude was found within the fourth heads reign - A Shikoku-ken.

Shiori of Knowledge, was donated out of honour from a defeated clan - A Kishu-ken.

Kahori ( Duty ), Kazunori ( Brotherhood ) and Masanori ( Faith ) were all found thanks to Shiori’s memory. A Kai ken, Shiba Inu and Tosa.

The last of their band - the leader of a leaderless group — Kiyonori ( Loyalty ). He is yet to be found - locked away and the missing piece to the full formation barrier of the Hakkenden's true ability. A statue in waiting for his true Master to wake him from his slumber.

The Hakkenden CAN NOT be seen without their permission - as they are spirits / Inu-yasha, they are non-visible to those without Onmyōji lineage. The ▇▇▇▇▇▇ Clan, is one of the oldest Clans to have a Generational contract of Blood with the Hakkenshi. The first to seal this was Saori, and it continues now with Kiyonori.

The Canines are visible however when granted the permission to be so by their Master. BUT - they are not of human guise, but their pure canine forms. Kai Ken, Akita, Shiba Inu - these dogs roam the halls of the ▇▇▇▇▇▇ Clan Home with no muzzle nor leash but true freedom.

That being said, they can and will mess around with the ▇▇▇▇▇▇ Clansmen, showing their shadows on the walls or barking in the dark halls. Their Master may have to scold the pups regularly when they get a little too rowdy.

The Hakkenshi have a Barrier Formation made by the Onmyōji Clan heads at the time of Saori’s behest. This formation grew stronger and stronger with each canine statue released how it grew weaker over time as it was incomplete.

With Kiyonori’s sealed state, the Formation is still incomplete and won't be amplified by EIGHT as all pillars are yet to be resurrected. This barrier stops, repels and denounces yokai from entering the ▇▇▇▇▇▇ Clan grounds. It can also remove impurities from corrupted souls making many humans faint if they are unable to withstand the sensation.

The Hakkenshi show their human forms when their Master desires it to be shared, they are a wide range of age, shape and size. Much like their canine forms they are beautiful and dangerous - as they all have weaponry styles of destruction. All of them different from one another as they have formed their own love for weaponry selected over time.

#« ( Akinori ) » HC. #« ( Kahori ) » HC. #« ( Kazunori ) » HC. #« ( Kiyonori ) » HC. #« ( Masanori ) » HC. #« ( Michinori ) » HC. #« ( Saori ) » HC. #« ( Shiori ) » HC. #thar we go - rewritten and pretty much their main lore #open for clan heads to take them in #they are a happy bunch of doggos #open for interaction since only Kiyo's the sealed one in plot

[zerogate]

As early as 50 C.E., the theologian Philo cautioned against a literal interpretation of the Garden of Eden, writing, “To think that it here meant that God planted vines, or olive trees, or apple trees, or pomegranates, and any trees of such kinds, is mere incurable folly.”

The fourth-century Christian thinker St. Ephraem, in his Hymns on Paradise, similarly cautioned that, “It is with the eye of the mind that I saw paradise...” But theologians who argued for a symbolic reading of “the divine garden” remained a distinct minority. St. Augustine registered the conflicting points of view. “Some interpret [Paradise] in an exclusively corporeal sense,” he wrote. Others give it “an exclusively spiritual meaning,” and still others take it in both senses, “sometimes corporeally and at other times spiritually...” St. Augustine personally favored the literal reading, and shaped the convictions of later generations of Christian theologians who maintained that the earthly paradise had not disappeared, but had only become inaccessible as a result of mankind’s fall from grace.

Centuries later, in 1617, John Salkeld synthesized prevailing views on the reality of the Garden of Eden in his work A Treatise on Paradise and the Principle Contents Thereof. Relying on theological authorities such as St. Augustine, Salkeld set out to prove that the earthly paradise was “a real and corporeal place” and not merely metaphysical. Catholic dogma at the time supported the same literalist point of view, insisting that descriptions of Paradise were “not allegory but history.”John Calvin, the sixteenth-century Protestant reformer, similarly declared that the Garden of Eden was “situated on the Earth, not as some dream in the air.”

In the fifth century St. Augustine admitted that, “It is probable that man has no idea where Paradise was.” Medieval geographers located the lost garden everywhere from the North Pole to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, although the prevailing Church view held that the earthly paradise lay “in the east,” in the regions of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers or in the farthest reaches of Asia, at a great height so as to have been unaffected by the waters of the flood. Like Yangsang, the terrestrial paradise was described as a place of eternal spring, neither hot nor cold and filled with fruit-bearing trees and healing waters. Early in the eighth century, St. John Damascene wrote that Eden “was temperate in climate and bright with the softest and purest of air. It was luxurient with ever-blooming plants, filled with fragrances, flooded with light, and surpassing all conception of sensible fairness and beauty.”

[...]

The belief in a geographical paradise persisted widely until the end of the seventeenth century when the Church conveniently declared that the Garden had been erased from the surface of the planet by the Great Flood. The question then remained not where Paradise lay, but what it meant. Although the expulsion from Paradise is the core western myth, the notion of the fall was a later accretion.

At the end of the second century, Christian writings by St. Theophilas of Antioch and St. Irenaeus reveal an understanding of the story of Genesis prior to the invention of original sin. According to these erudite bishops, Eden was “a means of advancement” for “maturing and becoming perfect.” The eating of the fruit of knowledge did not condemn humankind to suffering, but the act of disobedience ultimately furthered its maturity and capacity to perfect itself. Eden was thus not so much a perfect place, but a place where being could be perfected. Mankind’s departure from the enclosing walls of Paradise and its bucolic luxuries led the first couple to become all that they could be. As the philosopher Immanuel Kant wrote in 1785, it was a necessary transition from an unreflective, animal state to one of full humanity. Freedom, he suggested, begins when the nostalgia for a perfect place ends and one embraces the present moment. 

Nonetheless, Paradise persisted as a perennial dream and an incentive to geographical discovery. The religious dissidents who abandoned a repressive Europe for North America discovered what seemed a blessed land, where history could begin anew. They described New England as being “like the Garden of Eden, a new Eden.” In a more literal sense, when Columbus sailed close to the isthmus of the Orinoco in South America, he believed he had discovered one of the four rivers that issue from Eden. As he wrote to Queen Isabella of Spain during his third expedition, “I believe that the earthly paradise lies here.. which no man can enter except by God’s leave.”

The belief in Eden, the widespread conviction of an impending apocalypse, and the desire for gold and fortune led to voyages of discovery in which explorers saw in the lands that opened before them the shape of a lost paradise. Following Columbus, Amerigo Vespucci (1499-1502) surveyed the coast of Surinam and Brazil and wrote that: “If the earthy paradise exists anywhere on earth, I think it must not be very far from this area.”

Yet as D. H. Lawrence recognized, to believe in Paradise was to consign oneself to Purgatory, to be forever seeking something beyond the horizon, beyond life itself. “Why pin ourselves down on a paradisal ideal?” he wrote in 1953. “It is only ourselves we torture... Love is never a fulfillment. Life is never a thing of continuous bliss. There is no paradise. Fight and laugh and feel bitter and feel bliss.”

--  Ian Baker, The Heart of the World 

#quotes

[daybreakrising]

@csial: They have had millennia, and millennia more they shall have. The sea is eternal after all, ever changing but always present. It is with a smile he curls against her, his fingers idly making the waves dance in a little show just for them, one of years long past and the creatures they fought, the loves they shared and those they have since committed to memories. He has wiled away the hours with her all day, first in the city, living and breathing the human world as they share in the tail end of Lantern Rite and celebrate love with others. Snacks at food stalls, examining the wares of merchants, listening to the play of children at the docks as they sip tea. And then here, where he relaxes with her, human masquerade shifted for hues of blue.

He sits up, turns slightly, one of the serpentine heads nudging against her cheek in their everpresent mission of showing his affection. He does not resist it, lets them all take their turn brushing against her, before he reaches then for the box he has kept secret. Within are two gifts, one he has bought - an antique of the old world, a relic of their friend Havria for her to hold - and one he has made. He has made her courting gifts as long as he can remember, and this one is special. For this seaglass bracelet carries with it glass that has the faintest thread of amber within. He will not explain it, there is no need, she will know what it means. This is the symbol of them finding a place in Morax's world.

"For you, treasure of my heart, moon of my tides..." he breathes, leaning in to press foreheads together, his devotion to her clear in each word. He adored her then, and he adores her now, just as he vowed all those years ago.

There is no greater comfort in this world than the all-encompassing presence of her beloved husband. He is home to her, and always has been. Wherever this world takes them, she will always return to his side - and he to hers, this she knows for a fact.

She watches the dance of the waves with a contented smile, putting vivid memory to the reenactment he creates with such ease. Her own hand lifts, adds her own manipulation, lets the water swirl and dip in the mimicry of the storms they have created together time and time again. She is so at ease, so absorbed in the bliss of their shared day, that she is ready with a complaint when he dares to part from her if only for a moment.

Her complaint dies upon her lips when the box is presented to her, and she glimpses the gifts inside. There is a bittersweet edge to her smile as she lifts the antique with careful hands, a sadness to her gaze as she thinks of their lost friend. She will treasure this, keep it safe upon her person. Her eyes brighten once more as she shifts her focus to the bracelet: she understands its sentiment, as he knew she would.

It is clasped, immediately, about her wrist, alongside those gifted to her long ago. They jangle sweetly together as she lifts her hands to frame his face, letting him feel her adoration through her touch. "My storm..."

She has gifts for him, too, of course: an expensive tea set adorned with depictions of mighty sea serpents that she suspects were inspired by their very own history; a new robe of the lightest, softest material that is strikingly similar to one made for him long ago by dear, devoted hands; and conch shell she brought back from Fontaine that, upon certain manipulation, emanates an echoing rhythm beneath the waves.

These will be given to him in time, but for now, she simply wishes to hold him and never again let him go.

#csial #muse; beisht (genpact) #source; g.enshin #;we were a ripple that became a tidal wave. ours is a storm eternal (csial; osial & beisht) #( the best husband-wife combo in teyvat ) #( i'm very normal about them )

[lavanyasphear]

What is Audiometry Test

Audiometry is a procedure used to assess the sensitivity of a person's hearing across a range of frequencies. This test is typically performed by an audiologist using a machine called an audiometer.

Procedure of Audiometry Test

Here is a general description of how the audiometry test is done:

         Preparation:

The patient is seated in a soundproof booth or room to ensure external noises don't interfere with the test.

The audiologist will often ask about the patient's medical and noise exposure history to get a better understanding of their hearing health.

         Pure-Tone Audiometry:

The patient will wear headphones connected to the audiometer.

The audiologist will play a series of tones at various pitches (frequencies) and volumes (intensities) into one ear at a time.

The patient is asked to respond every time they hear a tone, usually by pressing a button.

The softest sound (in decibels, dB) that the patient can hear at each frequency is plotted on an audiogram, a graphical representation of hearing sensitivity.

The test will typically cover frequencies from 250 Hz to 8000 Hz, which encompasses most of the range of human speech and many environmental sounds.

         Speech Audiometry:

The audiologist will play a series of words or sentences at various volumes.

The patient is asked to repeat the words or sentences.

This test assesses the individual's ability to hear and understand speech. The results can be presented as a speech reception threshold (SRT) and word recognition score.

         Bone Conduction Testing:

Instead of using headphones, a bone oscillator is placed on the mastoid bone behind the ear.

This directly stimulates the inner ear, bypassing the middle and outer ear.

This test helps to determine if hearing loss is conductive (related to issues in the outer or middle ear) or sensorineural (related to issues in the inner ear or auditory nerve).

         Tympanometry (if included):

A small probe is inserted into the ear canal.

The device changes the pressure in the ear and measures the movement of the eardrum in response to the pressure changes.

This test provides information about the condition and function of the middle ear.

         Interpretation of Results:

After the tests, the audiologist will review the results with the patient.

The audiogram will show the type, degree, and configuration of any hearing loss.

Recommendations, which may include hearing aids, medical intervention, or other treatments, will be provided based on the results.

         Follow-up:

Depending on the findings and recommendations, a follow-up might be needed with an Ear, Nose, and Throat (ENT) doctor, or for hearing aid fitting and adjustments.

Before undergoing an audiometry test, it's essential to avoid exposure to loud noises for at least 16 hours, as recent noise exposure can temporarily affect hearing thresholds. It's also a good idea to ensure the ears are free from excessive wax, as this can affect the test results.

Is Audiometry Test Painful?

No, the audiometry test is not painful. It is a non-invasive procedure that involves listening to sounds and responding when you hear them. Most people find the test straightforward and painless.

However, there are a few considerations:

Comfort Level: While the test is painless, some might feel slight discomfort or claustrophobia when seated in the soundproof booth, especially if the test takes a long time. This feeling is generally minor and goes away once the test is over.

Ear Pressure: If tympanometry is included, which assesses the middle ear's function by changing the air pressure in the ear canal, some might feel a sensation similar to being in an airplane when it's descending. While this isn't painful, it might feel a bit odd or uncomfortable for a brief moment.

Existing Ear Conditions: For individuals with active ear infections or other ear problems, inserting headphones or the probe for tympanometry might cause slight discomfort. It's essential to inform the audiologist of any current ear issues before the test.

If you ever feel discomfort during the test, you can inform the audiologist, and they can adjust or stop the test if necessary.

Audiometry Test in Jaipur

Lavanya Speech & Hearing Center performs audiometry test in Jaipur. We deal in all types of hearing aids - ordinary, digital. You can reach us directly for more details.

