#fever (mortal gods)

[commanderdazzle]

Bought a PS5 a week ago and started with Horizon Zero Dawn as my first game, I'm having a ton of fun with it!

It was suggested to me by fellow a Mortal Engines fan who say Aloy reminds them of Fever Crumb, and I have to agree.

EDIT; I hate having ultra-picky, hyper-specific tastes, people be shipping everybody with Aloy but the only character I can see that way is Nil.

But I'm only in Meridian, fooling around doing sidequests, so maybe someone interesting will pop up soon.

[gumified]

PRICE TO PAY

pairing: god!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary: you had prayed and prayed for the drought to finally end, for the village to finally be granted rain, so when meeting one of the gods you strike a deal and pay the price.

content: 4.4k, smut, pwp, big dick!gojo, virgin!reader, praise, degradation, dirty talk, cunnilingus (fem. receiving), ice play, bondage, gagging, fingering, squirting, orgasm control, overstimulation, public but also not public sex

note: have fun :D

The heat beat down on your face as you walked up the hill, buckets of water straining your shoulders. Your throat was parched and you were drenched in sweat. You were so thirsty it was unbearable. It had been months since the last rain and the nearest stream was miles away. Your village had long since lost hope, abandoning their faith in the gods. But not you. You knew they were up there. You believed they would help.

While everyone else assumed the drought would eventually end, as it had before, you couldn’t wait. Your brother was so young; he might not survive much longer. Water was life and without it survival was impossible.

“Hey, Ren.” You forced a smile for your brother. His face was flushed, and his clothes were tattered. “Come on, you need to drink this.”

Ren coughed, struggling to sit up. “Y/n, you’re back.”

“Yeah.” You brought the bowl closer to his lips, urging him to drink. He sipped weakly. “How have you been feeling?”

“I feel really hot.” You felt his forehead and sighed when you felt it even warmer than before. The fever he had was burning through his body. Ren wrapped his arms around your waist, clinging on you tightly. “Y/n you won’t leave me will you? Not like mum and dad.”

Brushing his hair out of his eyes, you felt your heart break a little. “Of course I won’t leave you. You’re gonna be stuck with me for the rest of your life, promise.” He grinned, giggling. There’s a small bit of you that wished that this would end soon but you knew better. 

“I love you Y/n.” Ren mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

“Love you too Ren.” 

You were shaken awake and you nearly screamed when you caught sight of a beautiful face in front of you. His jaw was perfectly chiselled and his lips were plump, kissable almost. You felt your cheeks flushed. His eyes were what captured you most of all. Sapphire swirls painted his eyes, you felt yourself being pulled towards him. 

“You mortals really do sleep like - what’s the saying? Oh yes - like the dead.” His sneer transformed his handsome features into something far more menacing. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to spend the night at a temple?”

“I-I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep by accident.” You tried to move away but it was like an invisible force was keeping you from moving your limbs. He smirked, crawling closer to you so that you were inches apart. “W-Who are you?”

“Little mortal doesn’t know who I am.” His tongue flicked over his lips. “You’re in my temple, little one.”

"Y-Your temple…" The cogs in your brain turned and you let out a frightened gasp. "Y-You're a God."  

He grinned, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Smarter than you look. It's Y/n isn't it?" Words failed you and you felt your throat grow dry. He twisted a strand of your hair around his finger. "You've been praying for a heavy rain season for weeks. How could I not remember your name." 

"Does that mean you'll help me?" 

"I'm afraid the weather is in my brother's domain. I control the oceans, mortal." 

"I know who you are, Satoru Gojo, God of the oceans and earthquakes. Your brother controls the sky and its weather." You said meekly, feeling your cheeks burn at how close he was. The tapestries had always depicted him as a handsome man with bulging muscles. But something about seeing him in real life had you so enamoured. 

Satoru smirked, the blue in his eyes growing even brighter. His body glowed with a soft, golden aura. You gulped, unable to meet his gaze. "And yet you knew that, but still came to pray to me every day, making sacrifices as well."

"W-Well they say you're the most generous s-so I thought…"

"You thought I would help you?" Satoru cocked his head to the side. "Don't you know everything comes with a price?" 

"And I'm willing to pay that price." 

A silent pause passed between the two of you before a smirk crept up on Satoru’s face. You noticed his eyes grow darker, the bright pigment transformed into a much more seductive hue.

“My, my, little mortal’s brave.” You felt his eyes trailing over your body and you felt like you’re being hunted. “So you’ll do anything?” His fingers brushed over your thigh teasingly. You nodded. 

A wicked grin spread across his face. You squeaked in surprise when his mouth collided onto yours. The intoxicating scent of the ocean filled your senses and your eyes fluttered shut. Satoru’s lips moved ferociously against yours, it made you feel dizzy yet they tasted sweet at the same time. You could taste the sugary taste of leftover ambrosia as he delved into your wet cavern, tongue exploring each and every crevice. 

Your arms remained by your side, unsure of what to do. But when Satoru tugged you forward, they wrapped around him tightly, and you felt him smirk. Your hands wandered over his rippling muscles, trying to carve the feeling into your memory. He bit down on your bottom lip, drawing the slightest bit of blood.

The taste of your own blood mingled with the sweetness of ambrosia, created a heady mixture that made you gasp. Satoru pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your skin. "Everything comes with a price, little one." He murmured, his voice a velvety whisper. "Are you sure you're willing to pay it?"

You nodded, breathless and trembling. "Anything, just please help us."

Satoru's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "Very well, mortal. But remember, once a deal is struck with a god, there's no going back."

His fingers traced patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "You'll belong to me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Body and soul."

You felt yourself growing hot as he ravaged your mouth, a soft growl emitting from his throat. You weren’t familiar with his actions, you had never been bedded, too busy tending to your sick brother. The people had called you many names but you didn't care. But now, with your minimal experience, you were nervous, scared even at the thought of a God deflowering you. Nevertheless, you started to grow wet, your pussy started to stick to the thin piece of cloth that covered you. 

Satoru pulled away yet again, a single strand of salvia connected the both of you as he awaited your answer. You panted, out of breath and slightly intoxicated from just the sense of him. 

“Do you accept?” His voice was deep and sultry, something about him was so deliciously seductive that you couldn't help the way your thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

"I accept." 

Satoru's eyes flashed with satisfaction. "Good. Then let our pact be sealed." He captured your lips again, this time more possessively, his hands roaming your body with a newfound intensity. You let out a moan as his tongue slithered back into your mouth. 

He sunk two fingers into your folds making you whimper at the stretch. Your hands gripped his biceps, nails digging down. Satoru licked his lips, continuing to pump into you, gradually increasing the pace. The lewd noises that filled your ears made a blush rise to your cheeks. Never in your life have you felt so dirty, so shameless.

"You're dripping, my sweet. Who would've thought you'd be this turned on." His tone was laced with unmistakable lust and hunger. "Been watching you for so long. Couldn't wait any longer to be inside you." He growled, fucking into you faster, drawing louder moans out of you. 

"S-Satoru…" You gasped as he plunged another digit into you, manoeuvring his fingers so he hit all the right spots. "I-I…"

He stared at your core, your juices all over. For a second he slowed down, giving you a chance to breathe and relax before he picked up the pace. Curling his fingers, touching your sweet sensitive spots in your velvet walls. His thumb rubbed your clit, playing with your sensitive nub. A tight hot rope seemed to wrap around your stomach as Satoru continued to fuck you harder. He smirked as your walls squeezed his fingers. You let out a gasp when he touches a particular spot within you. 

"Close my sweet?" He whispered, lips brushing against your ear and it sent you closer to your high. All you could do is nod fervently, the twisting feeling wrapping around your stomach tightened. You mewled as he fucked you faster, adding another digit. “You can’t cum just yet, got to make sure you’re ready for my cock.” He hummed.

You clenched around his fingers once more, tears pricked your eyes as you threw your head back at the pleasure you were receiving. Satoru surged forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. He swallowed your moans and whimpers. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving soft open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Your noises were like music to his ears as he drank in every moan, whimper, mewl - the breathy gasps and the lewd pants. 

“You know my sweet, there’s something that I love about being a God.” 

You gazed at him through your lashes, his lips curling up into a devilish smirk. An ice cube appeared in his hand. You weren’t sure what to think until he slid it up and down your hot wet folds, then you were gasping at the coldness that hit your core. There was a rush of newfound delight that filled you up and you were rutting your hips, asking for more.

Satoru simply grinned, pushing the cube of ice further inside you watching your reactions bloom in front of him. His fingers were dripping with both water and your arousal. You let out a soft hiss when the ice cube is pressed harder into you. The coldness contrasted with the warmness of your needy walls. It spiked through your body as it made your blood rise and your head became light at the overwhelming feeling. You were clutching onto Satoru with so much force that it would hurt him but he didn’t care, not when he was in the midst of unravelling you.

“Let’s see how many you can hold.” It shocked you into a frenzy when you felt another ice cube get pushed inside you, the last one still slowly melting. 

“Mmmph. Too much, ngh, feels weird, ‘s too much.” Your mind seemed to explode as you babbled incoherently. “F-fuckkk ‘toru it’s cold a-and-“

You were unable to finish your sentence as Satoru reached out his hands to pinch your clit causing you to jolt forward at the sudden gesture. You felt a rush as you gazed up at him. watching his smirk grow as he looked at your sopping pussy. 

“You’re so beautiful!” He teased your folds, rubbing against them harsher. “Take more for me okay? You’re such a good girl, my sweet, keep that dirty pussy dripping as I stuff you, okay?” Satoru’s lips brushed your ear. “Then I’ll let you cum.”

You felt yourself spiralling into euphoria when he slid his finger down your pussy. His tongue flicked over his lips as he admired your fucked out face. Morals left your body and you let your urges take over. All reason and thought left you as you were reduced to a whining needy mess. Your pussy clenched pathetically around the ice cubes, the cold still surprising you. Satoru did nothing but coo at you, tucking strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“Come on my sweet.” He urged. “You're doing so well. This pussy is so pretty, she’s just so gorgeous, fuckkk, wish you could see her.”

“A-Ah, ‘toru good f-feels so g-good.” 

You were writhing beneath his grip, a feeling of overwhelming pleasure surged through you as he continued his actions. Your pussy constricted around his fingers and you felt something grow within you. Your nerves and senses were heightened as you felt his fingers nudge at your swollen clit. 

“I-I feel somethingg, ngh, f-feels weird like I’m gonna burst-” You gasped out, unable to keep the noises within you.

“Awwww.” Satoru’s tone was mocking as he watched your tiny frame twist and turn under his grip. A wicked grin spread across his face. “You’re close, my sweet, beg to cum and maybe I’ll be nice enough to let you.” 

It was almost painful but the pleasure was so uncontrollable that it overtook any pain you felt. Satoru slid another freezing ice cube into you, making you scream. Your mind was dizzy and you could only feel yourself getting stretched repeatedly with the cold object. Your pussy walls were both cold and hot, the mixture that Satoru had concocted dripping from them. Sweat covered your body, glistening as the sun shone down. You felt like you were on the verge of collapsing, so desperate for an unknown pleasure to come to your saviour.

“S-Satoru...cum, p-please. W-Wanna cum…” You stuttered helplessly, silently shrieking at the contrast of temperatures.

“More, beg more.”

You screamed at the feeling as his fingers thrusted in you making your head light as you desperately gripped onto his shoulders, clawing at some sort of way to tether you to the present. His words were laced with seduction as he continued to tease you.

“C-Cum cum cum, please pleaseee, needa cum so b-bad ‘toru fuckkk! P-Please let me cum, ‘s too much need it s-so bad, please please please!”

Satoru laughed as he buried his head in your neck, placing kisses on the empty space. He loved your desperate pleas, the breathy moans that would fill the gaps and the tears that followed as you begged him for something you had never experienced before.

“You’ve been such a good girl.” He purred, his deep voice making you clench around him. “And good girls deserve to cum. Go on my sweet, let it all out on my fingers, make a mess of this pussy.” 

You felt a wave of ecstasy rush over you as he pressed his fingers down, biting into your neck. Your body shook at the sensation that overcame you. You rocked against Satoru as you felt your pussy squeeze and constrict. A newfound feeling gushed from within you and you felt yourself scream at the pleasure. Your mind was reduced to filth as you moaned, the ringlets of your release jolting through your body. Satoru groaned at the way your cum coated his fingers and he stared at your desperate cunt, watching the aftermath of the mess you had just created. You didn’t know what to think, your mind cloudy and confused. 

“You fucking squirted, dirty fucking girl.” His eyes were transfixed and suddenly you felt embarrassed at the wetness between your thighs. He reached his hands out forcing you to stay open for him, exposing your most private part for him to ogle at. “Who knew this cute little pussy was capable of such filthy things. You’re just a whore in disguise aren’t you?”

Your pathetic mewls convinced him of nothing. Satoru stared in wonder at your pussy, watching as you clenched around nothing. He slid his fingers in his mouth, tasting every bit of you. A low moan was heard before he dived down licking up your mess. Still sensitive, you cried in shock, threading your hands through his hair. He sucked harshly at your sensitive bud, lapping at your juices. The feeling made tears bleed from your eyes and you tug on his wispy locks. 

“Like it, my sweet?” His voice sent tingles down your spine and you held back the urge to scream. “Can’t hear you?”

“L-Like it so much ‘toru…” You let out a shaky breath, beads of your tears clinging onto your lashes. “P-Please…”

He lapped at your cunt greedily, swallowing every single drop. Your arousal dripped from his chin with a mixture of his salvia. His ears were blessed at the loud squelch that would emit from between your legs. Everything was so messy but he didn’t care as he continued to play with your pretty cunt. You could only whine and quiver at the feeling. Your legs shook, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Blissful thoughts whizzed by as he kept you locked in an euphoric sensation. You struggled to not cry out and sob when white dots blurred your vision. 

Satoru flicked his tongue against your engorged clit, plunging the wet muscle inside. His mouth was hot and you felt his tongue circle your swollen clit messily while you stuttered out pleading moans. He pried open your thighs, desperate to access deeper into the precious new heaven he had discovered. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head at the overstimulation, finding it hard to focus on anything as your senses overloaded. Your mouth hung open as sweet whines constantly fell from your lips. All you could do was lie there letting Satoru ravage your pussy like a man dying of thirst.

“C-Close, close so so so close!” You gasped when you felt him release with a pop before diving back down to continue to suck. “Too much, ‘toru ‘s too much, feels t-too goodddd…”

It wasn’t long before you were cumming again. Another round of your wet arousal coating his face and he licked it clean. You were drooling now, salvia running down your chin as you felt the tears run down your face. It was too much and you feel yourself fall into a new world of pure pleasure. You could feel Satoru’s lustful grin against you as he sucked your pussy. Your thighs shook, chest heaving up and down. Despite the fact you had just released it never stopped the god from indulging you in his carnal desire.

"Sweet little Y/n." He cooed as his thumb ghosted circles around your puffy clit. “Think you’re ready for my cock?” 

It was a question that didn’t need an answer but you still nodded your head lifelessly. Your body was limp in his grip and you struggled to hold yourself up, relying only on him. Satoru smirked from above you, pushing you down on the marble floor. His hands were big and warm and the simple touch had heat blossoming at your pussy. You barely registered what was happening until you had your hands tied together. A thin golden cord wrapped around your wrists and Satoru bit his lip. You looked so beautiful, so pretty, so submissive. 

“I like you this way my sweet. All tied up and ready to be used.” He frowned and you panicked, scared you had angered him. He snapped his fingers and you found a piece of cloth in your mouth, stopping you from speaking. “That’s better, as much as I love your noises I find this much more appealing.”

Your eyes widened when he reached down to release his cock from its confines. You had never seen something so big and dare you say pretty. Satoru’s cock was red and flushed, pre cum oozing out of the swollen tip, dripping like pearls as they rolled down his fat cock head. You felt yourself drool at the sight and you didn’t think you would want something in your mouth so bad. He grinned smugly at your reaction, knowing you were unable to say anything as you stared transfixed at the sight before you.

“Don’t worry my sweet, I’ll make sure to make you feel so good. I know how much this pussy loves to be filled up.”

The words are dirty yet you couldn’t help but let out a muffled whine as he picked you up. His tip pushed past your folds, nudging into your pussy hole. You shut your eyes letting yourself feel the stretch that he gave you. His cock was so big and every bit of your body felt like it was on fire as he continued to push inside. He paused letting you adjust, whispering into your ear quietly. Filthy praises that only made you drip and mewl. It felt like magic and you whimpered into your gag helplessly. Satoru’s fingers brushed through your hair and he peppered sweet kisses across your face. 

It was like your world had imploded as he thrusted into you. Nothing else mattered as you moaned and squirmed at his touch. Your senses went into overdrive as he quickened his thrusts. He pumped in and out of you. He filled every crevice of your sex. His pace never slowed even as you felt all the energy leave your body. You screamed into the gag when he hit that particular spot that had you keeling. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head and you gasped for air through the gag. 

“Fuckkk you’re so tight, such a slutty virgin pussy. Look at how you’re gripping on my cock my sweet, she’s so loud.”

His words only made you keen with desire as you gave in to the carnal temptation that bloomed within you. 

“Mmmmph!” Your moans grew louder with every harsh thrust as his cock touched every part of your gummy walls. “Ah-Ah-Ah! ‘toruuuu!”

Satoru showed no mercy as he pounded into you. Cock plunging in and out of your pussy. Wet noises echoed through the walls of the temple and a small part of you felt bad for doing this, here of all places. It was inappropriate but it felt so good. Too good even. He continued his movements and the binds that once bound you vanished and you assumed that this was a sign that Satoru wanted you to touch him so you obeyed. Your fingers dragged down his back, sure to leave marks. Fingers fluttered from place to place, desperate for something to anchor you.

“You look so beautiful, pussy sucking in my big cock. Such a good girl for me.” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Everything he did felt amazing. “Moan for me my sweet, go on let me hear those filthy sounds.” 

You obeyed his command letting the lewd sounds tumble from your lips as you gasped for more. Your hands roamed the vast expanse of his body, the taut muscles that lay under your hands, each touch ignited sparks. His grip on you tightened, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp again. Every brush of his lip, every stroke of his tongue, every bite and nibble was a reminder of his power and you couldn’t help but give in completely. 

The vigor that he fucked you with was compared to no man and you couldn’t help the lustful sounds that escaped your lips as his hips snapped to yours. It made your mind reel with the feeling of pleasure. His hair fell into his eyes and you reached your hands to sweep through his locks. Satoru was so handsome. He was a god after all and you couldn’t help that your heart pounded whenever you looked at him.

You felt your orgasm approach and you clenched your hands around his toned biceps, nails digging into his skin and he hissed. You moaned repeatedly into the gag as your body shook frantically from the pleasure. 

“A-A-Ahhh! ‘toru ‘toru ‘s too much, nghh.” Your body thrashed in his grasp, wriggling and writhing as you felt the immense feeling build up again. Every movement magnified the intensity as you felt the shock ricochet throughout your body. 

“It’s okay my sweet.” Satoru whispered but his thrusts were unrelenting. His fingers brushed against your clit, circling the bundle of nerves as he drew out your orgasm. “It’s okay, let's cum together. Soak my cock Y/n, such a good girl.”

Your juices overflowed and you felt his cum pump into your body, filling you up until you were so so full. Warmth blossomed throughout your body and you felt yourself wringing his cock with every drop of cum. The feeling was incomparable and you gasped for air once he removed the gag with the snap of his fingers. Satoru kissed you, his lips were demanding, moving against yours with raw hunger. The taste of the ocean filled your senses, salty and intoxicating. He pulled out to place a kiss on your thighs, on your pussy. You were so sensitive and you felt his cum as it flowed out of you. He stuffed two fingers in your pussy and you squealed at the sudden gesture. His fingers curled in and out of you before he slapped your core. The sting sent shock waves through your body and you couldn’t help the moan that tumbled out of your lips.

“Keep it in there my sweet, I’ll be visiting again.” His voice was a husky whisper, deep and seductive. 

Then, with those words, he disappeared, leaving you a naked mess on the temple floor. You were breathless and reeling from the pleasure that he had just bestowed upon you. You had just given yourself to a god, one that had just stuffed you so full of his cum. You stared at the place where he had been in shock, your head felt light from all that had just happened. Your legs gave way when you tried to stand up, they were sore and achy, covered in splatters of both of your cum. His smirks and groans filled your senses once again and you felt yourself flush at the memory. 

Satoru Gojo had just introduced a lustful desire that you didn’t think you would be able to forget for a very long time.

You gathered your belongings with shaking hands, urgently attempting to steady yourself as you stood. The wet splashes that painted your body were a stark reminder of what had just happened, and you tried your hardest to conceal them along with your flushed, fucked-out face.

You hobbled your way back to the village, heart pounding in your chest. Every glance from a passerby felt like they could see right through you. The sheer thought that someone would stop to talk to you had you eager to get home unnoticed.

Unbeknownst to you, Satoru was watching from Olympus, his eyes never leaving your retreating form. He grinned, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as he saw your tiny self hurry home. The memory of your trembling body and flushed cheeks was seared into his mind and he felt his cock harden again at the thought. He knew you were thinking of him, longing for him, and that was exactly what he wanted. When the time was right, he would come for you again, and induce you in a pleasurable haze once more.

[yuujispinkhair]

Death's Bride

Death visits your village to reap the souls of the dying, and you end up making a deal with him. If he spares your sister's life, you will join him in his dark kingdom and become the woman by his side.

Halloween Masterlist 2023

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Dark Romance, fluff, smut Word Count: 14k Warnings: 18+, smut, dark content, mentions of death, gore + blood. Reader has to take her own life so she can join Sukuna in the afterlife. Sukuna is described as a fallen angel who became the God of Death. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

You know this is no mortal man who is walking towards you with his white cloak billowing behind him as he strides through your village, carrying himself like a king, while you lie on the threshold of your small house, breathing weakly, clutching the bag with herbs to your chest. You know this is no man. You know that this is Death coming to your village to collect what's rightfully his: The souls of the dying.

It started two weeks ago. A strange sickness took root in your village and spread like wildfire. By now, almost everyone has been infected. For some, the sickness is easier to bear, and they are on the way to recovery by now. But others are at the end of their strength.

You are the only one out of your little family who is able to get up while your mother and younger sisters are still bedridden, trapped in fever dreams and violent shivers. You went out this morning to get more herbs, taking hours for the task because you were so shaky on your feet, weakened by almost two weeks of fever, your chest hurting from one coughing fit after the other. But you forced yourself to keep moving. You had to. Your family needed you. You had to prepare more tea to fight their fever.

You dragged yourself through the streets back to your small house, feeling dizzy and nauseous but driven by desperation. But you only came as far as the door before your legs finally gave out, and you broke down from exhaustion and ended up where you are now: Lying weakly on the threshold in the open doorway, staring in horror at the scene in front of you.

A tall, broad figure striding with large, strong steps through your village, dressed all in white with a long flowing cloak with a hood that covers the head of the man wearing it.

It sparks a memory inside you. Old tales whispered to you on long, cold winter nights when you huddled together with your little sisters to keep warm, and your grandmother, who was still alive then, told you those gruesome tales about him. The one who could walk freely between the realms of life and death. The Reaper of Souls. The Fallen. The merciless, cold-hearted God who ruled over the afterlife and held judgment over the souls of the dead.

Hysterical laughter bubbles out of your chest. You cannot look away as the huge man leans down over a crumbled body on the ground. The cobbler, who was always so nice as to accept homemade pie in exchange for a new pair of soles. He was one of the first who was infected. And now he broke down in front of his shop.

The white-cloaked figure extends a large hand and brushes over the head of the lifeless man on the ground. His touch has a frightening finality to it. As if you can see the life leaving the cobbler's body.

The figure in white straightens up again, and the wide hood of his cloak slips off and reveals reddish pink hair and a face more beautiful and otherwordly than anything you have ever seen.

You draw in a sharp breath as you stare at him. Now that you get a clear look, it is obvious that your mind wasn't playing tricks on you. This man really isn't human. You are looking at a creature beyond mortal limitations. You are looking at a God.

