sinful_desires

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🫧Tyrarax-female-20-biromantic/asexual

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🫧Series I write for: Dragon Ball (Z/Super), One Piece, Attack on Titan, Tokyo Revengers, Demon Slayer, Seven Deadly Sins, Jujutsu Kaisen, My Hero Academia, Hazbin Hotel, and much more.

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The following days felt...

Wrong.

Not dangerous.

Just... wrong.

The hotel was busier than ever.

Sinners arrived almost every morning now.

Some only wanted to see if Charlie's optimism would finally crack.

Others came simply because Hell had grown curious.

Curiosity was powerful.

Hope... even more so.

Charlie had become almost impossible to keep up with.

She threw herself into the project with renewed enthusiasm.

Entire rooms were being renovated.

Schedules rewritten.

Counseling sessions expanded.

Emily's notes, sent quietly from Heaven whenever she could get away with it, had become surprisingly useful.

Vaggie complained.

Angel complained even more.

Niffty somehow convinced herself that emotional healing required more knives.

No one questioned it.

Y/N had settled naturally into the role Charlie had offered her.

It suited her more than she expected.

She just listened.

There was something strangely comforting about speaking to someone who had seen every version of death imaginable.

One sinner confessed to murdering his own brother. (cough*Cain*cough)

Another admitted he couldn't even remember what he'd done anymore.

A woman simply sat in silence for nearly an hour.

When she finally stood to leave, she quietly thanked Y/N.

"...For what?"

Y/N watched her leave.

"...You're welcome?"

Charlie eventually approached her after one particularly long session.

"I think you're better at this than I am."

"I hope not."

Charlie blinked.

"What?"

"If I am," Y/N replied, setting down her teacup, "then your project has already failed."

Charlie frowned.

"I don't understand."

"You need them to trust you."

Y/N smiled faintly.

"They only trust me because I they've already met me."

Charlie thought about that...

And realized she was right.

Still something distracted Y/N.

Frequently.

She would stop speaking mid-conversation.

Turn toward a window.

Toward the city.

Toward nothing at all.

Like listening for a sound no one else could hear.

Charlie noticed.

"So..."

Y/N looked over.

"So?"

"...You're worried."

"No."

Charlie folded her arms.

"You've said 'no' exactly fourteen times today."

"...Have I?...You counted?"

"...I counted."

A beat.

"...Fine."

Charlie smiled knowingly.

"It's Alastor."

Y/N didn't answer.

Which was answer enough.

That afternoon she left the hotel.

Again.

The streets buzzed with VoxTek advertisements.

Blue screens.

Animated billboards.

Entire buildings wrapped in moving holograms.

Everything looked brighter.

Louder.

Artificial.

It hadn't always been like this.

Vox wasn't merely advertising anymore.

He was occupying space.

Hell itself seemed to glow his color.

Y/N disliked it immensely.

She visited several places Alastor frequented.

An abandoned theater.

Empty.

A forgotten radio station.

Dusty.

One old café where demons still remembered hearing jazz nearly eighty years ago.

Nothing.

Everyone had the same answer.

"Haven't seen him."

Except...

One elderly sinner.

He looked at Y/N strangely.

"The Radio Demon?"

She nodded.

"I heard music."

"...Music?"

He scratched his chin.

"For just a moment."

"When?"

"Couple nights ago."

"Where?"

He pointed toward the skyline.

"Near the V Tower."

Y/N followed his finger.

The enormous skyscraper glowed blue against Hell's crimson sky.

Her unease returned immediately.

Meanwhile inside the V Tower...

Life had become...Interesting, to say the least

Velvette discovered almost immediately that Alastor was impossible to provoke.

She tried everything.

Insults.

Mockery.

Fashion criticism.

TikTok dances directly in front of him.

Nothing worked.

He merely applauded politely.

"My dear, your enthusiasm is admirable."

"I hate him."

"I know," Vox sighed.

"So do I."

Valentino took a different approach.

He attempted flirting(?.

That failed too.

He spent nearly twenty minutes explaining exactly how unpleasant he could make Alastor's existence.

When he finally finished...

Alastor smiled.

"...Finished?"

Valentino blinked.

"...Yeah."

"Good."

Then he resumed reading a book.

Valentino nearly had a stroke.

Vox was beginning to understand something.

Owning Alastor...

And controlling Alastor...

Were two entirely different things.

The contract prevented escape.

Prevented violence.

It did absolutely nothing about his personality.

Even so the arrangement proved to be useful.

Very useful.

Whenever Vox wanted information he simply asked.

Alastor knew everyone.

Every district.

Every Overlord.

Every rumor.

Every hidden passage beneath Pentagram City.

Every forgotten archive.

He answered every question honestly.

Exactly as the contract demanded.

He simply answered too honestly.

Enough information to satisfy.

Never enough to truly help.

One evening Vox finally snapped.

"You are the single most irritating person I've ever met."

"Why thank you! I've cultivated that reputation."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"I accepted it nonetheless."

Yet despite all the bickering...

Vox noticed something.

Every single evening...

Without fail...

Alastor walked to the same enormous window overlooking the city.

Always at sunset.

Always silent.

Always staring toward one particular point on the horizon.

The Hazbin Hotel.

He never smiled quite as brightly then.

The expression was almost thoughtful.

Vox watched from the security cameras.

Interesting very interesting.

"So that's your weakness."

Elsewhere...

Rosie welcomed Y/N once again with tea already waiting.

"My dear."

"You've worn a path to my doorstep."

"I'm investigating."

Rosie smiled.

"I know."

"You knew where he was."

"I suspected."

"You didn't tell me."

"No."

"...Why?"

Rosie stirred her tea.

Because some lessons...

People had to reach themselves.

"You trust Alastor, don't you?"

"...I do."

"Then trust him now."

Y/N sighed.

"I don't like not knowing."

Rosie's smile softened.

"No."

"I imagine Death rarely does."

Y/N looked out the café window.

Toward Vox Tower.

"I think he's there."

Rosie didn't answer.

Which told Y/N everything.

Much later that night...

Long after Pentagram City had quieted...

A maintenance worker entered one of the V Tower's lower communication hubs.

Routine inspection.

Nothing unusual.

He checked the wiring.

Adjusted a few receivers.

Signed his report.

Then paused.

One tiny radio...

Hidden behind an access panel.

Still warm.

He frowned.

That wasn't possible.

The frequency meter flickered once.

Very briefly.

A soft burst of static escaped the speaker.

Then...

A familiar voice.

Barely louder than a whisper.

"...Good evening."

The maintenance worker jumped.

"What the-"

Before he could investigate...

Every light in the room exploded.

Darkness swallowed the station.

When emergency power returned...

The radio was silent again.

As if it had never spoken at all.

Far above...

In his suite...

Alastor quietly closed the panel beneath the dismantled receiver.

The smallest smile crossed his face.

One signal.

Only three words.

Not enough for Vox to notice.

But perhaps enough for someone who had been listening.

He rested a hand against the cold window overlooking Pentagram City.

"Come now, my dear..."

His reflection smiled back at him.

"I know you can hear me."

Previous chapter

Next chapter

The enormous room buzzed with electricity.

Screens covered every wall.

Hundreds.

Thousands.

Every one displaying a different corner of Hell.

News stations.

Security cameras.

Entertainment programs.

Advertisements.

Lives.

M-rated movies by Valentino

Everything.

Alastor sat comfortably in the chair that had been prepared for him, one ankle resting over the opposite knee as though he'd arrived for afternoon tea rather than a negotiation with one of Hell's most influential Overlords.