#Audiometry Test #Audiometry Test jaipur

[priceofwarmclothes]

buck & christopher      ↳ the world's saddest pep talk

#911edit #911 fox #911 on fox #evan buckley #christopher diaz #tv: 911 #brotp: you're gonna be okay kid #gif #*mine #this is one of the softest moments in human history

[inknopewetrust]

Eden // Druig x Reader

Summary: The peace you’ve built is about to be disturbed.

Pairing: Druig x Eternal!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Established relationship, implied sex, fluff, impending battle, parallels to the Garden of Eden, spoilers for the film.

Quick Links: Masterlist // Request Guidelines

For centuries you lived in a bubble. A perfected bubble of community and gathering—a signature of his as war became fiction and peace became reality. However, it was that. A life spent in peace without conflict; a tale of love and harmony for the ages.

It was your Eden thanks to Druig.

Tenochtitlan had become a wasteland. The wrath of man overtaking an advanced civilization for a claim to be had; fires raging against the darkened skies–a sign of times changing. What was happening in front of your eyes would alter the course of the Eternals forever. The unit was fractured, split into pieces based on morality and loyalty.

Ajak promised a heaven to exist once the Deviants were destroyed and here you all were, at the precipice of your purpose to mankind, not truly believing that such a place could exist. Olympia was beginning to sound less and less like a real place and one of fiction. There was no home for all of you. You had to create that space for yourself. Everyone did. All of you had to create lives you could be content with, otherwise the complications of your duties would overtake everything else.

You had seen glimpses of it before. Small moments in time were pure, unbridled joy had eclipsed the thoughts of famine, war, and death. When Sersi and Ikaris solidified their union, Sprite fascinating crowds with her storytelling, Phastos inventing brilliant tools to help civilization thrive, and the first time you experienced love.

119 BCE - China

You weren’t sure how history would remember this era of Chinese history, but at the time, it felt majestic. A grand empire that was building upon industry and innovation that felt earth shattering. It was an era that everyone felt humanity was beginning to turn for the better. While wars still plagued from time to time and increasingly frequent crisis impacted limited amounts of people, it did not feel that there was a constant threat to their existence, so, Ajak settled the ten of you beyond a city into the rolling land of China where you could watch from a distance and draw away Deviants should they return. It had been twenty-five years since one had shown its face.

Although you were instructed to remain independent from human interference, the pleasures and wonders of their lives was increasingly difficult to separate.

Beyond the city and in the home Ajak had created for you all, night had fallen and the sounds of bamboo stems being lit and exploding were filling the air. Whatever was going on behind the city walls, it was a celebration. You had taken to sitting out in the grass trying to imagine what people were doing in their joy as the quiet residence remained void of such occasions.

Feeling the grass on your fingertips, the light swells of wind brushing your skin, the night was peaceful. It was one step closer to Eden.

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

Druig’s voice cut through the silence from the doorway about 8 feet away. You glanced over your shoulder to see him in a common black frock and a hint of smirk on his face. He always looked as though he was plotting some grand scheme of vengeance, yet he may have had the softest heart out of all of you.

“What do you think is going on behind there?” He took a seat on the ground next to you. Shoulders bumping your own, your heart beat twice as fast and your stomach filled with imaginary butterflies at the contact.

“A birthday, perhaps. Or a tribute to their Emperor. That seems most common these days.”

“What are they exploding?” You sensed a fear in him that within the celebration violence was taking place, but you knew exactly what they were doing. You had created it.

“Bamboo. They shouldn’t, but they are.”

Unlike Phastos, you did not create technology and unlike Sersi, you did not manipulate matter. You created it. New and old, adapting landscapes to help humanity grow based on the surrounding material they believed came natural to their region. Nothing was natural, though you created it to be.

“Does that upset you? That you give and they destroy?” Druig asked and you shook your head, gesturing to the land around you.

“I provide just as Phastos does. It is not my duty to feel sad when they take their resources and blow it up.” Druig did not truly believe you, though he needn’t press to understand that. It was something you shared—the ability to calculate the emotions of each other but knew when not to advance the topic further.

“It bothers me, you know.” He commented, turning away from your face to look at the barely lit wall in the distance. The light flames of fire glowing ember in the distance. “That one day everything we’ve helped build for them will be destroyed by their greed. It’s inevitable.”

“It’s not a good feeling, no.”

“And we are supposed to stand by and let conquerors kill the conquered for what?”

“Fairness is cruel, it is. Can we go against our purpose of creation because humanity has struck our hearts and minds? I doubt Ajak would allow us to do such a thing and if we went on our own, I imagine Ikaris would be pleased to end a traitor's life.”

Druig turned his head to yours again, watching as your eyes couldn’t be drawn to meet his own and your fingers plucked strands of uncomfortable grass from the ground only to be replenished in its place. He could feel that you were on the same level as him. That your minds were more connected than you both believed and your belief in your purpose was the same. You loved humanity, you both did. It was an innate reaction from spending so much time helping cultivate it from the sidelines. Druig’s hand worked subconsciously to grasp your own.

“If the time were to come, what would you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“If Ajak let us go. What would you do? Where would you go?”

You didn’t need to think. Looking into his eyes, feeling his skin on yours, you knew the answer without even realizing it.

“Wherever you go. Our own haven. Our Eden.”

“We could have our own community. Something to build from nothing and people who do not fight wars.”

“Would you control them?”

There was an ethical conversation to be had at a later date. For now, the dreams of the future you could share were more than enough to quell the complicated feelings of your born instruction. A life together in complete peace where the world was perfectly in sync with the good in what life can provide.

“I cannot answer that, my love.” Your heart melted to pieces when he spoke to you like that. When he gazed at you with such adoration that you felt your purpose on earth wasn’t to be a protector from Deviants or a creator of unconscious life, but to be loved by Druig. “Whatever Eden we create; the most content I could ever be is with you beside me in peace.”

“Is it bad that I wish the day would come more soon?” A hypothetical day. A dream in the field beyond a great Chinese city where they celebrated lives lived and people loved. Druig brought your hand to his lips, kissing it softly on its back.

“We can dream it for as long as it takes to become real. But we have this for now, our love, that will sustain us until then.”

That day was the first day Druig had called what was happening between the two of you ‘love.’ It had simmered for a long while with forlorn glances and minute conversations about the world around you until it spiraled into something more. The frequency for many years with the Deviants around increased the risk everyone faced. Moments of terror drew the two of you closer when the team would reconvene with a sigh of relief that the Deviants hadn't taken one of you away. Glances that lingered too long, a hand that brushed your own. Those grew and grew to the point where they no longer could be contained.

"Take me to that place one day, Druig. Where we can live our lives in peace."

"I will. I promise you that I will."

You head fell to his shoulder, looking beyond to the city of mortal beings that did not need to worry of the difficulties of eternal life. How your purpose was tied to their success and the inability to truly protect them from the harm they can cause one another was a dire consequence of it.

Tenochtitlan brought that dream to life.

At the destruction of others, Druig was finally motivated to separate himself from the Eternals and with Ajak's permission, you knew it was time as well. The revelation that Mahd Wy'ry had overtaken Thena was startling and sent everyone into a sadden state of disbelief that the Deviants were gone, the risk of falling into a madden state was upon you, and your purpose was nearing completion.

When the fighting stopped and you walked hand and hand down the temple steps with Druig, it was the last time you would all be together. It would be centuries before you'd see any of them again but for a little while, that did not matter. Tucked away in the Amazon, you and Druig built a community that was completely self-sufficient and safe. No violence or hatred, no pressure from the outside world to bend to a higher power of political deviance.

You had the ability to create Eden. A sacred, beautiful place with a natural ability to release the pressure that centuries of fighting had done to the both of you. Your minds had not been subject to the same disease as Thena, but the memories were always present. The terror, the torture, the evil that humanity could produce. In the bubble, it was safe to talk about it. Druig understood better than anyone else and in the safety net of love, it was the greatest partnership you could ask for.

Beyond the hut you had grown to call home, you cultivated a garden full of plants that were not native to the landscape. It was a task to keep you busy, keep the plants alive while the others made food and clothing, shelter and kept resources from wearing thin. The peace came from the distant chatter of people, the laughter of children, the serene sounds of the forest moving with the wind. Trees that swayed from side to side with a bristling of their leaves.

You could breathe in and nothing felt heavy.

"These are blooming nicely."

"They take more water than the others. I won't plant them again because it seems like a waste."

You brushed off your hands, wiping the dirt on your loose pants and stood. Druig was carefully holding one leaf in between his thumb and index finger.

"You don't have to worry about the water."

"But I do and no matter what you say, I am always going to go with my gut when it comes to my plants."

"Your plants? I am pretty sure I helped with at least... at least this one here." Druig searched the small garden and pointed to a rose bush that hadn't yet bloomed. He smiled back at you when you let out a laugh and walked toward him.

"You did. And they are growing absolutely wonderfully."

Druig held out his hand for you to take, pulling you closer with a smile on his face as he was able to wrap his arms around you in the comfort of the space you created together. It was transparent happiness.

"Please tell me you've interrupted my gardening with lunch because I am famished."

"If I say yes will you stay inside with me for the rest of the day?" He quirked a mischievous brow, unable to contain the intent as he ran his hands up and down your back, squeezing your side to make you squirm.

"If you are implying what I think you are..." You did indeed squirm but resettled and gazed at him knowingly.

"And if I am?"

"Then yes, absolutely."

He let out a cheer of success and pecked your lips briefly before setting off to the hut. Seeing him like this, all... free and content, you knew it was what you had both been dreaming of that day in China. Following behind him, you closed the small gate to the garden and as you looked up, you swore something off in the distance moved.

It was that heart pounding, nervous feeling that rose within you without explanation as the vegetation moved in unnatural forms but after a moment, it stopped. Returning to a stillness that was most common during the early afternoon hours you were familiar with. Druig halted at the back door, waiting for you, calling out your name as you stared off hesitantly at the vast distance before you. Eventually, you responded.

"Hm? Sorry. I thought–" You thought about mentioning it but decided against it. The feeling lingered although the sight told you nothing more was there. "–never mind."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

And you joined him inside.

In several centuries, only one had come to your home. Ajak came nearly twenty years before calling out to her "college friends" that she had come baring gifts. Now, 'gifts' was a wind-chime made out of the antlers of an Elk but you appreciated the sentiment in the end. It hung from the ceiling of the huts porch and she had instructed Phastos to make it chime when a friend was near.

Twice it had chimed with no one else there. You recalled looking out at the common grounds to see no familiar face waiting for reunion, just locals who waved hello.

After you had redressed that afternoon and finally ate lunch, you heard those chimes. A swift, melodic repetition of the woodwinds coming together only to be separated and brought together again. You stood in the small kitchen with a banana half cut when Druig sensed it to. They were here, for real this time.

You never discussed what you would do if they all came knocking.

Friends from college.

"They're there." He spoke quietly, as though they would be able to hear the conversation through the thick walls of the hut.

"Yeah... they're here."

Druig got up from his stool and finished the contents of his drink, tightening the tie of his robe, and nodding his head to the door.

"What do you think it's about?" He asked you.

"Something bad, I'm sure."

"Is it ever anything good?" Even in this moment of impeding change, he offered a supportive smile. "I guess we couldn't stay in this paradise forever."

"It was a nice dream though."

"The best dream, my love. My beautiful, Y/n. We will see this paradise again."

Druig did not lie to you then, he would not lie to you now. You would see this place again–in a dream, in the flesh, when the world was in shambles or peace had finally become real. Whatever endgame your life was destined to, it would return to this home.

Druig opened the big, wooden doors to the hut and descended the stairs to where Ikaris, Sersi, Sprite, Kingo, Gilgamesh, Thena, and an unknown man with a camera pointed at him stood. You leaned up against a post beside the stairs and gazed over the faces of your family. A distant, unique family that came searching for the two of you.

"Welcome to Eden, my friends." You spoke aloud to them for the first time in centuries. "What evil have you brought here?"

Not Proofed. Apologizes for any errors atm. Thanks for reading! As always, any likes, reblogs, or comments are always encouraged :)

#eternals #marvels the eternals #the eternals #druig #druig x reader #druig x gender neutral reader #druig fanfic #druig x you #Druig x Makkari is still endgame but this is just self-indulgent #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #eternals fanfiction #jesus christ i hope chloe zhao never sees this

[yeoldontknow]

the light keeper’s daughter | jhs (m)

A/N: written as fulfillment for the july house games at @bangtansorciere  ❂ To The Lighthouse      ⁂ Hosted by: Professor Bee @inkedtae through @bangtansorciere​ AU Type: Trident’s Tides (soulmates) Themes: God/Goddess (goddess reader); Secret Relationship Kinks: clit biting; pain kink; size kink; masturbation; degradation; overstimulation; dirty talk; cum play; panty sniffing

↝ Creative Content Contributor: @jamaisjoons​ for this incredible banner. its literally so stunning ;~; ↝ Pairing: Lighthouse Keeper!Hoseok x Goddess of Light!Reader (oc; female) ↝ Genre: soulmate au; secret relationship au; gods/goddess au; mentions of an arranged marriage; heavy angst; smut; romance; pining ↝ Rating: NC-17 | 18+ ↝ Summary: For years, you’ve kept your relationship with Hoseok a secret. As the daughter of the God of Light, you are destined to marry anyone who slays the beast in the Gloaming Isles in your honor. When that day finally comes, you go to Hoseok to tell him your relationship must end and you are set to be married. One last time, Hoseok reminds you no one will love you as eternally, as enduringly, as he. ↝ Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; pregnancy; unprotected sex; creampie; masturbation; clit biting; oral sex (f receiving); pain kink; size kink; overstimulation; light degradation; a brief handjob; impreg kink; dirty talk; cum play; panty sniffing; crying; biting; marking; scratching; brief mentions of blood ↝ Word Count: 14.7K        ↝ special thank you to @softyoongiionly​ and @kithtaehyung​ for reading through this and being amazing betas! if there are any mistakes left over they are absolutely my own and the fact that 98% of this was written while sprinting owo

Looking at Hoseok, you think, is exactly like being struck by lightning. Which is to say, every time, all the time, looking at Hoseok means you feel him everywhere, all over and all at once. 