He turns his head at that moment, and a pair of glowing red eyes trap you in their intense gaze. Your eyes widen, and your breath comes out in short, panicky huffs. You know you wouldn't be able to move even if you tried as if his gaze alone holds enough power to shackle you to the ground.

He is here. The Fallen. The Grim Reaper. The God of Death.

And he starts walking in your direction with slow, sure steps. There is no hurry in his movements. He has all the time in the world because, after all, he is the end of all time for the ones he claims or a neverending cycle of the same suffering over and over again for the poor souls he decides to punish.

Behind him, bright red splotches appear, and you realize that those are flowers, blood-red spider lilies that grow out of the dirt, building a small path to mark where Death walked. It is a horrifyingly beautiful sight.

He carries himself like a King, walking through these dirty streets as if walking down a wide marble hallway in a castle. You suspect that even if you tried, you wouldn't be able to tear your gaze away from him.

His beautiful face is adorned with black lines. Intricate filigree patterns accentuate his angular features. The black symbols mark his otherwise flawless skin with a story of pain and sin. Your mind is suddenly flooded with the tales your grandmother told you on those winter nights long ago.

There once was a beautiful angel, the most powerful of them all. But he was too proud to abide by the rules, and so he was punished. His beautiful white wings got torn out of his flesh, and his skin was etched with the marks of the crimes he committed. He was cast out and cursed to become The Fallen. The one who claimed the throne of the afterlife, of the world beyond mortality. He took the reins, and from then on, his true name was forgotten, and everyone only called him by his new name, which was Death.

And now he is walking towards you. Strangely, you don't feel fear anymore, only fascination as you watch him approach.

He stops next to you, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. This close, you can see his face even more clearly, and your mouth opens in awe. He is devastatingly beautiful.

And so big. He is towering over you, tall and broad. From where you are lying on the floor, he looks like a mountain that is about to crush you.

"Are you here to collect souls?"

Your voice sounds weak and hoarse from coughing so much.

His glowing red eyes watch you intently for a long moment, and you think that he almost looks surprised for whatever reason. But then the moment is gone, and he nods. A slight smirk lifts one corner of his lips,

"Yes, but not yours, little one. It's not your time yet. Your body will heal again."

His voice is low and calm. He sounds soothing. Not at all how you imagined Death to sound. You were always scared of this mysterious figure you heard all those grim tales about. A terrifying, violent creature with blood-red eyes and monster-like fangs, a devil who brings pain and suffering.

But right now, you only feel calm. You feel strangely at peace with him here. His power emanates from him, so powerful that you can feel it on your skin and smell it in your nose. But it doesn't feel evil or threatening.

Instead, it feels comforting, like a warm bed with freshly washed sheets waiting for you to sink into and wrap yourself in its sweet comfort. Like the relief you feel after finally lying down after a hard day of physical labor, like the feeling of sinking into a hot bath that eases the tension in your limbs.

But that momentary feeling of peacefulness slips away again a second later when Death takes a large step past you. His feet stomp heavily on the wooden threshold next to your head, and with it, terror fills your senses.

"No!"

Your voice is a hoarse scream as you lunge forward despite your weakened state, your hand darting out to wrap around his ankle and cling desperately to it.

"Please don't go in there! Please don't!"

Your family is in there. Your younger sisters and your mother.

Your lips tremble, just like your hand, but you refuse to let go of the black leather boot that's slippery with mud. You cling to it, sobbing as you gaze up at Death through the hot tears clouding your vision.

He looks down at you, an elegant eyebrow lifted in a curious expression. He stares at your tiny hand wrapped around his ankle. You cannot tell if he is angry or amused about your pathetic attempt to stop him.

"Let go, little one. I told you, your time hasn't come yet. But I have to collect a soul from in there."

You are drowning in dread. And the words pour out of your lips, desperate and panicky,

"Please don't do it! Please take me instead! I am begging you, my Lord! Please spare them!"

Narrowed red eyes meet yours. He laughs softly and lifts his leg, effortlessly shaking your hand off. His low voice sounds amused as if you made a nice little joke.

"Look at you trying to negotiate with Death. You are a brave one. Foolish but brave."

Now you see how truly terrifying he is. Death knows no mercy. He doesn't just collect the souls of the old people who lived a long, fulfilled life. He claims anyone whose time has run out in the cruel hourglass that is life. He will go in there and take your mother or one of your sisters with him even though they still deserve so much more from life.

He looks at you with a cold, intimidating look in his red eyes. His mouth is set in a thin line, and his shoulders are pulled back, making him look even more massive. You cannot negotiate with Death. He is the God of the afterlife. There are forces at hand which every mortal is completely helpless against. Humans are all just little toy figures on the game board of the Gods. Or not even that. Just tiny, irrelevant grains of dust.

And yet, you cannot stop yourself from pleading with him.

"I don't care what you do to me! Take me with you! I am ready to die any death you see fit! Just please, please let my family live! My sisters are still so young. They deserve to see more of life! And they need my mother, she has to live too! But I am dispensable. Take me instead! Please! I will do anything you say!"

He watches you with amused eyes and a thoughtful expression.

"You're such an interesting one. You aren't dying, though. So I cannot take you to the other realm. But we could make a deal. I have to collect one soul from this house. I don't care whose it is. There is still time. I could still heal your sister. But only in exchange for another soul. You die, she lives. How does that sound to you? Are you still brave enough now?"

His red eyes watch you with an amused glint in them. Cruel excitement seems to fill him. You can't help but think that you are something like a strangely colored bug that he watches for his entertainment before he crushes it under the soles of his boots.

But you don't care. You refuse to avert your gaze, staring stubbornly into his otherwordly red eyes, your hands balled into fists as you nod.

"I agree. Please, my Lord. Please save her."

He chuckles softly, a low, amused sound, and his face lights up in a grin. He looks disgustingly delighted.

"I will, little one. But only if you seal a binding deal with me first. I spare your sister's life, and in exchange, you take your own life and let me take you with me. The moment you breathed your last breath, you belong to me, and I can decide what to do with your soul. I am in a good mood today, so I will be open about my plans for you. It would be a waste to send you back here as a curse that haunts your family. Instead, I want to keep you by my side. I could use someone who looks after my temple and warms my bed. I could use a bride. What do you say, little one?"

You can see that he is amused, that he expects you to decline after hearing his plan for you. But you don't. For a moment, you stare at him, horrified by what his words imply. But you shake yourself out of it, driven by a desperate conviction. You cannot let your little sister die today. You could never live with the guilt of knowing you had a chance to save her and let it pass. You will do what it takes. Even if it means following Death into his dark kingdom and giving your body to him. You swallow hard, lips trembling as you answer him,

"Alright. I will be your bride and look after your temple. I agree to your terms. Now, please hurry up and save her!"

More laughter falls from his lips. His red eyes glitter like two precious rubies. He sounds pleased when he says,

"You're a fearless one. I like that."

His red gaze never leaves yours as he reaches inside his cloak and pulls out a wicked-looking dagger.

"Here. Do it. End your life, and let me collect your soul. The moment your soul belongs to me, your sister will wake up from her fever dream and recover from the sickness that has befallen her."

You gulp hard, fear squeezing your heart tightly, as you stare at his large hand wrapped around the golden hilt of the dagger, his red eyes watching you challengingly, watching if you will really fulfill your part of the contract.

You are scared suddenly, your breath coming out in short huffs. You feel lightheaded, adrenaline pumping through your veins, making stars dance before your eyes.

Maybe this is how things are. No matter how prepared you are for Death, when he comes to really collect you, you feel fear after all. Fear of the finality of it all. There is no way back after you take this step.

But you don't hesitate. You press your lips together tightly and take the offered dagger out of Death's hand.

The moment you hold the heavy weapon in your grasp, Death's large hand wraps around your wrist, and he pulls you to your feet, making you stand before him.

He is so much taller than you, even now when you are standing. You have to tilt your head back to look into his eyes. He looks even more intimidating up close. Powerful, strong, unrelenting. A cunning business partner who is waiting for you to fulfill your side of the contract. A contract you pay for with your life.

You half expect him to taunt you, and it makes you clench your jaw and stare up at him defiantly. But to your surprise, there is no mockery in his low voice when he speaks up again.

"Have no fear. You won't feel any pain. I will make sure of that."

His words bring tears to your eyes, making them spill over with the hot salty liquid as your chest fills with comfort, finding solace in the fact that Death apparently knows mercy after all.

Your hand is trembling violently, but you bring the sharp blade of the dagger to your neck, gazing up at Death as you do so, looking deeply into his glowing red eyes as you slice your own throat.

The sharp metallic taste of blood fills your every sense. You taste it, you smell it, you feel it hot and wet running down your slit throat and your chest, you hear it gurgling in your mouth when you try to speak.

But Death leans down to take the bloodied dagger from your hand. His other hand cups your cheek. It's so large against your face. But his touch is gentle as if he is holding a thin, fragile porcelain cup,

"It's fine, little one. You did well. Brave until the end."

His voice is soothing. Low and calm, almost seductive. Like a lover luring you into his comforting embrace. You lean into his touch, smiling weakly when you feel his thumb caress your cheek soothingly.

Black spots dance before your eyes, and you feel so tired. You see his lips move, but you can't hear anymore. Your legs and hands feel numb. You fall forward, but strong arms catch you.

You feel yourself get swooped up into Death's strong arms and pressed safely against his broad chest. You feel him move as your head lols back weakly. The ghost of a smile tugs at your blood-stained lips. He carries you like a groom carrying his bride to the bedroom on their wedding night.

How fitting. After all, you are truly his bride now.

If you weren't so weak, you would laugh at the commentary your delirious mind provides.

By now, your vision has vanished completely. The only thing you are still aware of are his arms around you. It's peaceful and warm. As painless as he promised. You feel one last weak throb of your heart. And then it's only sweet, comforting darkness and the feeling of those strong arms carrying you safely across the border from mortal life into Death's dark kingdom.

You wake up feeling rested and comfortable. Your eyes are still closed, and you sigh contentedly, snuggling deeper into the soft and warm sensation of a silky pillow and blanket.

In the back of your mind, some strange warning tugs, but you are too wrapped in the luxurious feeling of being well-rested after a good night's sleep to pay it much attention. You can't remember the last time you felt rested like this. It was hard since your father died. You are the oldest daughter and had to help your mother raise your younger sisters. You were the one who had to do most physical labor, working on one of the farms day in and day out. Your body constantly ached somewhere.

But not today.

You sigh happily, stretching your limbs and marveling at how soft the bedsheets and the blanket feel against your naked skin and how large the bed is.

That's when the little voice in your head becomes too loud to ignore. You blink in confusion and open your eyes.

You are in a large room with marble walls decorated opulently with red and gold murals. Red candles are flickering in large lanterns. A fire is crackling in a beautifully decorated hearth. The bed you are lying in is huge and definitely not made for only one person.

You gasp and sit up, looking around hastily.

There are two red pillows and two red blankets, and everything is made of the finest silk. As if you are in a King's bed chambers.

And, suddenly, you remember everything.

The sickness haunting your village. Your dying sister. Death walking towards you. The deal you made with him. The dagger in your hands. The blood. Strong arms carrying you. You remember him. Death himself. Your bridegroom.

Instinctively, you grab the blanket and wrap it tightly around your body, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Your heart is beating wildly, and it makes you feel nauseous. You still remember the feeling of your heartbeat becoming slower and slower before it finally faded away completely. You remember dying.

And yet you are here now, breathing, feeling the silk on your skin, feeling the thrumming of your heart. So very alive, even though you know you can't be.

And so very naked in a man's bed. Or not a man's bed. In a God's bed. In Death's bed.

At that moment, the large door opposite the bed opens, and you wince in fear. You clutch the blanket tightly against your body, staring at the door with wide eyes.

He stands in the doorway, his pink hair almost brushing against the doorframe. Tall and massive. He looks intimidating even without the white cloak he wore when reaping souls. Even the way he is dressed right now, as if he just woke up too, with only a pair of black pants on his muscular body. His feet and chest are bare.

There are more tattoos on his body, matching the ones on his face. Black lines decorate the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, as well as his strong arms.

He could almost be a human man. Almost. But those glowing red eyes tell you otherwise. Those are the eyes of a mythical creature. The eyes of a God.

And you feel like a small animal trapped in that gaze as you sit there on his large bed, naked except for the silk blanket wrapped protectively around yourself, unable to move as you watch him walk into the room.

He moves gracefully like a big cat, even though he is so tall and muscular. A slight smirk lifts his lips as he approaches the bed. His red eyes never leave your small figure huddled in his blanket.

"Ah, I see you are awake."

"What... what did you do to me?"

The words have left your mouth before you can stop yourself. Confusion and fear make you blurt out mindlessly. You are distraught by the memories of slitting your own throat, by the feeling of dying. And you are terrified by the knowledge that you are naked in Death's bed. Terrified by what he might have done to you in your sleep. On the other hand, maybe it would be better for you not to have been awake for what he did.

He falters for a moment, his beautiful face shadowed by a frown as his red gaze bores searchingly into yours.

"We made a deal. Can you not remember? Your life in exchange for your sisters? You agreed to follow me here."

You nod firmly,

"Yes, yes, of course I remember."

"When what..." he starts, but then comprehension seems to dawn on his features, and he laughs, sounding mocking, his eyes glittering amusedly when he continues,

"Don't worry. I didn't touch you while you were unconscious. Where would be the fun in that?"

Oh.

You feel some of the worst tension leave your body, a long breath you had been holding finally finding its way out of your lips.

"But why am I... naked?"

"You were dirty. Do you think I would let you sleep in my bed like that, full of dirt and blood? My servant undressed you and cleaned you and put you in my bed."

So you were right. This is his bed.

"Why am I in your bed?"

He huffs at your question as if you asked something utterly stupid.

"Because you are my bride. Of course, you sleep in my bed. We have a deal. So if I say you sleep in my bed, you will sleep here. Is that clear?"

You lick your lips nervously, feeling fear tingle under your skin at his imperious tone and the intense gaze out of those unnervingly red eyes.

You quickly avert your gaze, bowing your head obediently,

"Yes, my Lord."

"Sukuna."

You blink and lift your head again to look at him questioningly.

"What?"

"That was my name before I became Death. Sukuna. I want you to call me that from now on."

He sighs, and the stern expression on his face becomes softer when he adds,

"It would be uncalled for my bride to address me with my title. I am Sukuna for you. Your betrothed."

He says his own name with a slight tilt in his voice as if he isn't used to saying it. Maybe he isn't. It must have been a very long time since he told someone his name. Maybe eons.

You gulp hard.

How strange it is to be here with him. To talk to him as if he is a regular mortal when he is so much more than that. He has never even been human. He is a being so ancient and so powerful, so crucial to every mortal's existence, that your head spins just from trying to imagine it.

But you force yourself to be brave and look at him.

He is right. You agreed to his terms. And he did his part. He spared your sister. Now, it's your turn to fulfill the rest of your side of the contract.

You are still trembling and hugging the blanket tightly to your naked form, but you look bravely into his eyes and give him a polite nod,

"Of course, Sukuna. Thank you for saving my sister. I will be a good bride for you."

A day ago, you were a mere mortal. One of millions who were caught in the hands of fate. Working day in and out to stay alive, always hoping, begging, praying to have more time and to see your loved ones live a long life too, while all of you were exposed to the threat of Death cutting your lifespan with his sword at any second.

Now, you are beyond that. You died, and you came back again. Brought back by Death himself, the Master over every soul who left the mortal world behind.

From this day on, you reside in the afterlife. From this day onwards, you will be Death's Bride and live your new life, or rather your afterlife, by Sukuna's side.

He tells you that you are free to move around in the temple. When you ask if you are also allowed to go outside, he lifts an elegant eyebrow and seems strangely amused, as if you asked something stupid.

"You can also go outside. But I don't think you will find anything interesting there, little one."

You don't know what he means, but accept it and take the fine clothes his loyal servant Uraume brings you. Everything is made out of the finest silk. A fabric so luxurious and soft that it feels like a caress when Uraume helps you get dressed. You gulp when the servant puts jewelry on your neck and wrists. Heavy gold and pretty jewels, red rubies that glitter in the same color as your groom's eyes.

Sukuna's temple is enormous and luxuriously furnished. Not at all like the tiny, shabby house you grew up in. But you cannot claim that this temple is better than your old home because, contrary to the vivacious atmosphere of your former home, Sukuna's house is eerily silent. A silence that feels haunting.

You don't dare walk too fast so as not to make any loud noise. You catch yourself whispering because your normal voice sounds too loud in these empty halls. It's a ghostly place. The silence feels too heavy, almost tangible. Something that can easily drive a person into madness.

You try to focus on the little noises that are there. The little signs of existence, like the sound of water flowing into the large bath. Or the sound of the doors sliding open and closed.

It takes a while to explore the whole place. To see all the large rooms with their rich tapestries and carpets. Gold and rubies shine and glitter everywhere. But a lot of the rooms look too clean, too perfect. There are no signs of someone actually living in them.

It is lonely here.

Maybe this is why Sukuna was willing to make a contract with you that would bind you to him and make you join him here. Maybe he was looking for a companion, or just a pet, to amuse him in this everlasting silence.

It is not like you are a servant here, as Sukuna made it sound at first. You assumed you would tend to him, clean his temple and clothes, wash and cook for him. But that isn't the case. His servant, Uraume, takes care of those tasks. They mostly remain invisible, like a ghost, taking care of everything for their Master, seemingly manifesting out of the shadows to bring you fresh clothes and oils and wine.

You ask them timidly what you are supposed to do, and they shake their head to inform you that you are just here for Master Sukuna's enjoyment.

A statement that makes a shudder run through you.

You have been here for three days, and so far, he hasn't laid a hand on you, maybe because he was away most of the time, apparently reaping souls on a battlefield.

But he demands your presence at dinner with him, where he sits across from you at a large table, and those gleaming red eyes never leave you. He is polite, asking questions about your day and how you like the jewelry.

And he joins you in the large bed every night, naked, with his tall and broad body full of solid muscles and black lines unashamedly on display for your terrified gaze.

You try to tell yourself it is the shock that makes you unable to look away from him when he undresses next to the bed and then slips in. But a little voice in the back of your mind whispers treacherously to you that maybe it is because Sukuna has an undeniably beautiful body.

"You're getting quite intimate with Death, my dear, aren't you?"

His amused low voice makes you hastily look away and hide your face in the silky pillow, heart racing nervously. His mocking laugh makes goosebumps creep over your skin. But he doesn't seem mad. He is just amused once again.

"Don't be shy, little one. Look all you want. You'll have all the time in the world to explore this body."

You bite your lip at his words, your body tensing up under the blanket when a large hand lands on the nape of your neck and slowly slides down your spine. Your heart is fluttering, and you don't dare breathe. But he pulls his hand away after a moment.

You slip to the edge of the bed, as far away from him as possible, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, knees pulled up, curling into yourself, instinctively trying to protect yourself as if it would help anything against this God in your bed.

The more time you spend in Sukuna's Kingdom, the more you realize that this is really death. It is the absence of life, the absence of sound, and plant- and animal life. You begin to understand that the once graceful angel Sukuna really got punished. This here is his suffering, his punishment. The loneliness, the absence of life that so suffocatingly surrounds him at all times.

But he was cunning enough to cheat and take his chance when you offered it so beautifully to him. Now, it is the two of you here in this dead place.

It's truly a lonely place. Maybe that's the definition of hell. To be trapped in a beautiful temple that holds all the riches the world could offer but lacks life, lacks the connection to other beings.

You try to befriend Uraume, but they seem to vanish when they aren't busy with some task. Your attempts at chatting with them get declined with a polite but stern bow and a "Please forgive me, my Lady, but I must ask you to refrain from distracting me from serving Master Sukuna."

You meet no other being aside from Uraume and Sukuna.

The worst thing is the eerie silence. It almost drives you crazy. It makes you stomp your feet loudly just so you can reassure yourself you are still able to hear. It makes you slowly push open the large gate that leads outside in a desperate attempt to find anything living.

The rich opulence inside Sukuna's home is a stark contrast to what greets you when you finally step outside the temple.

A seemingly endless wasteland stretches before your eyes. There is no sky above you. It feels like you are in an enormous cave with a ceiling so high your vision cannot reach it. Eternal darkness lives in this place. Cold with icy winds and a rotten stench of iron and decay.

It's gruesome. Hopeless.

You press a hand over your nose and mouth and stand there wide-eyed, staring at the endless darkness in the distance. But as frightening as it is, the complete darkness in the distance is a blessing compared to what you see in the strange, dim, reddish light surrounding Sukuna's temple.

A vast crimson-red sea surrounds the island upon which the temple is built. The color and the stench make you ask yourself a question to which you already know the answer. Yes, this sea must be a sea of blood.

You shudder as you take a tentative step closer to the crimson-red liquid at your feet. You gulp hard as you lift your head to look straight ahead. There is a narrow path leading through the sea of blood, a path that is made of stones and other shapes. Shapes that look too similar to bones to be a coincidence.

But at the end of that path is something even more horrible. A massive pile of bones. It is so high that it seems like a small hill. And on its top is a large throne made out of skulls.

This must be the place from the tales you heard whispered.

Death's throne.

This must be where Sukuna holds court and decides on the fate of the newly deceased. Some will move on to eternal peace. Some will suffer forever in the fires of the afterlife. Some will be forced to return to the mortal world. But not as humans but as empty shells. As curses that were laid upon them by others.

A heavy hand lands on your shoulder, and you scream.

You whirl around wide-eyed, only to stare into the smirking face of your soon-to-be husband.

Sukuna's red eyes wander slowly from your face to his throne in the midst of the sea of blood and back again to your face, looking deeply into your eyes as he says in his low, velvety voice,

"I see, you found my throne. You can sit next to me up there if you wish while I pass judgment on the newly reaped souls."

You shake your head frantically.

"No! No, there will be no need for that!"

He raises an elegant eyebrow and huffs softly.

"Such a pity."

But he leaves it at that. His white coak billows behind him majestically as he strides back into the temple, and his soft laugh carries over to your ears, amused, maybe a bit mocking.

You follow him hastily, not wanting to be out here any second longer.

You plan to never set foot outside again after that. It's easier to pretend when you are inside the temple. It's easier to pretend that you are not in the middle of literal hell.

You aren't sure how many days or weeks have passed since you arrived in Sukuna's Kingdom. Time is nonexistent here. There are no seasons. There is no night and day. You have dinner at appointed times, and you go to bed where you still slide to the far end of the bed. But you have no idea if the days have the same hours as in the mortal world.

It might be a week, maybe since you were brought here when Uraume informs you while dressing you in the morning,

"Tonight, the wedding ceremony will be held. I will bathe you and dress you in your wedding dress later on."

And you feel like you are falling. Falling deeper and deeper into darkness so absolute it feels like velvet brushing over your skin as it swallows you wholly.

You knew this was coming. But it still shakes you to your deepest core. There is something so final about becoming Death's bride. You know you will be here forever. You will be Sukuna's forever. Bound to him by a promise, by a contract, by a union of bodies, maybe by blood too.

The wedding dress is the most beautiful dress you have ever seen. White silk, so delicate it looks like a mere spider's web. Your skin shimmers through it. The dress clings to your curves, showing your body almost as if you are naked. It looks like the dress of a Queen. Or a Goddess.

"Master Sukuna wanted the finest wedding dress ever made for his bride. You should be grateful and wear it with pride."

The disapproval in Uraume's voice is evident as they catch you crossing your arms timidly in front of your breasts, trying to hide your body.

When you walk towards your groom, you hold your head up high, clutching the wedding bouquet of spider lilies tightly in your hands, your gaze glued to Sukuna's glowing red eyes, trying your best to be brave.

You play along and do what Uraume instructed, extending a hand so Sukuna can take it and let him lead you to an altar. You are brave. You don't flinch when Sukuna takes the same dagger that you took your life with and touches it to your wrist, cutting your skin lightly.

