#god reader

Deity Reader: You have served me well, Mortal. I no longer question your faith, but I am curious about the nature of your wishes. Is what you seek truly what your heart desires?

Yan Cultist: Yes, My Lord. I desire it more than the air I breathe.

Deity Reader: I can grant you wealth. Immortallity. Anything.

Yan Cultist: My resolve is absolute, Lord. You know what I long for most.

Deity Reader: Very well...

[The Deity takes mortal former - mindful not to snap the human's feeble neck as their larger hand strokes their head tenderly]

Deity Reader: Who's a good mortal?

gachiakuta manga spoilers ahead (chap 161)

IMAGINE being a forgotten god, lost through the ancient texts of the Ground due to an uprising in the past. You barely survive thanks to the prayers the wind brings to your ancient temple, long destroyed by trash and humans alike.

Centuries of slumber have dulled your senses, only ever able to pick up on a mortal's soul when they are directly standing inside the broken shrine you call home. It was rare to even have visitors, as your humble temple resides inside a hidden cave, covered by mountain of trash that accumulated over time.

So, imagine your shock when footsteps echoed through your rotting walls, slowly making its way down the carpeted floor once adorned with the finest fur known to mankind. Your subconscious flickered, sensing the soul of a mortal. Briefly, you pondered on how they have known the location of your home, yet the prospect of feeding off a person's prayer after years of hunger vanished the thought.

The person halted in front of your shrine. There, your statue stood tall and proud, covered with dirtied silk robes and damaged jewelries. Once, during the height of your divination, you were adorned with different kinds of offerings, ranging from materialistic goods, and even human sacrifices, though the latter was far in between as you made it known to your devotees you detest such actions. At the foot of your statue were woven basket filled with rotten fruits and vegetables that once fed the priest and priestess who lived in your ground. Wilted flower petals scattered throughout the table, covered with a thick film of dust from years of vacancy.

A muted hum fell out of your lips when you felt the person gently lay down a box of cake on your feet. Life surged through your body, filling the empty veins with divinity as he offered you a prayer—help him achieve his goal. Bitterness filled the roof of your mouth from the sheer amount of anger, determination, and hypocrisy the prayer had, yet it was genuine in its intention; and that was everything a weakened god like yourself could ever ask for.

Cracks ran down your statue, destroying the peaceful silence that once lingered inside your shrine. It spread from your face to your chest and finally your legs. Despite the horrific scene, the person did not stop prayer; rather, he intensified, slipping all of their deepest darkest secret like water to a parched man. The depth of their genuine interest in you was enough to awaken you out of your forced slumber, marble falling down the floor like tears as you finally opened your eyes for the first time in centuries.

The first thing you saw was a man with long blond hair, navy blue strands peeking from underneath. His muted yellow eyes were hidden below his prominent lashes, almost looking like feathers by how long they were. A defining scar ran down the right side of his face, past his beautiful right eye and curving towards his ear.

You blinked, head tilting as you took in his rather formal attire. It was too pristine and proper for him to be someone of lower status; so perhaps he was a nobleman? His clothes looked to be made of cotton or silk—expensive fabric reserved for nobility—decorated with golden ornaments that caught reflection from your shrine's candles destined to burn for eternity. Yet, something about him seemed peculiar. The air around him warned you of a deceiving man from the heavens—a man from the rumoured Sphere you have heard from prayers of the dead.

"You have awaken me from my slumber, mortal," you announced, leaning forward to inspect him properly. "What is it you desire from this forgotten god of the land?"

The mortal merely smiled, not bothered by the fact he was talking to divinity, something that is above his own kind. His eyes were sharp with interest, as if he had planned for all of these to work. "Could you be even called a god when you have no followers?" he shot back, staring up at your height.

"I have you, do I not?"

He laughed, the sound echoing mindlessly in your ears, scratching something raw from within. "Me? You kid yourself, goddess," he cackled, mockery filling the last word as if trying to hurt you. He leaned down to grab a fistful of the cake, eating it right in front of you. "You should consider yourself lucky that I have come to save you from misery. Ha! You could even call me your god."

You did not fall for his tricks. A god such as yourself do not feel anger or resentment towards humans—that was their job, not yours. Yet, you could not deny the fact that this human intrigued you. Not only did he free you from slumber (though, you correct him that it was not misery but rather another phase of your life), but here he was, acting arrogant for a person who was praying for your divine intervention just moments prior.