Across from him, Vox.

The silence stretched.

Neither hurried to fill it.

Eventually Vox smiled first.

"So."

Alastor returned it immediately.

"So."

"You actually came."

"You invited me."

"I honestly expected you to ignore it."

"My dear friend," Alastor replied pleasantly, "that would have been terribly rude."

Vox studies him.

He's suspicious.

Because Alastor is too calm.

"You quit the little princess' hotel."

"I did."

"Why?"

Alastor shrugs.

"I grew bored."

"Liar."

The smile widens.

"I've been called worse."

Vox stares at him slowly.

"I know you."

"You do always have another angle."

"I assume you didn't come here because you suddenly enjoy TV."

Alastor chuckles.

"Oh, certainly not."

"Then tell me. What do you want?"

A pause.

"A deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"Uh, nothing much, just for you and your friends to be away from the Hotel. And for you not to lay a hand on Death."

...

"Seriously? That's your condition?"

"It is."

Silence.

"...And what exactly are you offering me?"

Alastor leaned forward.

"The Radio Demon... In his entirety."

Now Vox became interested.

Finally.

Something worth discussing.

Vox frowned.

He almost looked offended.

"You could've asked for anything else, and you ask for... her?"

Alastor corrected gently.

"I ask that you refrain from laying a hand upon her."

Vox burst into laughter.

The monitors around them glitched with every sharp note.

When he finally calmed down, he wiped an imaginary tear from beneath one digital eye.

"That's adorable."

Alastor smiled pleasantly.

"I've heard that before."

Vox shook his head.

"Then sure!"

Just like that.

"Splendid."

Vox extended a hand.

"A pleasure doing business."

Alastor regarded it.

Then accepted.

The deal sealed with a burst of crackling blue light that crawled briefly over both of their arms before disappearing beneath skin and circuitry alike.

For the first time in centuries... Alastor belonged to someone else.

A grin stretched across Vox's screen.

"So..."

He stepped closer.

"You belong to me now."

Alastor smiled pleasantly.

"So it would seem."

"And you're not even going to pretend this bothers you?"

"Oh, it bothers me tremendously."

His smile never faltered.

"I simply see no reason to burden others with my discomfort."

"... I forgot how much I hate talking to you."

"The feeling is mutual."

For several seconds neither moved.

Neither looked away.

The room seemed smaller.

Then Vox laughed first.

"Ladies!"

His voice echoed through the tower.

A moment later the doors slid open.

Velvette walked in first, phone already in hand.

Valentino followed behind her, cigarette hanging loosely between two fingers.

"What?" Valentino muttered.

"I was busy."

"You never are," Vox answered.

Velvette looked between the two Overlords.

"...No way."

She pointed.

"You actually came?"

Alastor inclined his head politely.

"My dear."

She walked around him once.

Slowly.

Looking him up and down like a particularly expensive coat.

"...He looks exactly the same."

"What were you expecting?" Vox asked.

"I don't know. Chains. A muzzle."

"I heard that," Alastor said.

"I know."

Valentino smirked.

"So..."

He walked closer until he stood barely a foot away.

"The Radio Demon."

"I've wanted to punch you for decades."

"And yet," Alastor replied, "that will remain unfulfilled."

Valentino's eye twitched.

Vox raised a hand before anything escalated.

"Easy."

"He can't do anything."

Valentino glanced back.

"...Really?"

Vox tapped the side of his own head.

"We made a deal. He can't attack us."

Alastor corrected him immediately.

"No. I agreed to serve. I never agreed to become agreeable."

Velvette snorted.

"Oh, this is going to be exhausting."

"It already is."

Vox began pacing.

"Right."

"Ground rules."

He pointed toward Alastor.

"You stay in the tower."

"You work when I say."

"You broadcast when I tell you."

"You don't sabotage my equipment."

"You don't disappear."

"You don't kill my employees...Without permission."

Alastor nodded thoughtfully.

"Reasonable."

Valentino frowned.

"That's reasonable?"

"I've certainly accepted worse."

Vox narrowed his eyes.

"You accepted all of that awfully quickly."

Alastor rested both hands atop his cane.

"I entered this arrangement knowing precisely what it entailed."

"And?"

"And I have no intention of violating our agreement."

That answer...

Somehow made Vox trust him even less.

Hours passed.

Alastor remained exactly where Vox had left him.

He wandered the tower with maddening ease, humming to himself, occasionally commenting on the architecture, sometimes stopping to admire one of the panoramic windows overlooking Pentagram City.

He looked comfortable.

Far too comfortable.

By the end of the afternoon Vox finally snapped.

"What?"

Alastor looked over.

"What?"

"You're planning something."

"I usually am."

"There! You admitted it!"

"I admitted nothing specific."

Vox pinched the bridge of his... where his nose would be.

"What are you after?"

Alastor smiled.

"My freedom."

"I already own you."

"For the moment."

Vox leaned against a console.

"...You're strangely confident for someone wearing my contract."

Alastor's eyes drifted toward the city below.

"No contract lasts forever."

Later that evening, Vox escorted him to the upper floors.

Not exactly a prison.

An entire suite had been prepared.

Bedroom.

Library.

Private sitting room.

Even a radio.

Although the radio had very obviously been dismantled.

Vox folded his arms proudly.

"There. Comfortable enough?"

Alastor walked inside, inspecting everything with idle curiosity.

"Quite."

"You won't be leaving."

"I gathered as much."

"There are cameras."

"... I noticed."

"There are security systems."

"They're rather obvious."

"And if you try anything..."

Alastor turned toward him.

"I gave you my word."

Something about the way he said it made Vox hesitate.

Because despite everything Alastor never lied once he'd made a deal.

Vox nodded once.

Satisfied enough.

"Good."

The automatic doors closed behind him.

The locks engaged with a heavy metallic click.

Silence.

For the first time since entering the tower...

Alastor was alone.

He walked slowly toward the massive window overlooking Pentagram City.

His reflection stared back at him.

Still smiling.

Always smiling.

Then very slowly...

The smile disappeared.

Enough for the exhaustion underneath to finally show.

He raised one hand, touching the cold glass.

Far below...

The Hazbin Hotel's lights were barely visible.

"...Do forgive me, my dear," he murmured so quietly even the cameras couldn't catch the words.

"It won't be for long."

The smile returned.

Brighter than ever.

Because somewhere in the city...

Death was already beginning to notice something was terribly wrong.

She looked up.

She couldn't explain why.

Nothing had happened.

Nothing she could prove.

No cosmic law had shifted.

No soul had crossed her domain unexpectedly.

And yet...

Somewhere deep inside her—

That quiet instinct that had guided her since the first living creature drew its last breath whispered that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

She frowned toward the glowing tower on the horizon.

"...What have you gotten yourself into this time, Alastor...?"

Previous chapter

Next chapter

For the first time in... probably forever hell is hopeful.

The Hotel is busy.

Not overflowing, but busier than before.

Charlie's running around with paperwork.

Vaggie's trying to keep everything organized.

Angel is actually helping.

Husk keeps complaining while secretly enjoying the atmosphere.

Niffty is...being Niffty.

Y/N simply watches.

She's just observing.

Charlie notices.

"Isn't this great?"

Y/N looks around.

"...It is."

"..."

"But hope has a way of making people reckless."

Charlie laughs.

"I'll take reckless over hopeless."

Y/N actually smiles a little.

"I suppose that's fair."

Meanwhile...