Inside the lighthouse, there is no escaping him. 

Pressing your back against the rough concrete of the small light room, you tilt your head to the side as the totality of Hoseok’s warmth, ardor, and fidelity blossoms over you. He flowers deep in the nodes of your lungs, your breath constricted as you take him in, studying the curve of his lips, the slope of his nose, the way he wears the night as though he is the stars.

In the distance, waves rush to the shore, kissing the land with the same enthusiasm you wish to be kissing him, only to pull away from land; the water shy, anxious of the earth’s response to its affections. Over and over, the sea rolls like thunder. Every now and then, the light that spins overhead refracts downward, illuminating the blood that has rushed to his cheeks. Flushed, his lips part as he processes the words you have just told him, all red and red and red with understanding.

As though he is burning, as though you are not burning for him, your hands clinging tightly to your skirts as you hold your knees against your chest. It should be utterly unfair, you think, for him to appear so beautiful, so exquisite, even as he remains painfully stricken by your words. The searing ache in your chest germinates alongside your love, mind racing with the apologies he deserves. Your bones tremble with the force of remaining still, prepared to reach out and hold his face and tell him it was a lie. You want to smile for him, want to tease him, want to say you’d been terribly silly and that such jokes are best kept for nights when the sky is not clouded, not cold, and instead warmed by your shared rapture. 

How you would like to give him all the kindest, all the softest, words in the world.

‘It can’t be true.’

He’s said this twice, the disbelief in his voice only just winning out against the grief. Hoseok repeats it again, taking a step towards you, eyes cast down to where you have slunk in shame and sadness. Hands limp at his sides, his fingers quake, torn between balling his hands into fists or running through his hair, their resting place for his worry. Deciding on neither, he simply stands tall and stoic, appearing so small in the light that cascades around the room.

You’d glow for him if you could, if you felt like you deserved to illuminate any part of him at all.

Looking away from his woefully dejected expression, you turn your attention to the small gap in the wall beside you. A window once blocked the wind - stained glass, exquisite. It shattered during a storm, on a night when he pressed himself so deep inside you traces of his essence lingered on your tongue. He was deep enough it hurt, rolling into you with enthusiastic vigor. Tonight, the breeze smells of low tide, acrid in the back of your nose and sour, just like your mood.

‘We knew this would happen,’ is your quiet reply. 

A weak and pathetic excuse, you hate the words even as you say them. Shameful, you think with a grimace, to have pretended that you could have a happy ending, that convincing your father would have been simple. The lies you told yourself and Hoseok, the platitudes that fell from your lips to comfort him, turn on your now, betrayals stacked against you that weigh heavily your judgement. You’ve been childish, so childish, to assume you could have ever been happy.

Hoseok shakes his head, refusing to accept your answer. All fury and rage, he comes to stand before you and lowers to his knees, demanding you look at him. His presence is a live wire, the heat and energy from his skin is vital, a pull against yours that makes you regard him once more, confronted by his enduring beauty. Flooding your vision, he is all you see, all you can fathom, your world beginning and ending with his pleading eyes. 

‘But it’s been years,’ he argues, the high pitched tone of his voice wavering and taught with emotion. He’s older than you, physically, but at this moment he has never been so young, so small, so gloriously human. ‘Centuries even. It’s unfair to you.’

A huff of breath rushes through your nose, your scoff ripe with bitterness. ‘Someone finally slayed the Sydral, as archaic as this ritual actually is. My father said I should have always expected it.’

‘And so now…’ Hoseok’s voice drifts, falling back onto his knees crestfallen. The corner of his lips drop into the beginnings of a deep frown, all manner and will to fight rapidly dissipating.

‘I have to marry them,’ you nod, answering his unspoken question.

For a long while, you hold his gaze, allowing yourself to get lost in the umber of his irises and missing the mirth that usually ignites their sparkle. It is just his breath that cascades over your skin, just the waves that rush beyond the light room, just the world that seems to turn onward, without you, time passing without either of you truly acknowledging it. In this silence, you see your history, your every moment spent with him: the day you met; the day he could not help himself any longer and kissed you soundly, without restraint; the first moment you told him you loved him; the first moment he said he needed you; the plastic ring he won at the pier arcade - extraordinary in all its ugliness - and the gentle, reverent, way he slid it over your finger, calling it a promise of fidelity. 

In Hoseok, you see it all. 

Similarly, he drowns in you, the pink of his cheeks deepening to rose with each passing breath. Posture falling slack, the strap of his ride suspender slips from his shoulder, the collar of his linen shirt loosening with the lack of restraint. A sliver of his collarbone becomes exposed, golden and rich, a tantalizing patch of skin you would caress and kiss if only the circumstances had been different. You wonder idly what he remembers of you, what he sees in your own dispirited expression. You wonder if he remembers the way he loved you, the way he loved you beyond your light and into your darkness. 

You wonder if he remembers the way he ate your shadows - with his whole mouth, with fervor, with pride. You wonder if he remembers the way you devoured him just the same. 

‘This is ridiculous,’ he announces, finally. Turning to look out the window, he regards the sky solemnly, the curve of his profile imposing in its majesty. Eyes narrowed, it is the harshest he has ever looked, devoid of forgiveness. ‘It’s supposed to be me.’

Swiftly, you shake your head, adamant in your disagreement. You reach for him, leaning forward to rest your hand against his chest, against his heart where it thunders in his sternum. Warmth from his skin radiates into your blood, taking root between your joints. Hoseok worms his way into pieces of your spirit long left abandoned, and you swallow thickly, wondering if such affection as this is normal, if it’s always this way.

‘I’d never have let you.’ Your dispute is biting, sharp enough Hoseok turns his eyes back to you, jaw clenched and tight with silent fury. ‘You’re human. It would have killed you. And then where would I be?’

‘You’d be sitting where I am,’ he argues, emphatic. 

Reaching for your hand where it rests, he covers it with his own, lifting it slightly to twine his fingers with yours. Unable to help himself, he inches closer, running his thumb over your knuckles and sending shivers along your nerves. Like always, his touch is a wildfire, the electric kinetic energy needed to set you aglow. Your mind swims with him the same way your body becomes whelmed by his devotion, but he does not let himself become distracted. 

‘Do you even understand?’ Voice little more than a whisper, Hoseok’s gaze is penetrating, a bite to his veneration that demands your complete attention. Tilting his head to the side, he continues. ‘You think I wouldn’t die for you?’

You squeeze his hand with tenacity, acknowledging his sentiment, but he does not see all the things you have witnessed. He does not know the true menace of the Sydral, does not know its tricks, its many heads, its speed, its cunning; Hoseok would die for you, and death would find him quickly. 

Instead, you offer him a small smile, one that is so fragile and close to breaking. Hoseok’s intensity burns within your chest, transforming his softness into the valor of a man that leaves you breathless. Salvaging your own strength, you lower your gaze to the white collar of his shirt, to the soft linen and the expanse of his throat where he swallows. This you can regard with pleasure, can regard without fearing you may shatter.

And so you smile, finding the will to fight him once more. ‘The problem,’ you begin, hoping the earnestness of your smile is enough to cool the rage that boils in his throat, ‘is that I know you would. And I would live my life alone, married to him while knowing you are gone. Would you really condemn me to such misery? My darling, I would die to keep you safe.’

This feels like anguish; this feels like dying, you think to yourself, growing ever more despondent the longer you feel Hoseok pleading with the emptiness that lurks behind your eyes. You can’t bear to face him, not when the tightness in your throat becomes a threat, tears lingering on the precipice of spilling. Every time his gaze meets yours it is brutal in its honesty, violent in the way your love and lust tumbles so completely into grief.

‘How long?’ he manages, breathing life to the very question you’d been hoping to avoid. 

Your future is still so far away, distant enough it makes this moment, and every moment to follow, heavy with the pain of imagination. Still, you’ve never been able to deny him anything. 

Once more, you turn to view the window, regarding it with a vacant expression as though you are regarding time itself. ‘You know this is the last time I can see you.’

‘I know,’ he bites out, unwilling to let you dodge the answer. ‘I mean how long until...you’re not mine anymore.’

‘That’s...not possible,’ you offer gently, casting him a solemn, detached grin. ‘I am always going to be yours. Even when I’m in his bed, even when I’m thousands of miles away, even in death, I am yours.’

Hoseok pulls you against him, compelling your complete attention. Eyes wide, you study his face - the resolution of his passion fierce enough to be an earthquake against your sternum, a collision of meeting worlds. His arm winds itself around your waist while he still clutches your hand, the strength of his grip stinging against your knuckles. You tremble against his powerful frame, inhaling the deep scent of cedar and ambergris that always clings to him, the salt of the ocean that lingers on his skin, the dust that has saturated his shirt from the lighthouse, and you; your vanilla and lemon, the brightness of your own natural scent that emanates from your light and always seems to find him, not unlike rays of the sun. 

Your mouth waters at this closeness, his own eyes darkened to a rich black as he studies you seriously. You’ve wounded him - worse, you’ve denied him - and he presses the tips of his fingers into the soft muscles of your back, ensuring you cannot leave him. Not until he is ready to let you go.  

‘You know what I mean,’ he breathes, words lowered to a hiss. If he were a vengeful sort of man, he would be full of venom. Instead, there is only remorse in his insistence.

Closing your eyes, you sigh. ‘Months, most likely. Tomorrow the rituals begin - the seven days feast, the Fate Tying, the Blood Gathering.’ 

When you look at him again, your lower lip begins to quake. Saying the words makes it all feel immediate, tangible, as though your father stands in the dark corners of the light room casting his judgements. You almost feel him there, his presence always so sinister for a man blessed to command the light; he resides in the silent places, giving birth to shadows, prepared to pull you from bliss at a moment's notice. 

‘All this pomp and circumstance from eras bygone,’ you continue, grounding yourself in the firmness of Hoseok’s arms and chest. The bones of his knees press into your thighs; your hand caught between your twin heartbeats; you immerse yourself in the pain of this connection and remind yourself it hurts because he was always meant to be yours. ‘It’s been centuries since a goddess has been married off, and yet somehow I’m the first for such a sentence. The wedding won’t be for at least five months.’

‘Then we have time.’ Hope saturates his words, his hold on you growing ever more unyielding. ‘You can still come to me, we can still see each other,’ he explains quickly, speaking in a rush. ‘No one will have to know.’

Biting your lips, you raise your hand to the soft strands of his hair, carding your fingers through it. All silk and satin, you relish the texture as his desperation soaks into your pores. 

‘I wish that could be true.’ Even as you speak, you focus on his hair, committing these small details to memory. The curve of his bang in the center of his forehead, the deep amber and dark sienna and all the golden highlights that come to life in the daylight, the way all of him, every piece, is soft enough to break you. Yes, you focus on it all. ‘All the Old Gods will be gathering in Teylim. There will be more eyes on me than ever before. Ladies coming to fuss over my hair, my clothes, the oils I wear; men worshiping Daeus like he’s some kind of king when, really, he’s just lucky enough to be half of a god. I won’t be able to get away.’

Hoseok’s eyes roam your face, wild and storming, waiting for you to amend your answer. When you do not speak, his brow furrows and he exhales, a small whimper released from the center of his breaking heart. ‘So this is it, then? This is really it?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ you whisper, moving your hand from his hair to cup his cheek. 

He presses himself into your touch, turning just slightly to kiss delicately at your palm. The sweetness of his tenderness splinters the last of your courage, the tears you’ve so valiantly held back starting to burn as they spill over to your cheeks. 

‘I wish it could be different,’ you plead - with everyone and no one at all. ‘I wish for it everyday. Hoseok, I can’t -’ Distraught, you choke on your own words, and Hoseok pulls you firmly against him, resting your head against his shoulder. ‘I can’t breathe without you. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.’

Hoseok says nothing at all as you dampen his shirt, tears spilling into the linen as you struggle not to collapse against him completely. When you are finally alone, you will succumb to the sorrow that has learned to occupy every chamber of your heart. When you are finally alone, you will eat the spirit of rage with teeth and fangs, and you will let the darkness have you, refusing to let the light erupt from your skin. But for now, you let the tears arrive of their own accord, aware that you are suddenly too sad to even weep, tears dripping into his shirt as means to remain a part of him.

Against you, Hoseok’s breath becomes uneven, his own shoulders shuddering as he minds his own heroism, fighting back his own tears. He quivers against you, his stuttering breath exhaled through his nose as he maintains his composure. The light room becomes almost too quiet, the blood rushing your ears drowning out the sound of the sea, narrowing your focus to just the shared heat between your bodies. You inch closer, removing any space that could exist between you, extinguishing any oxygen that would dare to separate you from him. What you would give for a thunderstorm, any sound at all to give life to the end of love, to the start of the war of loving. 

Unable to stomach the quiet any longer, your mind seems to become unhinged. All the tiny, miserable little thoughts Hoseok’s love kept locked away worm their way past your lips, erupting to life as though your heartbreak has given them permission to persecute you. 

‘I wish you never found me,’ you mumble, almost incoherent. Your tongue fumbles with the words, caught between weeping and speaking, making a mess of so much more than just his shirt. ‘I wish you never saw me. I could love you like that, on my own, from a distance. I could be strong enough to move through life not knowing you, loving only the idea of you. You’re so much more than anything my mind could have fabricated out of childish desire. The reality of you is heaven. And now, I’m hurting you. I should die for such a transgression.’