No blood is welling up from the wound. Another mystery. What are you now? You feel a heart beating in your chest, but you don't bleed. Is anything you feel even real? Or is the beating of your heart just a phantom sensation you remember from being alive and refuse to let go of?

You feel lightheaded as you stare at the thin wound on your wrist, but only for a moment because then Uraume hands Sukuna a tray with a small pot with a black liquid in it.

You know what is to come. Your husband is marking you as his, filling your wound with the black liquid, giving you the same markings he bears.

He doesn't kiss you but stands in front of you, so close that you feel his warmth. One of his large hands cups your cheek, his thumb brushing slowly over your lower lip before it pushes into your mouth and feeds you some of the black liquid he marked you with.

"Take my sin into you and become mine for all eternity. Be my companion in this eternal darkness, like I will be yours."

There is something in his voice and about his choice of words that makes tears prick at your eyes, but you will them away and repeat his vow.

He takes you that night for the first time, consummating your marriage by pushing you onto the bed, one of his large hands pressing your face down into the silken pillow, as Sukuna settles over you.

You clutch the pillow tightly between your fingers when you feel his heavy weight pressing your body down. You tell yourself to be brave and obedient, but you cannot stop a muffled cry from falling from your lips when his huge cock splits you open and claims you for the first time.

He takes you with deep, thorough thrusts. The initial pain vanishes after the first few thrusts, and after that, your union isn't exactly painful anymore, but it feels frightening how full you feel, how stretched out. You have never lain with a man before, but even if you had, you know no mortal man would have been able to prepare you for your wedding night with a God like Sukuna.

He is so big, so strong, taking you unrelentingly while you tremble in his arms, knowing you could never run from him even if you chose to back out of your contract with him.

His large hands are placed on each side of your head, his lips trail over your neck, sharp teeth grazing over your skin, while he snaps his hips and makes you feel like you are getting crushed anytime his heavy weight presses you down onto the bed.

There is no love in this union of your bodies, but it's not like you were as naive as to ever imagine your wedding night to be filled with love or tenderness.

You always expected to marry out of convenience. A girl like you couldn't afford the luxury of love when picking a husband. You had a family to look after. Maybe it would have been one of the farmer's sons if you were lucky. You would have given birth to his children in exchange for a relatively comfortable life for yourself and your mother and sisters in one of the big farmhouses.

You never were so foolish as to believe you would have a loving marriage. So this wedding night with Sukuna isn't that much different from what you were expecting in your future anyway.

And so you grit your teeth and take his cock obediently, letting him use your body to satisfy his desire until you hear his low groans in your ear when he finds his release and fills you with his warm seed.

You are a good bride.

You know you aren't expected to work, but you find your way into the large kitchen anyway, standing behind Uraume as they prepare a meal.

Sukuna has been gone the whole day, and there is only so much staring at the ceiling while lying in your bed that you can do before you inevitably go insane. So you went in search of the only other living being down here, hoping they wouldn't send you away.

"Do you need help with the cooking? Can I maybe chop some ingredients or something?"

Sukuna's servant sends you a cold gaze over their shoulder, looking at you as if you offended them by the suggestion alone.

"I have spent eons preparing Master Sukuna's meals, my Lady. I don't need any help. And you aren't a servant here. You should do other things."

"But... but that's not what I meant. I am sorry if I offended you. The food you cook is always perfect. I just...I am looking for something to do and for some company maybe. Can I please assist you? There is nothing else to do here."

Uraume sighs, but they nod slightly, and you feel relief wash over you. They wave you over, hand you a knife, and point to a cutting board where a small pile of vegetables is waiting to get sliced into little pieces. You smile at Uraume and murmur a soft thanks, going to work immediately.

"Uraume? Can I ask you something? Does Sukuna even need to eat?"

It's something you have been curious about since the first time you sat across from him at the large dining table. You don't feel any hunger since you woke up here in the afterlife. Why would someone who is already dead need food? But you eat because you feel like it is required of you in your role as Sukuna's bride. It made you wonder, though. Why would a powerful being like Sukuna need to eat? Or does he just do it because he likes the sensation of eating?

Uraume watches you warily for a long moment, probably contemplating whether they should chat with you about Sukuna. In the end, they sigh softly and answer you,

"Master Sukuna doesn't need any food. But he wants to eat."

Uraume hesitates for a moment, their hand with the knife hovering over the meat they are currently chopping, but then they add softly,

"In the heavenly realms, they have big feasts all the time with as much food and wine as one can imagine. Even after The Fall, Master Sukuna didn't want to give up on that. He was supposed to have a life void of all those joys, but he evades that form of punishment by consuming the food I prepare for him with ingredients I collect from the mortal world. Of course, it's not quite the same taste as the foods prepared in the celestial realm, but for the ingredients I can obtain, it is the best food he can get."

It makes sense.

You can't help but chuckle softly as you realize that eating a four-course meal every night is Sukuna's little ongoing rebellion against the ones who turned him into The Fallen.

It somehow makes you see your husband in a different light. It makes him seem a little more human. A little more relatable. You have been there, too, several times, feeling the desire to do something out of spite when someone tries to forbid you something.

That evening, you watch him closely while he eats the meal Uraume and you prepared for him. For the first time, you take in how much he seems to treasure the food served to him. He takes his time eating it, letting it melt slowly on his tongue, taking in all the different flavors, and his eyes close in pleasure when he savors the taste.

It almost makes you feel sorry for him and for what he lost when he got cast out of heaven.

You never wanted to set foot outside the temple again after seeing the endless wasteland and the sea of blood. But your curiosity gets the better of you when Sukuna informs you he will be holding court today, and you watch him slip into his white cloak and walk through the huge doors of the temple towards the path that leads to his throne.

You follow him after a few minutes, unable to resist the lure his words have on you.

A horrifying sight greets you. The sea of blood is filled with a large crowd of shadowy figures. The bloody waters are shallow, only reaching up to the knees of those standing in it. But none of them look down. They all have their heads tilted back to look up at the imposing figure who thrones over them. Atop the gruesome pile of bones, sitting on his throne of skulls, is Death.

He looks bored. His long legs are crossed casually one over the other. His chin is resting on the back of one hand while his eyes trail slowly over the souls standing before him, awaiting his judgment.

Eyes that glow blood-red, vibrant like two lights in the dark, standing out frighteningly in the dim light of the afterlife.

He is beautiful and terrifying.

You can see the immeasurable extent of his power and can even feel it as if it is a physical thing that surrounds you, making the air thick and filling your senses with dread. A dread that comes with the absence of all hope.

Sukuna is the King of the Afterlife. The God of Death. There is no escape from him. Every living soul will one day end up here and stand before your husband.

A shiver runs down your spine at the thought. You instinctively hug yourself even as your gaze stays glued to the scene playing out in front of you.

As expected, Sukuna is unrelenting in his judgment. There is no mercy to be expected when he makes his decisions. He isn't swayed by the cruelty of the fates of the ones standing before him, no matter how tragic they are. His decisions are rational and brutal at times. And yet, after you stood there for several hours and watched him, you have to admit that his judgment is fair. Of course, he won't revive anyone. But he assigns an appropriate ending to their lives. He punishes the ones who did evil. He transforms the ones who got cursed. He leads the ones who are innocent to their eternal sleep.

When the last soul has vanished in a cloud of red smoke, Sukuna gets up from his throne and slowly walks back toward the temple. His movements are graceful, making you watch him with a feeling akin to admiration.

His red eyes land on you, and for a split second, a surprised expression crosses his beautiful features.

When he reaches you, he stops next to you with a content expression on his face and a small smirk lifting the corners of his lips,

"So my bride watched after all, hm? I am pleased."

You nod at him, and to your surprise, you see his smirk turn into a smile.

One of his large hands reaches out and lands on your head. Long fingers brush over your hair, petting you for a brief moment before he pulls away again and continues walking toward the temple.

You feel strangely light-hearted when you fall into step behind your husband.

When he takes you that night, he is gentler in the way he handles you. He doesn't press you face down into the pillow like he usually does, but instead rolls the two of you to the side, entering you from behind while you lay in his strong arms and his large hands trail down your body, cupping your breasts and rubbing circles over your belly.

His lips graze your earlobes while his low groans and murmurs fill the room,

"You're a good little bride."

You don't know whether it's his words or the way he snaps his hips that makes you clench around his thick cock and exhale a surprised moan, as for the first time, you feel thick syrupy pleasure explode inside you and spread through your whole body in warm crashing waves.

Your husband is often away. In the mortal world, reaping souls. You know that anywhere he goes, he brings devastation and fear. But when he comes home to you, he brings a certain comfort with him, as strange as it sounds.

You are almost glad when Sukuna's tall, broad figure walks into the wide double doors. It is very lonely here and scary at times when you become too aware of where you are, and the silence becomes too suffocating. Sukuna's presence brings comfort. His low, calm voice helps you drift away from that brink of madness you sometimes feel yourself drifting towards when you are alone with your thoughts for too long.

Your husband is Death, but to you, he is the only sign of life you meet down here, and that is enough to make you drift towards him when he is at home.

He is terrifying because of his role in this cycle of life and death. He is terrifying because he symbolizes the end. His position is terrifying. But the man Sukuna doesn't seem so bad.

He treats you well. He is polite. And as long as he looks at you and talks to you, you feel real. You still exist. You aren't gone. You aren't a ghost or a curse. You are very real and corporal.

You catch yourself following Sukuna around, watching him while he polishes his sword and the various daggers he carries. Watching him when he sits comfortably on the bed with books spread around him, reading and making notes.

His red eyes find yours and narrow in a frown.

"You've been staring at me for half an hour. Do you have nothing to entertain yourself with? What are you usually doing while I am away?"

The question catches you off guard. Is he mad at you? Is he accusing you of being lazy?

You look nervously at him,

"There isn't a lot to do here... I mostly just... wait? I sleep a lot, I take baths, and I help Uraume in the kitchen. Is there anything you want me to do?"

He blinks at you and shrugs.

"Why don't you find a past time? I showed you my library. Why don't you spend your days there and read?"

You feel shame wash over you. You get treated like a noble woman here by the King's side. But you have always been just a poor peasant from a dirty little village where the only thing that mattered was physical labor.

"I never learned how to read."

Sukuna's red eyes widen, and he stares at you for a long moment before he finally says firmly,

"Follow me."

He gets up and walks toward the door without bothering to check if you follow him. A man who is used to everyone obeying his commands.

You quickly scramble to your feet, bunch up your dress, and do as he says. You have to walk fast to keep up with Sukuna's large steps, probably looking pathetic as you hurry after him. But he doesn't comment on it. There is an amused smirk on his beautiful face, though, when he waits for you at the door that leads to his personal library.

It's a vast room with large shelves filled with so many books that you suspect he must own every book that has ever been written.

"Sit."

Sukuna's low voice is demanding, but you can hear the tint of amusement in it as he points one long finger to one of the large armchairs.

You nod and sit down, watching Death stride through his collection of books and pull several books from the various shelves, which he then places on the small table next to your armchair.

"I will teach you how to read. These are all books that contain very little text. We will start with those."

Your head snaps up, and you stare at him, caught off guard and astonished by his offer. Why does he care whether you have something to do in your time here or not? Why does he take some of his precious time to teach his bride, who he claimed is only here to warm his bed, how to read?

At the same time, you feel a shudder run through your body, feeling flustered suddenly as you realize that this means you will spend a lot of time with him.

Holed up in Death's personal library, where he sits so close to you that his large hand brushes against yours anytime he turns a page. So close that his breath caresses the skin of your neck anytime he tells you something in his low, velvety voice. You find it hard to focus on his words, too distracted by the warmth emanating from his tall, muscular body.

He takes you almost every night, but somehow, those hours spent with him in the library where he teaches you how to read feel much more intimate than the nights spent under his heavy body.

Sometimes, Sukuna returns home as immaculately looking as he left. His white cloak clean, his beautiful face flawless. But at other times, he comes home covered in dirt and blood from walking over a battlefield or through a slaughtered city.

On those days, you help him shrug out of his stained clothes and then lead him to the large bath, where you join him in the hot water to wash the blood and dirt off his muscles.

It is something he demanded from you.

"Why should I wash myself when I have a perfect little bride to do that. Isn't it your duty to serve me? Now take off your clothes and join me in the bath."

At first, it took all your bravery to slip out of your clothes in front of his wolfish gaze and smug grin. But now, it is no cause for shame or discomfort anymore. You are used to being naked in front of Sukuna. Used to getting claimed fully by him.

But it's not just that, you realize as you slip into the hot water and walk towards your husband.

By now, you feel a certain pride in this. Sukuna is Death. He is a God. A being that seems untouchable with all the power he holds. But you are allowed to touch him. You are allowed to invade his personal space.

There is something so intimate about straddling his lap here in the hot water, naked skin on skin, as you cup his beautiful face with one hand and use a washcloth to wipe the blood off his skin and wash his hair. A certain bond blossoms between the two of you when his muscular arms encircle you, and his red eyes watch you intently, glittering like two rubies in the flickering candlelight while he lets you take care of him. There is a certain softness in the way he thanks you for cleaning him despite his former claims that this was your duty to him.

It's during one of those shared baths when Sukuna kisses you for the first time.

He has claimed you almost every night, had you under him or in front of him, or made you be on top and sit on his large, heavy cock while he lifted you up and down and rolled his hips to thrust deeply into you. He made you bury your nose in his pink pubic hair while he used your mouth for his pleasure, made you choke on his copious amounts of seed, or sneered when he pulled out in time to shoot it all over your face and naked breasts.

He claimed you in every way a man can claim a woman. But he never kissed you.

In all the months you have been here by his side, Sukuna never kissed you until this afternoon here in the large bath where you sit on his lap and wash the blood off his face.

Your face is barely inches from his as you scrub at the dried blood on his right cheek when you feel one of his large hands trail up your back slowly. A caress that feels too gentle for a being like him. Your eyes flicker to his, and you see him watching you intently with an unreadable expression in those glowing red eyes.

Before you can go back to scrubbing at the blood on his cheeks, you feel his large hand cup the back of your head and pull you closer.

Your eyes widen when Sukuna's lips touch yours. They are surprisingly soft. His kiss is slow at first, lips barely moving against yours. But it grows more passionate quickly. His large hand tightens its hold on your hair, his mouth opens against yours, and his velvety tongue licks over your lips before pushing between them.

You shudder, not able to tell if it is from fear or pleasure. But your eyes fall shut, and your hand drops the washcloth. Your arms link behind Sukuna's broad neck. You open your mouth willingly for him, letting him in further, licking against his tongue experimentally, surprised at the heat that it makes throb in your core.

A soft growl is heard, and you can't tell if it's coming from you or Sukuna. But you know that his arms tighten around you and that you press your naked breasts against his muscular chest as you push your tongue eagerly against his, caressing it with a hunger that you didn't know you possessed.

You feel an all too familiar hardness growing beneath you, but instead of dreading it, you press against it eagerly, allowing yourself to fall into those hot, red feelings of desire and need. Allowing yourself to dive into those stormy waves of carnal pleasure, embracing the comfort and freedom it offers you.

This time you shudder in pleasure when Sukuna's thick cock pushes into you. This time, you gasp needily when his large hands knead your flesh, and his nails dig into your skin as he lifts you up and down on his throbbing hardness. This time, you meet the snaps of his hips eagerly, taking him deeper, making the act faster and more passionate as you ride him shamelessly until you are both grunting and gasping loudly, and the warm water splashes out of the large tub anytime your bodies connect in those passionate and frenzied moves. Both of you cry out loudly when your pleasure reaches its peak at the same time.

When Sukuna is at home, you can almost believe you are living a normal life in the mortal world. Of course, a life very different from your former one. A life as a princess, maybe, or a queen, who is living in a castle, wrapped in luxuries, with nothing to do except improve your newly acquired reading skills and help your loyal servant prepare decadent meals that you eat with your husband before he leads you to your opulent bed chamber where you both read and share the occasional laugh about an amusing passage in a book until your low moans fill the room while your lips and bodies meet in a passionate union.

You almost succeed in pretending that you are still alive.

Almost.

But then Sukuna leaves the temple to fulfill his duty as Death, and you become too aware again that the windows are only enchanted to show day and night and a blurry landscape instead of the eternal night and the nothingness surrounding Sukuna's temple.

And that's when you feel the unsettling presence of the complete silence choking you again. That's when you feel the absolute absence of life closing in on you again as if the temple walls are moving closer and closer to you.

You can only escape for so long into the fantasy world of the books you are able to read now. And Uraume isn't very helpful with how they seem to avoid you except when dressing you or cooking with you.

You catch yourself humming under your breath to comfort yourself. The humming turns into soft singing. At first, you feel a bit weird about how loud your voice sounds, but soon, you become braver and sing at an average volume, unafraid of how your voice fills the marble rooms of the temple with its clear sound. You are surprised by how many songs you remember. Songs from your childhood, folk songs from your village, popular songs from the big cities you heard performed at the harvest festival every ear.

You get so comfortable with it that you don't think twice about singing, even when Sukuna is at home. You only realize what you are doing when you hear him chuckle softly behind you, and you gasp and stop singing and turn around to see him standing in the open doorway, leaning against the door frame with his muscular arms crossed in front of his broad chest, his white cloak painted with the scarlet pattern of a soul claimed.

He smirks at you,

"Don't let me interrupt you. I am just unfamiliar with such sounds here in my domain. But it sounds lovely. Keep singing for me, my little bird."

You feel intimidated all of a sudden now that his red eyes are watching you, but you swallow down the nervousness and continue singing the song you were in the middle of before Sukuna entered the room. A song as old as your village, kept alive from generation to generation, speaking of the human longing for company, a home, a fire to keep you warm, and a love to comfort you.

Sukuna's gaze is glued to you, a strange emotion flickering over his god-like features. Something akin to longing, you think. Something akin to sadness even. But before you can wonder too much about it, he turns away from you and leaves the room without any further word.

When you wake up the next morning, you can't move. Your eyes fly open in panic, only to realize you are lying draped over your husband's broad, muscular body, your naked skin pressing against his, one thigh thrown over his hip, your head resting on his buff chest. And what made you unable to move are his strong arms that are wrapped tightly around you, holding you in their firm embrace while he is still fast asleep.

Your breathing calms again, and a small smile lifts your lips as you relax against Sukuna's warm body, letting his strong embrace pull you back to sleep.

"Sukuna, look!"

You are walking next to him on the path leading from his throne back to his temple when you spot it. A bright green patch of color in the otherwise dim and monotone landscape of greys and browns.

You hurriedly walk over to it, only to realize that, to your utter astonishment, it seems to be a cherry tree sprout growing bravely out of the seemingly dead ground of this Kingdom of Death.

You lift your head to look at Sukuna, only to find him staring at the tiny sprout bewilderedly.

Before you can ask him what's wrong, he stomps towards the small flower, yanks it out of the earth, and burns it with a swish of his hand, making you take a hurried step back and gasp,

"Why... why did you do this?"

His eyes glow viciously in the dim light when he turns to look at you.

"A flower like that doesn't belong here! This is the land of the dead!"

He stomps away, his white cloak billowing behind him as you can only stare after him with a confused frown.

Why does a little delicate flower bother him so much?

It is later during dinner when you dare ask him again. Sukuna's gaze is stern, his expression filled with a cold rage that makes you gulp fearfully.

"You don't know why I am upset? Then let me tell you, my little bride. Nothing grows here! No life exists here! That is how it always was! But now you are here with your singing and your liveliness, and suddenly, a symbol of renewal and hope grows in the middle of my kingdom! I disturbed the balance! By bringing you here, I disturbed it! You brought life into the realm of Death!"

"B... but that doesn't make sense. I died. I took my own life to follow you here!"

"And yet, you are still so ... so full of life. It's not right!"

You gulp hard, instinctively trying to hide the hurt you feel at his words. You bow to him, muttering,

"Forgive me, my Lord."

"I told you not to call me that."

You don't answer him but just get up from the table and hastily walk deeper inside the temple, fleeing from his words that cut deeper than the dagger that you used to slit your own throat with.

Tears are gathering in your eyes. You cannot bring yourself to care about whether you are allowed to leave the table before Sukuna or not. If he wants, he can punish you later, and you will endure whatever punishment he sees fit.

You wipe angrily at the tears that spill over as you stumble into the library and close the heavy door behind you. Why does it hurt so much? You came here because you agreed to his cruel conditions. You sacrificed yourself to save your sister. It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience. Come here, get wed to Death, and warm his bed. It was something you were supposed to hate. So why does it feel like you are being ripped apart upon feeling like your husband rejects your presence?

You huddle into one of the oversized armchairs, hiding your face behind a random book you grab from the table in a fruitless attempt to distract yourself.

That is where Sukuna finds you later that night.

You lift your head from the open book in your lap when you hear the door opening and see Sukuna's tall, broad figure looming in the open doorway. His red eyes glow devilishly in the dim light of the room.

"Don't run from me, brat."

A sad laugh escapes your lips, and you close the book you couldn't focus on anyway, lifting your head to glare at him.

"I thought you didn't want to have me around. So shouldn't you be glad if I run?"

"I never said that."

"But you think something is wrong with me and that it was a mistake to bring me here."

You hate the way your voice breaks at the end, turning into a teary sob as fresh tears spill over and slowly run down your cheeks. You don't understand yourself anymore. You don't understand why this bothers you so much, why you are so hurt by his words.

You should be glad if he doesn't want to spend time in your presence! You should be glad if he decides to let you go and fall into the nothingness of eternal sleep! You should even be glad if he decides to send you back to the mortal world as a curse that lives in your family's house!

Anything should be better than being forced to live here in his temple and be bound to him! But here you are with an aching heart and tears running down your cheeks because apparently, somehow, during the last months, you grew attached to Sukuna, and somehow, knowing he thinks you don't belong with him makes your heart break in ways you didn't know before.

Sukuna stares at you, a baffled expression on his beautiful face. The silence stretches on, deafening, suffocating, making you ball your hands helplessly into fists.

But then your husband moves. Sukuna marches towards you with large, sure steps, and before you know what is happening, he grabs you and pulls you up from your armchair and against his tall, broad body.

"That's not what I meant. I apologize for my careless words. There is nothing wrong with you. I am just... surprised by what you do to me."

His words make you lift your head to look up at him, blinking against the tears as his large hand cups your cheek.

"I don't understand, Sukuna. What do I do to you?"

His red eyes flicker with an array of emotions. Regret, pain, longing. He looks so strangely human right now. As if he isn't an almighty God who reigns over this Kingdom of Death and has the final say in the fate of every soul who comes here.

His voice is soft like a caress, low and velvety, but filled with a sadness that surprises you.

"Don't you see? You made a flower of life grow in the depths of the afterlife. When you sing and laugh and hug me with that warm, soft body, there is so much life everywhere around me. I am Death. I am used to being alone. I am used to numbness, to silence, to nothingness. It is part of my punishment. But now you are here, and you fill everything with colors and sounds and warmth. You are a source of light in this eternal darkness. And it... it unsettled me when I saw the extent of your power."

You blink at him in utter astonishment.

"But Sukuna... you are Death. How could you be unsettled by anything? What effect can someone like me even have on you? What power could I ever hold?"

He huffs softly, a sound that reverberates in his broad chest.

"I have existed as Death for eons. And it was always an existence in solitude. It's the irony of being me. Death belongs to life. It is inevitable. And yet, everyone who lives chooses to ignore it. They push it away, they demonize it, they make a taboo of it. I was always just a fearful whisper. I am something the mortals try to pretend doesn't exist until their last moments, when all hope is lost. Their delusion is so strong that I can walk through the middle of a crowded city filled with mortals, and no one will notice me. That's how much they banished me from their existence. I am invisible to them. They can see me only in the moments right before they die."

He stops momentarily as if to let his words sink in while his gleaming red eyes gaze deeply into yours. Something about what he said makes no sense. You frown.

"But... But I.."