Across Hell, Vox is furious.

Not because redemption exists.

Because it stole the spotlight.

Every news station.

Every screen.

Everyone's talking about Charlie.

Not him.

He slams his fist into a desk.

"One little snake dies..."

"...and suddenly she's the Queen of Hell."

Velvette tells him he's overreacting.

Valentino couldn't care less.

But Vox knows something they don't.

"Hope... Hope is competition."

"If sinners think they can leave Hell...they stop fearing Hell."

"And fear is profitable."

He doesn't want to destroy Heaven.

Not yet.

He wants Hell.

All of it.

His broadcasts begin changing.

Instead of advertisements...

They're speeches.

Charlie Morningstar wants you redeemed. I to give you power. Why beg Heaven for forgiveness, they're the bad ones here.

It's subtle.

But effective.

Y/N notices

She starts hearing conversations everywhere.

Cannibal Town.

The streets.

Overlords.

Even ordinary sinners.

"If Heaven can forgive us...Why should we trust them?"

Someone else replies.

"Vox has a point."

Y/N immediately understands.

He's weaponizing uncertainty.

Meanwhile Alastor

He's... off.

Not absent, nor rude.

Just distracted.

He spends less time at the Hotel.

More time disappearing.

Y/N notices.

Of course she does.

Death notices everything.

"You've been scarce."

He smiles.

"Have I?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps I've become difficult to kill."

"...That's not funny."

For just a fraction of a second...

His smile softens.

"No... It wasn't."

"So," he said brightly, tipping his head, "how goes the grand experiment in redemption? Have the sinners started behaving like proper little angels yet?"

Y/N knew he was changing the subject.

She also knew pressing him would get her nowhere.

So, reluctantly, she let him.

The following days settled into an uneasy routine.

The Hotel had become noticeably busier.

Word of Sir Pentious' redemption had spread through Hell with a lot of speed. Some dismissed it as another one of Charlie's hopeful fantasies, others believed it, but either way... people were talking.

And where there was uncertainty, there were questions.

Questions Charlie desperately wanted answered.

Questions Y/N couldn't always answer.

Late one afternoon, while reviewing a stack of newly arrived applications Charlie insisted on organizing, a faint golden glow appeared beside her.

A folded piece of paper.

Y/N recognized Emily's handwriting immediately.

She unfolded it.

How are things?

She smiled faintly before writing beneath the question.

Complicated.

The ink hadn't even dried before new words slowly appeared.

Here too.

A pause.

Then another sentence formed.

Sera hasn't left her office.

Y/N stared at the page for several seconds.

She could almost picture Emily sitting somewhere in Heaven, patiently waiting for the words to appear.

The image made her chest tighten.

The meeting with Sir Pentious hadn't simply shaken Heaven.

She folded the note once more before the light consumed it, carrying it back to its sender.

Elsewhere in Hell...

A lone radio crackled to life.

Alastor stopped walking.

The frequency was unfamiliar.

Very... new

Distorted by electronic interference rather than actual static.

Then came a voice.

"Oh, Al..."

A soft chuckle echoed through the speaker.

"I believe it's finally time we had ourselves a conversation."

Silence.

The Radio Demon regarded the small receiver for a long moment before calmly reaching over and switching it off.

Without another word, he continued on his way.

A few days later, Y/N found herself back in Cannibal Town.

Rosie's shop was as welcoming as ever.

The scent of fresh tea filled the room while soft music drifted lazily through the air.

Rosie looked up from her porcelain cup as Y/N entered.

"My dear."

Her smile widened.

"You're worried."

Y/N removed her cloak, hanging it neatly by the door.

"I'm not."

Rosie raised a delicate eyebrow.

"You came here."

Y/N sighed.

"...Fair enough."

Rosie gestured toward the empty chair across from her.

"Sit."

Tea was poured before another word was spoken.

For a while they simply enjoyed the quiet.

Eventually Rosie spoke first.

"So... How's Heaven?"

Y/N let out a small breath.

"Confused."

"I can imagine."

"They're questioning everything."

Rosie hummed knowingly.

"They've had an awfully long time to believe they already had all the answers."

Y/N couldn't argue with that.

Instead, another question surfaced.

"...Have you seen Alastor recently?"

Rosie smiled into her teacup.

"Oh, yes."

"And?"

"He's hunting."

Y/N frowned.

"Hunting? hunting what?"

Rosie's smile grew just a little wider.

"His freedom."

Y/N blinked.

"His...freedom?"

Rosie only chuckled softly.

"My dear... some answers are best discovered rather than given."

Before Y/N could press further, Rosie gracefully changed the subject, asking about Charlie's progress.

The conversation moved on.

But the word lingered.

Freedom.

Back at the hotel, Charlie had quickly discovered an unexpected problem.

Everyone wanted redemption.

Almost no one knew where to begin.

"I need help," Charlie admitted one evening, practically collapsing onto the couch beside Y/N.

"I've made schedules, meetings, group activities, trust exercises-"

"You made trust exercises?"

Charlie nodded enthusiastically.

"They're not going well."

Y/N wasn't surprised.

Charlie looked at her hopefully.

"...Would you help?"

Y/N tilted her head.

"With what?"

"You've always guided souls."

"After death."

Charlie smiled.

"So... guide them before it."

Y/N considered it.

She nodded.

"I can do that."

The first counseling session was...

Interesting.

Some sinners genuinely wanted to change.

Others simply wanted a free room.

One wanted to know if redemption came with tax exemptions.

Another spent nearly twenty minutes insisting murder should only count if the victim stayed dead.

Y/N was beginning to understand Charlie's exhaustion.

Near the end of the day, one sinner lingered behind after everyone else had left.

He hesitated before speaking.

"...Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

He gave a nervous laugh.

"...Right."

He looked down at his hands.

"Do you think...I deserve Heaven?"

The room became quiet.

Y/N studied him.

Not his appearance.

Nor his sins.

Him.

Finally, she answered.

"I don't decide what people deserve."

The sinner looked up.

"I decide whether they tried."

His shoulders lowered from relief.

For the first time someone believed trying actually mattered.

Night had settled over Pentagram City by the time Y/N left the hotel.

The streets pulsed with neon light.

Screens illuminated every building.

Advertisements stretched across rooftops.

Televisions glowed behind dusty storefront windows.

Phones lit countless hands.

Everywhere she looked...

Vox.

His smile.

His logo.

His voice.

"Well...The future belongs to those willing to seize it..."

The city practically shimmered beneath blue light.

Y/N continued walking.

Then...

Every screen flickered.

The advertisements disappeared.

Static filled the streets.

Conversations halted.

One by one...

Every display across Pentagram City showed the same black screen.

White letters slowly appeared.

COMING SOON.

The message remained for only a heartbeat.

Then the static changed.

Radio.

Familiar radio.

A cheerful voice echoed across the entire city.

"Good evening, Hell."

Y/N froze.

It lasted barely a second.

The transmission was violently cut off.

Every screen snapped back to Vox's programming as if nothing had happened.

People muttered.

Some laughed.

Others assumed it had been another advertisement.

But Y/N remained standing in the middle of the street, staring at the nearest monitor.

"...Alastor?"

Far above the city, hidden within the towering walls of VoxTek headquarters, silence settled over a dimly lit room.

Electric cables coiled across the floor like serpents, wrapping around towering radio equipment that hummed with stolen energy.

At the center of it all sat Alastor.

Hands folded neatly over one knee.

Back perfectly straight.

Smile as unwavering as ever.