‘Don’t say that.’ Hoseok pulls, easing you back and lifting both his hands to cup your face. Briefly you mourn the loss of his fingers and knuckles so rough against yours, but cradled between his palms, your skin tingles, making a festival out of this contact and celebrating the nuance of his fingerprints. He looks down into you, deep enough you feel him taking root in the center of your belly. You love him most when he looks like this - fierce and unforgiving - and you cannot help the way your body responds, aroused simply by the passion of him. ‘Don’t you dare wish that,’ he commands, voice thick. ‘The day we met was the day my life started.’

‘But...’ you struggle to find the words, drifting off with the implication that, now, his life is surely ending.

‘I don’t want to know who I would be without you.’ Hoseok takes his time as he speaks, an art you cannot comprehend. 

Behind his eyes, his mind races, words living and dying before they can reach his tongue. He has so much to say, so many more promises to make, so many more words of affirmation he’d like to give you. You see them all, recognize them all - for they mirror yours, are born from your own likeness; you know them all so well, you feel as though you could reach out and touch them. 

‘I can’t fathom it, I won’t even consider it.’ Shaking his head, he denies this completely, holding onto your stare with a fixation that borders on zealous. ‘You came to me, and it felt like I could breathe. You came to me, and I felt like myself. Loving you makes me better, loving you is partly why I am alive.’

It’s difficult to swallow around the lump in your throat, its size and prowess growing ever larger in the wake of his words. In the oncoming quiet, you wish he hadn’t said it, wish he hadn’t reminded you of the way you the oncoming storm of his presence before you met him. One look at him and you had seen it all, a life designed by the Fates - marriage, children, hope, happiness. In death he’d have joined you in Teylim, youthful, young, yours. With eternity before you, you’d bask in the rapture and the joyful silliness that comes with forever. 

He felt it, too, saw it in your eyes. On your fourth meeting, he held you against him and promised you his life.

‘I will put my child in your belly,’ he announced, deliberate in the way he enunciated his words. You waited for the shock of such an exclamation to overtake you, but it never came. ‘I can’t explain it,’ he chuckled, amused by his own enthusiasm, ‘but I’m certain of it. I see my unborn children in your eyes. I think this is what the elders mean when they say there is always a plan, and you will always know it the moment you find it. I’m so certain my whole life is tied to yours.’

The memory burns within your mind, a scorch of greed mixing immediately with longing. You wish the fire of it would incinerate it to ash, that it would vanish altogether before the Fate Tying. You can handle all of these frivolous little rituals, sure of yourself and your own strength, but the Fate Tying means to unmake you. At just the thought, your stomach begins to sink. 

You will sit, hands clasped on your amber throne with the sunlight seeking your hair, your cheeks, your lips; Daeus will smile, wrapped in oak and evergreen, in the earth that flourishes beneath your light; and you will weep, watching as the Moirai unstitch your soul from Hoseok’s, peeling it apart inch by horrible inch, to thread it with the ugliness of Daeus’ strands. You will wonder, mouth dry and eyes wet, why the Moirai would bother making a man for you, would bother weaving your spirits together, only to unravel the work they had done, the love you had found. 

The movement of Hoseok’s gentle caress, pads of his thumbs running across the bones of your cheeks, returns you to the present moment. Once more he whimpers, doing his best to keep you grounded with him, unwilling to lose you before he absolutely must. Digging your nails into his shoulder as you grab fistfuls of his shirt, you wallow with him, knowing that, just like him, you don’t know who you would have become without him.

‘What do we do?’ you manage, reduced to a more pathetic version of yourself as you plead with him. Anyone else, and you’d be ashamed to appear so weak. ‘How do I do this?’

‘I don’t know,’ is all he can provide. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Promise me -’ You cut yourself off, not entirely certain where the idea comes from, what part of you would willingly propose such a request, the meaning of what you had intended to say catching up to your mind the moment you heard your own voice. Hoseok waits patiently, and you lower your gaze to the curvature of his lips, wanting to kiss and kiss and kiss him, knowing your next words will scar you both. ‘Promise me you’ll find someone else. Promise me you’ll be happy.’

Without any hesitation, he scoffs, dismissing the idea altogether. ‘Don’t ask me to tell a lie.’ 

‘I can’t, Hoseok.’ Now, it is your turn to hold his face, cupping his cheeks with veneration. Mind reeling, you envision it, certain you could take it. You are certain you would die for less. ‘I can’t do this if I spend my life knowing you’ll be unhappy. I can’t do this knowing you’re alone.’

Slowly, gently, Hoseok lets the tip of his nose press against yours, rubbing it back and forth, back and forth. Breath  a deluge down and over your lips and skin, he somehow finds it within himself to smile, empty of all amusement. 

‘It’s so unfair of you to expect that I could be happy with anyone but you,’ he chastises. ‘I’d rather be alone, utterly and completely, than to be lonely with someone. They deserve better than someone who is with them out of loyalty to another person - a promise kept to the person they truly love.’

His rejection and refusal of your plea inspires a thrill in the pit of your stomach, all manner of possessive pleasure coursing through your veins. How easily he turns you into a selfish woman, how quickly his promises of fidelity make you lose all sight of strength and future vision. What sort of man is Hoseok that he should have such dominion over you, you think to yourself. But then, you know. You know as you have always known: Hoseok is your man, your lover, your soul.

Stroking his cheeks with your thumbs, just as he had done, reverently, adoringly, you bite your lip and feel your exhale shake. ‘So what will you do?’

‘I’ll do as I’ve always done,’ he shrugs, as though the very thought is not a bruise within his ribs. ‘I’ll keep the lighthouse. Every night, I’ll let the beacon burn, and keep the light on. Even on clear days, I will let the light shine.’ Hoseok smiles as he says this, the first real smile he has managed since he saw you on the shore this evening, waiting, just like always. ‘When you’re up there, perhaps you will see the light.’ 

He shifts his gaze to the roof of the light house, looking up and beyond, past the clouds, up to the seat of the gods. Furrowing his brow, he hardens his jaw just slightly, eyes turning dark as he demands your father witness him. 

When he looks at you again, he is a changed man - a boy trapped in the throes of love, and a man on the verge of letting himself perish.

‘Maybe up there,’ he murmurs, ‘you will see my light and know that I’m burning for you, just as I’ve always been. I’ll continue to love you. I’ll be good, I’ll be pious, and maybe when I die we will meet in Teylim and even in death I’ll watch you, staying close to your light like a bird in flight.’

‘Hoseok.’ The quiver of your bottom lip disrupts the cadence of his name, besmirching it to little more than a sob.

Sucking air through his teeth, Hoseok leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours as his eyes fall shut. At such close proximity, you study the almost feminine length of his eyelashes, the pores of his skin, and wonder who or what god or demon you could barter with to stay inside him forever.

‘You’re supposed to be mine,’ he whimpers, the sadness welling up in him like a mountain. ‘You are mine, but…I will always be yours. Even when they untie us, I’ll be yours. They can’t thread me with anyone else. I don’t think my soul will allow it.’ 

Unable to sustain it any longer, your desire for him rises to a swell, erupting beside your sorrow - just as fervent, and even more unyielding. His words are a comfort, an echo you will revisit over and over when you have long departed, but your skin has learned how to ache for his touch, learned how to anticipate the way he moves over you like water, and you need it. You need him. 

The rest of your pitiful existence looms out before you, days and months and centuries passing without Hoseok to hold you and keep you, and you despise the very notion of it. You rebuke it, refusing to let yourself continue on without knowing how it feels to have him. Tonight, you do not want him as your lover.

Tonight, you want him as your husband.

‘Kiss me,’ you announce, guiding his forehead away from yours, skin prickling with the lack of his warmth. ‘Kiss me like it’s our wedding. I -’ The tightness of your voice steals your breath, words hot and heavy in your mouth as you say them. ‘I want to know what a marriage bed truly feels like. I want to know what our marriage bed would be like.’

Mad with an unbearable passion, no longer contained, Hoseok heeds your words and lets his tongue wander over the seam of your lips. You cling to him, clutching what you can of his shape, his body, and you sigh in woeful euphoria, granting him unspoken entry to the recesses of your mouth - but he does not enter. Your lover has always been disobedient, reckless in the evening when your skin and your lips and your heart are presented to him, and tonight he is no different. Tonight, he scorns the hour, taking his time as he traces over your cupid’s bow with his tongue, rendering the turn of the earth meaningless. The heat of his breath tickles your skin, a cascade in which you luxuriate, and your eyes, blurred by the urgency of your desire, lose all sense of your surroundings until there is only Hoseok. 

Hoseok - on you, around you, all over you, the rain and the wind all at once.

Only when he has had his fill of your lips does he press the whole of his mouth against yours, sucking languidly at your bottom lip. Skin growing tight, you keen into his kiss, consumed by greed. Slowly, he moves his hands down and down, letting his fingers trace indeterminate lines over your cheeks, your jaw, your bones until they rest at your neck. With his palm over your pulse, he holds you still, his touch a fever, his touch the sun, radiating deep into the caverns of your heart. 

Filled with him, you think. Absolutely alive with him, Hoseok lets his palm cradle the tether of your life until you are certain he is the oxygen made to sustain your mortal form. You, living and breathing, are little more than remnants of departed touches, composed entirely of his affections, his affirmations, his adoration.

So, too, do you kiss at him, battling against him for any semblance of permanence, demanding that you be remembered. Feeling you writhe against him, insistent in your need for closeness, he hums in pleasure, a musical sound that traverses your synapsis with unhurried ease. Gooseflesh raises on your arms, either by a passing breeze or the way Hoseok leans in, harder, rougher, all manner of dominance in the way he so desperately seeks to have you, and you shiver, delighted by the peak in your senses; delighted, fundamentally, that you will commit every moment of this last evening to bodily memory.

Willing to be devoured, you surrender to him, feeling arousal leak from between your folds as though his savagery has given it permission to spill over. It soaks into your underwear where you briefly mourn the fact that it will not coat your thighs, not yet, and that Hoseok must wait to see how easily you could paint yourself in your wanting. Like always, he anticipates you and ardent your longing; perceptive and always acutely aware of the way you have grown wanton. depraved by the strength of his kisses alone. 

Hoseok eases his hand to the back of your neck, determination apparent in his grip, and guides you forward to rest in his lap. Letting your legs settle on either side of his thighs, you straddle him, unwilling to break any contact he has with you, your skin, you, your hands on him. You come together like a cataclysm, the burgeoning tip of his erection firm and stubborn where it presses against your core, assertive and tantalizing even beneath the fabric of his trousers. 

It’s lewd the way you crave him deep inside you, jaw dropping as your mouth opens wide to gasp in delight. Hoseok wastes no time in letting his tongue glide against yours, explorative and eager, utterly deliberate in his stroking. Slowly, the tips of his fingers move from your neck to your hairline, ever deeper and ever more intrusive. A low chuckle rumbles in his throat as he runs his tongue over yours, grazing the roof of your mouth before he forms a fist in your hair and tilts your head back, swift and aggressive. 

All at once he pulls away, face hovering just centimeters above yours and gaze hooded as he explores your lustful expression. A flush creeps into your cheeks, the control he has over the flow of your blood is always surprising even if it is to be expected. Hoseok seems pleased, evident in the familiar way his eyes have become blackened by the force of his yearning and the smile that has worked its way into the corner of his lips, a secret for only you to discover. He takes a pause, disregarding his haste, to regard you: your parted lips, your heated cheeks - a fire that has spread itself over your chests and breasts.

‘You are a vision of sin,’ he murmurs, cocking his head to the side and tightening his grip in your hair. ‘What would all the gods say?’

Your own nails scratch tenderly into his scalp, gripping his hair to mirror his hold on you. Futile, you know. The strength in Hoseok is silent, a gift that makes him appear merely pretty until the seat of his power is fully revealed, a fortitude you could never mimic.

You swallow, preparing to speak, and watch the way Hoseok studies the movement of your throat. ‘They would call me a harlot.’ 

His gaze returns to yours, an otherwise thoughtful look turned menacing by the terror of his passion. ‘And are you?’

Tongue heavy in your mouth, you struggle with the few words you can manage. ‘They will make me out to be,’ you begin slowly, poignantly, ‘and it will be your fault. You’ve made me a slut.’

You hold onto the word - draping yourself over the “s”, tapping your tongue against the “t” - ensuring it lingers in your mouth long enough for him to taste it. It’s his fault, really, that you will be judged and scorned and shamed for coming to your new husband wholly impure, the construct of your virginity eradicated by Hoseok’s insatiable appetite. It’s his fault, you think, that you want him this much. That you love him this much. Your tongue caresses the word slut like it's your dearest companion, familiar with its shape and texture, and you lean upward, hoping to put it in his mouth. 

If he is half of your soul, then he should learn how it tastes to be utterly reprehensible. 

But he dodges the trajectory of your desires, moves away from your lips and your face entirely, diving down to your chest where he lets his teeth traverse the expanse of your sternum. Lifting his hand from your pulse, he trades one beat of your blood for another, fisting his hand in the collar of your dress to pull it down and expose the thin bit of flesh covering your heart. It thunders in your ears, your body a storm of his making, and you tremble as he positions himself to ravage your very spirit.

His teeth leave scars upon your nerves, eternal echoes within your pores that have you rolling your hips downward in encouragement. Again, you feel him, his cock against your core, enough to have you whimpering as though you are small and fragile, not the maker of your undoing. As punishment for your impertinence, Hoseok takes aim and bites down harshly at the slender bone of your clavicle. 

‘Hoseok!’ 

‘I know you, Sparrow.’ The husk of his breath is an avalanche into the marrow of your bones, the memory of his teeth still reverberating into your lungs. ‘You always like it when it hurts.’