"But you saw me. Yes, I know. You weren't supposed to be able to see me. But you did. Do you begin to see what I mean? You talked to me, and I was greatly amused by it but, at the same time, utterly fascinated. Do you think I go around randomly making deals with people? So many beg me in their last moments, but I always ignore their pleas. But you were different. You weren't standing on the threshold between life and death, but you still saw me. That's why I offered a deal to you. I was curious. But I wasn't prepared for what you would do to me. I wasn't prepared for what it would do with me when you talk to me and eat with me and bathe with me or when you kiss me and lay with me and find pleasure in it. I wasn't prepared for what it means to be seen by someone."

Sukuna's thumb brushes gently over your cheek, wiping your tears away while his red eyes gaze deeply into yours. He is a God, yet he is so human now. His words make your chest feel tight, and more tears well up in your eyes. But this time they aren't for you. Those tears are for him. 

You realize that you are pressing your body tightly against him, wrapping your arms around him, and holding him. Hugging Death and looking at him with a gaze full of compassion.

"And I will keep seeing you, Sukuna. You aren't just a shadow. You are very real, and you aren't unspeakable or evil."

This makes him raise an eyebrow, his red gaze burning into yours.

"You don't think Death is evil? If you could, wouldn't you bring an end to it? Isn't that the ultimate goal mortals want to achieve? To defeat Death?"

You gulp hard but shake your head, refusing to avert your gaze but instead looking deeply into Sukuna's gleaming red eyes.

"No. You have a right to exist. Death belongs to this world just like life does. Why would anyone value their life if they knew it was everlasting? Many things are so much more special because of their fleeting nature. Your position brings a certain beauty to the world, a certain urgency, that wouldn't be there otherwise. Death can be cruel and unfair. But it belongs to this world. There could be no real value of life without you."

Surprise flickers over his face before it gives way to a pleased expression.

"I knew from the start that you are brave. And maybe fate sent you here to conquer Death after all. You definitely have conquered me."

A smile lifts his lips, so beautiful and flawless that it's not hard to believe that he once was an angel. Red eyes as beautiful as jewels glitter in the soft glow of the candlelight, making your heart flutter.

You look up at Sukuna, reaching out to touch his cheek too. He is so much bigger than you. Tall and broad. Death is standing in front of you, powerful and merciless, and yet you feel no fear anymore. His red eyes are soft when they look at you. His large hand is gentle when it cups your cheek. His voice is full of tenderness when he asks,

"Will you sing for me again?"

You smile at him and nod gently.

He picks you up and carries you to the bedroom, his lips finding yours several times on the way while your small hands cup his beautiful face, and you kiss him back eagerly.

You sing for him again when you are in bed, and he lies beside you, his hand playing with your hair. You sing even while he undresses you, parting your robe and exposing your naked breasts to him. Your chest heaves, and your voice flutters, but you keep singing even while Sukuna cups one of your breasts with his large hand and squeezes it gently, his thumb brushing over your sensitive nipple.

You keep singing, only interrupted by short, breathy gasps when his hand travels down further and slips between your naked legs. He is so loving tonight. His touch is tender, his large hands surprisingly gentle. Long, strong fingers caress you in a way that makes your whole body fill with heat. He isn't taking from you tonight. He is giving to you.

And you fall apart under his tender touch, spreading your legs for him shamelessly, lifting your hips to press your naked cunt against his hand, letting him feel how wet you are for him and how much you long for his touch.

You only stop singing when you can't form coherent words anymore, and your song turns into needy sobs and loud moans. Your hips buck, and you whine when Sukuna's fingers spread your creamy wetness over your folds and over your pulsing nub that he caresses slowly.

He keeps touching you, keeps caressing that little bundle of nerves that sends shocks of desire through your body, almost overwhelming in its intensity. 

Loud gasps of Sukuna's name fall from your lips. The heat and pressure become so intense that you think you can't take it anymore. Your tiny hand's claw at his large one between your legs.

But Sukuna is unrelenting,

"No, let me. Let your husband take care of his beautiful bride."

A loud, raw scream falls from your lips as the pleasure crashes over you in hot, unrelenting waves, and your body arches up, thighs twitching as your swollen nub pulses hotly against Sukuna's large, firm fingers. He keeps rubbing it, slow but firm, and you feel hot wetness gush out of you and over his hand while you scream his name and twitch helplessly in his arms.

He is breathing heavily, his red eyes gleaming as he watches you intently. 

"So beautiful for me, my sweet bride."

He pulls his hand away, but only to push your thighs wide apart, exposing your naked, wet heat to his hungry gaze. And his face gets pressed against your soppy cunt, mouth licking up your wet mess. Your hands tangle in his pink hair, tugging on it, crying out as your head falls back on the pillow when your husband pushes his tongue into you and licks and kisses you.

You fall apart for Sukuna that night on his fingers and on his tongue. And when he finally takes you with his cock, it is slow and intense. He faces you this time, kneeling between your spread legs and capturing your lips in a kiss when he sinks down on you and claims you with his thick cock.

He is everything you see and feel, tall and big, a mountain of muscles, and a cock that fills you so completely. He takes you with slow, strong thrusts that make you clutch his muscular back and moan his name while you chase peak after peak of blinding pleasure until you are so exhausted that you fall asleep right there in Sukuna's strong arms while his low voice whispers to you,

"You sing the most beautiful songs for me, my little bird."

"Mortals always say they will love each other until death do them part. What do you think that means for us?"

Sukuna's lips are lifted in an amused grin as he asks you the question.

He is lying next to you, his beautiful naked body laid out for your admiring gaze on top of the dark red silk sheets. His chin is probed up lazily on one large hand as he watches you, letting his gleaming red gaze trail slowly over your equally naked body.

You smile at him, reaching out to run a hand down his muscular arm, tracing his biceps and the black bands around them with your fingertips before they wander to his broad chest. You let your small hand rest there, fingers sprawling over his firm muscles, right where his heart would beat if he were a living being.

"I would say this means nothing and no one can do us part. It means our love will last until the end of time, just like Death will."

Sukuna's large hand lands on top of yours, covering your hand completely under his. He sounds pleased when he murmurs in his low voice,

"My bride is not only brave but also smart."

You laugh softly at his words before you lift your head to look deeply into his eyes.

"Sukuna?"

"Yes, my love?"

"You told me I could sit on a throne next to yours if I like."

His red eyes glitter in the firelight as he cocks his head curiously, a small smug grin lifting the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I did."

"Is that what you want?"

"It is your choice, but yes, I would like it if you sat next to me."

"Then I will do so."

There is respect in Sukuna's gaze when he gives you a nod to signal that he will set things in motion.

You know this is where you belong. By Sukuna's side.

One day, you will see your mother and your sisters standing in front of your husband's throne of skulls, but you don't fear for their souls. You will sit next to Sukuna when it happens and guide them to eternal peace, where they can finally rest free of all pain and worries.

You are Death's Bride.

You kiss him gently farewell before he leaves for the mortal world to reap the souls of the dying. You greet him with a smile when he returns, hugging him tightly and helping him out of his coat. You wash the blood off him, you kiss him, you talk to him. You fill his dark kingdom with light, just like he said.

And he lets you.

He even laughs softly when another little green sprout fights its way through the rotten soil next to the sea of blood.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! I didn't think this story would get so long, but once I started working on it, I got dragged into Sukuna's world and didn't want to leave again. The power he has over me!!

I hope you enjoyed this story!! Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!!

This is the last story for my Halloween Event 2023! I am so happy that I could write all the stories I wanted! Thank you so much to everyone who read a story (or maybe several) of this event!!

[the-tengu]

Writblr Introduction

Hello, I'm Tengu. You may have heard of me as Seven (@seven-little-constellations) don't fear, we are the same person. I just figured that would be my personal, random shit account, and this would be my actual writblr account.

Without further ado, let's get into it!

About Me

Name: Tengu or Seven

Pronouns: anything goes. Male, female, forgotten god, eldritch being, swarm of dragonflies, who cares?

Age: 18

I write fanfiction and cyberpunk. All of my works tends to have a horror undertone, however.

I'm a student. I'm currently earning my A.A. Degree in Liberal Arts

I use Ao3 (SLCS777) primarily, but I do also have Wattpad (7LilConstellationS). I am looking for alternatives to Wattpad, however, so please let me know if you have any recs.

I'm not the best at reading emotions, especially not over the internet, so please be patient with me!

I'm also kind of slow with updates due to school and my dumbass brain.

WIPs

Black Heart Red Heart (cyberpunk, horror, psychological): Set in the far future, Changed act as the protectors of Regulars, with their oddly colored hair and eyes and their various superhuman abilities. The Academy rules them with an iron fist, but some people slip through the cracks. This is the story of the consequences. NOVEL, FIRST DRAFT, MORTAL GODS UNIVERSE

Becoming (horror, fantasy): What happens if an angel is found on Earth? Who is to pay for human sins? SHORT STORY, COMPLETE, MORTAL GODS UNIVERSE

Project: Lexie (sci-fi, cyberpunk, philosophy): An artificial human sets out on a quest to become the perfect human with a grumpy empath. NOVEL, FIRST DRAFT, MORTAL GODS UNIVERSE

Fever (dystopia, horror): A companion piece to Project: Lexie, telling the story of Ryn, Lexie's companion. SHORT STORY, COMPLETE, MORTAL GODS UNIVERSE

Sebastian Files (philosophy, mind-bend, fantasy): A collection of witness accounts of the entity known as Sebastian, the one pulling all the strings. ANTHOLOGY, ONGOING, MORTAL GODS UNIVERSE

Sunshine's Shadow (superhero, horror): The Hero has been captured... and the Villain is not happy. SHORT STORY, SECOND DRAFT, STANDALONE

Nice to Bleed You (comedy, horror): You know the joke where serial killers and writers are probably on every FBI watchlist? Yeah, so... this is what happens when the two meet each other. NOVELLA, ABANDONED, STANDALONE

Fics

The Fox and The Snake (Fanfic; Naruto): In which a sealing mishap steals a girl from the real world into the world of Naruto with a pair of Sharingan eyes. HIATUS.

The Crow and The Camellia (Fanfic; Naruto): AU where the Harunos are wealthy merchants, and Haruno Sakura is orphaned with only her elder sister to take care of her. UPDATING

Make Sense of the Madness (Fanfic; Naruto): Hyuuga Hinata is placed on Team 7 and Haruno Sakura is placed on Team 8. UPDATING.

He's Screwed and Not in the Fun Way (Fanfic; Boku no Hero Academia, Naruto): Hyuuga Neji is reincarnated into the BNHA world because he deserved better. UPDATING

Black Lightning (Fanfic; Psy-Changeling, Boku no Hero Academia): A Quirk mishap sends Uraraka and Todoroki into the world of Psy-Changeling. SPORADIC UPDATES.

Eye of the Beholder (Fanfic; Jujutsu Kaisen): The story of Ryomen Sukuna, made up completely of bullshit and headcannons. HIATUS.

Whew, I think that's it! I'll update this with more links. I'll probably post the short stories on tumblr. I'll also post bonus content like character introductions on here too.

I have a ko-fi. At the moment I can't offer anything other then my usual content. During summer months I might do commissions either for editing or writing specific stories. In the meantime, if you want to buy me some snacks, please feel free to!

Aside from that, let me know if you'd like to be in a tag list for any of these stories.

Your local crow god,

Tengu

[ckret2]

The second dimension has just been burned; Bill—who's definitely an innocent victim in this situation and totally didn't have anything to do with the fire—is inside the nightmare realm "dream realm" with a bunch of dying shapes from the neighboring dimensions that also caught fire; like a million gods are at the scene of the fire trying to figure out what happened; and the Axolotl's just been hit with a nonstop barrage of cosmic horror. But he's about to face an even greater horror: watching politicians and contractors try to get a single task done.

Here, have a fic. It's part three of a series about the Axolotl witnessing the aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre before anyone's even figured out what happened or whose fault it is. Here's part one and part two.

####

Outside what used to be the incinerated wall named Dimension 2 Delta, what seemed like half a city's worth of gods had assembled within just a few hours: agents from the Apocalyptic Threat Task Force, concerned local politicians, firefighters, cops, paramedics, reporters, rubberneckers, and volunteers. The scene was one of simmering panic being just barely suppressed by training and professionalism: everyone there had a job to do, everyone there was focused on doing it, and none of them knew whether it would be enough.

Behind what used to be the incinerated wall named Dimension 2 Delta, where there was supposed to be an empty void with the point-sized Dimension Zero, there was now a multicolored cosmic foam, frothing and roiling nauseatingly in a way reminiscent of waking from a fever dream to discover that you're actively in a state of delirium and behind the wheel on the freeway. Only the Axolotl knew that, inside that foam, there was a mad dance party of the enslaved dead and dying, overseen by the party host ghost who called himself the Magister Mentium.

Neighboring what used to be the incinerated wall named Dimension 2 Delta, five 1D and 2D dimensions had been burned down to nothingness. The ATTF had just confirmed that a sixth had joined them, two more were well on their way to full incineration, and there were unconfirmed reports trickling in that efforts to contain the fire had failed and two more 1D dimensions were burning up like fuses. The flat and linear living beings of thousands of worlds had been rescued; shapes huddled together uncomfortably on 3D worlds, evicted ghosts haunted ghost worlds, and gods who had once seen themselves as above all mortal concerns now found themselves sitting shellshocked in an "above" they'd never imagined—and they were the lucky ones. The ones who hadn't burned up in the pale blue fires or fallen down into the eternal dance party.

And amidst it all—all the fear, the fire, the death, the panic—the desperate attempts by gods that didn't know each other or didn't like each other to find a way to make this right—those who thought a crisis of such interdimensional magnitude called for kindness and compassion verbally wrestling with those who thought it called for punishment and control—a Time Giant in a hard hat, whistling a country song she'd heard on the radio that morning, completely ignored everyone else there, strolled right up to the sickly swirling border of Dimension Zero as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and started looking around for the wall named Dimension 2 Delta she'd been called out to inspect.

She was dressed in goggles, a flannel shirt, sensible overalls, and leather work gloves. There were several tools strapped to her belt: a time tape measure, a space hammer, and a utility repair kit with patches and sewing needles for making quick mends to the fabric of reality. She eyed Dimension Zero's undulating border, glanced down at her tiny repair kit, and frowned dubiously. It seemed that the problem she'd been called out for was too big to hand stitch back together. She shrugged in resignation.

The cop who looked like a crab with two mushrooms growing out of his hollowed-out eye sockets smacked one claw against the cop made of two interlocked burning rings. "Hey. Is she supposed to be here?"

VENDOR turned, took in the Time Giant's appearance, and shouted, "Hello! Excuse me? What are you doing?"

She gestured with a thumb at Dimension Zero. "I was called about a prematurely crunched dimension. Here to do an inspection."

Irritably, VENDOR said, "You're supposed to be inspecting Dimension 2 Delta, not—this thing!"

"Well, I don't see D-2Δ around here. Looks to me like it's gone," she said. "Some jackass has been blowing up my office phone all day trying to rush me out here. I had to cancel three other inspections, call another guy in on his day off, and come out myself to get this over with so we can shut this guy up. So I ain't here to stand around painting my fingernails. Unless you can point me to D-2Δ, I'm gonna inspect the dimension that is here."

VENDOR, the jackass in question, said, "I'm the one who called you and I'm saying you can't go in!"

"Uh huh." Behind her goggles, the Time Giant's expression was completely unreadable. "Anyway, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go do my job."

The flaming rings whirled between the Time Giant and Dimension Zero's border, hundred eyes narrowed threateningly. "This is an active crime against reality! It's still under investigation."

"Then what was the big rush to get me out here!"

The argument was clearly audible over the general din as the Axolotl and the storm cloud with the ATTF returned from inspecting one of the many out-of-control fires. "Cops," the storm rumbled. "Hate cops."

The Axolotl's frills fluttered in agreement. "Interesting from an apocalypse cop."

Static crackled irritably over the cloud. "I prefer 'apocalypse agent.'"

As they caught up, the Time Giant was saying, "I ain't got time for this." She pulled out a length of time tape without unlatching the measure from her belt. "So when won't this place be an active crime scene?"

"Hold on!" The cloud flicked VENDOR's metal side with a lightning bolt to catch THEIR attention. The crack of thunder startled the Time Giant and cops into looking its way as well. To VENDOR, it snapped, "This isn't your investigation, back off." To the cops, it said, "And this is not a crime scene." To the Time Giant, it said, "I put in the initial call. Dimension 2 Delta spontaneously combusted; we want to know why. He says"—it gestured toward the Axolotl with a fork of lightning—"whatever's left of it is in there, so that might as well be where you start your investigation."

"Thank you," the Time Giant sighed. She let the tape snap back into place. "ATTF, right?"

"Right."

"I prefer to get my info from whoever's actually in charge of a dimension. So, we got any gods that can tell me about 2Δ—property owner, in-house maintenance...?"

There was suddenly a large wall of steel and glass in between the storm cloud and the Time Giant as VENDOR physically shoved THEIR way back into the conversation. "2Δ is in Lady Morgenstern's district, but she's still on vacation—(and apparently decided this incident wasn't worth coming back into the office for)—but, I am on the urban planning committee. If there's anything you need to know, you can talk to me. I can request any municipal records we have on 2Δ's construction and maintenance."

The Time Giant screwed up her mouth. "How long will that take?"

"A few hours, most likely."

The Time Giant's scowl deepened.

She wouldn't get anything useful from a career politician from a different district who knew bupkis about Dimension 2 Delta. The Axolotl said, "If you need somebody who personally knows 2Δ, I... might know someone. A mortal from the wall."

"Uh-huh." The Time Giant didn't look much less dubious about this offering. "It better be a mortal that's at least a quantum physicist. Preferably one with experience in dimensional maintenance."

"I... don't know." The Axolotl nearly added I don't think so—but he was growing less certain he knew what that triangle was capable of, and he didn't like his suspicions. "But—he is an eyewitness to Dimension 2 Delta's destruction from the inside."

The Time Giant chewed on that; then sighed, pointed at VENDOR, and said, "Okay, you request whatever files you can get," and pointed at the Axolotl and said, "In the meantime, I'll talk to your guy. Where is he?"

"Turn around, jumbo."

The group flinched in surprise. They turned toward the missing wall and the grotesquely bloated singularity behind it.

From the zeroth dimension's impossible border, the shining yellow triangle, hardly larger than a fleck of dust, blinked blearily out into the third dimension. He was holding a red plastic cup and wearing a party hat. He looked very much like a hungover homeowner trying to sign for a package at 7 in the morning.

They stared at him.

VENDOR demanded, "What in the world are you?"

"I'm a triangle," said the triangle. 

"You're not supposed to be in there. Get out."

"Hmm! Let me think! No!" He floated up to camera level with VENDOR, apparently not noticing he'd started tilting at an angle. "Why don't you make me?"

"How dare—! Do you know who you're talking to, mortal?"

"Nope. I only know the people worth knowing."

The Axolotl had to choke back a laugh as VENDOR's lights buzzed brighter with irritation.

The cloud quietly asked, "Your friend from 2Δ?"

The Axolotl nodded. "This is the Magister Mentium. He's the only survivor of Dimension 2 Delta. That I know of, anyway." He looked to the triangle, hoping he'd tell him that he was wrong—that the triangle's dancers really were his people from his own dimension.

But the triangle neither confirmed nor denied the claim. He just shot the Axolotl a dirty look. The Axolotl's heart sank.

"Are you sure he 'survived'?" VENDOR asked. "He doesn't appear to have a body. I don't think he's alive."

"What's with everyone's obsession with how alive I am today," the triangle griped. "Hey, worlds-for-guts! Come over here and I'll show you how 'lively' I can be."

"I beg your pardon?!"

"Beg harder."

The crab cop snapped his claws. "You think you can threaten a god? Better watch your mouth, mortal."

"Oh, now I'm mortal again!" The triangle laughed. "Hey, make up your minds! Am I dead or not?"

"I warned you—!"

The Axolotl quietly inserted himself between the two, muttering to the crab, "I'm sure I don't need to remind you that 2Δ isn't one of the dimensions hubris is illegal in?" From the corner of an eye, he could see the triangle pinching his fingers in mocking imitation of the cop's claw snaps. He blocked the triangle from the cop's view.

"It is up here—"

"He isn't up here. He's down there." The Axolotl stared at the crab until he backed off.

Throughout all this, the Time Giant was surveying the triangle dubiously, jaw set in an unimpressed line. Finally, she asked him, "Is uh—is your god home...?" (Even as tense as he was, the Axolotl had to fight back a chuckle. You could always tell when someone wasn't used to talking to mortals.)

"There's no gods here," the triangle retorted. "I'm the magister of this dream realm. So who're you and whaddaya want?"

No gods came up to smite the triangle for denying their existence, so the Time Giant shrugged and continued to address him: "Civil engineering inspector, cosmic structure maintenance. I'm here to figure out why D-2Δ collapsed, look over the place you're in now, see whether it's is up to code."

"Ugh, it's about time," the triangle groaned, as if he'd had any involvement in the Time Giant's appearance or any reason to expect her to be here. "According to these jokers, we got given a flimsy universe! Bad wiring or something!" (Had the triangle been eavesdropping on them the whole time?) "It'd explain a lot! The place wasn't very robust!" His irritated gaze circled the group of "jokers" in question—Axolotl, storm cloud, vending machine, the cops—then did a double take at the cop made of two flaming wheels. "Whoa, and I thought frills here was the freak. How many eyes do you have?" He squinted and started trying to count them. The rings rotated irritably and the triangle flinched. "You can shapeshift 'em. Wowww, optometrists must hate you."

The Time Giant waved a hand between the triangle and the rings to get his attention back. "So you are in charge of whatever's left of D-2Δ in there?"

"Of course he's not," VENDOR said. 

"Yep, that's me," the triangle said.

"Fantastic," said the Time Giant, loudly ignoring VENDOR. She pulled out a miniature clipboard strapped to the back of her toolbelt. "Then you get first priority in deciding what happens to the place, as long as it don't violate cosmic construction code. What's your ideal outcome here? Gut this dimension, clean out the rubble from D-2Δ, and rebuild somewhere else?"

"Don't even think about it," the triangle said. "Stabilize our dream realm."

VENDOR cut in again, "You can't expect to stay in there! A void at the center of the multiverse is no place for three million squatters—"

"You're way behind, Jack," the triangle said gleefully. "We're up to ten million now!"

THEY gasped in horror. "Ten million?!" THEY started cycling through THEIR stock of moons for one better sized for the population.

The request to stabilize the dimension gave the Time Giant pause, but before VENDOR could try to jump in again, she said, "Sure, got it." She made a note on her clipboard. "I'll look around, figure out if it can be repaired, make sure it isn't about to collapse around your ears—or whatever you have. Corners?"

"Great! I keep hearing this awful grinding noise! And the electromagnetism keeps flickering on and off! Can you do something about that?"

"I'm here to try," the Time Giant said. "Can I come in?"

The triangle hesitated. He looked to the Axolotl. "Hey, frills. Do you vouch for this freak?"

His gills fluffed in surprise at the question. Him? "Yes—she's a professional." The Apocalyptic Threat Task Force wouldn't have her on call if she wasn't dependable.

"All right," the triangle said. "Both of you come in. Welcome to the dream realm."

The Axolotl and Time Giant exchanged a look. She shrugged, scooped him into her arms like an oversized house cat, and headed into Dimension Zero.

####

"Wow. I've never seen nothing like this before." That was the fourth time the Time Giant had said that so far. (Two of them had been spent on the eternal dance party. She'd made eye contact with a square who was coughing an endless plume of black smoke out from around his dry and cracking eye, and the Axolotl—still being cradled in one arm—had felt her shudder before she deliberately turned away. If she was horrified, she was doing a better job of locking it away than the Axolotl had.) "Just moved in?" 

"Pretty recently," the triangle said. "I can't tell you exactly when! I abolished time."

"Probably for the best. This place is a real fixer-upper—I don't know if it could handle time." She had started poking and prodding as soon as she entered Dimension Zero—feeling the quality of the fabric of reality, flipping open invisible breaker boxes to inspect the fundamental forces. She paused as she peered into one box. "Where's the gravity?"