Across from him, Vox leaned comfortably against a console, one hand resting on the controls that had just interrupted the broadcast.

"So..." Vox said, his screen flickering with amusement. "Ready to negotiate?"

Alastor chuckled softly.

"My dear Vincent..." (AN was that the name? I don't remember)

He leaned forward just enough for the shadows to hide everything but his smile.

"I believe the more appropriate question is..."

His crimson eyes gleamed.

"...shall we discuss about Miss Death?"

Previous chapter

Next chapter

YOU GUYS HEIAN ERA SUKUNA ON THE CULLING GAME PART 1 EP 12

(I edited the frame a bit so he's more visible)

I had a little idea after I got abstracted :)

The first few days were quiet.

Too quiet.

Everyone expected tears or anger or stories about what had happened.

Instead you apologized.

Constantly.

"Sorry."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be in the way."

"Sorry."

Bulma frowned every single time.

You never sat with your back to a doorway.

Never.

Even while eating.

Even watching television.

Even asleep.

You always chose the chair with the best view of every exit.

Vegeta noticed.

He didn't say anything.

If someone entered a room unexpectedly...

Your shoulders tensed before your head turned.

Every

single

time

Like your body had already decided whether to run before your mind caught up.

One evening...

Bulma called everyone for dinner.

"Food's ready!"

You were already standing.

Plate in hand.

Waiting.

Gohan blinked.

"...You don't have to ask permission."

"..."

"...Right."

You sat back down.

Looking vaguely embarrassed.

It was painfully obvious.

You had learned rules that no longer existed.

The jokes returned first.

Small ones.

Bad ones.

You looked at Vegeta while he trained.

"...If you lose to Kakarot again I'm telling the internet you're washed."

Vegeta frowned.

"...What?"

"... I don't know either."

Krillin sneezed.

You looked up from your phone.

"Bro really installed the sneeze update."

"..."

"..."

"...What?"

"I... forget it..."

Piccolo crossed his arms.

"...Are they making jokes on purpose?"

Gohan sighed.

"I think...I think they just cope like that."

A week later...

Vegeta found you outside.

You were sitting alone.

Picking at the grass.

Quiet.

Far quieter than usual.

"...Oi."

You looked up.

"Hm?"

"Tell me one."

"...One what?"

"One of your terrible jokes."

You blinked.

"...Why?"

"So I know you're still alive."

Silence.

"..."

"..."

Then...

You laughed.

A real laugh.

Short.

Surprised.

"...Okay."

You cleared your throat dramatically.

"Why doesn't Dracula have friends?"

"..."

"...Because he's a pain in the neck."

Vegeta stared.

"...That's awful."

"I know."

"...Tell another."

Eventually...

The others caught on.

The worse your jokes became...

The better you were feeling.

One afternoon...

Goku walked into the kitchen.

You immediately blurted

"Dad."

"Yeah?"

"I accidentally drank invisible ink."

"..."

"...How are you feeling?"

"I don't know."

"..."

"..."

"I'll have to wait and see."

Goku laughed so hard he nearly dropped the milk.

Not every day was good.

Sometimes...

Someone knocked on your bedroom door...

And your heart raced.

Sometimes a loud noise made you flinch.

Sometimes you woke up convinced you were back in that cabin.

On those days...

The jokes disappeared.

No one asked you to tell them.

They simply sat with you.

Until you were ready again.

Months later...

Vegeta overheard Trunks complaining.

"They're so cringe."

"They keep saying brainrot words."

"They called me 'bestie.'" (I call bestie everyone lol)

Vegeta smirked.

"...Good."

"Huh?"

"It means they're comfortable enough to annoy us."

You walked into the room at that exact moment.

"Skibidi."

Everyone looked at you.

"..."

"..."

"...I don't even know why I said that."

Vegeta groaned.

"There they are."

Masterpost

DBS Masterlist

Can I please get a reader with a disability and chronic pain? :( Making a wish through the Dragon Balls seems too easy, so imagine that the Dragon can't cure chronic pain. Senju Beans don't help. Shin, who is friends with the reader, discreetly shares energy, trying to ease the pain. Bulma doesn't mind the reader's presence, so if they can't come themselves, Shin or Goku teleports them from their own home.

But what if Zeno's energy and the Hakaishin's energy of destruction can significantly alleviate chronic pain? Practically eliminate the sensation of pain so much, as if all the symptoms had disappeared, that the reader can feel better and do something that would normally take them time?

Usually, The energy emanating from the gods could frighten and send one running, but in the reader's case, they, sitting cautiously in the most remote place and minding their own business, suddenly begin to cry with joy. It seems the hakaishins have now found a reason to sit next to the reader, not only because of their calm aura, but also because their very presence brings relief. (Yes, after this, I would definitely be able to walk around the lawn very freely.)

(But just imagine how the reader embarrasses Black Goku when he asks about his body-swapping wish, and what that felt like)

Most people feared divine energy.

The first time they stood near Beerus, their knees trembled.

The first time they met an angel, they struggled to breathe.

Even experienced warriors instinctively lowered their heads before a God of Destruction.

You had a different reaction.

The pain had become part of your life years ago.

Some mornings it was a dull ache.

Others, it stole your breath before your feet even touched the floor.

You learned to smile through it.

To rest when you could.

To accept help only after insisting you didn't need it.

Shin knew better.

Whenever you visited Capsule Corp, he'd quietly place a hand on your shoulder while no one was looking.

Just enough energy.

Never enough to heal.

Just enough to make the next few hours a little easier.

He never mentioned it.

Neither did you.

It simply became another silent kindness between friends.

Bulma had long since stopped questioning why the Supreme Kai occasionally appeared in her garden carrying you through Instant Transmission.

"If you're going to teleport into my backyard," she'd sigh, "at least text first."

"I'll try."

"You won't."

"...Probably not."

She was right.

It happened by accident.

One afternoon, several Gods of Destruction had gathered at Capsule Corp.

You stayed well away from them.

They deserved space.

Besides...

The less attention you drew, the better.

So you settled beneath a tree with your book.

Quiet.

Comfortable.

Content simply to listen to the distant conversations.

Then something changed.

The familiar ache in your joints softened.

The constant weight pressing against your body lifted.

Your shoulders relaxed without you telling them to.

For the first time in... you couldn't even remember.

Nothing hurt.

Enough that you forgot what you were waiting for.

Enough that standing didn't feel like negotiating with your own body.

Enough that your first few steps came without hesitation.

You stared at your own hands.

Flexed your fingers.

Rolled your shoulders.

Then without warning...

Tears spilled down your cheeks.

Beerus noticed first.

"...Why are they crying?"

No one answered.

Until Shin quietly looked toward you.

"..."

"...I think they stopped hurting."

Silence spread through the garden.

The Gods of Destruction exchanged puzzled glances.

"Our energy did that?"

"I don't know," Belmod admitted. "It shouldn't."

Whis watched thoughtfully.

"Perhaps..."

"...Not healing."

"...Simply overwhelming the sensation."

From that day on...

The gatherings changed.

Not dramatically.

Just...

Quietly.

Someone would sit near you.

Another would wander over a few minutes later.

Soon enough, several Gods of Destruction had somehow settled nearby.

None of them acknowledged why.

Beerus claimed the shade was better there.

Champa insisted the snacks were closer.

Liquiir simply said nothing at all.

No one admitted the truth.

That your relieved smile was...

Pleasanter to witness than they expected.

Then came Zeno.

He skipped happily toward you one afternoon.