"What is it you desire from this forgotten god then, human?" you asked again, not bothered by how unsightly he had become from eating the cake.

He paused, blinking up at you, before cleaning his appearance back to the dignified man he was beforehand. "Aid me in returning Rudo Surebrec back into his destined role," he stated, tone firm and unwilling to back down. "Fullfil your duty as a god that once ruled over this land."

The name rung somewhat familiar in your subconscious. Flashes of an anomaly that guards the Border entered your vision, covered by the shadow of the past, present, and future. You grimaced. Having just woken up, your memory was blurry at best and nonexistent at worse. It was odd to be suddenly pull back into your role after almost dying numerous times, but you supposed that this was just the next phase of your non-so-immortal life as a forgotten god.

"Let me make one thing clear, mortal," you bellowed, leaning down to his eye-level. "I do not kneel over humans such as yourself who deludes themselves into believing they have power of the immortals. You may have woken me up from my slumber, but make no mistake, that does not constitute to you controlling my every judgement. I am a god—you are nothing but flesh and blood, able to die on my command."

You rose back up to your height, watching the man's expression turn into irk. His brows furrowed, mouth turned into a vicious snarl as he glared at you with loathe.

You did not care, merely allowing yourself to transform into something more humane, copying the distant images of your beloved priestess. Once you were satisfied with your disguise, you faced the man, who had now masked his true feelings towards you. No matter, it wasn't hard to gauge what he was truly thinking.

"Shall we get going then, human?" you asked, tilting your head when he did not immediately respond. He just stared down at you, a hint of marvel swirling with distrust in his eyes.

Finally, he smiled, offering an arm towards you. "...That we shall, my god."

You love all your followers, watching them through the stone eyes of your statues, your effigy at every gathering, festival speech, or gathering that they have. You love how they come to you, how they ask feel guidance, how they hold you in such reverence, even if your original realm of worship has long since been unintentionally changed.

You watch them through the stone eyes of the grand statue they placed in some chapel for you, watching as worshipers leave, heading back to their lives and your men of the cloth and holy sisters clean up the pews, nodding as a single man comes to kneel at your statue's feet. You recognize this man in a way that you hardly remember; you recognize him as he kneels, the other members of the church that had been built around this statue of yours leave, letting him to pray in peace.

You recognise him, but only because he prayed to you in the way that has long since been forgotten by these new worshipers of yours.

He starts with the same prayers that the rest of the flock mutters, swiftly moving into older ones as the hall empties, shifting his gaze up to stare at your statue's face. Eyes lidded and cheeks flushed with color as his hands moved, one fisting in his shirt as the other aided to push cotton breaches down just far enough to free his cock.

Even as he begins to flick his wrist, his prayers continue, familiar ones, sweeter ones than the endless singing praise from the congregation that had departed. This is the reverence you used to have, the reverence you've missed since this new age began, and the old world with your old titles was forgotten.

This man, this worshiper of you as you were and as you are now, knows the timing, knows when he has to begin finishing up this act of forgotten devotion. The prayers he speaks turn fervent as he raises himself to his knees, hips jerking slightly as he fucks into his fist, groaning the name you used to be called as his spend drips across the pristine feet of your statue. By the time the members of the clergy return, they see him kneeling at your feet, thinking he is simply finishing his prayers with deep devotion, if only they could see how he continues to mumble words that are unfamiliar to them, cleaning up his own splattered cun from the marble, as he finishes his prayers.

You love all your followers, the new and the old, the ones that have found their way to you after the world changed and the ones that still cling to the place you used to hold.

You love them even when this chapel was raised and a statue of you was placed at the front, that was soon adjusted to fit the new age worship, the once bountiful curves and plush hips hidden behind recarved robes and decency, they still know you as bounty, as verdant fields, but unlike the old worshippers like the man who has showed his devotion in the old way.

Your new worshipers have forgotten you were love, lust and longing well before you were bounty or fertile fields.

The first time that Johnny felt like his prayers had been answered was his first wet dream. He'd never touched himself before, too racked with guilt to relieve the aching of his twitching cock. His late blooming had been witnessed by the rookies he was bunking with.

Endless teasing followed, and while he refused to acknowledge it, the callsign Soap came from him washing the cum out his boxers in the sink.

Even though that day was the start of his humiliation, it was also the most blessed he had ever felt. No scolding from his superiors, getting to the mess hall on time, getting hot water in his shower. He only felt a bit of guilt when he received some letters from his mother with his old childhood rosary.