Your skin still stings, yet he is relentless. You quake in his hold as he bites at the bone once again, teeth inlaid perfectly where they had been before. Your skin bends beneath the force, ecstatic hiss descending into a low moan, giving away the truth of how well he truly knows you. The pain grounds you in the moment, allows you, too, to ignore the passage of time, the ebb and flow of the waves as though the tides have halted altogether. You are prettiest when you are red and purple, black and blue by the marks he leaves in his wake, and not once, not even when he breaks your skin to bleeding does he tarnish your light.

In his arms, you are illuminated, glowing with the same intensity as the lighthouse beacon. He’s called you the heavenly sky for the way you glow under his affections, your inability to control your power when he makes you feel so impossibly good turning you into an evening star. You often forget you are blessed with a holy gift, the goddess of light as though your title has any meaning beyond providing you a seat at the table in Teylim. You often forget this is who you really are, someone happy, someone made of magic - a light kindled only under joy.

‘I will make you ache for me,’ he breathes, pushing the collar of your dress lower and lower, threatening to expose your nipple. ‘I want you alight, burning for me. Only me.’

Hoseok kisses deftly at the supple softness of your breast, diligent and greedy. His breath comes ragged, thick in the center of his lungs where he struggles around the insurmountable longing that puts force in his handling of your body. Working his tongue over the skin, he licks the stars out of the constellations of your pores, tasting the dust, the salt, the sea. Your hands run through his hair, messing the thick strands to a state of perilous disorder in your eagerness to move downward to the comforting solidarity of his shoulders.

Grinding your hips into his lap, the tip of his clothed erection slides along your slit, and you release a whimpered exclamation as the cloth of your underwear slips between your folds. Biting your lip, you breathe deep, Hoseok’s own groan of dissatisfaction vibrates into your chest. You feel him deep in your throat, his voice alongside yours, his desire matching yours in intensity. 

Hand leaving your neck in favor of your waist, his grip tightens, fingertips pressing deep circles into the muscles of your back. Thrusting upward, he teases you, laughing darkly to himself with a rough nip to your breast. The motion sends your underwear deeper into your cunt, a pressure to your clit as erotic as it is cruel. It sends a shiver down your spine, inspiring tremors in your nerves that have you clenching your walls around nothing at all, seeking the bulbous head of his cock in need. 

Pleased with himself, he raises himself from your chest to work at the buttons of your dress. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your own rolling back to present you breasts to him like a preening cat. Hungry, he takes the bait, slipping a palm under your dress to cup your breast. He presses against your nipple, a small wine tumbling from your throat to mingle with his whispered expletive. Rolling your nipple between his knuckle, he regards you momentarily, studying your dazed expression. Against him, you are an earthquake unto yourself, a cosmic shift of longing ravaging your blood, and you are pleased by it, offering him a smile of gluttony. 

Abruptly, he releases your breast, hands falling to your hips as he raises to his knees, keeping you against him. Hoseok pushes your hips roughly against his, cock a threatening force against your core as he guides your bodies down to the floor, careful to keep the shift in position painless. Once more, he thrusts at you, and you feel yourself becoming soaked, juices no longer dripping into your underwear but instead crawling slowly down to your ass. The concrete of the floor is chilled, cold enough your back and hips arch indelicately in retreat, causing you to carelessly meet his thrust. 

‘Fuck,’ he mutters, returning his hands to your front as he sits back on his knees. 

Hoseok avoids the buttons over your breasts, choosing instead to undo the buttons just beneath. Continuing onward, he takes his time unwrapping you, hungry for the pieces of your body he will mark as his. The heart of his lips parts on a silent exclamation, mouth falling open as he unveils more of your ample flesh. The light from your skin mixes with the lighthouse beacon, casting shadows of desire in his eyes, rendering him beastly. With his eyes only, he devours you; your body, the fruit of his immense craving. 

Leaving your breasts covered, Hoseok exposes your hips, your stomach, your thighs. Your hardened nipples strain against the fabric, begging for release the same way your core clenches once again around nothing at all, swallowing more of your underwear in an effort to lure him deep inside you. He meant it this way, all too aware your sensitive nipples will tease you to a point of aching the longer they rub against your dress.

The sea breeze cools your skin, so much of you exposed you feel as though you have been submerged in wind and sky. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you mourn momentarily that it is not Hoseok that covers you, not yet. Still, you enjoy being naked for him like this - naked, vulnerable, safe, and his. You open your legs further, letting the wind kiss at the wetness of your cunt, your answering grin borderline salacious. How glorious to give everything and hide nothing from him. How glorious to let yourself be worshipped, his eyes starved for the pleasure of your sex. All this joy, and yet your frustration runs over, an overflow occurring with little thought. 

‘It’s not fair,’ you whine, raising your arms to reach for him. ‘Let me undress you.’

Sitting up, you press your hands flat against his chest, becoming attuned with the ample hills and valleys of his muscles. Hoseok sits still and proud, lips reddened and wet from kissing you. Your light ignites the flush that dapples the tips of his ears, skin flushed by lust and longing. Throat running dry, you swallow thickly, committing his unrivaled beauty to memory. You refuse to forget a single moment of this, unwilling to relinquish a single detail of him. 

Slowly, you ease the suspenders from his shoulders, humming in approval at the way the loose linen of his shirt relaxes in its newfound freedom, offering you more of his neck and collarbones. As your fingers work earnestly at his buttons, Hoseok takes his time admiring you, a piercing look both penetrative and heartsick. His hand comes to cover yours, unable to help himself, and he holds it tightly, raising it to his lips. His eyes remain locked on yours as he kisses the pads of your fingers, one by one, before slipping your index and middle finger into his mouth. Your lips part on a sigh that fades just as quickly as it came, feeling his tongue swirl over the digits with purpose. 

And much the same way you did not expect his touch, so too are you caught off guard when he moves your fingers from his mouth and guides it down your stomach. Lower and lower, he guides your hand between your bodies where he slips it beneath your underwear. Your breath hitches, skin wet from his saliva and clit throbbing at the prospect of tangible contact, your own hand an ominous presence resting upon your mound.

‘Touch yourself,’ he commands.

Hoseok is so often the picture of tenderness in the way he makes love to you, always gentle and always mired in the totality of his affections. Occasionally, he is sharp and, occasionally, he is in control - only on days when he is starved, only on days when he is completely ravenous. Tonight, there is no room for argument. Tonight, he makes himself an unrelenting devil, unafraid to exert dominance.

‘Eventually we will remember little of how we undress,’ he explains, pressing your fingers over your mound, dangerously close to your clit. ‘Right now, I need to see the way you will touch yourself for me when I’m no longer around. I want to see it. I want to memorize it. Touch yourself for me.’

Removing his hand from yours, he nudges softly at your shoulder, and you obey immediately. Leaning back on your right elbow, you keep your hand in place as he grabs the band of your underwear and pulls it down. Lifting your hips, your tongue licks at your bottom lip where the skin has become dry and chapped, struggling to catch your breath as your desire becomes oppressive. Falling back on your tailbone, you spread your legs wider still, proud and impish as you slide your fingers down your slip, separating your folds to display your core. 

But he sees nothing as he lifts your underwear to his nose, fisting his hands in the fabric and pressing it against his face. Hoseok breathes in deep,eyes rolling back slightly in the effort of keeping his eyes open, a growl rumbling in his chest like a warning. Exhaling into the cloth, he laughs to himself, a high pitched, small sound of amused embarrassment before he falls completely silent once more. And then, he breathes in again, just as deep, just as fervent, lips kissing at the wet patch you have created.

‘I’m keeping these.’ Easing your underwear away from his nose, he crumples the garment and buries it in the pocket of his trousers. Cocking an eyebrow in pleasure, he takes in your exposed cunt, licking his lips. ‘I’ll fuck myself with them, imagining it’s you and your wet pussy.’

‘Pervert,’ you tease, jutting your chin forward in mock derision.

‘Whore.’ Inspired by your nakedness, he begins to undress, gaze heated and focused on your wet cunt. ‘I told you to touch yourself.’

Your fingers easily breach the barrier of your folds upon their release, wet with Hoseok’s spit and your walls slick and dripping with your juices. Years ago, you would have been ashamed of being so soaked, a damp patch expanding in the concrete beneath you in visible proof. But you no longer care, not when Hoseok’s expression of thirst is so incorrigible. 

You fuck yourself with your hand, fighting the urge to tilt your head back in relief - small as it is. In the heat of your lonely nights, you find it tragic your fingers never reach as deep as Hoseok’s slender digits; yours are too slim, knuckles not nearly as rough or pronounced. And when your mind drifts dangerously to thoughts of girth, your eyes drop swiftly to the pronounced shape of Hoseok’s straining cock. Swallowing the weep of appreciation that builds in your chest, your teeth chew at your bottom lip, clinging in anticipation.

Pressing the base of your palm against the hood of your clit, you whimper. Mild and meek as it is, your fingers bring a temporary relief, this satisfaction fleeting, and it will not be long before you are begging him to fill you. 

‘You’re dripping,’ he comments, interrupting your thoughts and removing his shirt in one swift motion. ‘Are you sure you’re not the princess of water? If I kiss your cunt I might drown.’

‘I’m in love with you.’ 

While not truly a detailed explanation, the words carry the weight of your whole chest, erupting with little thought. Your mind offers the only logical explanation for your wetness it can manage while your body grapples with the implication of Hoseok’s mouth upon your core. 

‘Say it again,’ he orders, hands tugging harshly at the zip of his trousers.

A slow smile spreads over your lips, head cocking to the side as you admire his eager expression. ‘I’m in love with you.’

‘Again.’

‘I’m in love with you.’ 

This time, you say it with venom, as though you want it to hurt and hope that it will leave scars in its wake. Hoseok tugs his trousers down his thighs, rising to his knees, appearing regal and godly. Freed from its cloth restraints, his cock springs upward to rest against his stomach, and he smirks, chest and neck flushed as your focus shifts immediately to the purpled bulbous head. 

Without hesitation, you remove yourself from your folds, the ache at your core only minutely grieving the loss of your small hand. Instead, you reach for him, fingers slick with your juices as you grasp the base of his cock with a gentle squeeze. He’s heavy in your hand, rigid in the solid way that makes your walls clench and drip once more, mirroring the way your mouth waters. Slowly, you move your hand up and down the shaft, letting your thumb rub over the leaking tip with care. 

Hoseok’s breath hitches, his hips thrusting slightly into your hand as you pleasure him. His own hands clutch at his discarded clothes, doing his best to exercise his dwindling patience, and you repeat motion, admiring the smoothness of the skin in contrast to the veins of his shaft.

‘I always wonder how you will fit inside me,’ you comment, moving your hand back down and studying the way your fingers do not meet your thumb. ‘You’re so thick.’

He rolls his shoulders back in the aftermath of your praise, inhaling sharply through his teeth. Hoseok is always free with his praises, showering you in worship and stating it is his duty to devote himself to the goddess in his favor. Always, he does this, and always he seeks nothing in return. But you have always sensed, as attuned to him as you are, that praise from you sets his soul afire. One word of praise from you and you are certain he could eat the god of Daeus entirely, rendering him completely human.

‘You were made for me,’ he explains, voice taught and words strained. Unable to hold back, he fucks your fist, seeking relief. ‘You will always stretch to accommodate me, just like your life was meant to. Just like your belly was meant to, stretching with my children.’ His gaze is penetrative, deeply serious for such an obscene state of being. ‘You were meant to take all of me. My true home is inside you.’

Your grip loosens slightly at his admission, lips curling into a small pout. ‘I so desperately wanted to give you a child.’

A choked sound rumbles through his chest, and his hand reaches yours, pulling it from his cock to wind your fingers together. With his free hand, he nudges at your shoulder, easing you back to the ground with a darkness in his eyes that has your throat running dry. Automatically, your legs spread wide, offering him space to settle between them. The tip of his cock rubs carelessly against your slit, and your focus fades, mind emptying with the single desire to have him inside you taking root. 

‘Promise me you won’t give him children,’ he commands, words thick with purpose.

He walks his hand languidly down  your body, grazing over your chest, your covered breasts, to the flat of your stomach. Beneath him, you tremble, the tectonic plates of your spine shifting beneath his touch. Splaying his hand over your stomach, he eyes your skin with parted lips and a furrowed brow. Hoseok wars with himself, his thoughts tangible behind the darkness of his irises, expression swimming with strife.

‘Promise me,’ he repeats. ‘I don’t think I could survive the thought of someone else's baby growing inside you.’ 

Raising your hand from the floor, you card your fingers through his hair while you squeeze your joined hands, determined to win his attention. 

‘I promise,’ is your soft whisper. ‘I shall bear no other child than yours.’ 

Invigorated by your promise, he returns his gaze to yours and maintains it as he works his way down your body with his tongue, kissing everywhere his hands have been. Without warning, he buries his face between your legs to bite gently at your clit, this contact a thunderclap in your spirit. Back arching off the floor, your voice shatters around his name, teeth chewing over the syllables as tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Your bones hum with the stimulation, very existence stinging and resonating, while he sucks your clit into his mouth, soothing the pain into a deep, soul burning pleasure. He swirls his tongue around it, mouth greedy and impatient, the fullness of his lips a heaven unrivaled by Teylim, and your hand tightened in his hair, body writhing in passion. 

Hoseok releases your clit with a wet pop before he kisses his way down to your folds, thrusting the flat of his tongue between them, impatient and hungry. Mindlessly, your legs spread wider, small gasps escaping from your chest as your lungs take in the scent of your sex and your hips roll upward, feeling your juices mix ceremoniously with his saliva. Consumed by the sheer power of your need, you feel yourself howl like a moonless wolf, rolling your hips against Hoseok’s face in erratic motions, inspired by the promise of your orgasm.