"Friend!"

You smiled.

"Hello, Zeno."

He climbed into the chair beside yours without a second thought.

Almost immediately you inhaled sharply.

The pain...

Didn't vanish.

But it faded so far into the background that, for the first time in years...

You forgot to think about it.

"..."

"..."

"...Are you okay?"

Zeno tilted his head.

You laughed through fresh tears.

"I'm wonderful."

He smiled.

"Good!"

He never understood why everyone suddenly looked so emotional.

Later...

Goku Black heard the story.

"...How pathetic. A mortal so weak they celebrate standing."

You looked at him quietly.

Then asked...

"...When you stole Goku's body..."

He frowned.

"...What of it?"

"...Did it hurt?"

Silence.

"You suddenly had muscles that weren't yours."

"A heartbeat that wasn't yours."

"Ki pathways that weren't yours."

"You had to learn how to breathe in someone else's body."

Another pause.

"...Did everything ache?"

Black said nothing.

"..."

"..."

"...For a while."

Your smile was gentle.

"I thought so."

For the first time...

He understood.

Not completely.

But enough.

Enough to realize that living in a body that constantly fought against you...

Was exhausting in ways strength alone could never solve.

Masterpost

DBS Masterlist

Part 1, Part 2

Y/N's earliest memory was laughter.

Not her own.

Her caretaker's.

The woman she didn't know was her mother.

-

She remembered being no taller than the low tables of the palace, stumbling through corridors much too large for such little legs.

Every servant stopped what they were doing when she passed.

Every door opened before she reached it.

Every request was fulfilled before she finished asking.

She thought that was how the world worked.

Everyone did what she wanted.

Why wouldn't they?

-

"Lady Y/N."

"I want the moon."

The old servant smiled helplessly.

"...The moon?"

She nodded with complete seriousness.

"It's pretty."

Within an hour...

The palace artisans had hung hundreds of silver lanterns from the gardens.

When night came, the entire courtyard shimmered like a sky brought to earth.

The little girl clapped happily.

"It's mine!"

"Yes, Lady Y/N."

Everything was hers.

No one ever told her otherwise.

Her caretaker watched from beneath the veranda.

"You spoil her."

One maid laughed nervously.

"My lady... those are Lord Sukuna's orders."

Nothing she desired was to be denied.

Ever.

When Y/N was four, she pointed toward a peacock wandering the gardens.

"I like it."

By evening it had become her pet.

When she wished to hear music, the finest musicians in Japan performed until she fell asleep.

If she disliked a meal, the kitchens began again.

No one complained.

No one dared.

Only one person ever gently corrected her.

Her caretaker.

"Sit straight."

Tiny shoulders straightened immediately.

Meals were another lesson.

Servants placed countless dishes before her.

She never reached.

Never leaned.

Never rushed.

Instead...

She looked.

Only looked.

Within seconds a servant noticed.

"My Lady."

The bowl was placed in front of her.

No words needed.

The caretaker nodded approvingly.

"Never ask."

"Why?"

"Because queens are not denied."

"...What if someone says no?"

The caretaker paused.

That question had no answer she was permitted to give.

So she answered the way she'd been instructed.

"They won't."

---

At seven years old...

Y/N woke before sunrise.

The palace was strangely quiet.

She padded barefoot through familiar halls.

"...Caretaker?"

No answer.

She checked the garden.

The library.

The embroidery room.

Nothing.

One maid knelt.

"Lady Y/N."

"Where is she?"

"...She has left."

"Oh."

The answer seemed simple enough.

People left.

Servants came, servants went.

She had seen it before.

"...Who will do my hair?"

"I will, my lady."

"...Alright."

Children accepted change more easily than adults.

She simply walked away.

The maid lowered her head trying not to cry.

Because everyone in the palace knew that the woman hadn't left.

Lord Sukuna had ordered her removed.

Far away.

Comfortably.

Wealthily.

But permanently.

The woman who had carried Y/N beneath her heart spent the rest of her life wondering whether the child ever remembered her smile.

---

Years passed.

Her beauty blossomed as naturally as the cherry trees surrounding the palace.

She had become tall.

Graceful.

At eighteen years, the palace changed overnight.

Blood red flowers, incense burned through every corridor. All the servants wore ceremonial robes.

Every detail had meaning.

Every flower.

Every color.

Every symbol.

Y/N sat silently as the attendants surrounded her.

The room smelled of incense and iron.

Her ceremonial robes rested beside her, layered silk dyed in deep reds and blacks, representing the colors of the one she was about to stand beside.

"Hold still, My Lady."

The attendant dipped her brush into the small bowl before her.

The red liquid was dark.

Blood.

A mixture prepared through an ancient ritual passed down among sorcerers.

Blood from the King of Curses and his chosen bride.

A symbol that their fates were no longer separate.

The first mark was drawn across her shoulder.

Then another along her arm.

Curving patterns.

Sharp lines.

Symbols resembling flames, claws, and ancient seals.

Not the same as Sukuna's markings.

her own.

The attendant carefully painted her hands, her back, her collarbones, her legs.

Each mark placed with precision.

Y/N watched quietly.

The final mark was saved for last.

Her forehead.

The most important one.

The place where the ritual would begin.

The attendant's hand trembled slightly.

When Sukuna placed his hand there later... the temporary marking would become permanent.

A sign that she belonged beside him.

The doors of the ceremonial hall opened.

Every servant lowered themselves.

Y/N walked alone.

That had been Sukuna's order.

The hall stretched endlessly before her.

At the end stood Sukuna.

The tattoos across his skin mirrored the markings now painted across hers.

The resemblance was intentional.

The message was obvious.

Two beings shaped by cursed energy.

Two beings who refused to be controlled by time.

She approached him.

The servants expected her to kneel.

She didn't.

She stopped before him.

Standing.

Sukuna's eyes narrowed slightly.

Not in anger.

Approval.

"Good."

His voice carried through the hall.

The ceremony began.

Ancient words were spoken.

Sukuna stepped forward.

The servants held their breath.

He raised one hand.

His finger traced the marking on her forehead.

The blood pattern glowed faintly beneath his cursed energy.

Y/N felt the air shift.

The ritual recognized him.

The mark reacted.

Sukuna's cursed energy flowed through the symbol.

The temporary design changed.

The blood faded and the mark remained.

The same nature as the markings across his own body.

His fingers moved away.

"There."

His voice was quiet.

"Now the world will know."

Y/N looked at him.

"That you are my equal."

The words surprised even the servants.

Because no one had ever heard Sukuna say such a thing.

Y/N looked at the mark reflected faintly in the polished floor.

A piece of him.

A piece of herself.

The feast lasted until sunrise.

Later, when the halls finally emptied, Y/N stood on the balcony overlooking the lands beneath them.

Sukuna approached.

No servants, no audience, just them.

She looked at him.

He studied her quietly.

The years showed.

The discipline.

The elegance.

The overwhelming cursed energy that pulsed beneath her skin.

A satisfied hum escaped him.

"You grew well."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Strong."

"Refined."

"And beautiful."

As factual as saying the sky was blue.

Exactly as intended.

"Come."

Y/N hesitated only a heartbeat before stoping beside him.

A rare smile spread across his face.

"There you belong."

For the first time in eighteen years...

The King of Curses looked upon the woman he had prepared for eternity.

And found that she had become exactly what he had envisioned.

Someone worthy of sharing his throne.

Masterpost

Part 1

The palace had never been so quiet.

Not even when enemies stood at the gates.