He tucked it under his pillow and humped his bed queitly well into the night.

The first time he ever saw you was when he joined team 141. Maybe it was his pining after Ghost that led him to neglecting his needs. Maybe it was because he was busy. Regardless, you weren't pleased, coming to him in a dream.

"My most loyal little subject." Johnny squirms within your palm, looking around at the darkness that surrounded him. Was he dreaming? He must be dreaming. "Why are you neglecting your needs?"

"My needs?" Johnny mumbles nervously, shuddering when your thumb rubs across his crotch, gently pressing down on his cock.

"You deserve to feel good. That is how you worship me." When Johnny woke up, his cock was throbbing in his sweatpants, trembling with need and nerves.

Simon roused from his sleep to Johnny knocking on his door, getting it open only a few inches before the smaller man pushed his way inside. "I need ye... Fucking, please, Simon." Johnny mumbles hungrily as he grabs hold of Simon's sweatpants waistband. Simon's body shudders beneath his hands, his head slowly nodding in the dark.

Simon was blessed the next day with a hot shower, his favorite tea being restocked, and his recruits listening for the first time since they arrived on base.

Is it alright if I request the red haired pirates and strawhats with a god reader? Where god reader uses regalias (noragami reference) and one day they see the reader blighted, since it can be mean reader will die and be reborn. Reader ends up ignoring the crew trying to fight another god because they had beef back then

─Red Hair Pirates & Strawhats x god!reader

─Summary: Being a god doesn't mean you're immortal, especially when you have unfinished business

─Warnings: brief mention of death

mmmh I looked up some info (because I have no idea about Noragami, sorry love 😔) and I don't know if the interpretation is exactly correct, but here we are, my friend :p

─ A god on a Yonko's crew? That speaks volumes about power and intimidation, as if the crew weren't already a potential threat, your contribution to the team only enhanced Shanks's prestige as captain.

─ Your crewmates are quite curious about your powers, including Shanks, since they're not used to you being able to use a weapon that appears out of thin air, much less swim in the open sea without dying like Devil Fruit users.

─ Some idiots (like your captain) think that just because you're a god you can turn water into wine, and others (like Lucky Roux) think you can conjure up a banquet with a snap of your fingers.

─ You don't know what their divine interpretation is, but you definitely can't grant wishes, you can only manifest the lost souls who once saw you as a savior, someone in whom to place their faith, and who now serve as your support and your weapons.

─ You get along well with everyone, and you're reliable enough to handle your solo missions, missions where you can spend time away from the main ship, it's common for everyone to be away for at least a week and return with news about anything Shanks wants to know.

─ And you're always punctual with your reports, until one of your trips ruined everything, it all fell apart in an instant, all because of an ancient god with whom you couldn't settle a dispute, and who, it seemed, was still eager for revenge.

─ What wasn't a coincidence was that Benn witnessed your fierce battle against your enemy, since you were taking longer than usual, Shanks tasked him with finding you, he definitely didn't expect to see you nearly die, the way you looked so abnormally different, even though you assured him you could be reborn (not that it's a good thing), Benn preferred not to witness the death of a comrade, especially not what you seemed to be transforming into something he couldn't even comprehend.

─ He saved your ass, yes, but you turned your back on him, with harsh words, the defeat left you with a deep bitterness, and you were determined not to stop until you could put an end to the misdeeds of that rogue god, and to do that, you ignored your crew, too focused on your objective.

─ And now you didn't have to pursue your revenge anymore, but rather fight against the voices of your crew, pulling you back to sanity, reminding you that you didn't have to fight alone, and that they would be there to support you in your battles if you didn't turn your back on them, after all, you're one of them, and if you have beef with a god, it means they have it too, you don't need to fight alone.

─ You never thought you could answer so many stupid questions at once, being a god doesn't mean you can make food appear out of thin air, or grow money from trees, or part the sea, or walk on water, or grant world peace.

─ Luffy doesn't quite believe it and is quite insistent that you give him a steak, as if you could summon it with a glance.

─ Robin and Jinbe are probably the most level-headed, and the most interested in how the regalias work, completely captivated by the stories behind the people who once grew fond of you and are now your loyal weapons, your armor, and your shining swords.

─ Chopper and Usopp were terrified when they first saw you in that state, so… broken, so ruined, you looked like a ferocious beast, unafraid to unleash its worst weapon from its arsenal, the reindeer wanted to rush to treat you because, although you looked like you were smoking from the ears, you seemed injured.