But Hoseok releases your joined hands, moving it quickly to your hips where he holds you still, growling against your cunt.

‘You shall not wander from me,’ he says, moving his lips against your slit as he presses you into the ground. ‘Keep still and let me feast on you.’

Once more, he thrusts the full length of his tongue between your walls, sucking eagerly at the juices spilling into his open mouth. He’s velvet and silk against your core, sturdy and solid while still gliding against all the places you have needed him most, and your voice careens off the ceiling, loud enough to drown out the ocean waves. Scratching your nails down the soft skin of your thighs, you fight back the desire to thrust against his face, wishing you could fuck his mouth and press yourself against the tip of his nose. All of it, every thrust of his tongue and every roll of your hips you suppress has you moaning, voice high pitched and growing erratic.

The feel of his tongue inside you inspires the deep desire for something larger, something thicker. Your orgasm is a threat in the center of your belly, spine tingling and tightening as each press of his tongue against your walls tames the beast of your racing heart. Hoseok buries himself between your legs with a diligence that borders on hysteria, holding you down and indulging in your

Still, his tongue only just hits the place inside your core that needs him most. You want him hard against your cervix. You want him deep enough to leave bruises on your softest pieces.

Tonight, you want the thick girth of his cock to splinter your bones. Tonight, you want his cock pressed against your cervix, a bruise you will carry for the rest of your life. Tonight, you want his cum so deep inside you it burns.

Tonight, you want him to love you and you want it to hurt. 

‘Hoseok,’ you whimper. ‘Please, I -’

Hoseok thrusts two fingers into your cunt beside his tongue, silencing you with the rough skin of his knuckles spreading your walls even wider. The contrast between his fingers and tongue elevates your hips from the floor with force, disregarding the strength of his hand. You are beastly beneath his ministrations, finding yourself caught in a wild hour and feeling as though you have abstained from him too long. He forces your hips back down with the palm of his hand, groaning against you loudly enough you feel his voice reverberate up to your tongue, and you cry out, distraught. 

Having left the top of your dress buttoned, your nipples strain against the cloth, sensitive and sending electric ripples down your arms, your shoulders - all along your nerves. Another breeze moves through the lighthouse, and it kisses at the sheen of sweat that has broken along your hairline. 

Desperately, you want him. Desperately, you need him. But still it’s not enough. 

‘God,’ you keen, ‘I need to cum.’

Hoseok hums in understanding, the vibration of it moving deep inside you once more. 

‘Oh,’ you whine, so small and so close to breaking. 

Hoseok’s tongue leaves your cunt, only his fingers remaining, and he moves his mouth to your clit where he sucks at the swollen nub deftly. Again, your hand scratches down your thighs, harsh enough to draw blood. Red and angry, the sting of these scores against your flesh makes you smile, a manic and monstrous expression you hope your father, Daeus, and all the gods can see. Frustrated and feeling the coil of your orgasm tighten, your other hand slaps into the ground, gripping at the linen of Hoseok’s shirt. You dig your nails into it, pretending it is him, his skin, his cock, anything substantial to torture him as he tortures you.

Against your cunt, you feel Hoseok begin to laugh, wearing the smirk of the devil as he sucks diligently at your clit.

His name begins in your mouth and dies on an exhale, eyes open wide as you stare up at the ceiling. Vision glazed and vacant, your body trembles as your orgasm lingers dangerously on the precipice of your nerves, skin growing hot and bordering on a point of pain. You hear yourself crying, you feel yourself pressing harder and harder against Hoseok’s eager mouth, and you struggle to discern if the rush in your ears is your blood as it moves swiftly to find him or the ocean that works swiftly to keep your coupling secret. 

And then, without any warning at all, Hoseok once more latches his teeth to your clit.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, a wave of heat in your blood and skin, your juice cascading into Hoseok’s waiting mouth. This orgasm is an eruption, a shockwave in your soul that leaves you trembling while his relentless motions of tongue and hand milk you to completion. The tears you have held back begin to spill, soaking your cheeks as you soak his lips, a great wave over you that leaves you breathless.

‘Come up here,’ you gasp. ‘Come up here and kiss me.’

Slowly pulling his lips and fingers from your cunt, you hiss as he eases his way up your body. Using the tip of his tongue, he traces the shape of your parted lips with careful strokes, still messy and dripping with your slick juices. At your core, his cock presses, the contact sending tremors up your spine and causing a whine of pain to splinter in your throat. Granted permission by the sound alone, Hoseok delves his tongue inside your mouth and demands you taste yourself - you, your cum; him, his breath, his spit, his flavor; all of it, mixed together. Your walls clench as you kiss him, devouring him, as your folds seek to lure his cock inside you. 

Gasping against his mouth, you feel his tip press roughly against your core, your walls still sensitive but your body and spirit eager for his fullness. Hoseok pulls away from your lips to whine a low expletive, his resolve shaking and unstable, close to shattering by the force of his desire. His lips part on his sighs, breath slow and shallow, and still shimmering with you. Already, he had devoured you, drunk his fill and yet he still appears starved. As he lingers above you, Hoseok rolls his cock against your walls once more, a challenge, a reminder that he is exhausted by the prospect of not having his fill of you.

Moving your hands to his shoulders, you press your fingers into the soft skin of his back and muscles, letting them wander down and down until you grip the rounded flesh of his ass There, your grip tightens, threatening to push him inside you lest he waste any more time. 

‘Hoseok,’ you breathe. ‘I need you to fuck me.’

‘You want me to fuck you?’ he mumbles, running his tongue over your jaw before biting at your chin. ‘Tell me how badly.’

‘Please,’ you whimper, rolling your hips up against his cock, a warning against the tip. ‘I need you so badly it hurts.’

Wordlessly, Hoseok thrusts himself inside you to the hilt, balls pressing against you with a loud slap. You feel him shake inside you, body shivering with the sudden heat enveloping his cock. Hoseok’s moan is a deluge, an ecstatic exclamation howled victoriously into the juncture of your neck and shoulders, and you smile blankly at the ceiling, mind empty of all things that are not the feel of Hoseok against and inside you. 

His stillness is a tease you cannot endure, and so you clench yourself around him, his teeth biting at your skin as you release and repeat, urging him to move. The feel of his mouth at your skin, the feel of his heaviness pressed so roughly inside you, as your cunt leaking over him, back down into the floor where it coats your ass in its stickiness. Still, you pay little attention to anything other than his immense girth as it stretches you, your walls strained to accommodate him like always. 

Feeling you drip over and under him, he pulls out and thrusts back in, a knock at the door of your cervix and the sudden feel of him so deep as you groaning his name. He challenges you, repeating the motion as your bodies slide back along the floor with the force of his thrusts, the piercing sensation stealing your very breath. You are gasping as you clutch him, breasts moving against the fabric and nipples aching with the sensation, letting him push your body to its limits. 

‘Tell me you love me,’ he grits out, an echo of your earlier promises.

‘I love you,’ you choke, the words incomprehensible. 

‘Say it again,’ he hisses, executing a piercing thrust that has you gasping for breath, nails digging into his skin for purchase.

Squeezing your eyes closed, your hands move to the wings of his shoulder blades and you cling to him, a flightless bird. ‘I love you.’ 

When you hear yourself say it, you realize you are crying, your voice a sob of affirmation around tears of grief. It should be impossible to love someone this much, with the devastating whole of your existence. 

‘Tell me you love me,’ you plead, barely able to speak around the way Hoseok punishes your cervix, a punishment for abandoning him. 

‘I love you.’ Equally affected, his voice warbles over the words. Face buried in the crook of your neck, he presses the words over and over into your pulse. 

‘I love you, I love you.’

Slowing his pace, Hoseok accentuates his proclamations with brutal thrusts against your cervix. Slow as his thrusts may be, they are full of power and force, a pain against your walls and muscles ensuring you will never be free of him. Tears falling freely, your breath is as sharp as his thrusts, a burn in your lungs as you struggle to contain the cosmic feeling of love you hold inside. 

‘I know you like it when it hurts,’ he grits out, thrusts relentless. 

All you can manage is a nod, a moan, the dig of your nails into his skin, the acknowledgement that you would prefer it if he shattered you. You would prefer it if he left nothing behind of you at all.

‘I know you like it when I stretch you, when you can’t walk for days.’ 

‘I do,’ you nod weakly, legs automatically spreading wider - until your hips hurt, until you are certain your bones will bruise from the way you have spread yourself open just for him. 

Hoseok moans as a harmonic response to yours, the sack of his balls slapping diligently at your ass. You cling to him, holding him against you in despair, the vice grip of your hands matched only by the grip of your walls. Pleasure ripples through your synapses, an overload to your very synapses, little else registering in your mind apart from the places Hoseok penetrates within your core.

‘Do you want me to cum inside you?’

The pleading nature of his tone does not go unmissed, his own anguish evident in the way his hand cups your breast and his nails scratch at the flesh, wishing for entry. 

‘Yes.’

‘What if I get you pregnant?’ he muses, though he remains completely sincere. What if I fuck my baby into you? What will they do?’

‘I hope you do.’ It takes all your strength to speak without losing your breath. Once more your orgasm has started to build gloriously around the pain of taking him against your cervix, and you need him to know that you mean it. ‘I don’t care if they scorn me.’

‘I’ll do it,’ he bites out - not a threat, but a promise. ‘I’ll knock you up, fuck my baby into you. They’ll have to watch you grow someone else’s child. What a sight, huh? Bet Daeus would love to see you deliver another man’s baby.’

‘Do it.’

You see yourself, heavy and round with his child, glowing brilliantly like a constellation unto yourself. Carrying your offspring, you would be a supernova, the cradle of the very universe and you would celebrate it with every word breaking over laughter. Daeus would snarl at you, a sneer reserved for your growing belly; your father would find himself in a rage so beautiful and blinding, you think darkness would befall the earth, this winter sudden and unforgiving. The other gods would ignore you, this you are confident of and would take with pride. You’d tease them with it, finding yourself immensely confident in the power of being pregnant with Hoseok’s child. 

You’d carry his child as though this were your real pilgrimage within Teylim, your true purpose. 

And Hoseok, you know, would be your chosen king, god of the sun because he deserves it.

He deserves you. 

‘Yeah?’ he moans, hips picking up pace as he begins to chase his own high. Still, he loses none of the strength in his motions, seemingly motivated by your affirmation of desire.

‘Get me pregnant,’ you plead, biting your lip with shame at this impossible ask. A fool’s errand, a childish plea to change the way of things. ‘Make me stay with you,’ is your final whisper.

Together, you both fall silent as he fucks you with vigor, silent and awestruck by the violence of your coupling. With each thrust, your voices become a symphony of your union. Gripping him tightly, you hope it reaches the gods, your father, all of Teylim. You hope they see the way Hoseok fucks you, absolutely unforgiving. You hope they see the way you make a mess of yourself for him, that you have already decided on a husband and he is no god, no hero, but a man who loves you as though you are the whole of the sky. 

Hoseok trembles against you, and you sense his orgasm approaching in the way he gasps against your skin, thrusting harder and faster and, somehow, harder into your core. You are burning with the ache of containing him, but your own orgasm is cosmic, making its steady approach with each brutal thrust. Hoseok wanted to live inside you, wanted to give you a child, wanted to watch you swell with him alone - and it is these thoughts that send you over the edge, the universe apart from Hoseok melting into a white. In this orgasm, there is no air, no sea, no sky - only Hoseok; his breath, his smile as you cum around him, his ecstatic laughter.

You imagine yourself pregnant, learning to contain a sun inside your womb. You imagine him laughing, hands and lips at your belly. You imagine him happy. You imagine him happy, and your orgasm moves over you with the strength of a lunar tide, the same way your tears move over your cheeks, torn between sobs of bliss and sobs of grief for a life you will not have.

Hoseok continues to thrust into you with purpose, the last of your orgasm leaving you in shockwaves as the motions of his hips overstimulate your walls. It hurts to contain him, not nearly as much as it hurts to leave him, and you dig your nails into his skin, demanding all you can from him with enthusiasm. The world is tilted on its axis as he cums inside you, wave after wave of seed spilling into your core as you stroke tenderly at the hair at the base of his neck. Teeth chattering, you mumble his name, shivering as he spills himself inside you, and you pray, woefully, that he kept his word and left you with a piece of him.

‘Mine,’ he says, stilling inside you as the last of his orgasm quakes his mortal form. 

As his cock begins to soften inside you, the hand at your breast moves gently to the buttons. Your skin burns with the heat of the saliva he dripped against your neck, and he presses his cheek against your neck as he unbuttons the last of your dress. Exposed, now, to the sea breeze, your back arches slightly as the wind and his breath moves over your nipples. His hand cups your breast, too tender for the way he fucked you, and you are certain he is imagining your breasts full of milk, your body heavy, his wish granted, too. 

Pulling his cock free, you both grimace at the feeling, and he removes his hand from your breast to instead smear the cum from your core that leaks from between your walls over your folds. He strokes the tips of his fingers against your slit, the stimulation making you hiss and writhe beneath him in retreat, before you are crying out his name, his fingers dipping inside to scoop his cum from your center. As he pulls his hand free, his studies his fingers carefully, smirking not unlike the devil, before he guides them over your breasts and lets it drip.

And then, without warning, he begins to write his name along your breasts.

‘I am sanctifying you,’ he explains. ‘Anyone who pulls down your clothes will find me. I have already laid claim to your temple.’

Your smile is composed entirely of sadness, a hope that has made a home of despair evident in your expression. Holding his hand in yours, you guide his soaked fingers between the valley of your breasts to your stomach, where you hold him still.