"Beats the heck outta me! I gave up looking for it. Think I like it better without gravity." The triangle had been weaving around her during her whole inspection. He was still clearly under the influence—but now, the Axolotl was less certain what influence he was under. The more the Axolotl saw him separated from his eternal dance, the less he looked like a partied-out drunk, and more like he was distracted to the point of dissociation. His voice fluctuated randomly between "loud" and "too loud." He tilted and zigzagged when he moved, drifted when he tried to hold still. He simultaneously flickered around the dimension like an indecisive quantum particle that couldn't figure out where it existed and maintained a steady, unblinking, spotlight-like stare at the Time Giant and what she was doing. "But the gravity's nothing. A while ago, the weak atomic force went out for like a whole week; you can imagine what a pain that was to get working again!"

She whistled under her breath. "Is this your first reno project? Should've started with something simpler, like a 2D universe, and worked your way up to 3D. 1D's beginner-friendly too; but honestly, with all the restrictions it's not worth it unless you're really creative with portals. 2D's a reasonably accessible middle ground."

"We came from a 2D universe," the triangle said. "After all the work we put into getting to the third dimension, I'm not about to go back!"

"Fair enough." She shifted the Axolotl from where she'd been carrying him in her arm to set him up on her shoulder so she could free her hands. He draped over her shoulder with his tail hanging down her back to watch as she shined a flashlight into the breaker box. There were five switches labeled in marker on tape, "ELECTROMAGNETISM," "STRONG WEAK ATOMIC FORCE" "WEAK  STRONG  WEAK  STRONG!!! ATOMIC FORCE," "????," and "???????? (DON'T TOUCH!!)" The weak atomic force switch was being held in the "on" position by a bundle of black rubber bands that, upon closer inspection, appeared to be made out of the triangle's own arms. The ???? switch had been replaced by a wormhole.

She prodded the wormhole with the butt of a pen. The triangle yelped and flinched. "Hey, whoa! If you're gonna get handsy, at least buy me dinner first!"

She stared at him, slowly shook her head, and muttered, "Never seen nothing like that before." She shut the breaker box. "Well, this place is no Goldilocks zone, but it's honestly kinda impressive it hasn't imploded yet."

"I'm taking that as a compliment!"

She put away her flashlight, pulled out her clipboard, and said, "So you mentioned a grinding sound. What's this grinding?"

"Right, that!" Now that she wasn't doing anything interesting worth watching, the triangle zoomed in front of her to make direct eye contact. "Every time I try to move, all of existence starts creaking and groaning."

"You're moving now and I don't hear anything."

The triangle rolled his eye. "I don't mean moving in here, I mean moving!"

She frowned.

The Axolotl suggested, "I think he's—at the center of the dimension. When he moves, we move... through the dimension. Perhaps he means when the dimension's literally moving with him?"

"Uh." The triangle squinted uncertainly. "Yyyes?"

"Huh. Dimensions shouldn't be moving." She unhooked her time tape from her belt, held it up in front of her, and said, "Can you move about... twenty lightminutes away?"

The triangle sighed heavily. "Yeah, sure." He zoomed off to the side. Existence seemed to zoom with him. The whole time he was moving, the Time Giant stretched out more of her time tape.

The Axolotl felt something very far away rumble.

"Is that all you needed, or are you gonna ask me to roll over and bark, too?"

"Haw haw," she said flatly. "Yeah, that's it." She glanced at the Axolotl. "How long did it feel to you like it took him to move?"

The Axolotl tried to think through the momentary vertigo. "Thirty, forty seconds?"

"Uh-huh. For him to move twenty lightminutes in thirty seconds, he'd be moving forty times the speed of light."

"Oh."

"Is that good?" the triangle called.

The Time Giant grimaced. "Well..."

"I can do it faster!"

"D—don't do it faster." She held up the time tape for the Axolotl to inspect. "Look at this."

Every measure mark on the tape was labeled 0 sec - 0 sec - 0 sec - 0 sec.

The Axolotl gave it a baffled look. "He did say he abolished time."

"Sure, but there's relative time, and then there's absolute time." Which was probably a statement that made sense to Time Giants, but all the Axolotl could guess was that she meant the time tape was not supposed to say zero seconds.

She let the tape retract and stroked her chin with a gloved hand. After a moment of thought, she said, "Lemme check something out."

####

(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 3 of a probably-7-part fic about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. Here's part one and part two if you missed it. I'm posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl slowly discover just how much of a monster that silly triangle he likes really is.

It's ALSO chapter 61 PART THREE of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. I'm gonna fix the chapter numbering once I know how many chapters this plot is. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a oneshot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: okay, I lied that last week was the least horrifying chapter, but it's only because this chapter ran so long I decided to cut it in half. The horror comes next week. Enjoy this brief lull while everyone acts like this is a totally normal property inspection.

Anyway, lemme know what y'all think, and next week we're right back on the cosmic horror!)

[on-leatheredwings]

House Arrest

Yandere! Batfam / Bruce Wayne x (Fem!) Reader

For a request, Munchausen's syndrome by proxy with Bruce? Like, he keeps reader sick so she can't leave him or interact with someone outside the family. And maybe the rest of the batfam is in on it?

[a/n: Didn’t know if you wanted this platonic or not so I didn’t specify! In my head its romantic with bruce though lmao]

> word count: 1581

> Tw: gaslighting, munchausen’s syndrome by proxy, yandere-typical behaviors!

You sit in anticipation, foot tapping against the stone floor. There’s an entire miniature hospital set up for you down here in the Batcave. Respirators, diagnostics machines, and other expensive medical equipment that would be better served in Gotham General. 

Helping people recover. 

So patients could some day leave. 

You used to love being in the Batcave. It was the family’s little secret. When you officially joined the family, the Batcave was now your secret as well. But ever since falling ill months ago, bedridden with a sickness whose cause continues to elude everyone… being here is depressing. You now notice it’s damp down here. Dark. Lifeless.

Bruce sits at the Batcomputer, the screen’s light painting over his face in a green wash. You watch his eyes scan line after line of your results. Reminds you of a typewriter. Methodical. Orderly. Nearly inhuman. When he sighs, your heart stops. 

Fuck.

He turns to you, face grave. “You’re still ill.” 

Your eyes start stinging with an onset of tears that you furiously try to blink back. 

“... H-How ill? How bad? Am I any better?” you ask, as if bartering with him will make the situation any different. As if bartering with God ever made any difference for mere mortals such as yourself.

Bruce’s face is still. 

“You haven’t improved.” 

Your hopes crash down around you like glass. You aren’t better at all? Even though you haven’t had a fever in weeks? Even though you’ve been working out with enough energy to keep up with Damian? He was exerting perhaps only 10% of his effort, but still. Your lymph nodes aren’t even swollen anymore. Tim had told you as much, accidentally contradicting Bruce’s insistence that they had been earlier that morning. 

“But I feel better,” you croak. You hear footsteps behind you approach and you swallow drily, nearly hissing at the offender. It’s Dick, and damn him. You don’t want to be placated right now.

“Are you experiencing any headaches? Shortness of breath?” Bruce asks, eyes still trained on you. You try to recall. 

“... I may have had a migraine this morning…” At Bruce’s weary shake of the head, you blurt, “But it’s passed. I’m perfectly fine. And no shortness of breath.”

“... I’m sorry. But if you’ve been having symptoms like that, along with your being immunocompromised…” Bruce doesn’t even have to finish the sentence. You won’t be leaving the Wayne Manor grounds for a long time. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

You feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up and see Dick, whose face is somber but offers an encouraging smile. 

“Well, I’m back in town for the time being. We can hang out all the time.” His expression brightens as an idea pops into his head. “And I can call Tim, Jason, Duke–! Maybe even Cass and Steph… We can have a board game night tonight!” He sounds as chipper as you are miserable.

Damian approaches from behind, leaving the shadows. His arms are folded. “If that’s the case, I’ll humor Grayson and let him capture some of my fleet for once.” A popular choice was Risk, perfect for the family who’s entire lives revolved around combat and strategy. But you didn’t want to play Risk again. You didn’t want to have a board game night, no matter how many of the family came. You wanted to see people. 

Other people. Everyone here is your family. 

You want fucking friends again. You wanted a job again – a sentiment you would’ve laughed at even just five months ago. You wanted any semblance of a life again.

Bruce’s eyes haven’t left your trembling form once, two chips of slate-gray peering over steepled hands.

“Thank you, Dick. Damian. But I think she could use some time alone.”

Dick’s hand releases your shoulder, retracting as if burned. None of them are the boss here. It’s Bruce who is my warden, your mind whispers darkly. 

“Right! Don’t want you to feel overwhelmed.” Dick sees himself out, taking Damian with him. “See you tonight.” And that feels like a sentencing to your fate.

Now the two of you alone, Bruce stands, offering his arm wordlessly. You know what this means. You take it, linking yours with his without thought or protest. Bruce liked to ensure you were always within his reach, as if you were prone to fainting spells. This was less humiliating for you than him carrying you through the estate, you suppose. 

“Why, yes, let’s take a turn around the grounds!” you used to exclaim, making your voice posh and British, mimicking the regency romance movies you had been watching all the time. 

Now, months later, you just sullenly allow him to lead you. Your surroundings pass by and you vaguely recognize that you are exiting the Batcave, walking through the manor, and out into the never-ending expanse of a well-kept lawn. 

It’s a sunny, idyllic spring day after months of overcast winter. 

And thank god you could still traipse outside when you wanted, even if fenced in. Bruce told you when you had first fallen ill that he had installed some high-tech, anti-air pollution gadget. Wayne Manor was effectively your own personal bubble. Fresh air was the only thing keeping you sane, lately. 

You two pass by the garden, a labor of love Alfred started. You and Damian tend to it now… and mainly the latter, these days. You haven’t had any energy for gardening as of late. Fatigue is a symptom, you hear Bruce’s voice whisper in the back of your mind. But you don’t feel fatigue… rather, just depressed. But of course, isn’t fatigue a symptom of being depressed…? A familiar brain fog crawls into your mind. Your head was starting to hurt.

You look across the lawn, onto the horizon. Gotham’s dark skyline sits there, enticing. When night falls, it’ll glimmer and twinkle with light. There is a whole world out there. And, God, you love the Waynes, but they aren’t the world. You need to distract yourself. Bruce, ever the lover of pleasant silences, is going to have to distract you from thoughts that make you want to leap off the second story balcony of your bedroom.

Should you ask, “How’s work?” No. You find you don’t care. 

“How’s Jason?” you say instead, feeling Bruce stiffen at the mention of his most tenuous relation.

He wasn’t around as much, but when he was, he was always relaxing with you in your room. You have a whole shelf for the knick knacks he brings. “Don’t worry. They’re clean,” he’d snort at his former mentor, because Bruce required everything to be thrice sanitized before coming into your possession.

“... Better.”

You’re glad. That’s one good thing, you guess. 

“Bruce,” you croak. 

He looks at you, face alight in expectation. 

“Maybe I should just go,” you say, small and weak. Your eyes don’t leave the sight of Gotham skyscrapers, stretching to the sky. Bruce stills, stopping you both in your tracks.

“What do you mean, ‘go’?” he says carefully.

You remove yourself from his arm and gesture to the city. “Just go. Leave. I mean, I can’t stay here forever.” Bruce looks genuinely confused, as much as he can. 

“Of course you can.”

“No, I can’t!” you screech. Frustrated, you tear at your hair. “I can just be an outpatient somewhere– I can go for hospital treatments every week– or everyday– whatever!

Bruce places his hands on your shoulders.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Rage flares in you and you gnash your teeth at him. By now, that all-too-familiar brain fog has flooded your brain. But you try to fight it. You have to fight it. Like trying to crawl out of rapidly-sinking quicksand, you fight it.

“I-I know what I’m saying. I’m saying–”

“You’re saying to just let you die,” Bruce sharply returns. “To give up, let you die, and leave us to grieve.” 

“No–”

“Stephanie.” 

You meet his eyes again at the name, which are resolute and as blue as ever. 

“Cassandra. Duke.” Your stomach churns, imagining their smiling faces, turned into ash as your hypothetical passing. “Barbara.” 

“Bruce,” you croak, pleading inwardly for him to stop. 

“Damian.” 

“Tim.”

“Jason.” 

“Dick. Alfred.” You duck your head and your eyes meet the ground. The listing of all your loved ones pinches your heart, and you feel nauseous. You weren’t trying to leave them. You didn’t want to leave them at all. 

“... Me.” 

Your eyes sting with tears again. Why did he have to make it sound like that? Like you were seeking some selfish want, rather than trying to improve your quality of life. You feel your ambition and desire wane under the weight of guilt. You feel all sense of struggle start to disintegrate, lost to the fog in your head. Lost. You’ve lost.

Bruce’s eyes scrutinize you.

“As I suspected. You’re acting delirious. Manic. Delusional.”

Any semblance of protest dies in your throat. 

“What?” you say. But Bruce is already leading you away towards the looming doors of Wayne Manor, away from the green of the grounds. Away from the light of the sun, and away from the skyline. He comforts you with familiar lines on the way to your bedroom. 

You need rest. Alfred will brew his tea for you. I’ll call the kids to come tonight. We can play Risk. He pats your shoulder, stroking soft, deceptively warm circles with his thumb.

“You just need some rest.” 

And not for the first time, you believe he may be right.

[trashydez]

like a phoenix. (2.7k words)

what if phoenix- instead of being virtually indestructible, actually wasnt? what if he was actually incredibly prone to death, but he just… never stayed dead?

(trigger warning for a multitude of causes of deaths!! some in detail and some not. other tw’s include implied suicide attempts, implied child neglect, derealisation and thinking one is already dead. be warned! take care of yourself!)

at 9, he wakes in his bed after having a high fever and his mom ships him off to school hours after it began. he finds it odd, because last he’d checked his temperature (that morning, when he told his mom he felt like he was going to die and his mom had left to go run errands, barely sparing him a glance), his temperature had been at 107 degrees farenheit. that was definitely high, but after he slipped into unconsciousness, writhing and restless and in a lot of pain, he woke up to his mother checking his temperature and saying he was fine to head off to school. he didnt feel fine, but his temperature had gone down significantly enough that his mother felt like he had no excuse not to go. hes glad he went to school though, even as he shivered, sneezed and sniffled, because there he found a friend in a boy with a funny bowtie and a heart made of gold.

he crunches and chokes on glass shards and poison but doesnt die. the doctors dont find anything wrong with him, aside from feeling a bit ill, so he goes back into the courtroom and dollie is convicted of murder. hes happy his roommate is away for some theatre troupe thing, because the sickness eventually catches up to him and he throws up shards of glass, acid and blood. it cuts into his throat and burns his eyes and he swears, he swears he dies right then and there, freezing and shaking and everything hurts. but when he wakes up hours later, the sun having set and the only light source in his dingy dormroom the moon outside, hes amazed to not feel sick anymore. but the puddle of sludge is drying beside his face and he considers himself lucky, or maybe unlucky, because unlike dahlia’s other victims, he actually lives to tell the tale.

phoenix arrives early to the office, having been in the public library nearby reading a book on reincarnation. he enters the office and promptly has his skull caved into his brain. he does not see his assailant, but when he wakes, theres an oddly dressed girl crying, crouched over his boss’ cold body. he doesn’t think about the drying blood in the back of his head, or how cold mia’s body is (and why he can even tell, considering the fact he has not touched her corpse) or the chapter in the book he’d been reading that talked about quantum immortality— all he thinks of is proving maya fey’s innocence.

as it turns out, being constantly anxious and terrified of mortal peril actually has its perks. maybe the fact he’s a lawyer whose only ever dealt with homicide cases definitely wasn’t benefiting his mental wellbeing either. in any case, its that fear of literally everything and constant feeling of impending doom that makes his body react before his mind does. taser! danger! maya! so, he gets tasered. and it fucking HURTS, but he feels more relieved than frightened as the searing pain shoots through him, because he’d been able to push maya away before von karma got to them both. wasnt a symptom of death by electrocution an overwhelming feeling of helplessness and imminent death? maybe he was going crazy. when he comes back though, its to his head in the lap of a crying spirit medium, so maybe a psychotic break isnt too bad if it means everyone else gets to escape with no damage to their own psyche.

its only after she stops screaming in terror- oh my god, nicks a zombie!! kyahh!!!- and nearly beating him with her bulky magatama necklace, that she tells him what she saw. (“like, there was a sudden bright light and then i realised it was coming from you! but when i tried to touch your glowing skin,” she says it like its the most absurd thing she’d ever seen, which really said something considering the fact she was from a family of people who could channelthe dead “it was HOT! like, japanifornia summer hot! blazing! i was only able to check your pulse after you cooled down a bit…”). maybe its this that makes him less alarmed by the way his skin glowed in the dark of his trashed bedroom, after drinking himself to death following a certain phone call from a terribly sad, newly bossless detective. he doesnt think he can bear the taste alcohol ever again, after that.

maybe the number of times he’s died of blunt force trauma to the head should be a cause for concern, even more so when he wakes up without any of his memories. he’s terrified, and doesnt even knows who he is, until he does, and is able to prove maggey byrde innocent. fun times! he should probably watch out to make sure his next death wasn’t to the head, lest he be as mentally impaired as a number of people liked to say he was… (and he should probably also be concerned by the fact he was already thinking of the next time he’d die, but ah well, blame it on the concussion).

as it turns out, getting whipped to death was not on his list of ways he thought he’d die next, but life liked to mess with him like that, it seemed. still, dragging his delirious self to the bathroom of his office to try and save the infected wounds from killing him wasn’t all that fun, and he’s immediately reminded of his first death, slow and painful, alone and scared of what came next. he feels bad for feeling relieved when maya shows up and screams upon seeing the state he and the bathroom (that’d he’d accidentally trashed when his legs gave out after he opened the door, a number of bottles fallen to the floor beside him) were in. he stops her from calling the police- there was no point, he didn’t have much time left. but when she asks what she could do, he goes quiet. (…just… stay here? i dont- he coughs up a distinctly red shade of spit. maya makes a noise between a choked cry and a whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. but phoenix was shivering worse now, and hugs himself tigher. i dont want to die alone.) so she stays with him, on the cold bathroom floor, as his labored breathing eventually slows. when he awakens, he finds maya asleep leaning against him, and promises to get her burgers as a thank you.

who knew death by a monkey throwing a giant bronze bust of max galactica at you could happen? at this point, he’s almost glad he was basically immortal, because there was no way in hell he’d allow his autopsy report to say ‘cause of death: monkey manslaughter’! edgeworth would laugh himself to tears if he saw! not that he could see. or cry, because he was dead. and not coming back. damn.

so edgeworth isnt dead! yippee? he thought it was his thing to get reanimated after death, not edgeworths. when he saw him, standing in the middle of the police department, alive and breathing and very much not dead, he nearly started laughing. he must’ve finally gone insane! curse the amount of times he’d died of brain related injuries, not that he knew how many of them there were at this point. he might actually have laughed a bit, because pearls was looking at him like he was losing it (he was) but he couldnt really bring himself to care as he had more pressing issues at hand, like saving his best friend from a crazy serial killer holding her hostage, and punching his other best friend in the face for faking his own death (because really, dying was his thing! not edgeworths!). and if he pulls edgeworth into a hug immediately after, throwing caution in the wind (you only live once, right?), the warmth- a normal, human temperature, unlike his burning hot when he came back from death- is enough to stabilise his harried mind for just a moment, before he has to return to his guilty client and his hopeless situation.

by some crazy turn of events, he actually doesnt die from having boiling hot coffee thrown at his face. it burns, and maya screams when she sees the boils on his face after that first trial with godot, but after throwing a wet towel over his face and putting him in timeout on the sofa for 12-hours, the burns go away as if they were never there. he fell asleep at some point, and after alot of back and forth debate, they eventually came to the conclusion that 1. his body heat rising to burning levels when he dies must have caused his body has to grow immune to heat and 2. since sleep was like a ‘temporary death’, a ‘temporary wound’ would just heal like it did when he died of normal wounds, right? he didn’t want to dwell on it too much, because maya was looking at him like she wanted to test that theory for real, so he quickly changes topics before things got out of hand.

so their theory on the immunity to heat thing was correct! …almost. larry had tried to stop him, but it was fire and he was basically immune to heat, right? nope! his skin burned and boiled but he didn’t die as he tried to run across the burning bridge. even so, nothing hurt more than falling through one of the burnt planks and slamming onto the surface of the freezing cold rushing stream below. luckily the death was near immediate, but unfortunately he came to while in the water still, so he swallowed a sizeable amount of water before paramedics arrived. he hears the doctors find his survival miraculous, despite the scorching hot fever he was now under. he blacks out again, and comes to in the hospital, feeling absolutely terrible.

the horribleness feels familiar though, and when edgeworth walks in, he realises what it must be, when the man presses the back of his hand to his temple and quickly pulls his hand away as if burned. (oh. he thinks, tearing up despite himself. it must be the fever. i’m going to die like this again.) his internal monologue must’ve been external though, because edgeworth balks (‘again?!’). but phoenix was crying in hiccups and sobs, feeling terrible and like he was nine years old again, wishing his mother were there to nurse him back to health like she’d never done before. he faintly hears edgeworth sitting down on his bed and reaches out, gripping the mans waist like it was a lifeline. in a sense, it was. “don’t go.” he whispers, gripping the man tighter like he’d disappear into thin air (again). “please, please don’t go.” in his delirium, he nearly wails in despair when he feels edgeworth move, but he was only moving to readjust himself so he’s lying next to him, their bodies so close that it must burn, but the only sign edgeworth shows that he’s in pain is a wince and the crease of his brow. he allows himself to be cried on, curling a protective arm over phoenix’s burning body. “i- i dont know what’s going on, wright, but i’m not, i’m not going anywhere, okay?” he seems to be attempting exasperation, but it comes out terrified and concerned, but phoenix is fading quickly, so it might just be his waning mind making up things that don’t exist. “i am terrified. your body is life threateningly hot and— wright? wright!”

he comes to with nurses surrounding him, and a distressed edgeworth swearing on his life that that man was dead, his body was seizing and on fire and- and his heart stopped beating! but phoenix couldn’t dwell on it, because the mention of fire immediately brought him back to why he was in the hospital at all. and plus, it gave him the chance to use his best friends sensitive treatment of him afterwards to convince him to play defense attorney, so that was nice. still, he feels like he dies when he finds out dahlia had actually been iris and that godot was actually his dead mentors apparently not dead boyfriend. oh, and he was also a murderer. he also feels like he dies when dahlia- actual, serial killer and dead by execution dahlia, was exorcised from maya’s body. but that had more to do with his soul leaving his body in terror rather than actually dying, so that was a nice change of pace… probably.

later, he’d had to have a conversation with edgeworth to give him an explanation on just what the hell he’d witnessed in that hospital room. although, apparently his re-aliving symptoms must’ve started becoming more dramatic, because miles describes it as his whole body glowing as bright as the sun, and then his eyes opening for a moment to reveal nothing but white, glowing eyeballs with no irises. phoenix has to convince him to still board his flight the day after, that he was okay… probably. maybe not safe, but definitely okay. (still, edgeworth stays the night at his, and they hold eachother close, basking in the shared warmth of two alive bodies in heat equilibrium, listening to eachothers breathing and rhythmic heartbeats, no signs of impending mortality in sight, save for, what did the french call it? la petite morte? most of all, phoenix basks in the promise miles makes to him. “i’m not going anywhere,” he repeats, over and over like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was phoenix. “i’m not going anywhere, i promise.”)

and when he loses his badge, he thinks he really does die, permanent and definitively. he feels far away from his body when the forger is called to the witness stand. feels like a ghost when the council walks out the room and past him, making no eye contact and answering the unanswered question on the tip of his tongue. feels his life crumble to pieces when a blonde man with a pleasent, almost saintly smile gives him the most maddeningly sympathetic look and tells him he is sorry for his loss, as if there really was someone dead. only, the only one dead must’ve been him, because there was no one else there who had just lost their life. he couldn’t even hear himself as he laughed, which turned into sobs, as he excused himself and fleed to his bicycle. not one pedestrian bats an eye at the state he is in, so he must really be a ghost, cycling past speeding cars and large trucks and buses as if it couldn’t kill him, because he wasn’t there, he was already dead. when he reaches his office, freezing and quiet and dreadfully void of any human life, he passes by the window his boss had died at and sees his reflection, unkempt and red faced and badgeless. he wants to scream, but he couldn’t because no one would hear a ghost scream, so instead he just sits down in the spot his mentor had lost her life in, and mourns.

when two weeks later a warm, incredible alive life falls into his hands in the shape of a little girl with a too big tophat and a joy for being alive that he’d lost years ago, well, maybe he is glad that he couldn’t die for real, if only to be able to wake up to that beaming grin as his little girl tries to pull her daddy out of bed because she’d made breakfast, and it only smells burnt because of the magic something she’d added as a special ingredient. he eats it, char and all, because he can’t taste the burnt-ness of it anyway, but he could taste the love and care put into it, and that was more than enough to take his mind away readying himself for his next death. instead, he thinks of his daughter’s next performance at the wonder bar, and their next trip to kurain, and miles’ next visit. for once, he thinks of living.