Because everyone within Sukuna's domain knew one thing:

The child was coming.

The servants moved like shadows through the halls, carrying water, preparing medicines, lighting incense. The greatest physicians and attendants in the land had been summoned, not because the concubine was precious...

But because what she carried was.

Hours passed.

The night deepened.

And then, a cry.

A small, fragile, human cry.

For a moment, no one moved.

The sound was almost impossible to comprehend.

A child had been born inside the palace of the King of Curses.

A life created from the blood of something that should not exist.

The attendants carefully wrapped the newborn in silk, their hands trembling despite years of serving monsters and sorcerers.

"She is healthy."

"The child..."

One physician lowered his head.

"...she is unlike anything recorded."

The concubine barely heard them.

She only saw her.

Her daughter.

So small.

So warm.

So alive.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she held her for the first time.

"Hello..."

Her voice broke.

"You finally came."

The baby opened her eyes.

And for a moment, the mother forgot everything.

The expectations.

The rituals.

The reason she had been chosen.

She was simply holding her child.

---

The doors opened.

Every servant immediately lowered themselves.

The atmosphere changed.

The baby became restless.

Ryomen Sukuna entered.

His attention ignored everyone.

It focused only on the child.

The concubine lowered her gaze.

"My lord."

Sukuna approached.

For once, he did not look at the woman who had carried his blood.

He looked at what she had created.

The child stared back.

Unafraid.

A slow smile appeared on Sukuna's face.

"Hm."

A simple sound.

But everyone in the room understood.

He was pleased.

"Bring her."

The attendants froze.

The mother hesitated.

Then carefully placed the baby into his arms.

It was almost strange.

Such a tiny thing.

Resting against someone who had brought entire clans to ruin.

Sukuna held her effortlessly with one arm.

The child grabbed onto one of his fingers.

...

No one touched Sukuna.

No one approached him.

No one dared.

Yet this child did so without hesitation.

His eyes lowered.

"...Bold."

The baby only stared.

And for the briefest moment, something almost resembling pride crossed his expression.

"Good."

---

A ritual was prepared before dawn.

Not a ceremony of celebration.

A ceremony of inheritance.

A tradition reserved for those who possessed enough power to survive it.

Sukuna had no intention of allowing time to take what belonged to him.

A shallow cut was made upon his finger.

One drop.

Only one.

Enough.

His blood was not ordinary.

It carried centuries of hatred, strength, and cursed energy condensed into something beyond human.

He touched the drop to the child's forehead.

The candles extinguished.

Every person present felt it.

The bond.

The child cried once.

Then went silent.

The mark faded into her skin as a seal.

A declaration that death itself would have difficulty claiming her.

Sukuna watched carefully.

"From this day forward..."

His voice echoed through the chamber.

"You will not be bound by the weakness of humans."

"You will not wither."

"You will not decay."

"You will not be stolen away by time."

The child slept peacefully.

Unaware of the weight of his words.

Sukuna looked down at her.

"You will have eternity."

A pause.

"And you will decide what to do with it."

---

Later, when the sun rose, the orders were given.

The servants bowed.

"She will know every art, every language, every tradition worthy of her."

His gaze shifted toward the attendants.

"And she will never be denied anything necessary."

The servants bowed deeper.

"Yes, my lord."

And finally,

"The mother will remain here."

The concubine looked up.

For the first time, his attention returned to her.

"Until the child no longer requires her."

Her eyes widened slightly.

"My lord?"

"She carried my blood."

A pause.

"So she will be cared for."

A recognition of her role.

"You will recover."

"You will raise her during her earliest years."

"But after that..."

His expression became unreadable.

"You will step away."

The mother understood.

And perhaps that hurt more than if he had taken the child immediately.

Because he was allowing her time.

Giving her memories.

Knowing he would eventually take them away.

The servants waited for further orders.

Sukuna looked toward the sleeping infant one final time.

Then turned away.

"My presence is unnecessary."

The room went silent.

"My lord?"

"She will know who I am."

His voice was calm.

"But she will not know me."

No one questioned him.

"When she stands before me one day..."

"I want her to understand what she is."

A being who could stand beside him.

"My bride must choose her place."

His eyes narrowed.

"And choice cannot exist if she has never known anything else."

With that, he left.

The child remained sleeping.

The mother held her close.

And somewhere deep within the palace...

The King of Curses waited.

Years would pass.

The child would grow.

She would learn the world.

She would learn power.

She would learn that anything she desired could be hers.

Everything except the one thing Sukuna had deliberately refused to give her:

A father.

Because when they met again...

He did not want her to see a man who raised her.

He wanted her to see the one being in the world who could stand beside her forever.

Part 3

Masterpost

This has been lingering on my mind for a while, I wanted to share it, although it's dark fantasy, with some heavy topics so you don't have to read it.

⚠️ Content Warnings: Implied forced conception, Concubinage, corrupt love interest, Toxic family dynamics, Dark themes and morally gray characters, arranged marriage

(A/N: I promise I am a normal person. I do not condone Sukuna's worldview or actions. This is a dark fantasy story exploring a character whose ideas of love, family, and legacy are deeply distorted by his power and immortality. Also, yes, I realize this concept is absolutely unhinged.)

---

The palace was silent.

Not peaceful.

Silent.

The difference mattered.

The walls of Sukuna's palace were built from cedar blackened by incense and old blood, their polished floors reflecting the dim light of hundreds of candles. Servants moved like frightened ghosts, speaking only when spoken to, never looking directly toward the throne room where the King of Curses rested.

The women of the inner chambers knew the rules.

Never presume affection.

Never expect tomorrow.

Never forget why you were chosen.

She rested one hand over the gentle swell beneath her robes.

Four months.

The court physicians had confirmed it.

A female.

Exactly as Sukuna had desired.

She sat beside the open veranda overlooking endless forests painted gold beneath the setting sun. A breeze carried the scent of rain and plum blossoms, lifting loose strands of her long hair.

Her fingers traced absent circles over her stomach.

"...I hope you can't hear me..."

She smiled sadly.

"I really hope not."

The baby shifted.

A tiny flutter.

Far too small to be called a kick.

Her eyes watered despite herself.

"You've already inherited his cursed blood."

The physicians had whispered about it.

The child possessed cursed energy before her organs had fully formed.

An impossible thing.

No human child should.

No human child ever had.

She laughed softly.

"You'll probably never understand why everyone fears you."

The silence answered.

"They're afraid because your father isn't a man."

She glanced toward the palace towering behind her.

"He never was."

Every servant had a different story.

Some claimed Sukuna had once been human.

Others insisted he had descended from calamity itself.

A demon wearing human flesh.

A god forgotten by heaven.

Whatever the truth...

No one denied what he had become.

She lowered her head again.

"I was selected because he said I was..."

She hesitated.

"..."Beautiful.""

The compliment had chilled her more than any threat.

Beautiful.

Beautiful and strong

Strong enough to endure carrying... her

Strong enough not to die before birth.

Strong enough to create...

...his heir.

Her fingers tightened against her stomach.

"No..."

She corrected herself.

"You're not his heir."

She remembered his exact words.

---

"An heir is unnecessary."

The throne room had echoed with his voice.

"I have no intention of dying."

His four arms rested lazily upon the massive throne while countless curses knelt beneath him.

One crimson eye settled upon her.

"The child is for my future."

She hadn't understood.

"...Future...?"

He had smiled.

A smile that belonged to something ancient.

"I require a bride."

The entire court had frozen.

One minister had dared raise his head.