‘With any luck it will be visible here,’ you offer, hoping he cannot hear how remorse has consumed you.

Hoseok frowns. ‘My biggest fear is that you do become pregnant and that I cannot see my baby grow in you. That I won’t be able to raise our family with you.’

Furrowing your brow, you tilt your head to the side in consideration, battling the new found grief that consumes you. ‘Did you not mean it?’

‘I meant every word,’ he promises, moving his hand from your stomach to cup your cheeks. ‘I’d put twins inside you if I had any control. But you are mine, our family is mine. I curse the gods for taking it from me.’ Hoseok falls silent, and you press your cheek into his hand, turning to kiss his mount of venus in encouragement. ‘The day I met you I saw my life with you,’ he continues, so quiet, and so unlike your Hoseok. ‘You are half of my soul.’

Abruptly, Hoseok lifts himself up and pulls away from you. As he rises to a stand, he is still warmed by your touch, the glow from your magic still draped over his muscles, turning him amber and yellow. He’s incandescent, as much as a god of light as you, more regal and more royal than any man who was lucky enough to slay a beast in your name. Running a hand through his hair, he regards you with dark eyes - embers burning in his rises of lust and longing, devotion and despair. He says nothing at all as he moves, naked and vulnerable, to the back corner of the room where he gathers his tools. 

‘What are you doing?’ you hum. Reaching your hand out, you curl onto your side, writhing in the pillow of your discarded clothes, beckoning him back to you. ‘Come back to me. It’s cold without you.’

He says nothing at all as he roots around, pulling out a thick screwdriver and hammer. 

‘He will give you rings,’ he says, more to himself than to you. 

The words come softly, barely a whisper that cuts through the air. Settling in front of the fog bell on his knees, he begins to hammer the end of the screwdriver into the metal, carving and carving. 

‘He will give you flowers,’ he grits out bitterly, ‘and will see your smiles in the morning. He will bring you food and nectar, and he will watch you glow your brightest. He will watch you glow each time you remember my hands on you, my lips on you. In bed, he will watch you glow, thinking it’s him, letting his own ego grow so immense he will get off on his own power rather than you. But he won’t know, not like I do. Not like we do.’

Sitting up, you don’t bother to cover your naked body, the breeze from the sea cooling your dampened skin. Licking your lips, you watch as his muscles strain with his pound of the hammer. Brow narrowed, jaw set, and hands gripping his tools with confidence, he marks the metal with a certainty born from a man learning to combat loneliness. 

‘He won’t know,’ he continues, words a grunt of demand and dominion. ‘No one will know that each time he touches you, you are comparing him to me. You will be remembering me. I want you to remember me. I want you to think of me, I want you to look for the light from this beacon, and I want you to outshine the anguish. I am destined to look for you the way so many people look for the North Star. My every storm is guided by you. So don’t you dare forget.’

The fog light spins overhead, clouds passing by and changing the refraction just enough to see the shimmer against his cheeks. Hoseok weeps as he carves, jaw unflinching, and hands steady with determination. A lump rises in the center of your throat, chest tight with the pain that comes from loving someone too much, entirely too much. Gasping for air, you move towards him, wanting his body pressed tightly against yours in comfort.

On instinct, you give him light - more light, so much light. From beneath your skin, you become torchlight, neon, candle flame; wrapping yourself around his back and shoulders, you rest your head on his shoulder and cling to him, becoming sunlight and firewood, banishing the darkness from his mind and mouth, a lamp unto his feet to lead him home. Pressing your lips at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, you feel him tremble beneath you, mindlessly leaning into you for more, endlessly more. 

As you turn to watch his hands, your own tears soak the corner of your eyes.

‘Hoseok,’ you breathe, regarding his craftsmanship.

‘He can’t give you light like I can,’ he murmurs, suddenly so small and so young, weakened suddenly by the ever looming distance between you. ‘He can give you all the falsehoods of husbandry, but he can’t give you light. He can’t give it back. He is not your equal like I am.’ 

Beneath the careful, diligent work of his hammer and screw, your name begins to take shape, just beneath his. The markings are deep, thick scratches unlikely to erode in any substantial length of time. Wind and sea will not wipe your names away, nor snow nor sand. Not even heaven, you think, could cause your names to smear. 

When he finishes, the bronze bell glimmers beneath your light, your names encased in a heart he artfully crafted. You imagine it in a wedding band - silver, and not gold. Gold, you think, is too soft and too malleable. The gods prefer it, a sign of eternal wealth and glory, but gold bends. Gold is too impermanent, value placed in all the wrong places. You would give Hoseok platinum, would give him silver, would give him bronze. If you had the power to move the earth, you would give him iron and steel, anything equally as enduring as the way you will be immortalized in ardor. 

‘I can’t believe this is all I will have of you.’ Hoseok stares at your names, at the jagged lines he carved into the bell, mourning. Shoulders slumped and hands folded neatly in his lap, he laments quietly to himself as though in prayer. ‘At the end of all this, this is all I have. Your name and a memory.’

Raising your hand to his chin, you turn his face to yours, biting your lip as he cries freely, tears staining the softness of his cheeks with salt. 

‘No one will have me, not like you.’ ‘He can take me, he can take my light, he can take my name, but he will never have my heart. All of me belongs to you. I am yours. Swear to me that you are mine.’

The hammer and screwdriver fall to the ground at his knees, a loud clank so disruptive for the quiet paradise you have built at the top of the lighthouse. Enveloping you in his arms, he buries his face in your neck, lips at the center of your throat - a place he has been so often this night you are determined to call it his home - tugging your hair back to make space for him. 

‘I’m yours,’ he swears passionately. ‘Not a single person will have me the way I’ve given myself to you. In a thousand summers, not a single one will pass in which I’m not yours.’

The conviction in his words undoes you, your eyes wide as you stare up at the ceiling, at the base of the light, feeling as though there is no difference between the moon and the sun, not anymore. For you, they are interchangeable, each burning in an hour of love; which is to say, there will be no hour that passes in which you do not love him, no hour passing in which your light does not belong to him and his does not belong to you. 

‘I wish I could stay like this.’ These affectionate speeches tumble from your lips, your mind empty of misgivings, wishing to be as honest as you are naked. ‘I wish I could stay this way, forever touching you.’

‘Time is meaningless,’ he muses, detached and distant, even as you hold him. ‘For me, this is the end of my life. There will be nothing else after this. For me, it will always be this way. My arms will always be around you.’

For him, you are glad. For him, you are relieved that there shall be no other moment than this. 

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

The seaside feels like the edge of destruction after so long away from it, gravity pressing at your bones. From where you stand, the unchanging nature of the earth makes a mockery of your nerves, the past beating against your sternum like a second heart.

You are poised and still, relearning the way the earth is unforgiving compared to the heavens. Too long have you been removed from such a tangible feeling of living, such a tangible reminder that you, too, are made of flesh and blood and all the things that break so easily, just like ocean foam. Your toes bury themselves into the rocky shore, rooting yourself like a tether as a promise that you will not run away, that you will not leave - not again. As though it senses your presence, the sea rages beneath a cloudless sky, the sun’s rays reflecting off the water, illuminated without any need of you.

The lighthouse looms along the hilltop, and you worry your bottom lip as you study its eternal guardianship. All these unchangeable things, loyal without you, and yet you stand here, begging for acceptance. You can hear Hoseok’s words like an echo, words not yet spoken but you anticipate them, the lump in your throat sinister in its tenacity. 

How dare you, he will shout, and the tears on his cheeks will be your parting gift. How dare you haunt me here when I did not expect you, when I had already worked so hard to give you up. 

Promises in the dead of night are easy to make when the daylight has yet to take anything from you. The earth remains unchanged but you are evidence of the passage of time, and you are certain Hoseok will have warred with himself so completely your memory of him is little more than a ghost of a man who died the moment he woke to find you missing. 

He used to be able to sense you here. Back when things were new and things were simple, back even at the end, he would sense your presence along the water and come running, a smile already at his cheeks in welcome. Stroking your naked hip with the tips of his fingers, he told you all about his skin would tingle when you were close, a static on his tongue that told him something too important to be contained by the earth was waiting for him. Even before he knew you, before he knew it was you, he felt it, as though he had been made just to know you, to find you. 

It used to be the same for you, a pull to the shore and a lightness of being that always made you stand here, in this place, waiting. Weeks passed before either of you had any idea you were near one another, before you’d even introduced yourself, and now it is the same. Your body combats the change in gravity with strength, though you realize too much has changed in you for the weight to feel the same. 

The hair at the back of your neck stands on end, rising in anticipation as the air becomes thick and heavy. You feel him approaching, a magnetic pull against your back that has your posture shifting, pulling you to your full height regardless how heavy all of you feels. Still, he doesn’t close the distance, and your lips part around a sigh, silently asking him to reach for you, to touch you.

But he won’t.

Not when he thinks you are the same as you were. Not when he thinks this is all just a memory.

Closing your eyes, you turn to face him, feeling tears burn against the lids. Hoseok makes no movement towards you, and, unable to hold back any longer, you open your eyes once more, weeping at the sight of him. Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you study the way he looks at you, the way his gaze traverses your form with a pained expression, the knot in his brow visible even from a distance. He’s far from you, far enough you cannot touch him, but he, too, remains unchanged - still beautiful, still glorious, still the sun king himself, and you choke back a bitter cry at the way it seems only you are the one who was allowed to change.

‘Hello,’ you try, offering a weak and unsteady smile.

Hoseok says nothing as he closes the distance, eyes trained at your middle, focused enough you feel him move inside you. He lets himself get close, close enough your skin calls out to his eagerly, begging him to touch you. You can smell him on the wind, the same musk, the same ambergris, the same dust that you remember, and your hands twitch at your sides, straining to reach out to him. 

‘What is this?’ he manages, not looking you in the face.

‘I -’ A small cry cuts you off, and you press your hand to your lips, forcing yourself to keep your composure. 

Hearing the anguish in your voice, he raises his gaze to yours and you see the way he mirrors your pain, confused and bewildered. 

‘Tell me what this is,’ he whispers, fierce and demanding. 

‘It’s exactly how it looks,’ you explain, feeling terribly pathetic.

It’s so simple, you know. Absolutely obvious. Your pregnant belly sticks out far enough now it leaves a distance between you, a gap where your child grows the only thing that separates you. 

‘Did you come here to mock me?’ he spits, leaning forward with venom.

‘No!’ you exclaim, holding your hand up in surrender. ‘I…’ you drift off, uncertain where to begin. You decide, perhaps, it’s best to begin with the truth. ‘The baby is yours.’ 

Hoseok’s expression shatters, a thousand different feelings breaking over his face before he settles on disbelief and quiet rage.

‘Why would you show me this?’ he pleads, sounding so small. ‘Have I not suffered enough? You knew I wished for this and now you tease me with it?’

‘I’m not here to show you anything, Hoseok, and certainly not to cause you pain.’ It’s shocking how tired you are becoming, putting in the effort of not reaching for him, not weeping for him, not rushing to an end you both deserve. ‘They...rejected me,’ is all you manage in the end.

Hoseok sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes watering as he lowers his focus to your belly once more. ‘They stopped the wedding?’

He speaks so softly you almost do not hear him over the rolling tide, and now, you cannot be contained. In one swift motion, you reach for his hand twining your fingers together. Your hold on him is unrelenting, not allowing him a single escape. Feeling his palm against yours is all the motivation you need, a resurgence of energy you have been missing for months.

When you continue to remain silent, he narrows his brow and persists. ‘Are you unmarried?’

‘They were going to go through with,’ you explain quickly, not allowing him any room for interjection. ‘They were going to make me marry him. Daeus even said he’d give the child to a human family, make it go through a Hero’s Journey to join us back in Teylim. Gods, the fight I put up to stop that from happening. The Fate Tying went poorly,’ you finish with a sardonic grin.

Gently, you tug Hoseok against you, forcing his stomach to bump against yours. His heated breath cascades over your skin, and you sigh in pleasure.

‘The child is completely human, my love,’ you whisper, eyes searching his face. ‘The Moirai refused to untie us.’ Incredulous, you laugh, looking out over the grassy hill in wonder. ‘The old crones are always right.’

The weight of your explanation steals Hoseok’s breath, and he falls against you, clinging to you as he sobs into your shoulder. Holding him close, you remember the last time you were in this position, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, your hands clutching him, unwilling to be removed. As though sensing the great wave of his emotion, the child in your belly stirs abruptly, pressing against your womb to get his attention. 

You jump slightly at the feel of it, and Hoseok looks down, laughing, incandescent in his joy. He brings his hand to your belly, touching softly at where your child had just been, and he sniffles, looking to you and back down, cheeks reflecting the light you suddenly cannot contain. 

‘It’s a girl,’ you state, always wondering how he would react to knowing he’d have a daughter. ‘Our daughter kept me with you.’

Falling to his knees, he holds your belly in his hands and presses his forehead against its peak, too overcome with emotion to utter a word. Instead, he simply breathes deeply, wrought with bliss. Lowering a hand to the crown of his head, you thread your fingers through your hair and think that this, this precise moment, is what it means to be a goddess.

This is what it means to truly be sanctified.

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[manikas-whims]

Romance Webtoon Recommendations

For my dear mutual @lady-of-a-castle ♥

My Other Manga/Webtoon Recs Lists:

Good Shoujo/Josei/Shounen Romance

Mafia/Gangs/Yakuza Mangas & Webtoons

i don't read much romances but these are some of the few good ones I've read/am reading cause i love the plot.

*pardon me, if you've read some of these already :3

• Freaking Romance

(sorry for the long cover but i love it so much)

- FAVOURITE ♡

- Two people from different dimensions fall in love but can't be together cause they're from different worlds entirely.