[seaslugfanclub]

These Aren’t the Candy Stripers, but They’ll Do

Hades, Jafar, Captain Hook x Sick!Reader

————————————————————————

“Uuuuughhhh”

“Wh- ew, the hell’s wrong with you?”

Hades stared down in mild disgust at (Y/N)’s collapsed body, Hook who was knelt besides them petting their hair, looked up at the god,

“The poor dog’s sick, that’s what. Pallor as a corpse and twice as clammy.”

“Oh. Yeeesh kid, why even bother showin’ up today?”

“Well I asked them the same thing, and all I got in response was them mumbling something about ‘attaining bread’… their fever must’ve made the poppet delusional.” Hook lifted (Y/N) up from beneath their shoulders, their body now limply resting against his own.

Hades rubbed the back of his neck, a slight pang of worry sparking in his chest as (Y/N) hacked into their arm. He remembered how mortals used to keel over from these types of things….

“Searching for sourdough aside, they can’t be here.”

“You don’t say?” Hook cooed sarcastically, “well what do you suggest we do?”

The flames atop Hades head flickered, the god hemming and hawing, before snapping his fingers.

“Why, we take ‘em home of course!”

Hook stared, his thin mustache twitching as he tried to conceal the sneer threatening to overtake his face. (Y/N) shifted uncomfortably at Hooks tightening grasp.

“Blow me down, that’s just a marvelous idea! We’ll just tell the management that we’ll be leaving company grounds, driving a car that neither of us know how to use to (Y/N)’s home that we don’t know the location of! Brilliant old sport!!”

Hades looked down at the foppish pirate, nonplussed, before spreading his arms out

“James- pal—“

“You don’t get to call me James.”

“…James, pal— I think you forget the company that you’re in. We just happen to be amongst some of the slimiest, conniving, intelligent schmucks ever dreamed up. Here- pick ‘em up and walk with me.”

Against Hooks better judgement, he obliged to the god. Lifting the delirious attendant in his arm and following Hades down the hall.

“Me and a few others ‘ave been speaking about this for a while, y’know— letting bygone be bygones and getting our Σκατά together.”

“And why haven’t been included in these… ‘discussions’?” Hook asked, feeling slightly offended at being un-included

Hades waved his hands, “Ah, not important! This isn’t about you, it’s about our sweet (Y/N) getting proper home rest.”

Looking away from Hades after his dismissal of Hooks question, he realized where the god had been leading the trio, the door to Jafars room slightly open.

Hades, not even considering knocking, swung open the door to reveal Jafar, who was sat at his work desk and buffing his turban.

“WHA— Do you ever knock!?!?”

“What are you, a teenage girl? C’mon. (Y/N)’s sick and we’re taking ‘em home, time to do what we talked about.”

Jafar looked past Hades broad figure at Hook, then down at (Y/N) in his arms. Even in their feverish state, they managed to raise their arm in greeting. The irritated look across his face softened a bit.

“Ah, well then. Give me a moment”

Jafar stood from his seat, grabbing his turban off its stand and placing it back on his head. He then reached down to pick up his staff that rested beside him.

“Who is it we need to persuade?”

“Persuade? Just what in Neptunes name are two blithering about!?” Hook finally interrupted, his patience already strung thin.

“Patience Captain, it will all be explained in a moment~ Now Hades, please lead the way.” Jafar walked toward the trio, joining them in the hallway. He leaned over (Y/N), eyes furrowed as he watched sweat roll down their forehead.

“Oh, they really don’t look good.”

“Exactly, that’s why we need to have a talk with their shift supervisor about taking them home.” Hades began down the hall, not waiting for the others to catch up.

————————————————————————

“Are you two positive this will work?”

“I didn’t become the royal vizier through sheer luck. It’s best you have some faith in me.”

The group stood outside the (Y/N)’s shift supervisors office. Hades rested against the wall with (Y/N) in his arms, Hook needing a break after carrying them for at least an hour.

“They’ve been here long enough, let’s get them the rest they deserve.” Jafar said, rapping his knuckles against the door, “Watch a professional at work.”

The office door opened, the supervisor failing to hide his shock at the sight of the villains.

“Oh! Uh—Jafar? What’s up?”

Jafar gestured towards (Y/N) with his staff, the motion hiding the ruby eyes of the cobra beginning to glow.

“Your hardworking employee, (Y/N), has fallen ill. You will let them off early and give them a fully paid sick leave.”

The supervisors eyes glazed over, the red glow from the staff reflecting off his irises.

“Sick?….of course…they deserve rest..”

Hook stared in shock, having never seen Jafars powers up close before. Hades didn’t care to look, a satisfied smirk growing on his face as he used his heat to keep (Y/N) from shivering.

Jafar grinned, stifling a chuckle as he held his staff closer towards the shift supervisor’s face,

“We will also be taking our darling attendant home, so clear our schedules as well.”

The man muttered something incoherent, turning stiffly towards his work computer, most likely to log (Y/N) sick leave.

Jafar closed the door, turning around to the mildly horrified Hook and a very pleased Hades.

“Look at you, stretch face! Seems like you still got it!” Hades praised, adjusting his hold of (Y/N) to give the sorcerer a flaming thumbs up.

“Yes, now that the… ‘official’ side of this has been dealt with, let’s get the dear home. Are their keys in their locker?”

“Ooh~ way ahead of ya!” With a flick of his wrist, plumes of smoke accumulated in his palm, before disappearing to reveal (Y/N)’s bag.

“Here, catch.” Hades threw the bag at Hook, who fumbled to grab it with his hand, still very much in shock.

“Wha— how- You can use your magic!?” Hook manage to get out, following behind Hades and Jafar towards the exit of the studio. “I thought they left your magic behind when they brought us all here!?”

“Yeah, so did we. That was actually true for a while, but a few weeks back Maleficent sprouted a thorn bush through the floor during one of her fits.”

A slightly yellowed exit sign hung over the back doors of the studio, the employees parking lot visible through the glass of the doors. With a push, Jafar opened the exit doors, letting Hades crouch through the doorframe, Hook following suit, the pirate quickly thanking Jafar.

“So— of course she told us all, and after a few tests ourselves, some of our magic was returning.”

“But not in full, that little trick of mine back there used up all my energy. But it was more magic compared to a few weeks ago,”

Jafar turned to look at Hook, a near manic smile on his face,

“We’re getting our power back.”

————————————————————————

They made their way down the rows of cars, each of them still unfamiliar with modern day technology.

“So, which one of these machines belongs to (Y/N)?” Jafar asked, playing with the feather atop his turban

“If I had to guess, it’d be that beast there.” The Captain gestured with his hook towards a specific car. The car displayed a strange custom license plate, with stickers of (Y/N)s favorite media covering the sides of the trunk window, one specific sticker proudly reading ‘I❤️dilfs’.

“Yep, that’s the one.”

Hook opened (Y/N)’s bag, rummaging around before pulling out a lanyard at least 2 pounds heavy with the amount of keychains on it.

“Oh, for the love of—”

Combing through the keychains finally reveals a set of car keys.

Hades took the keys from Hook and pressed the button to unlock the doors.

“Alright get in. Here—Jafar, you sit with (Y/N) in the back. James, you get passenger seat.”

After some glorified hot potato with (Y/N)s body, everyone got into their seats. Their attendants head resting on Jafars lap as Hades and Hook fiddled with the dashboard. Hades put the keys into the ignition like he’d seen on Tv, but anything after that stumped him.

“This isn’t like any boat I’ve ever steered..”

“No kidding, this isn’t exactly a chariot ride either. But that’s where I put my title of god to good use.”

A look of concentration passed over Hades face, his brows furrowed as he gripped the steering wheel. After a minute, tiny blue flames traveled down Hades arms and across the steering wheel and dashboard. In a flash of heat, the car started, engine rumbling and lights on.

“YES! Hades rules!!” The god cheered, pumping his fists and singeing the roof of the car.

Hook flinched at the sudden movement, gripping the leather seat and slightly tearing it with his hook.

Hades turned towards the men, moving his eyebrows,

“Check this out~”

The car began to slowly reverse, Hades hands nowhere near the wheel. The car steered itself out of the parking spot and began to drive out of the employee lot.

“Incredible…” Hook whispered to himself, even Jafar was silently impressed.

Somehow, (Y/N) broke through unconsciousness, looking around blearily,

“I didn’t buy a plan ticket…?”

“Don’t worry (Y/N), this puppy already knows where to go. Just hold tight and rest up.”

“Ah.. just wake me up when we land..” they mumbled as their fever overtook them.

“I forget (Y/N) has a life outside of us,” Jafar mused, “I wonder what little hovel they call home..”

————————————————————————

When Jafar called (Y/N)s home a Hovel, he had only been partly joking, he didn’t expect his darling to live somewhere like…this.

The car had managed to drive the forty five minute long journey to (Y/N)s house without incident, save for the confused looks from drivers in passing cars. But as closer the car grew to (Y/N)s home, so did the men’s concern.

“Blimey, I’ve seen pirate coves in better condition..” Hook grimaced.

“Yeah no kiddin’… I thought for a second that this car took a wrong turn into the underworld.” Hades chuffed, squinting out the window at a raccoon making off with what seemed like full pack of beer.

The car slowly pulled into a parking lot of a dingy apartment complex, stopping neatly between some other cars and turning off.

“Well— let’s get ‘em home.” Hades ordered, everyone getting out of the car and walking towards the complex. It seemed like no one was outside their apartments, but the villains didn’t want to take any chances, quickly hurrying to a partially covered area.

Hades looked down at (Y/N)s body, which was now being carried by Jafar, and began to slightly nudge their shoulder.

“Babe— Kid, wake up.”

(Y/N) coughed, blinking away sleep to look up at the god.

“We’re here. What’s your apartment number?”

It took a few minutes for the question to be processed before (Y/N) finally responded, the number just barely being whispered out before falling back asleep.

“I don’t like how unresponsive they’ve been, we need to get them to bed.” Hook murmured, taking the lead.

Hook read each individual address before stopping at the correct number. Hades fished the keys out of his chiton, and unlocked the faux wooden door, revealing (Y/N)s home.

The men gaped at the interior. The inside of (Y/N)s apartment was a polar opposite to the filth and chintzy neighborhood. Sure—the apartment was a glorified broom closet, but (Y/N) had managed to work with the space, decorating the interior as tastefully as their budget allowed.

The walls were covered in art prints and photographs of (Y/N)s family, and every surface was covered in trinkets. Even the air smelt like them, a mix of natural musk and their favorite detergent.

For a moment, the villains felt like they were intruding on some sacred space, never having been surrounded by so much… (Y/N), before.

Jafar pushed past the others, walking towards (Y/N)s unmade bed. The rested the attendant down on the mattress, taking their shoes off and pulling the covered over their body.

“Well at least they’re in a proper bed,” Jafar mused “I’ll check the washroom for anything to break their fever.”

Hook looked down at (Y/N), whose pained expression had now softened at being in bed. He strained his mind to remember what his mother had done when he was sick, everything before Neverland was a blur, but through hazy scenes and faces he remembered a blurry bowl of soup being presented to him.

“They’ll need something to take the medicine with. I’ll look through the dears kitchen for something to cook up.” The pirate spoke up, looking up at Hades for confirmation before walking into the small kitchen across from (Y/N)s bed.

That left Hades alone, standing at the foot of (Y/N)s bed. For a moment he just watched the rising and falling of their chest, the sight of a living body being almost uncomfortably unfamiliar.

A shine caught Hades eye, his attention turning towards the picture frame on (Y/N)s bedside table. Other than an empty glass and some medication bottles, the photograph was the only thing noteworthy near his park attendants bed.

Hades leaned down, taking the photograph into his hands for a closer look, only to nearly drop it when he realized what this photo was.

It was the picture that (Y/N) had taken of all the Villains in the studio, after the 100th year anniversary celebration. Each Villains expression a range of confusion and joy. Thinking back to that day, Hades was sure that was the first time any of the Villains were actually happy since they were brought to ‘life’.

And here it was, neatly displayed in an expensive looking frame.

“Geez kid… we-” Hades paused, for the first time in his miserable existence, he was at a loss for words.

“We really mean something to you, don’t we?..”

————————————————————————

The feeling of something cool against their head was what woke (Y/N) up. They cursed at their consciousness, being met with a headache.

For a moment they just stayed still, trying to remember why they were asleep in the first place.

They knew that they woke up with a fever, and tried to push through it, but everything after that was a blur. All they remember was the sensation of being carried, and….being on a plane?

(Y/N) opened their eyes, rubbing the crust away before reaching towards the wet sensation on their forehead. Pulling away the object, they saw it was an old washcloth.

“What…”

Groggy and a little anxious at not being able to recall most of their day, (Y/N) sat up, now realizing they were in bed…back in their apartment.. still dressed in their work clothes..

“Poppet!”

(Y/N)s eyes darted towards their kitchen, mouth falling open in shock at the sight of Hook in their apron, holding a ladle. The man had a rare smile, furthering (Y/N)s confusion.

“James? Wh—am I still dreaming?”

Hook gave them an odd look, before shaking his head and disappearing into the kitchen.

“Oh no, dear. This is actually the first time you’ve woken since we brought you home.” Hook spoke before calling out, “They’re awake, men!”

Shuffling was heard beyond (Y/N)s bed, Hades and Jafar rushing towards their attendant.

“Kid!! How’r ya feeling?”

“You had us worried half to death, I had half the mind to begin blood letting to release the bad humors myself.”

(Y/N) just stared at the men, processing everything that is happening before croaking out,

“I’m pulling through…but what the hell??”

“You collapsed at work (Y/N).” Hades spoke, using (Y/N)s real name to relay his seriousness. “Hook found ya in the hallway with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. We took it upon ourselves to bring you home!”

“…Okay…” (Y/N) nodded, “how?”

“We drove you home, of course!” Jafar grinned. “We’ll tell you all the details later, long conversations aren’t fitting for a fever.”

“Aye, that’s why we’re here, who best to take care of you than the greatest minds ever drawn?” Hook finally walked into the bedroom, holding a steaming bowl. He cut through the others, placing the bowl into (Y/N)’s hands.

“Here, love. You need something in your stomach to for the medicine to take effect.”

(Y/N) managed to break their eyes away from the men, taking the bowl and bringing it to their lips, lightly blowing before taking a long sip.

The soup was… edible. (Y/N) could tell Hook had used measly ingredients left over in the kitchen. The soup being a strange amalgamation of tinned fish and wilted herbs, but still, it sat warm in (Y/N)s stomach.

“Thank you for the soup, James” (Y/N) spoke, their voice now clearer from the warm broth, “I’m already feeling better.”

Hook preened, ignoring the withering looks from Hades and Jafar.

“No, seriously. Thank you, guys. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up, I know I’m not that popular amongst the rest of the staff, so if it wasn’t for you I think I would’ve driven my self home. That, or crawl my way to your lounge like a leper.” (Y/N) looked down at the bowl, a little embarrassed at their genuineness.

“If I didn’t have snot running down my nose right now, I’d give you all kisses to show my thanks!” They grinned, trying to break the tension.

The men all had varying degrees of reaction, each of them shifting between flustered and disgust.

“Save the sap for later, kid. We’ll figure out how you can repay us tomorrow, as well as give you all the exhilarating details on how we got you here.” Hades ruffled (Y/N)s hair, ignoring their groans in protest.

“That’s right darling, just worry about breaking that fever. We’ll be here until you’re well again~” Jafar mused, giving a wave of his hand and turning towards (Y/N)s couch, planning on making the most of their extensive movie collection.

“Aye, especially since our schedules have been cleared! We might even have us a day for you to show us around! I’ve always wanted to see the beaches here…” Hook readjusted the covers on (Y/N)s body.

Hades and Hook left (Y/N)s side, going to join Jafar on the couch, leaving their attendant tucked into bed.

…

“Wait—what do you mean our schedules are cleared? WHAT DID YOU GUYS DO—!?”

————————————————————————

Yay!! This has been in the works for a while! I’ve been wanting to iron out the timeline of the Villains, and if they still had their powers after being brought to reality. I headcannon that Disney took away there powers, but after a while the Villains got them back.

I had Covid a month ago (The day I had to help my sister move), and when I was sick in bed all I wanted was to be doted on, so this is super self indulgent

[littlejuicebox]

GINAAA MY GIRL!

Sending you a dadstarion prompt because you already know I LOVEEE your dadstarion content.

How did Tav find out she was pregnant with baby Gale? And how did Astarion react to the news?! Inquiring minds want to know.

To have and to hold.

Such a lovely prompt, my friend! Hope you like it!

Summary: Astarion turned mortal a few months ago, and this is his first-time experiencing illness of any kind. Unfortunately, as soon as he recovers, you start to show signs of sickness as well. Your condition is a bit different from his, though. (For more of this series check out the ‘Dadstarion’ section of my master list.)

Tags/Warnings: Dadstarion, domestic af, fluff, talk of illness, talk of vomiting, the mildest of angst with the mostest of comfort, pregnancy, etc.

A/N: I work in healthcare, not law, so I can’t guarantee the legalese is accurate lol.

Word count: 2.3K

-----

“Don’t come closer, darling, I’m disgusting.” Astarion groans from where you find him one morning, curled up on the bathroom floor.

It had been a few months since Gale of Waterdeep cast Wish, and from that moment until now the retired rogue had been a happy, healthy mortal. There were so many benefits to curing his vampirism that the elf never fully considered one of the major downsides… illness.

He’d never experienced a malady like this in his life. At least not in the one he could remember.

It’s horrible.

How had his little love or any of his friends endured this, more than once, in the past ten years?

Astarion is quite certain he contracted food poisoning from that questionable slab of salmon he ate at the Blushing Mermaid yesterday evening. He never did understand why you liked eating at that lowbrow tavern in the first place.

You crouch to examine your husband, pressing a soothing hand onto his forehead before running it down to cup his cheek.

“Astarion, my love, you have a fever.” You murmur, frowning with concern as you push sweaty curls from his face.

“Please make more obvious observations, dear,” Astarion gripes as he forces himself to sit up, still clutching his stomach. Gods, the vile churning in his gut is incessant.

He’s about to continue on with his quip, but the sudden urge to be sick forces the elf to shut up and scramble to the toilet. You hear the sounds of violent retching moments later.

“We are never going back to the Blushing Mermaid,” Astarion grumbles once the wave of illness subsides. His face is pressed against the toilet; all sense of decorum is gone. The rotten fish poisoning his insides won over any bits of pride he might have been clinging to.

You move to grab a wash rag, dampening it under the tap before kneeling back down by your husband.

“Poor thing,” You coo, folding the cloth in half before dabbing it against the back of Astarion’s neck, hoping to ease the fever.

The elf’s eyes flutter closed as he allows you to fawn over him for a moment. And then he groans and flicks his hand, palm faced downward, as if trying to shoo you away. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Just leave me here and go get ready for your meeting, darling. I’ll be fine.”

“In sickness and in health, remember?” You ask, running the cool cloth over Astarion’s face, causing him to sigh thankfully at the slight relief, “I’ll send word to the other Counsellors to inform them that I won’t be attending. You’ve never been ill before; I don’t want to leave you like this. Wyll can fill me in later.”

“Yes, ‘in sickness and in health’ and all that, darling, but those vows also included ‘until death do us part’ and I was an immortal vampire when we made them. So you were technically entering that verbal contract under false pretenses, which one could argue means it’s null and void. Go to the meeting, it’s—“

Astarion almost manages to finish his rambling legalese before more putrid liquid spews out of his mouth. When he’s finished vomiting, he whines again, any bit of stubborn resilience and feeble attempts at selflessness abandoned.

“On second thought, maybe you should stay here,” He says, his chest heaving with exertion as he clenches his eyes shut, “Please tell me you have a spell for this.”

“Unfortunately not, my love. I only have a spell for curses. Best I can do is half a bottle of Elixir of Health, some ginger-peppermint tea, and a bath.” You sigh, already crossing the bathroom on your way to the tub. You fiddle with the taps for a moment to start the bath and then begin to pour oils into the flowing water.

“Deal,” Your husband mutters, peeling off his sweat-soaked night shirt, “But none of that vile honey you got at the market here in town for my tea; I want the one Shadowheart and Lae’zel sent from Neverwinter.”

“Anything you say, Lord Ancunin.” You joke, rolling your eyes at your husband’s fussiness. He’d barely regained his sense of taste a few months ago and already favored upscale ingredients and meals, as if mortal food hadn’t been but ash in his mouth for two hundred years.

The elf glares at your insolence but doesn’t retort; he’s too busy trying to keep himself from vomiting again.

*

The following morning, Astarion wakes feeling much better. Practically brand new, in fact. It seems the potion and your strange flower child medicine must have done the trick. He sighs a breath of relief and then rolls to snuggle against you for a few more precious moments. He reaches his arms out and grasps at nothing but air.

The silver-haired elf immediately frowns and sits up. That’s exceptionally odd. You were not a morning person; you never had been in the ten years he’d known you. You always slept in longer than him, even in the wilds. On more than one occasion he’d had to lure you out of your nearly comatose slumber with the tempting smells of coffee and breakfast.

Astarion hears you gagging in the bathroom and goes to investigate. He soon finds you clinging to the toilet, practically mirroring how he looked the day prior.

“Oh no, little love, do you think you have food poisoning, too?” He questions, frowning slightly before kneeling down to press his hand against your forehead just like you’d done to him, “No fever, though.”

You whine, leaning into your husband’s hand before grumbling, “Damn the Blushing Mermaid straight to Stygia! Why do I even like that place, again?”

Astarion laughs, “I’ve been wondering the same thing for years, dear. I hope now you’ll finally reconsider. Do you want some tea and a bath?”

“Please,” You say, just before another wave of nausea hits you, forcing you to throw your head into the toilet and gag. Frustratingly, not much actually comes out despite the waves of sickness coursing through your body.

Gods, you wish you could simply vomit and feel relief.

Astarion begins to prepare the appropriate remedies, much like you’d done for him the day before. Thankfully, you seem to recover much faster than he did, and by midday you look and feel completely normal.

Good thing, too. You two were out of any elixirs that may have helped you had your ailment been as severe as Astarion's.

“Perhaps I’m just a better healer than you, darling.” The silver-haired elf teases as the two of you take afternoon tea in the sunroom.

“Perhaps I’m just stronger and more resilient than you, my love.” You retort, wrinkling your nose in jest at your husband.

He chuckles softly and then presses a kiss to your nose, “Agree to disagree.”

*

Astarion thinks the two of you are past this bit of bad luck, but when he wakes the following morning, he hears you retching once again.

When the elf finds you in the bathroom, appearing as almost an exact repeat of yesterday, though perhaps a bit worse, his brow furrows.

“Darling, I'm worried now. You look more ill than before. Perhaps we should take a trip to Jaheira? I can head to the apothecary for another Elixir of Health while she looks you over.” He murmurs gently, extending his hands to pull you to your feet.