"My lord... surely there are countless noble daughters-"

He never finished.

His body had split in half before he realized Sukuna had moved.

Blood painted the pillars.

Sukuna hadn't even looked at him.

"I grow weary of human women."

His gaze remained fixed on her.

"They decay."

Another pause.

"They age."

Another.

"They die."

His voice lowered.

"I do not."

The room had become suffocating beneath the pressure of his cursed energy.

"My bride will remain beside me forever."

Someone whispered...

"...Impossible."

Sukuna laughed.

"It is."

Then he'd looked directly at her stomach.

"The girl will inherit enough of my blood."

She blinked away the memory.

"...That's why you're here."

The words felt heavier spoken aloud.

---

"You weren't conceived out of love."

Another tiny movement.

She smiled despite the ache in her chest.

"But..."

Her thumb rubbed gently across her belly.

"I already love you."

That surprised her.

She hadn't intended to.

She had told herself this child belonged to Sukuna.

That she was merely carrying a vessel.

A future queen.

A future sacrifice.

Anything except...

...her daughter.

Yet every day the feeling became stronger.

"I wonder..."

She whispered.

"...will you have four arms?"

She giggled through her tears.

"If you do..."

"I'll make you the prettiest little robes in the world."

She imagined tiny sleeves.

Then realized...

...she'd need four.

The absurd image made her laugh harder.

For one fleeting moment...

She was simply a mother.

Not a concubine.

Not the chosen vessel for the King of Curses.

Just...

A woman speaking to her unborn daughter.

"You know..."

Her voice softened.

"Everyone says you'll become a monster."

"I don't believe them."

She leaned down until her forehead rested against her stomach.

"I think..."

"...someone should tell you that you deserve kindness before the world teaches you fear."

Another flutter.

As if answering.

Tears finally slipped free.

"I don't know how long I'll be allowed to stay with you after you're born."

She already knew the answer.

The child would belong to Sukuna.

Raised within his palace.

Trained.

Strengthened.

Prepared.

Not only for rulership.

But for eternity.

"If... if one day you wonder whether your mother wanted you..."

Her voice trembled.

"Please...don't."

"I wanted you."

"Even if I wasn't allowed to choose."

A shadow fell across the veranda.

The air instantly became heavier.

Colder.

She didn't need to turn around.

Every instinct in her body already knew.

Sukuna.

"My lord."

She lowered her head without standing.

Heavy footsteps approached, each one deliberate enough to make the wooden floor groan.

He stopped beside her.

Towering.

Massive.

His four arms folded across his broad chest as crimson eyes regarded the woman and the life growing within her.

"You speak to her."

It wasn't a question.

"...I do."

"Why?"

She hesitated.

"I thought... perhaps hearing a familiar voice would be comforting."

"Hm."

A dismissive hum.

One of his lower hands reached forward, brushing aside the loose folds of fabric until his broad palm rested against her stomach.

There was no tenderness in the gesture.

The cursed energy surrounding him shifted.

Instantly.

The baby responded.

A flutter.

Then another.

Small movements beneath his hand.

His lips curled upward.

"There."

His voice carried unmistakable satisfaction.

"She recognizes me."

The mother stared at the movement beneath his palm.

"...Already?"

"She has inherited my cursed energy."

His thumb shifted ever so slightly.

"She has been aware of my presence since before she possessed ears."

Another flutter answered him.

He chuckled.

A low, pleased sound that very few people had ever lived long enough to hear.

"So impatient."

One of his upper arms folded across his chest while the other remained where it was.

"I expected as much."

The concubine couldn't hide her surprise.

She had never imagined Ryomen Sukuna speaking to anyone with that tone.

It wasn't soft.

It wasn't warm.

But there was unmistakable approval.

Like a craftsman admiring the first signs that his masterpiece was taking shape.

"...My lord."

He briefly glanced at her.

"What."

She swallowed.

"...What kind of life do you intend for... the child?"

His attention returned to her stomach immediately.

"The finest."

The answer came without hesitation.

"She will want for nothing."

"Anything she desires shall be placed before her."

"She will never know hunger."

"Never know fear."

"Never lower herself before another."

His crimson eyes narrowed slightly.

"I will ensure no one possesses the ability to deny her anything."

His hand remained still against her abdomen.

"If she reaches toward the stars... I'll tear them from the heavens."

The certainty in his voice left no room for doubt.

He meant every word.

The mother looked down, emotions knotting in her chest.

"...You wish for her to be happy."

Sukuna gave her an almost puzzled look.

"As though there were another acceptable outcome."

His gaze drifted back to the tiny life beneath his hand.

"She will have strength."

"Wealth."

"Knowledge."

"The world itself."

"Why would her not be happy?"

There was no cruelty in the statement.

Only the simple belief that happiness was something one obtained through absolute freedom.

Power meant freedom.

Freedom meant happiness.

Anything else...

...was weakness.

His thumb tapped lightly once against her stomach.

The tiny movements answered immediately.

Another amused chuckle.

"She already responds well."

"Good."

He withdrew his hand at last.

Without another glance toward the woman carrying the child.

His interest had begun and ended with what she carried.

As he turned to leave, his voice echoed through the veranda.

"Continue speaking to her."

She blinked.

"My lord?"

"She should recognize your voice as well."

He paused only for an instant.

"When she is born..."

"She will need someone familiar before it grows accustomed to mine."

Then he continued walking.

His robes disappeared into the dim corridors of the palace.

Leaving the concubine alone once more.

She rested both hands over her stomach.

"...Did you hear that?"

A tiny flutter answered.

She smiled through the sting in her eyes.

"You'll never have to wonder whether he'll provide for you."

Her smile became bittersweet.

"...I only pray that one day..."

"...someone teaches you that love is more than never being told "no"."

Part 2

Masterpost

The reader doesn't hug Eyre, but they ruffle the kaioshin's hair, stroke his head, and then scratch behind his ear. Eyre says NOTHING, and Lord Mosco, if he's nearby, also says NOTHING. It's kind of unexpected, and yet neither of them wants to disrupt this moment.

And suddenly every kaio became a dog...

It wasn't unusual to find you and Eyre together.

Whenever the universal gatherings became too loud, the two of you somehow drifted toward the quieter corners of the palace.

Usually with tea.

Usually with books.

Sometimes with blueprints.

Today happened to be robotics.

"...Universe Three is decades ahead in autonomous maintenance systems," you explained, flipping through a notebook.

Eyre nodded.

"Our efficiency is noticeable compared to others."

"But I do think you rely too heavily on centralized control."

"... yeah... yeah, I agree."

The conversation continued effortlessly.

Old science-fiction novels.

Video games.

The ethics of self-learning machines.

One topic flowed naturally into another.

Neither of you noticed how comfortable the silence between sentences had become.

It was, admittedly...

A familiar feeling.

One you normally associated with Shin.

Hours spent discussing work often ended with you absentmindedly reaching over to fix his hair, pat his head, or gently scratch behind one pointed ear while continuing your train of thought.

He had long since stopped reacting.

It was simply...

Something you did.

"...Actually," you said, pointing at a diagram, "if you changed the processor architecture-"

Your hand moved before your brain did.

A casual ruffle through soft silver hair.

"..."

Eyre blinked once.

You kept talking.

"-the computational bottleneck practically disappears, assuming the hardware can compensate..."

Another absentminded stroke across the top of his head.

"..."

"..."

Then...

Your fingers found the spot just behind his ear.

A light scratch.

"..."

"..."