─ One look was all it took to make poor Chopper cower, which prompted Zoro to jump into the fray, his sarcasm sharp, thinking he could ease the tension, but you seemed too determined, too lost in your own thoughts.

─ And you were determined, from the very second your pupils dilated upon sensing the presence of that ancient god who nearly killed you years ago, you weren't going to let this opportunity pass, and nothing was going to stop you.

─ Not Nami's screams, nor Zoro's taunts, nor Luffy's punches, nor the protests of Sanji, Brook, or Franky, nor the level-headedness of Chopper, Robin, or Jinbe, the fire burned in your eyes, as did the weight of your weapons, which began to manifest as you sensed the presence of the other god drawing near.

─ Luffy didn't get the hint that you were going to fight alone, on your own, without repercussions, even if it meant having to die and be reborn, no matter how much you try to ignore your crew, they'll be on your tail like ticks, since when does this crew abandon one of their own? No way, not with Luffy as your captain.

You carefully removed your helmet to appear friendlier. Your helmet shielded your eyes and protected you from the fast winds while also looking incredible, in your opinion. Once upon a time, it was a feared helmet in the form of a barn owl. Despite the simplicity, it holds immense power.

Your helmet was equally impatient, flying around the room like an energetic golden retriever. Really, no part of you is happy to remain still. You were meant for flight and speed! Why are you sitting still on some mortal's desk when you could be flying around the world?

Your wings weren't happy being stagnant. They were agitated and twitching, but you managed. You smiled softly at your helmet and kicked your legs on the edge of the desk to release any of the pent-up energy your shoes held.

You couldn't stand it after a few minutes and stood up to allow your wings to flare to their proper wingspan. They expand along the room as if to stretch out, but you know your wings want to fly. It's been so long since you've flown on earth. Your wings automatically adjust with gravity, and they spread proudly.

Tim limped in on a broken leg and immediately ran into your wings. You winced in sympathy when he lost his balance and fell. You quickly retracted your wings and tucked them tightly to your body. You went over to help him up and softly apologise. He hissed painfully as he stood, but he still thanks you for the help.

"Who are you?"

He asked once he took a look at you. Your helmet landed and adjusted itself back onto your head. You put up the visor to look him in the eyes properly. What a beautiful shade of blue, they are! His black hair was tossled from battle, and he was still sweaty and aching for a shower before he went to sleep. You smiled almost fondly.

"Right. I'm your patron god."

You said, as if that explained everything he could possibly need to know. He blinked blankly at you a few times as his brain came up with millions of questions.

"What do you mean my patron god? Who decided I needed a god?"

Your grin was worrying to him. You decided to make him your mortal avatar after spending centuries looking for one. The other gods have all found and lost their avatars, yet you waited. You knew that was not the time back then. Someone worthy was going to arise. All you needed to do was be patient. As heroes fell and the world changed, you waited. Your patience was rewarded with this warrior. You explained,

"I mean, I made you my warrior. You have been under my protection for a while now."

Tim raised his eyebrows and gestured to his leg as if to ask where his protection was when he broke his leg. You chuckled quietly before explaining,

"I can protect you from others, but I can't protect you from your decisions."

He sighed softly. Whatever. Yes, he made a wrong call, but he wasn't given much choice than to jump off that building. It is his fault, however, that he forgot his grapple gun. You wanted to put it in his utility belt, but you had hoped his sharp brain would double check his gear like his father checks his own.

Your shoes seemed to have gotten impatient as you started floating in the air. He asked nervously as he eyed you warily,

"Why are you here?"

He doesn't want to anger a god, but he's tired and getting cranky. You expected as much, so you got to the point. You explained,

"I want you to be my avatar."

He narrowed his eyes in thought before asking carefully,

"What does being an avatar entail?"

You twirled in the air and circled him slowly with your wings tucked close to yourself. He tried to keep an eye on you, but even at your lazy speed, you were fairly quick. You gave him an almost dismissive hum before saying casually,

"Nothing much would change. I would give you the powers of a demigod in exchange for you fighting in my domain when called upon."

He was watching you in surprise. The stunned silence stretched on for long enough to make you fly towards the open window. Your wings tucked tightly at your sides while exiting the window but expanded gloriously while you hovered outside for a while.

"Think about it. I'll be back soon, starlight."