You simply nod in agreement, too nauseated to do more than follow your husband’s lead as he slips you into a set of robes and ushers you into the carriage.

*

When Astarion returns to Jaheira’s after dashing out to the apothecary, he finds you sitting at the druid’s dining table. The two of you stop whatever hushed conversation you’d been having and turn to look at him in unison.

“Feeling any better, Tav?” He asks, coming to stand by your side before placing a worried hand upon your shoulder. You simply cover your hand with his and nod in response.

“Much better,” You say, flashing your husband a small smile. Something about your expression looks hazed, as if you’re stuck in a daydream. Poor thing, you're probably exhausted and experiencing brain fog.

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine with the teas and medicinals I’ve given you,” Jaheira assures, her eyes flickering between the two of you. She grins for the briefest moment before falling back into her typical, more serious demeanor.

Astarion swears he feels like something is off, but when he turns to give you a questioning look, you’re the picture of happiness as you sip from your tea cup, finishing it off.

Well, at least you’re doing what Jaheira has prescribed.

“What about the Elixir of Health I’ve just purchased?” Your husband asks, lifting the bag in his hand, “Will that help?”

“Oh, I recommend you keep it for something else. I don’t think Tav needs it for this,” The druid responds before standing, signaling it’s the end of the visit. She was always quite straight forward and lacking in certain genteel social graces, in Astarion’s opinion.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Harpers.”

You quickly bid your goodbyes and Astarion helps you back into the carriage, eager to get you back to bed so that you can sleep off the rest of this sickness.

*

Astarion notices you’re uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride home. He typically doesn’t mind when you’re in one of your pensive, stoic moods. But this illness of yours had him more anxious than usual and he had to know more about Jaheira’s examination results, if only to ease his own worries.

“Darling,” He starts, taking your hand in his. But you don’t seem to hear him; you’re still lost in your own little world.

“My love,” He says, this time a bit more urgently, squeezing your hand just enough to pull your attention to him, “What did Jaheira say, exactly? Did she mention how long this illness will last?”

“Oh, the nausea will probably go on for a few weeks,” You reply, a goofy, lopsided smile breaking across your face. You cannot stifle your grin at the little secret you know you’ll be unable to keep for more than a few moments longer.

“Weeks?” Astarion questions, his voice pitching up with worry and brows stitching together in concern.

Why in the hells are you smiling? What druid bullshit was in the tea Jaheira gave you?

He folds his arms across his chest, not at all pleased by the lack of seriousness you seem to display. The idea of you being sick for weeks makes his heart hurt and his stomach churn as if he’s still sick. He could never stand to see you uncomfortable.

“Tav, are you drugged? This is serious. I fail to see what there is to be smiling about right now. You’re going to be nauseous for weeks and you can’t use an Elixir of Health? Are you absolutely sure Jaheira even knows what she’s—“

“I’m pregnant, Astarion,” You interrupt, and you cannot help but to laugh at your husband as his mouth hangs open mid-sentence, frozen in shock.

He blinks for a moment or two, otherwise completely still as his brain rushes to process the new information.

When the elf finally regains his composure and finds his ability to speak, he shoots out a flustered, rambled, “Darling, I— I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I’m not certain I heard you correctly. The road is quite bumpy and the wheels of the carriage are loud— I think they need oil— and the horses—“

You laugh and firmly grasp your husband’s hand, wholly capturing his attention before murmuring, “You ridiculous elf. You heard me the first time. I’m pregnant, Astarion.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a bigger grin cross your husband’s face.

“Tav, darling, I— gods, just come here to me.”

Astarion’s lips crash into yours, and he’s smiling into the kiss as he threads a hand through your hair, intent on pressing you closer into him. A tiny, delighted hum escapes your husband as he uses the kiss to express all the feelings he cannot yet put into words.

When he finally pulls away, he cups your face with his hands and peppers a few more kisses upon your lips.

“Is this your way of telling me you’re happy about this, Astarion?” You ask, grinning at your husband as he gazes upon you with the most besotted eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Thrilled, my love,” He whispers, before pressing forward to kiss you again, trying to convey the depth of his excitement with his affections. He doesn’t let go of you the rest of the way home, almost desperate to cover you in worshipful kisses, each one a little vow of love to you.

You notice he's unusually quiet, but then, he’s far too busy smiling and smooching to do much talking.

*

Later that evening, you move to get out of bed and head toward the bedchamber door.

“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going, little love?” Astarion calls, already tossing his book aside to follow after you, “What do you need? Let me bring it to you.”

“I just wanted a cup of water, Astarion. I can go get—“ You start, but he quickly presses a kiss to your lips, effectively quieting you.

“Hush, my love. You’re still nauseated and you’re carrying very precious cargo.” He gently chastises as he turns you by your shoulders and steers you back toward the bed.

“You’re being dramatic,” You grumble, sitting back down in the bed and wrinkling your nose at your husband.

“Perhaps,” He agrees, grinning down at you as he gently folds the blankets back around your legs, “But you knew exactly the type of theatrics you signed up for when you married me, darling. 'To have and to hold, to love and to cherish' and all that, hm?”

And in that moment, Astarion was certain he’d never love and cherish anything more than you.

Nine months later, the little silver-haired newborn he held in his arms would prove him wrong.

[lovelyghostz]

Hear me out: an au where Narinder is recruited as a follow and becomes a mortal, but falls ill because of said turning mortal.

I mean, it would probably take a lot out of him, right? So what if it acted as a mortal illness? He gets recruited and just collapses on the stone thingy immediately with a burning fever. Lamb wants to take special care of him bc 1) they dont know if mortal medicines would even work on him and 2) they’re worried despite the fact they just usurped him

Narinder wakes up delirious as all hell and pissed off at Lambert because obviously, and tries being intimidating to them but his arms are weak when he goes to swat so his wrists are limp and flailing, and his eyes cant seem to stay open for long enough to glare at them, and on top of that he feels like he’s gonna vomit. So Lambert takes care of a begrudging narinder.

But the sickness is persisting.

And persisting.

And persisting some more.

It gets better ofc, if it hadn’t Narinder probably would’ve died by now, but it’s misery for a man who hasn’t actually had to feel mortal sicknesses literally ever. So the Lamb continues to take care of him, and despite himself he softens. He doesn’t smile when they enter the room, not yet, but he doesn’t hiss (or try to at least) when they enter, either. He’s simply indifferent. Until he’s not.

One night is particularly rough. It’s a few months in and Narinder is still ill. He’s waking up to vomit every half an hour or so and the Lamb hasn’t slept at all, simply watching with worry and honestly a bit of fear. The cat who had been their god for so long now lay in bed with a brow furrowed in discomfort and fur damp from sweat.

He wakes up once more, but not for throwing up this time. This time, he’s delirious, and it’s bad. He’s babbling with unfocused eyes, his body swaying with the struggle of sitting up. Suddenly, though, he makes eye contact with the lamb through three glassy eyes, and his pupils dilate. He murmurs what must have been sleep-deprived, sickly words, because he says that he thinks the lamb is “pretty in the moonlight.” They freeze obviously because WOAH what the FUCK??? And Narinder just slumps back over and falls back asleep, this time with a more pleased expression.

They don’t say anything that night, and neither of them say anything in the morning, either. But Narinder knows, and he knows Lambert knows.

Slowly, very slowly, Narinder improves.

He gains strength and his symptoms improve until finally, after literal months, he’s back to normal. Then and only then, he tells Lambert that they really are so pretty in the moonlight.

He tells them that he likes the way their wool catches the moon’s glow. He says he’d like to trace their jawline as the light does, with such a gentle touch. He says that he’d like to kiss them as the moonlight does, making them look as though they’re glowing.

Lambert is a gay ass bitch and they kiss ok the end ty

[threepandas]

Bad End: Mama Mine

I woke, that first time, to the most beautiful child I had ever seen. Even through a fever that felt like it was cooking me from within, I could see she was different. It was honestly impossible not too. She looked cherubic. Angelic. Impossible, somehow. As though favored by the gods.

Even in worn, threadbare, patched then re-patched old clothes, so far from new as to have forgotten the name of it, she looked... like a dancer. Beautiful. A tiny painting brought to life. I couldn't understand, delirious as I was. I thought I was hallucinating. Worried her terribly.

She was just a small thing. Trying her best. Too care for her sick mother. She could barely reach the stove. Struggled to carry the buckets of water she needed, to cook and wipe my fevered sweat away. But she let nothing stop her. So determined to save me. Her little face so filled with love and worry, forever a step away from tears.

She was so afraid.

How could I do anything but love her back?

Disoriented or not. Lost and confused I may be. I had a child. Any plan I made? Would be for two. I had never really seen myself a mother, but cast into the role? I refused to abandon the child who loved and needed me. Who was innocent in all this.

Instead, as my fever broke, I held her close. Told her she had been so, so brave. Let her cry. Cuddled my little girl and gave myself a moment to just... breathe.

Then in the morning I got to work.

I appeared to be a single mother. A PEASANT single mother. Delightful. We had little to nothing to our name. I could try and fix that, I think. I knew a few crafts. But I had "forgotten" everything practical. Great. Luckily? I had a VERY observant little helper. Who remembered most of how everything was done.

I could context clues from there.

We made due.

Cleaned up the house, washed the linens, aired everything out. In bits and pieces, using half remembered wiki binges and crafting videos, I improved our little homestead somewhat. It wasn't by MUCH. I didn't have the skills. But it looked... nicer, I think. Homey.

We foraged. Sold hunted animals and things we had found. The occasional baked good. More then that? I tried to make time for my daughter. Keep her away from powerful eyes. The sort that might covet a pretty young thing. Taught her what I could.

Not just how to braid her beautiful hair, but that her beauty did not define her. That love was wonderful but not all there was to life. Too be wary of empty promises and watch for how the powerful treat those that they deem weaker then them. To lead with a smile but be prepared to throw her fist.

Also don't eat those mushrooms, honey, those are the poisonous ones.

I wish... Honestly? I wish I could have given my daughter a better childhood. Better education then the lessons scratched in dirt I was able. If I'd been able to REMEMBER. To recognize. Maybe I would have scrimped and saved more for third or forth hand textbooks, instead of the new hunting knife she so badly wanted.

But I didn't remember.

And as we were visiting town? PROPER town as opposed to our little settlement? I heard about wealthy, comparatively, family's having their children tested for... magic?

I faltered but adapted. Was it that much stranger then being transported into a new body and world? Magic it was then, I guess. Huh. We continued shopping. I bought my daughter a new sturdy pair of boots. Room to grow, would serve her well. She adored them. They had FLOWERS on them, mama! I couldn't help but laugh. Ah, my daughter is so cute!

Then I saw it.

As we passed the temple square. The only building in this whole town that could count as ostentatious. Some silk clad toddler broke from the pressing crowds, no doubt displeased with being crushed in on all sides. He wriggled free. Back from the steps and out into the road. Blind to the mortal peril he had just put himself in as the carriage of some wealthy To-Do raced carelessly down the street. Looking around, innocent, as only a toddler can as he wandered farther and farther from safety.

I dropped my shopping.

The world fuzzy and muffled, far away in my panic. Some Mother's instinct SCREAMING as I raced forward. Throwing a few people aside to reach the road. Then bolting. Distantly I heard my daughter scream, another scream as they finally notice, too late, their child was in mortal peril. But all I could see... was the little boy. Turning. Noticing. The big scary horses.

About to crush him to death.

Time felt slow.

I got there.

Then PAIN.

Far away, people were screaming. A child was crying. Small and terrified in my arms. Some arrogant voice was first demanding, then stuttering, then begging. A frantic voice, joined by others. Rich perfume. The... the child reaching for someone. Safe? Safe. I let go. Tried to smile. Ah... my daughters voice. Crying. Shhhh, shhhh. I'm sorry. It's okay. I'm sorry.

Ah... there... there was so much blood.....

Then there was LIGHT.

Like someone had cupped the sky itself and poured it directly onto me. Blue. So light and weightless and blue. The pain vanished as though erased. New agony and old aches alike. My eyes blinked open in suprise. And there? Tear stained and glowing? Was my daughter.

Like the sky itself had wrapped around her. Sunlight and blue sky and drifting clouds. Swirling like she was the world itself. Her eyes filled with tears when they connected with mine. With a choked cry, she through herself into my arms. Oh, baby. My poor baby. I wrapped my arms around her tight. Hugged her back for all I was worth.

"Your daughter?" A gentle voice asked.

I looked up. What HAD to be a noble woman sat, skirts ruined, in the dirt and blood at my head. Clutching desperately at the toddler I had saved. I could only nod. Understanding passed between us. Mother to mother.

Which is why, when a priest with covetous eyes came forward?

The noble women's smile turned cold.

She had changed her mind. She was, in fact, going to have her son tested by the temple closer to home. AND? She was going to be taking us with her. I agreed. Immediately and before anyone could try to seperate us. Daughter mine, darling, honey, Get In The Carriage. NOW.

We got out of there while the getting was still possible.

It was safe to assume, my new noble friend eventually said, that my daughter had magic. But what did that mean for us? Well, according to Nation Law? (Oh goodie. Laws I know nothing about.) She would have to attend the Royal Magica Academy.

What.

I knew that name. I KNEW that name! My jaw was surely on the floor, my daughter squeeking out flustered and rambling questions at my side. But... but all I could do? Was slowly turn to look at her. She was healthier then the game cover. Not as "that's not what real women look like!" Thin that... that in hindsight? Was probably prolonged food scarcity. Starvation.

She was taller too. Less... oh god, less "child like". That had to have been malnutrition. Stunted growth.

The way her hair shown, soft and healthy. The brightness to her skin and nails. Clarity to her eyes. Fullness to her cheeks. She was hardly even within sight of being a plump child, more muscle then anything, from a life of work and survival, but? She wasn't... waifish. I had made sure of that.

Even if it meant sacrificing my own meals to do so.

But I could SEE it. Could SEE the familiar features. The curling hair and doe like grey eyes. The generic princess character that I had been playing right before... before... God, I couldn't even remember the game's NAME. Just the plot. It had been mid at best. Magnificent art. Everyone raving there was some secret twist after the first play through.

So I grit my teeth a pushed through the generic. Tried to figure out what it was.

Never did get the chance. I died before the second play through and the twist everyone insisted made the game awesome. Now I wish I had caved and looked up spoilers. I tried to remember the mother. Did she die? What happens to my baby girl? Should I push her towards one man or another? Let her follow her heart?

It's a long, long night.

We stay in a guest room. Fancier then anything I've ever seen in this life. I keep my daughter calm. Help her avoid embarrassing herself. Tips for when in doubt. See, honey? It's a learning opportunity! No need to panic! Mama's certainly not, on the inside! She's very calm. Completely, utterly, definitely very ultra calm. Ha ha...

I think my soul had a panic attack.

Things moved very quickly after that. In the end, they had too, if I was to keep my daughter safe. The temple would want to train her. Her magic was apparently quite rare. Religiously significant. And being so lovely? She would make an EXCELLENT propaganda peice. A figurehead and puppet, forevermore in gilded chains.

Everything I feared for her.

No. That was NOT going to happen.

The Academy it was. Nobles and their games aside. The education would be unparalleled. She could probably even make friends. Possibly find love. I told her to Be CAREFUL. That is was a treacherous but beautiful place. Filled with powerful people used to getting their way. Do whatever she must to survive. Thrive. Be happy.

And remember, she is loved.

I...Returning home alone felt like ripping my heart out. I had thought I would have years, yet, before my daughter married and moved out. That I would have time to adjust. Get used to the idea, as my future son-in-law came around. Instead? I returned from a trip to emptiness. A life interrupted.

My daughters sewing, still resting, waiting for her, on the kitchen table.

I collapsed. Weeping. In the entryway.

My tiny home had never felt so vast and hollow.

Days passed. Then weeks. Finally, a letter arrived. Delivered by a very uncomfortable servant. The man checking more then once if I was TRUELY who he was supposed to deliver too. Clearly more then a little uncomfortable in the presence of such poverty. I did not care. I had a letter, thick with writing, from my daughter.

She was doing well.

MORE then well. My lessons had actually put her ahead of the curve in several classes, much to the shock and outrage of her peers. They had expected poverty to equal mental deficiency, it seems. And the library was quickly making up for any classes she was behind in. That's my girl!

She had made several friends that way. Quiet young ladies, willing to help her make sense of the complexities of history or magical theory. From nice, stable, neutral houses, too. No tea parties yet. Or boys. But I didn't care.

My baby had FRIENDS!

I sent a care package of her things back. Not indiscriminately, of course. But tools and notes, a few unfinished projects she had been working on to pass the time. Some snacks from home. They would likely still embarrass her somewhat, but... I did not want her to think I did not CARE. That I had tossed her towards that Academy and promptly forgotten her.

The servant, Geoffrey, and I got to see quite a lot of each other.

He got over the state of my house rather quickly. Instead, started bringing things he "just happened to have lying around" that would you look at THAT? I happened to need! Between letters on my daughter's meeting, then dramas, with pretty wealthy boys? Geoffrey helped me repair my roof. I mended his uniform. We shared new year's festivities together.

I even went to the actual festival, like I was some sort of lovely young thing.

As my daughter grew closer to graduation, the questions started. If I could go anywhere, where would it be? If I could do anything? What if I never had to work again? I wasn't a fool. Told her in no uncertain terms. If I EVER suspected she married for anything less then love and herself, I would disown her.

I did not sacrifice so that my daughter would SUFFER.

However... it seemed there was more then a few things my daughter had left from her letters. The next letter arrived in the hand of a man that wore Geoffrey's face, but even as I walked back towards my cabin from the forest... I knew.

That was not the man I had grown to love.

When the imposter turned, no doubt to lie, I RAN. Dropping my harvest of foraged wild greens. I had been planning to make a dish for him. One he was fond off. Perhaps my daughter's magic came from me, my line instead of her unknown father, or perhaps I had just enough to give it wings. To carry her to term.

Because...

I knew he was dead.

They pursued me. Of course they did. But this was a forest I had wandered for years. I lost them in the trees. Attacked them with rocks and stones. Destroyed my trails with rocks and rivers. Every hunter I crossed paths with an ally. Every hunting trap a peril I could lead them into. They were good.

I was better.

But more came.

Then more. And more. And MORE.

And I was not so good as to fend of a legion. I would not risk the village for some nobles scheme. I was dragged, bloody, bruised before some arrogant little sadist. A nasty little creature, like a porcelain doll filled with bile. What an utter waste of good fabric. I told her as much. Interrupt her sneering little monolog.

The backhand across the face barely hurt.

Toddlers had more muscle.

Unfortunate for this brat. My daughter had arrived in time to see that. And worse for this brat, she brought her friends and suitors. A veritable crowd of power and influence. The brat did not have the common sense to shut up while she was ahead. Even I, a peasant, could recognize royalty on sight. There were at least two of them before us.

MY daughter was not as merciful as the Cannon Protagonist had been.

It was a blood bath.

I tried to stay awake. Head wounds and all that. I... I had wanted to introduce Geoffrey to my daughter. Hinted at it, over my letters. I would... would never get the chance now... oh god. Geoff. Geoff, forgive me. Tears welled up. I could not stop them. Just as I could not stand. Just as I could not move...

I was... was rather useless... wasn't I?

Familiar yet no longer familiar arms threw themselves around me. Cradled me close to a softly perfumed chest, locks of hair I'd know anywhere, shielding me from the world.

"Mama..." my little girl said. Her voice the very picture of heartbreak. "I'm sorry. I... I was too late."

One of her suitors untied me. The knight, probably, from the calluses I felt. But all I could think about was, wrapping my daught in my arms. Together for the first time in years. And it had to be like THIS? Oh gods. Why was fate so cruel?

My little girl had grown so big.

This was a grown woman in my arms.

I just... I just wanted this terrible night to END. And as my daughters power slid over me? It did.

I woke up in a guest room. He dear friend Agatha had INSISTED. Geoffrey had worked for her family. It... it brought relief. To mourn with people who had known him. He had apparently spoken of me. Quite often. The sap.

It... it wasn't fair.

But when was life ever fair?

My daughter visisted. Now that i was finally closer. Her suitors dropped by, to pay their respects I think. Possibly win me over, as mother of their lady love. They were awkward little things. It was adorable. I was patient. Listened. Prodded them when then froze up, uncertain of what to talk about. Got them rambling about their hobbies. Really, it was no great difference then most shy kids.

The visited more. Stayed longer.

Brought gifts.

The gifts were expensive, elaborate, and wildly impractical. I was forced to gently explain why I, a peasant woman, could NOT accept their gift of fist size gemstones. It started with "I will be robbed" and ended with "they WILL be certain I stole these, no matter WHAT documentation you give me. I will die". They were very confused and alarmed. Much like puppies learning that suddenly treats were somehow illegal.

Agatha herself? Was a delight.

A very "mob" looking young lady with a sharp wit and an old man's sense of humor. Her personal maid was Geoffrey's niece. That neither held against me what had happened? Spoke of both of their maturity and grace. They WOULD however, never forgive the house that ordered the attack. I much agreed.

I considered, going back to the village, but...

The memories were too raw there.

I decided to follow my daughter, settle near wherever she decided to go. She seemed thrilled at the idea. Somehow, word spread. On the next visit, the future "head of the mage's tower" and man of entirely too many titles, Valtaan mentions an estate he owns near the Tower. How it lies empty. Would be the PERFECT place for a mother-in-law, you know... if he had one. Lovely gardens!

Oh, really?

Then, the Knight mentions how HE'S going to be stationed up North. In a Great Big Fortress with SO many rooms. Just... just SO MANY. Entirely too many, really. Honestly, he should bring more people! Like a wife! And... and a Mother-in-law! Really fill up the place, you know?

Mmmmhmmm.

The Prime Minister to be? Oh HE talks of TRAVEL. Ever considered traveling? The Embassies are LOVELY. So much to DO around them. Foreign lands, beautiful locals, silks and lovely little treats.

You don't say....

The Duke is blunt about it, at least.

I have a castle. I have SEVERAL castles. Estates. He is aware you are not motivated by that, but it does leave you with options for where you want to live should your daughter decide to marry him. And he DOES intend to marry my daughter. Second husband if not the first. Motivated, aren't we?

I politely infor both prince's, the SECOND they sit down, before they open their mouth, that I like them. I do. A lot in fact. But it's not going to happen. It'll be a cold day in hell the day I let my daughter marry into the royal family and they both know exactly why. They pause... consider it. Then nod.

They agree.

Wouldn't wish this life upon ANYONE who had a chance at something better.

My daughter graduates, with HONORS. There is much gnashing are rending of clothes from the elitist base. Ha! Get fucked. I STILL have no idea what the "twist" is in the plot or if I was being punked. Also not a single clue which, if any, of her suitors she's chosen. Could be all of um. I could care less so long as everyone consents and is aware of each other.

The graduation party is, naturally, grand. I'm in a dress one of the suitors likely bought for me. Somehow, I actually look like I belong. Instead of dancing and reveling, my munchkins hover. As though afraid to leave me alone at my first Big Girl Party. I laugh, trying to shoo them away. Go, go!

My daughter stubbornly shakes her head, leaning against me, her dress complimenting mine. Though I doubt I could be half as lovely.

"Noooo~ I refuse! I will be staying Right HERE, Mama!" Her voice is playful but... there's something strained. Desperate, that's never really gone away I think. Not since the accident. "What if someone tries to take you AWAY? You're too pretty! You gotta stay with US, mama!"

I laugh out loud, completely missing the interested looks that glance my way. Well to do gentleman, widowers and respected servants alike. Long time bachelor's, who's eyes linger a touch too long on the length of my neck, the curve of shoulder. The way it dips down, past my collarbones towards someplace... interesting.

My crowd of young protectors DO NOT miss the looks.

Bristle like angry cats. Eye venomous and society smiles sharp enough too cut glass. There is a murder to their expression. A command to Look Away.

While you still have EYES.