- All the leading characters are LGBTQIA+ (good representation). Even the creator is a non binary person.

- Zelan's (male lead) duality. One minute he's the softest soft boy; the next he's freaking sexy

• I stan the Prince

(read it officially on TappyToon or other free manga sites)

- my comfort manhwa

- This was an unusual plot for a manhwa. Angela, an orphan girl in the medieval era writes a fanfic about the First Prince of her country.

- Someone else publishes her fanfic and it ends up becoming a bestseller, causing the things from her fanfic to spread all over the nation.

- This causes the Prince to seek her out cause somehow her fanfic has improved his tarnished image. And the second prince's family wants her dead.

• Midnight Poppy Land

- The female lead isn't a typical skinny girl but an adorable chubby girl who, despite making a lot bad decisions, strives to keep on living positively.

- Enter this big man who works for a mafia family. He goes to retrieve something this girl accidentally picked up but ends up having a crush.

• The Wrath and The Dawn

- a sort of retelling of the well-known tales from "1001 Nights" (i'm actually currently reading the books its based on)

- the Caliph of his country takes a new Bride every night & she is killed off by the next morning.

- Enter the female lead, who volunteers to become one of these brides. She goes for revenge but will she stay for love?

- all poc characters

• Mystical

- This one makes me feel really warm and fluffy but also sad at certain points.

- The male lead tells the story of how he met his muse, a mystical being of the seas and fell in love with them.

- Lots of adorable moments of this mystical creature learning their way around the human activities and trying to fit in amongst the creatures of land (the best part was when she discovers laptop and internet XD )

• The Remarried Empress

- The Emperor returns with a new lover after his battle and well, ofc its bound to upset his Empress.

- Enter the crown prince of neighboring nation. He immediately falls for the Empress. She likes him back but doesn't think its right to give up her duties as the empress for new-found love.

- a lot of angst, drama, politics, plotting and all that good stuff in a medieval setting romance.

• Secret Playlist

- an internet-based musician finds out she's classmates with a famous Kpop idol.

- funny thing is, she doesn't care much. But the kpop idol actually listens to her songs and is a big fan and wishes to collab.

- due to unprecedented circumstances, they have to work together and end up catching feelings.

• To Love Your Enemy

- Enemies to Lovers + Fake Dating

- Due to some bad history between them, the male lead absolutely doesn't like the female lead but sadly, they end up studying at the same college.

- the female lead is scared that the male lead will reveal her dark past and tarnish her image. So she tries to play friends with him to keep him from doing so.

- other students start thinking they're dating and so they themselves start fake dating, which ofc leads to them actually falling for each other XD

• Devil No. 4

- a girl who is completely tired of her lifestyle falls for the scheme of Devil (a real devil!)

- The devil's job is to lure his targets by the usual promises of lavish lifestyle and such. But this girl just won't have it. She wants happiness and well, in trying to satisfy his customer and get his job done..he ends up falling in love with her.

- But a devil and human aren't supposed to make such unions. A lot of shit goes down but its worth the read!

• Nice To Meet You

- an art student secretly uses a guy at her college as her muse. After the occurrence of some misunderstandings, they end up becoming friends and maybe..more?

- lighthearted with slight angsty moments but you won't be able to put it down.

- loads of meme material (their entire friends squad is so funny XD )

#webtoon #webtoon recommendation #manhwa #manhwa recommendation #freaking romance #i stan the prince #i'm stanning the prince #midnight poppy land #the wrath and the dawn #mystical #the remarried empress #secret playlist #to love your enemy #devil no. 4 #nice to meet you #romance webtoon #romance manhwa

[bumbleklee]

hello, can i request dad!xiao with human mom!reader headcanons? i have it so bad for xiao...he would be such a gentle dad 😩💕

one request tonight bc euphoria is calling my name *bites lip* also i went with a gn!parent since i’ve been doing a lot of fem!readers lately and wanted to diversify my blog a little more lol. u can insert any name you want for ur parenting name :) 

before reading: totally sfw but cut for babies/children and length lol, xiao has a daughter bc i said so 

when your daughter is a baby

horrified when you ask him to hold your daughter for the first time

you literally have to coax him into doing it

he’s just so scared - your daughter is so tiny and fragile and he’s not

but you finally convince him it’s okay and xiao cradles her with the softest touch in the world and vows on that day to never let a soul hurt her

since he didn’t sleep much at night (if ever), he always got up during the night to tend to your daughter so you could sleep

he definitely panics a little when she’s crying a lot (he thinks she’s hurt) but is always able to calm her down by rocking her

very protective

“wash your hands before touching her, please. can you wash them one more time just to be safe? here’s some hand sanitizer too.” 

you think his actions are funny because you know your baby is going to be fine

xiao only lets zhongli hold your baby (he BANS childe and hu tao from even being around her so you let them come play with her when xiao isn’t home lol) 

you catch xiao baby-talking to your daughter once and he was so mortified

madam ping tells xiao about special herbs and flowers that will bring good health to his baby so one day he comes home with armfuls of said herbs and flowers (it’s literally weeds but you entertain him) 

he’s the type of dad to make everyone shut up if his daughter is sleeping

xiao prefers the intimate, alone moments he gets with his daughter rather than the social events you partake with her

he asks zhongli to break his contract when his daughter is a year old so he can finally grow old with you and live a normal, human life

when your daughter is a toddler/child

he might seem like a strict father but he’s really not

he wants his daughter to be happy and if that means running through the streets of liyue without shoes on then well...

xiao is there for every moment of her life (he would never forgive himself if we missed something important)

she’s such a daddy’s girl, too

her first word was his name and as much as she loves you, she often whines and clings to xiao

before she’s old enough to dress herself, xiao has no problem doing it (but he has no fashion sense so his outfit choices rarely leave the house)

he never quite mastered how to do her hair though

“daddy you’re pulling my hair! (other parent name) doesn’t hurt me!” 

xiao only becomes more protective the older she gets

he bundles her up in so many layers in the winter and you have to save her before she falls down the stairs because she can’t bend her legs properly

your daughter insisted on buying mittens for you one winter so xiao took her to a vendor and helped her pick out matching mittens for everyone in the family to wear that season

he tries his best not to get mad at her - he knows yelling and getting angry is only going to escalate a problem so he usually lets you handle discipline when your daughter draws on the walls or says a curse word

(he actually encourages her to say curse words lol)

if you daughter gets hurt, xiao is there with open arms to let her cry it out and kiss her wound better

they have daddy-daughter dates where xiao helps his daughter onto his back and just walks around liyue, telling her stories and history about the different areas

and as much as xiao hates it, your daughter LOVES childe

he buys her expensive gifts and spoils her and throws her into the air and catches her

xiao only lets him stick around because he makes your daughter happy and your daughters happiness is what matters the most to him

#genshin parenting #genshin baby #genshin #genshin impact #genshin hcs #genshin writing #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin xiao #xiao #xiao x reader #xiao hcs #xiao headcanons

[thedoubteriswise]

okay so. I am a smart adult with many important responsibilities. I have good taste and care about things that matter. for this reason, I’ve been trying to identify where in cql canon wangxian manage to fuck.

because they definitely do; I like a good post-canon getting together fic as much as the next guy, but it’s just not realistic.

allow them. it’s already been so long.

(just like this goddamn post turned out to be, let’s do a cut)

right. so initially it looks like you could place this right after the time skip in episode 33, because it shows us that wwx is with lwj in cloud recesses. we know that he spent the night in the jingshi because he wakes up there the next morning before he goes for a nostalgic tour of his old school.

and also visits the cold spring, where lwj is mostly naked. nice.

but wait! wwx is surprised by the scars on his back and chest. that seems like something he would have known about if they’d already been naked together the night before, so I’m going to say they did not fuck immediately upon wwx’s return to cloud recesses. okay, fine, they’re taking things slow, that’s cool.

maybe they could work it into the next night, then. oh wait, lqr is injured and... staying in the jingshi? for reasons?

I don’t know why. he must have his own house in cloud recesses, and it’s probably at least as comfortable as lwj’s, but here he is. he lives to stop his nephew from getting laid, I guess.

the next day they do some Q&A with the kids and determine that they need to head to qinghe to figure out what’s going on with this sword thing. great! we love a romantic road trip, plenty of alone time. but they also have to do their jobs, and then jin ling needs to get rescued from a wall of dirt, and jc is unfortunately there being himself, and then they have to grill nhs about his tomb full of angry sabers, etc. etc.

with all that going on, their next obvious chance is at the inn immediately after interviewing nhs. this evening has already included:

wwx gazing lovingly at lwj from afar

lwj carrying wwx on his back

lwj pawing at wwx’s robes trying to deal with his cursed leg

lwj helping wwx up the stairs, serving him wine, fixing his flute, and generally being at his beck and call

a very sexy and homoerotic duet

and now they’re alone and drooling over each other as usual. this seems like a plausible spot, right?

it does! but no. after they go back to the nie basement o’ swords and hear the backstory on nmj’s death, we see them walking in yueyang and lwj asks wwx how the curse mark on his leg is doing. wwx says it’s almost healed, which may or may not be a lie, but his inner monologue says:

he’s more concerned about the wound on his arm from the sacrificing curse, which lwj doesn’t know about, because wwx won’t tell him and they still haven’t been naked together.

also, this silly teenage shit doesn’t make much sense unless they’re still dancing around each other.

you guys love the sound of opportunities as they go flying past, don’t you?

right after this, lwj gets drunk. I’m aware that Stuff Happens in the novel scene that inspired this bit, and they do incorporate some of that into the show by having lwj commit petty larceny and admit that he “likes rabbits” as part of the softest and most loving conversation in human history oh my god

but lwj goes to sleep right on time, and the next morning, wwx is laughing and reassuring him that nothing happened.

after this, it’s time to go on a fucked up field trip with the kids in yi city, so they don’t really have any time alone for a few episodes until they’ve finished that and everyone is back at yet another inn. I wonder if they learned something about wasted chances and poor communication from this miserable songxiao story?

maybe! look, they’re being cute and domestic. there are currently no material barriers preventing them from having sex, nor will there be any specific evidence later on proving that they didn’t.

but they’re still firmly in mystery-solving mode and the juniors and lxc are floating around. the vibe isn’t quite there. if I were to pick the most solid reason why I think they’re saving room for jesus at this point, it would be the tension that happens when wwx again asks how lwj recognized him. lwj asks why his memory is so bad, and wwx replies that he wishes he had a bad memory. even though they’re comfortable and happy being together, there’s still some fundamental distance remaining. there’s no sense of romantic resolution. that was actually a point against all their previous opportunities as well; they’re all very sweet, but none of these feel like the place in a story where the romantic leads Officially Get Together.

okay, off to koi tower! shit is getting extremely real. everyone’s busy insinuating that they recognize wwx, but no one is saying it explicitly. wwx isn’t supposed to be here. the guy he’s pretending to be also isn’t supposed to be here. he and his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s brother are trying to figure out if his boyfriend’s brother’s boyfriend is a murderer. no one is comfortable and the political intrigue leaves no time for fucking in front of anyone’s salad.

I guess there’s plenty of time to make dozens of armed guards and like half the people they know wait while they have a romantic moment, though.

could they be more in love? And that sure feels like a romantic resolution that might be followed by narratively-earned sex.

ah. no, unfortunately wwx gets stabbed again. this certainly sucks, but it does have the helpful consequence of making lwj take him back to cloud recesses, where they are mostly alone and as safe as they can be in the circumstances. now there’s even more tenderness and also some plot-justified touching and skin exposure. plus, lwj just made a very public declaration of love.

too bad wwx has probably been unconscious since he started coughing up blood in the forest near lanling. he’s also still visibly in pain. fresh abdominal wounds tend to kill the mood.

but hey, the injuries on this show are only as serious as they need to be to move the plot forward and facilitate gentle h/c scenes, so by evening he’s looking perfectly healthy and walking around under his own steam like nothing’s wrong. I guess that problem can be ignored moving forward.

lxc then offers the the most devastating highlights of lwj’s backstory, like, all at once. it’s nice that he includes a flute solo to give wwx a second to process this mountain of terrible information. what the fuck.

there he is! the most devoted man in the whole world! turns out they can actually be more in love after all.

and then the following scene... look, I’m lazy and I don’t know how to make gifs, but screenshots cannot properly convey how good it is. you all know. the hesitant way wwx approaches, the slow and gentle piano version of wangxian, the two of them watching the snow together, it’s. ugh.

remember how I was talking about how the last scene with no material barriers was an unlikely candidate because of the lack of romantic resolution?

well, here’s wwx still being cagey at the beginning of this conversation.

and here they are in the middle of this conversation, having some epiphanies about the course of wwx’s life - I love this shot for a lot of reasons, but I extra love it because it shows wwx out in the snow, with lwj as the safety and warmth waiting behind him, god this show goes hard, holy shit

they both recall their vow to live with a clean conscience and internally say some very corny things about each other because they are both So Much, and then,

ah, what the hell. he can say it out loud after all. romantic resolution accomplished.

and then the camera slowly pulls away as wuji plays.

a slow zoom out? swelling music? listen, I am a connoisseur, I know a tasteful fade-to-black indicating a sex scene that won’t happen on camera when I see one. at last, we have a winner!

now you may think this post is finally over, but I actually have one more piece of evidence for you - the next scene shows the two of them the morning after, meditating behind a screen in the hanshi while lxc is waiting for jgy to show up.

before wwx got de-cored, he was a pretty powerful cultivator, right? the chances that he’s just bad at meditating or that he can’t stay focused on this task seem slim to me. so why does he keep falling asleep?

well. he had kind of a late night.

#yes I do have a lot of time on my hands #the untamed #cql #wangxian #meta #my meta