Your voice was playful like you didn't just drop such a massive decision on his lap. Tim took your hand before you took off. He needs more information.

"A demigod for which god?"

He asked. You smiled fondly at him. He wants to know what powers he'd be gaining from you. What's in it for him? He holds a lot of power in the position you put him in, and he's thinking about accepting the deal. You said proudly,

"You'd be the avatar for the god of the skies and space. I control the universe, and you, my starlight, would have the powers of space and skies."

You pulled him into your arms and mused while stroking his back,

"I think you'd look breathtaking with wings, but that is an optional addition, should you choose to join my side."

Tim tried not to scream when you dragged him out of his window towards you, but who could blame him for actually screaming? He wasn't the one with wings, and he felt like he was going to break his other leg hovering this far up!

He squirmed worriedly and looked down. He greatly regrets his decision to live on the top floor of the manor. What does he do if you drop him? Scream for Clark? He thinks it would be easier to just fall and deal with the consequences of gravity than to deal with explaining why he fell in the first place. Would you increase gravity to make the time falling to the ground feel less daunting?

"If you keep squirming, I'll drop you."

You mumbled in a grumpy tone, adjusting him in your arms for the fifth time. He tensed but obeyed and stilled. He looked up at you, and he felt like he had stopped breathing. You looked gorgeous in the moonlight. Your smile was teasing him into doing whatever you wanted him to do, and your eyes were alluring. Your strong arms pulled him securely into your embrace, even if he did feel like he was going to fall to his potential death. He was lost in the thought.

Unfortunately for Tim, he happened to purse his lips when he thinks. It's actually why he covers his mouth whenever he's deep in thought. You took this as an invite to kiss him, however, and joked,

"Asking your patron god for a kiss is certainly an interesting way of seal the deal."

Before he could voice his confusion, you had kissed him, and he quickly felt the rushing power that comes with being a demigod. Is this how Diana feels? He feels unstoppable! All powerful! His noise of surprise was muffled by your lips as he became putty in your arms. Is this how he's going to die? To a god he never asked for?

A kiss from a god doesn't feel even remotely similar to a kiss from a normal person. The kiss of a god has the power of pure seduction. That is how the gods used to have so many demigods with mortals. Gods find humans so entertaining, and they all are sick of each other.

His heart was going to explode. His head was fuzzy. He felt like you became the centre of his universe. Time surely had to have paused. You held a powerful spell over him, and you had totally forgotten about that happening to mortals. When gods kiss, only the gods of lust and love have any chance of seducing another god.

You managed to pull away after a suspiciously long amount of time kissing him and looked at him closely. He was dazed. His eyes were glazed over entirely, and his hands shook. Nothing could have realistically prepared either of you in the moment, but a little warning would have been nice.

You never had to actually kiss someone into submission when producing demigods before you stopped visiting Earth. You didn't even think about it, and he had no idea how to even begin to explain why he's suddenly a mess.

"Starlight, I'll see you tomorrow. You just became my new favourite mortal."

You descend—no, fracture—into the realm below, your divine essence clothed in mortal flesh. A test. A punishment. Or perhaps curiosity. No temples will sing of your arrival. No altars blaze with prayer. Only he greets you. The one whose soul was stitched to yours the moment you touched the veil.

Your familiar.

He does not bow. He kneels, yes—but not in reverence. In reverie.

“You walk among shadows,” he murmurs, voice honeyed with longing and dread, “so I will be your light. And if light fails, I will burn every star for you.”

He was crafted by your own hand, centuries ago, a flicker of will and molten power sculpted into flesh. But now that you wear mortal skin, he watches you not as creator—but as beloved. He slips into your chambers without sound, leaves obsidian feathers on your pillow. Threads divine wards through your cloak. Murmurs oaths to you in languages no god should remember.

You speak of balance. He speaks of chains.

You ask him to guard the realm. He guards you instead.

At court, suitors seek your favor. They do not return. You ask if he knows why, and he only tilts his head, wolfish grin carved across his mouth. “Their prayers were... impure.”

One night, he appears cloaked in stormlight, eyes carved from starlight gone mad. “If the heavens call you back, I will silence them.” His fingers tremble as they cup your face. “You gave me life. And now I give you mine—every breath, every bone, until eternity forgets its shape.”

You consider sending him away. You are a god. You do not belong in chains of obsession.

But when his arms coil around you in the dark, when he murmurs your forgotten name like a hymn, you wonder...

Did you create him to serve you?