"No, Mama." My daughter insists when I try to tell her she's wrong. That I am far from desirable. "I'm not letting go. Not EVER. We're FAMILY. And that means? That means you're MINE."

[okiedokrie]

All Is Fair In Love And War (TEASER)

Summary: Joshua is nothing if not determined. If he wants something, he'll get it; not that he even had to try before. But sometimes, like Icarus, he flies a little too close to the sun. But hey, all is fair in love and war!

Characters/Pairing: Aphrodite Incarnation!Joshua x Fem!Detective!Very Mortal!Reader

Genre: smut, fluff, crack, angst if you really squint

AUs/Trope Info: Greek God!AU, Partners In Solving Crimes, Strangers to Lovers, "time isnt linear" trope, "holy shit im kind of obsessed with you" trope

Word Count: 900+ for the teaser, est. 10k≤ for the full fic

Warnings: Depiction of a crime scene (gore, blood, gun, conspiracy), depiction of drug use, character death (major and minor), smut warnings under the cut when full fic is uploaded

Rating: 18+

A/N: This is part of the The 13 Gods of Olympus: A Seventeen collab hosted by @beomcoups and @wooahaeproductions! This is just the teaser, so if you enjoy it, please consider signing up for the taglist. Thank you!!

In the summer of 2000, Joshua Hong was almost five years old. People always commented on how pretty he was for a kid, that he’d surely grow up to be a very handsome man. 

Which is why it was a tragedy when he died from a freak truck accident.

Yes, Joshua Hong died at the age of five. For like, 10 minutes.

The doctors called it a miracle - a small child should not have survived a whole six of the twelve truck wheels, but somehow he was resuscitated, much to his parents’ delight.

This incident caused two things to change dramatically - Californetherlands now has stricter trucking laws and Joshua woke up to memories of literally being Aphrodite.

Throughout the years, from that fateful summer day to the present day, Joshua flopped back and forth between believing that the memories were just fever dreams and genuinely considering that he may be a reincarnation of the goddess. But ever since he got to hone his powers, he’s been more inclined to believe the latter.

By the age of  28, he has mastered the art of seduction. No, not sleeping with people constantly. It was more so the art of getting people to say ‘yes’ to everything he asked of them.

This made Joshua a very powerful and influential figure in Los Amsterdam; You see, the way he dealt wasn’t by out-witting people or being richer than them. He dealt in favors. If you wanted to be a popstar, he’d introduce you to a famous producer, and get you a record deal that would solidify your career - all for the low, low price of free.

In turn,  you’d owe him, like the many powerful people who owed him large favors.

Joshua found himself in downtown LA, in the club that he owned, just under his penthouse. He enjoyed playing the guitar and performing for his patrons, everyone seemingly captivated by his voice, or his beauty, whichever one caught their attention first. He finally strummed the last chord of his song, enjoying the applause of the crowd as the DJ started to play the usual club music. Just as he was about to retreat to the bar, a feminine voice stopped him.

“Joshua! Hey!” She said, hair bouncing over her new fur coat, jumping excitedly, calling him over.

Joshua smiled widely at her - she was one of the people he had helped start her career as a singer. He didn’t do much other than introduce her to the CEO of her current label, it was her natural talent that got her this far.

“Ah, Diana, good to see you!” He said, going over to meet her in a friendly hug, the kind that didn’t touch at all. “How has being a singer treated you? Any good news?” He said, making small talk with an old acquaintance.

“Oh please,” she started, her new haughty attitude showing, “It’s all over the news! I just got nominated for a Grammy!” She said in a sing-song tone. Joshua just nodded Truth be told, he didn’t really have much interest in pop music, but he did try to match her enthusiasm.

“That’s great! I knew you’d make it big.” he said, remembering the first time she came to him, a girl in clothes that almost looked like rags, now decked out in every designer brand you could think of. “So, what brings you back here then? Surely you already have everything you ever wanted?” He said lightheartedly. Even if all of Joshua’s connections owed him favors, it was quite uncommon for them to come back to him after having achieved their dreams.

“Well,” She said, her old, meek bashfulness coming to the surface. “I just wanted to see you again, to thank you for what you have done for me.” She tucked a hair behind her ear. “And I know no matter what favor I do for you in return, I could never break even for just how much you’ve impacted my life. So, thank you, Joshua.”

Joshua genuinely felt relieved to hear her say that - usually, people’s pride and greed got in the way of them acknowledging those who truly helped them along the way, but as he suspected, this girl still had a soul so pure. “Let's get some drinks by the bar and chat some more, yeah? My treat.” He offered, which she gladly took, the conversation between them flowed naturally, Joshua enjoying her tales of success.

It was an hour after the club closed that Diana decided it was time to head home. Joshua offered to see her off, like the gentleman he was, and so they walked to the sidewalk, her hand around his arm.

Joshua opened the taxi door for her, offering her a few bills in cash to cover the fare, “It was nice seeing you again, hopefully, you’ll make time to catch up with me in the future.” he said through the taxi window.

“Yeah, I hope I get the chance to see you again soon. Goodnight Joshua.” She said as she rolled up the taxi window.

Joshua watched the taxi drive until the end of the block, everything seemingly going smoothly, up until another car intercepted hers in the intersection.

It happened so quickly, too quickly for  Joshua to even register the new car’s window sliding down, holding a gun out to the taxi Diana was in. Gunshots echoed through the street, the sound of tires popping and glass shattering but all Joshua could make out was the sound of two sets of four tires screeching against the concrete. Diana’s taxi collided with a nearby lamppost, the taxi flattening and curling around it.

That was the last time Joshua saw her alive.

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[gale-dekarios]

Having brain rot about gale fucking tav on the altar to mystra in the tabernacle it’s consuming my mind it’s so hot

The defiant, triumphant look in Gale's eyes as he pins Tav down to the alter, not for Mystra, but for his damned self, ascension or not. The mortal sweat and thudding hearts heating the room in a way a Goddess could never, not because it's a technically difficult thing to achieve, but because they have no concept of it. The emotions that would war in him. Hatred. Lust. Perhaps pity.

And then Tav whines. Gale used to believe that happiness was having the whole world at his fingertips. He was a man in power, the top dog, for so long. But looking down at Tav, a glint of mischief behind their eye -- was this his idea, or theirs? -- Gale comes to the crashing, halting realisation that looking up to the Gods would never compare to looking down at Tav; Tav, who may only be a little part of a whole world, but the only part Gale can find himself bothered with regardless.

Feverent fucking would slow to a smooth grind. Sticking it to Mystra in these little defiances may be all well and good fun, but Gods, does he love Tav. Nothing else seems to matter bar that.

[verus-veritas]

Died and Gone to Heaven

Reworked caption story by RookCaps

"Welcome back to heaven, Atreus." The enormous scantily clothed man boomed. Jeremy had just awoken after he thought he had died saving a man by pushing him from the path of a bus hurtling towards him.

"Who... who are you?" Jeremy asked. His voice was not his own, it had a deep and masculine quality to it that was totally alien to him.

"Ah, amnesia - I am Kyrion, King of The Gods. Don't worry my son, it is normal to have temporary memory loss after living as a mortal for so long."

Son? Mortal? Is this man a god? Who is this Atreus person? Jeremy thought as he looked down for the first time, seeing the absolutely perfect adonis body below him covered only by a simple fabric that would not be considered appropriate by even the most risqué individual. Oh my god! I must be this Atreus. The hospital must have me on some crazy drugs for me to be tripping like this.

"Oh my son, my prince, I can see you are distraught. Here, I will bring you to your quarters to recover." The huge man grabbed hold of Jeremy, lifting him effortlessly. Jeremy felt like a child being cradled in Kyrion's arms.

The God King left Jeremy in a room nearby. Overwhelmed, he lay down to sleep, trying to avoid thinking about the odd yet incredible sensations coming from his god-like body. As Jeremy drifted off to sleep, he hoped he would reawaken free from this crazy fever dream.

— This must be real then. I've tried to find a more sensible explanation but all evidence points to the crazy fact that I am now in possession of this heavenly body. Jeremy had awoken to find himself still in the prince of gods, Atreus's body. He ran his hands all over those perfectly sculpted muscles, every touch leaving his new body feeling invigorated and powerful. As he grabbed his thickened and hardened manhood and thrust into it, he let out a powerful roar while golden semen coated his entire chest. After some more incredibly pleasurable self exploration of his new body he had turned to trying to find out what had happened.

He looked around his bare room for information but could not find any information at all. It was only when he walked to look in the mirror that he realized that it wasn't merely a mirror at all. It seemed to be a magical artefact of some kind, displaying whatever information he wished to see. It was there that he had learned more about this new domain. He found that Gods and Goddesses were in fact real. They had created humanity as an experiment and entertained themselves by interfering with the mortals as they saw fit. All human religion was based on one or many of the Deity's that existed in this heaven. Recently, the last couple thousand years, Kyrion had restricted Gods and Goddesses from interfering with humans directly - only he was allowed to do so and he chose to do so rarely. Punishment for Gods consisted of banishing them to live as mortals temporarily, usually for one to fifteen lifetimes. There were only 138 Gods and Goddesses, reproduction is strictly controlled by the God King.

After the brief history lesson on what seemed to be the origin of all religion Jeremy knew of, he turned to trying to figure out how he even ended up here. He found he was in the body of Prince Atreus, son of God King Kyrion. Atreus would inherit the throne if Kyrion was to die. No God had died since Kyrion had taken control, as only a Godkiller weapon could end a God's life and the new regulations put in place had prevented such weapons from being created.

Jeremy wondered if this magic mirror artefact could recall the accident that had led to this whole situation, when he had pushed that man out of the way of the bus. The mirror immediately responded to his thoughts, displaying the street he had been on that day. Just before the bus barrelled towards the oblivious hunk, who appeared to be a more human version of his current body, time slowed down.

He saw a gold glowing beam extending vertically above the scene of the impending accident, the handsome man had a silvery ethereal trail extending from his body - slowly being pulled up by the golden light. Jeremy saw himself shove the man out of the way, splatting into a bloody mess on the pavement. The man's silvery soul floated back into his muscular body while a similar, albeit much dimmer, blue ethereal mist left Jeremy’s broken body. His own soul was vacuumed up where Atreus's had meant to go.

Jeremy sat down, realizing the gravity of the situation. Should he tell Kyrion that he was not the son he appeared to be? Should he just keep quiet? He wasn't sure how the Gods would react if they knew a mortal was now in possession of one of their immortal bodies.

Distraught, he sat down in the chair beside him. He felt an odd solid object press against his beefy leg. Pulling at the cushion, he found a small glowing dagger hidden beneath the folds. Gripping it he felt an awesome power flowing through it. What does this mean?

Jeremy noticed a blinking emerald crystal in the hilt of the dagger. He rubbed his rugged finger across the gem, a strange gold light emanated from the crystal, producing an ethereal message in the air:

Mortal,

I was able to place your soul in the Prince's body without the detection of the

immortals. Not even your new father, the tyrannical Tyrion, has realized my deception. For one thousand years I have plotted his demise so I can take control as I deserved. He is the bastard son of Khronus, not me! I have one simple task for you, mortal. If you succeed, I will leave you in Atreus's body to rule by my side as my personal guard. You will no longer be a mere mortal, but a god. My task is simple, use the dagger I have left for you and plunge it into Kyrion's heart. I have scheduled a meeting with him this evening. You will join the meeting and murder him while he is distracted. He will never suspect his dim-witted son to betray him. Do this, and you will be rewarded.

Mishara, God of Deception

Jeremy didn't know what to do. The offer was enticing, he could be a god!. He just wasn't sure if he wanted to give up his integrity to be immortal, and he definitely didn't want to be this power-hungry Mishara's personal plaything.

He had only been among the gods for a day and he was already involved in their murderous and aristocratic politics. How could these super beings be so primitive? I guess we are created in their image, but we seemed to have evolved past this archaic style of government, Jeremy thought.

Hours later, Jeremy accompanied God King Kyrion to meet Mishara. Jeremy observed the two arguing about the state of human-god affairs. He could tell that this debate had been had before.

When the debate became more heated, Kyrion arose to his massive height to look down upon the God of Deception. His back was turned to Jeremy, so this was his opportunity to kill the king and keep this god-like body for himself.

He removed the dagger that had been hidden underneath the fabrics and raised it above his head.

Jeremy hesitated for a moment, thinking about what he intended to do, then stepped past Kyrion and plunged the God Killer dagger into Mishara's chest. Mishara's face twisted in shock, shouting, "You traitorous mortal!" The god fell to the ground, life leaving him as golden blood flowed from his chest.

"What have you done, Atreus? What mortal was Mishara talking about?" Kyrion asked with an edge to his voice, he did not know why his dim-witted son had done what he had done. Not trusting himself to speak, Jeremy poked the dagger's emerald; Mishara's message reappeared for Kyrion to read.

"So you are not my son, you are a human? I am surprised a mere human did not give in to their greed to steal an immortal body. You are more just than many gods, as evidenced by Mishara's betrayal. You deserve a reward." The God King rubbed his chin. "You will take my son's place as prince, heir to the throne."

"What! But what about your son? He will die a mortal?" Jeremy asked, as he questioned if immortality really was worth the freedom.

"Was being a mortal so bad that a god should not live as one? Atreus was not suited for the throne, he was as dim and stubborn as he was handsome and strong; he is better suited to be a mortal man. He had voluntarily become mortal as a vacation from the pressure of his position. He abandoned his duty as prince; no, you are humble and just, more fit for the throne than he ever could be."

Jeremy knew he could not argue with the God King, he had to accept what he had been given. He was now Atreus, God and Prince, heir to the throne of gods and goddesses. It would not take long before he came to love the glory of his immaculate body of a literal god. His to enjoy for the foreseeable eternity.

Hey everyone! Hope you've all been well! As for myself I've been feeling better health-wise, and I'm finally getting more time for writing again! I can assure you that the writing itch never left my body, as I've made a list of stories I'm planning on finishing in the foreseeable future! Stay tuned, guys! /Verus

[dreamdragonkadia]

Daughter of Hades!Reader

To say this was bullshit would be the understatement of the century. Who the hell gets sick the day before camp? It had to be some kind of cosmic joke, right? Maybe it was your "mortal curse" for being the daughter of Hades, because breaking the Big Three Oath just wasn’t enough trouble.

“You’re so dramatic,” your mom mutters, giving you a side-eye as she checked the thermometer for what feels like the millionth time. Your mind felt fuzzy, like it was wrapped in fog, and it’s a struggle just to focus on her outline. You’re pretty sure there was some vomiting involved last night, but the memory’s hazy at best.

“101.2,” she announces, her voice final. “You’re not going to camp.”

It takes longer than a second for the words to sink in as the fever burns under your skin, but a wave of cold washed over you, leaving you shivering. You feel the bone-deep exhaustion settle in, like someone’s draped a heavy shroud over your body. Gods, if sleep claimed your mind right now, you’re not sure you’d even protest.

“Mom,” you manage to croak out, your voice barely a whisper. “I have to go. I haven’t seen Percy since—” You trail off, realizing you don’t even know how long it’s been. This was the downside to long-distance relationships, even with shadow travel practically at your fingertips. It must have been winter break, when the winter solstice rolled around, and classes went on pause. Everything since then has been a blur of school, monsters, and the daily grind of pretending you’re a normal person.

Her expression softens, and for a split second, you think you’ve gotten through to her. But then she shook her head, resolute as ever. “You need to rest. You’re not going anywhere until you’re better.”

You bite back a frustrated groan, slumping further into the mattress. It felt like you were being held captive by the Fates themselves. You can almost picture Percy’s disappointed face when he realizes you won’t be there. Some part of you wants to believe he’d shrug it off, try to play it cool—but you know him better than that. The poor guy would probably freak out, imagining the worst. He’d think something happened, that you were attacked by a monster or ambushed by a rogue demigod.

But then again, Percy’s smarter than he lets on. You’d mentioned on your late-night Iris messages that you hadn’t been feeling your best lately, and last night you told him you were going to bed early because of it. Maybe he’d put two and two together. Or at the very least, he’d mention it to Annabeth, who’d immediately make the connection and reassure him before he went full Poseidon-mode and tried to charge into the Underworld to find you.

“This isn’t fair,” you mutter, voice hoarse. “I fought monsters with worse than this.”

“Exactly,” your mom says, “You’ve pushed yourself too hard already. You need to take a break.”

“But Camp Half-Blood is my break!” you protest weakly, even as your eyelids start to droop. It’s kind of a lie. Sure, you loved seeing your friends, training with your half-brother, and joining in on the chaotic games. The strawberry fields, the walks on the beach, the bonfires—they all felt like home. But the real break, the thing you looked forward to most, was seeing Percy. Two whole months of getting to see him every day, sneaking into each other’s cabins at night for stolen moments together. It’s why you stopped visiting the Underworld as often during the summer.

She sits down on the edge of your bed, brushing a hand through your sweat-damp hair. “I know,” she says softly, almost like she was sorry. “But you have to take care of yourself too, honey.”

The familiar comfort of her hand against your head made it harder to stay mad. You close your eyes, exhaustion finally tugging at you, pulling you down like the Underworld’s currents. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you really do need a break. Your father would lecture you for shadow traveling while sick. So would Percy, Nico, and probably even Mrs. Jackson once she found out.

It didn't make it any easier to swallow, though. You’d been looking forward to this for months. You missed your friends, your cabin, but most of all—you missed your boyfriend.

The room fades into a dim blur as sleep pulls you down. You drift in and out of consciousness, fever-dreams flickering through your mind: flashes of Camp Half-Blood’s sparkling lake, the laughter of the Apollo cabin, the comforting feeling of the celestial bronze weapon at your side. And then, always, Percy. His lopsided grin, the way he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. It’s the first real summer you’ve planned to spend together without interruptions—no quests, no urgent prophecies, just you, him, and the warmth of the campfire.

The next time you open your eyes, it’s to a stuffy nose, making it impossible to catch a full breath. You let out a weak, congested groan, your head throbbing as you stare into the semi-dark room and you can just barely make out the murmur of voices in the hallway—your mom’s concerned whisper and someone else’s low, muffled response.

You think for a moment about trying to listen in, but your body feels heavy, like you’re sinking deeper into the mattress. Exhaustion pulls at you again, tugging you back under, and you let your eyes flutter shut, ready to fall back into restless sleep.

But just before you drift off, you could swear you hear the voice that’s been haunting your dreams.

“Is she okay?” it whispers, filled with worry. It sounds like Percy. Or maybe that’s just your fever messing with you, giving you a glimpse of what you wish could be real. You want to call out to him, but sleep was already wrapping its tendrils around you again, dragging you under before you can even try.

When you next wake, it’s slow, like dragging yourself through syrup. Your body feels like lead, heavy and achy, and the pounding in your head hasn’t let up. The room was dim, the sunlight filtering in through the curtains. It’s quiet—eerily so.

For a moment, you wonder if you dreamt it all: the fever, your mom’s worry, the strange sense of someone else’s presence. Maybe you’re still caught in the grip of some fever-dream, your mind playing tricks on you. But then you hear it—a voice, gentle and oh-so-familiar.

“Hey,” it says softly. “You’re awake.”

You turn your head, blinking to clear the blurriness from your eyes, and there he is, sitting by your bedside. Percy. His hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his sea-green eyes are filled with relief and something deeper—something like worry.

“Perce?” Your voice comes out hoarse, barely more than a croak. You swallow thickly, trying to sit up, but he’s already there, a hand on your shoulder, guiding you back down.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “Don’t push yourself.”

“What… what are you doing here?” You can’t quite believe it, staring at him like he might vanish if you blink too hard. He’s supposed to be at camp, leading capture the flag, lounging by the lake—not sitting here, looking at you like you’re the most fragile thing in the world.

“You really think I’d stay at camp when I heard you were sick?” He tries for a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nico found out first. He came by to check on you and told me you probably wouldn’t be coming. And—well, I kind of freaked out a little.”

You can’t help it; a laugh bubbles up in your chest, raspy, but real. “You? Freak out? No way.”

His smile softens, and he takes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You scared me, you know,” he admits quietly. “I didn’t want to leave you alone like this.”

“Percy,” you sigh, feeling the guilt and warmth mix together in a messy knot inside you. “You didn’t have to come. I’m fine, really. It’s just a fever.”

He gives you a look, the kind that says he knows you’re lying. “You’re burning up, and you look like you’ve been run over by a chariot. Don’t try to downplay it.”

You huff, but it’s more out of fondness than annoyance. “You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re impossible,” he counters, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips now. He squeezes your hand gently, his expression turning serious. “I’d rather be here with you, anyway. We have the whole summer, remember? I’d rather spend it taking care of you than worrying about you from a hundred miles away.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die on your tongue. The look in his eyes, the way he’s holding your hand like he’s afraid to let go—it melts away any argument you might have had.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice small. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” he says, and for the first time since you woke up, you feel a little bit lighter. Maybe it’s the fever breaking, or maybe it’s just the way he’s looking at you, like he’s already made up his mind to stay by your side no matter what.

You squeeze his hand back, feeling the exhaustion pull at you again, but this time, it’s different. It’s softer, gentler, like the pull of a tide, and you let it take you, comforted by the warmth of his hand in yours and the soft sound of his voice as he hums a tune you can’t quite place.

When you fall back asleep, you do so knowing he’ll be there when you wake.

[essektheylyss]

Honestly, the implication with the Sendings that there is something wrong with the leylines and the weave of magic in Exandria is so funny to me. There is a non-zero chance, not even a low chance, that Ludinus is pissed because he got tossed to some random point in Exandria, and now he has to walk places. And maybe get on a ship. God forbid.*

But this also has a lot of other implications. The leylines tend to be associated with both intra- and interdimensional travel, as well as things like Scrying, Sending of course, and possibly other methods of divination.

It is also possible that, given what we know about dunamis, that dunamancy is also tied to the leylines or the weave in some way.

We know that divine magic is at least working—but we only know this to be true of divine magic granted by a god of the Pantheon.

So, with all of that in mind, a HIGHLY incomplete sample of things that may or may not be happening across Exandria while the Hells A-Team is traveling to Uthodurn:

Yussa is torn between gratitude for being free from the menace of Caleb Widogast teleporting into his house and Jester Lavorre sending him messages at all hours, and irritation that he can't get any of his work done because it all has to do with planar magic.

Any gratitude wears off when Fjord and Jester come banging on his door because Jester cannot send any messages nor contact Artagan, who is bound by the rules of the planes and by extension the leylines (since he can, unlike the gods, pass mostly freely from plane to plane).

Fjord's magic is completely fine because he is operating on sheer force of will and obeys no laws known to mortals, physics, or nature. Essek, who was holed up in the Lavorres' spare room for the week, is absolutely pissed because half of his magic is broken (and also he has no idea where his partner is).

Caleb and Beau take like seven hours to get the collar off before discovering that they are stuck somewhere in the Issylran tundra. (They would probably get fined by the Slayer's Take for the number of bounties they take out their rage on, if the Slayer's Take had ANY idea who the fuck they were.)

Caduceus is cheerfully gardening and has no idea this has happened. Melora decides not to bother him. Let him live in bliss, unlike the rest of Exandria.

Dorian has been having a meltdown into his Sending stone while Opal and Dariax run rampant and Cyrus looks very pretty but does absolutely nothing. It has no effect.

Keyleth is sitting in a daze somewhere next to a tree that will not open wondering if the last thirty-six hours were a fever dream.

The city of Syngorn saw the moon nonsense, panicked, tried to hop to the Feywild, then panicked harder. Fortunately, they could not contact anyone, and Allura Vysoren did not have to hear about it.

Ludinus has murdered several people. It has gotten him no closer to leaving whatever random part of the Tal'dorei countryside he is menacing.

Somewhere, there is a bird. That bird saw this beam, looked down into a very old, very precious orb, and said, "Not this fucking shit again."

All in all, very funny couple of days Exandria is happening. I'm sure things will not get any worse.

*I know he traveled by ship to the peace talks, okay, but that was for appearances. He didn't have shit to be doing at the time.