Eyre froze.

Not stiff.

Just...

Completely still.

Nearby...

Lord Mosco witnessed everything.

He looked toward Eyre.

Then toward you.

Then back again.

...

He remained perfectly silent.

"...Which is why I think decentralized systems are-"

Your sentence stopped.

Your hand...

Was still gently scratching behind Eyre's ear.

"..."

Slowly...

Very slowly...

You looked up.

Then at your own hand.

Then back at Eyre.

"..."

"Oh."

A long pause followed.

"...You're..."

You blinked.

"...Not Shin."

"No," Eyre answered quietly.

"...I'm sorry."

You immediately pulled your hand back as though you'd touched a live wire.

"I wasn't paying attention."

"I know."

"I do that with Shin all the time."

"I assumed as much."

"..."

"..."

"I'm incredibly embarrassed."

Eyre looked at you for a moment.

Then...

"...It was..."

He hesitated.

"...Pleasant."

You stared.

"...Really?"

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"...I see."

Neither of you knew what to say after that.

Mosco, meanwhile...

Made absolutely no comment.

He simply filed the memory away forever.

Perhaps for future amusement.

Perhaps because he had never seen Eyre look quite so relaxed.

Either way...

Some moments were better left uninterrupted.

The next gathering...

You made a very conscious effort to keep both hands wrapped securely around your teacup.

Just in case.

Eyre noticed.

"...You don't have to."

"...Are you sure?"

A tiny smile appeared on the Kaioshin's face.

"I don't mind."

"..."

"..."

Your hand slowly reached up once more.

A careful pat.

Then another.

Eyre quietly returned to discussing robotics as though nothing unusual had happened.

Neither of you acknowledged it.

And somehow...

That made it feel perfectly natural.

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DBS Masterlist

There had been expectations.

The supreme kais had heard about you for months.

The angels had heard even longer.

A mortal.

Exceptionally intelligent.

Invited to gatherings usually reserved for gods.

Someone Beerus tolerated.

Someone the Grand Priest genuinely enjoyed speaking with.

Naturally everyone was curious.

"...They're late."

One of the guards shifted impatiently.

"You've been saying that for three minutes," another sighed.

Then...

The doors opened.

Conversation stopped.

Not because you made a grand entrance.

Quite the opposite.

You simply walked inside with a small smile, greeting everyone as though you'd known them for years.

There was no arrogance.

No nervousness.

Just... peace.

The room itself seemed quieter somehow.

Even Beerus looked up from his meal.

"...Hello," you greeted softly.

One angel blinked.

Another almost dropped the tray they were carrying.

"...Oh."

"..."

"...They're..."

"...Beautiful."

It wasn't merely your appearance.

Though...

Yes.

You were breathtaking.

Almost unreal.

Like someone had painted a person instead of creating one.

It was the way you smiled.

The way your voice never rose above a gentle conversation.

The way you looked at everyone as though they already mattered.

It was comforting.

You wandered through the palace, happily introducing yourself.

Learning names.

Remembering them immediately.

Asking questions.

Listening carefully to every answer.

You made everyone feel...

Seen.

Even those usually overlooked.

Especially Zeno's guards.

"...You remembered my name?"

"Of course."

"...We only met once."

"I know."

That smile nearly killed him.

Then...

You spotted Cus.

Your eyes lit up.

"Oh!"

The tiny angel looked up curiously.

"...Hello."

Without hesitation, you crouched down.

"Oh my goodness, aren't you adorable?"

"..."

"..."

Cus blinked.

"...Thank you?"

"Where are your parents?"

Silence.

Several angels immediately looked away.

Whis pressed a hand over his mouth.

Vados was already laughing.

"I'm an angel," Cus explained politely.

"Oh."

"..."

"...So..."

You hesitated.

"...Are you still allowed juice boxes?"

Beerus snorted so hard he nearly inhaled his food.

Cus tilted her head.

"...What is a juice box?"

"I'll get you one."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

"..."

"...Very well."

Unfortunately...

It happened again.

This time with Zeno.

You found him sitting happily on the floor, stacking colorful blocks.

"...Aww."

The Omni-King looked up.

"Hi!"

"Hi there."

You smiled warmly.

"Are your parents nearby?"

The Grand Priest looked over.

"...I suppose I am."

"Oh!"

You offered him an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, your son is very well-behaved."

"..."

"..."

"...Thank you."

No one corrected you.

Not a single soul.

Mostly because watching the Grand Priest silently accept being mistaken for Zeno's father was far too entertaining.

By the end of the day...

The guards had developed a schedule to volunteer for whichever hallway you happened to be walking through.

The angels found themselves lingering a little longer whenever you started talking.

Cus now knew what apple juice was.

Zeno had proudly declared you his friend.

And Beerus...

Beerus quietly accepted that, somehow...

Yet another group of celestial beings had become hopelessly fond of one very gentle mortal.

It kept happening.

No one knew why.

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quietly ask Korn if his God of Destruction has had all his rabies shots

admiringly call Liquiir "Kurama" from *Naruto* (and accidentally explain the creature's lore)

learn the God of Destruction's name, mistake it for "liquor" (cerebrospinal fluid/liquor cerebrospinalis)and excitedly call Goten and Trunks over, claiming there are references to the anime *Attack on Titan*

Liquiir is actually one of my fav gods there, idk why

... I probably know why, I don't want to say it out loud

It's called "Pattern Recognition" :)

You had met many Gods of Destruction.

Beerus.

Champa.

Belmod.

Sidra.

Each one had left... an impression.

But Universe 8's God of Destruction?

He was certainly memorable.

Mainly because he looked like an enormous fox.

"..."

"..."

You stared.

Liquiir stared back.

(🎵 Well he looks at me And I look at him And he looks at me And I look at him

And he looks at me And I look at him 🎵)

Without thinking, you turned toward Korn.

"...Has he had all his rabies shots?"

Silence.

Korn blinked once.

"...Excuse me?"

"I mean, he is canine-adjacent."

"He is a God of Destruction."

"That didn't answer my question."

Liquiir's tail twitched.

"..."

"..."

"...I have."

"Oh, good."

Korn buried his face in one hand.

A few hours later...

You found yourself sitting beside Liquiir while everyone else chatted.

You looked him over thoughtfully.

"...You know..."

Liquiir glanced at you.

"You really remind me of Kurama."

"...Who?"

"The Nine-Tailed Fox from Naruto."

(In case you haven't watched Naruto, because, well, I haven't, it's this shit)

You immediately launched into an explanation before anyone could stop you.

"So there's this giant fox with enough power to flatten mountains, sealed inside the protagonist as a baby because his dad thought it'd be a fantastic parenting decision-"

Liquiir listened in complete silence.

"...Eventually they're friends."

"..."

"...He sounds respectable."

"He really is."

Beerus walked past.

"...Please don't encourage them."

Later...

The Grand Priest casually introduced everyone.

"And this is Liquiir."

You froze.

"...Liquor?"

"No. Liquiir."

"...Liquor?"

"...Liquiir."

Your eyes widened.

"No way."

Without another word, you sprinted away.

Everyone watched in confusion.

Seconds later...

"GOTEN!"

"TRUNKS!"

The two boys looked up from their training.

"What?"

"You guys won't believe this!"

You pointed dramatically toward Universe 8's Destroyer.

"His name is Liquiir!"

"...Yeah?"

"Like liquor cerebrospinalis!"

"..."

"..."

"The spinal fluid!"

Goten blinked.

"...Okay?"

"It's an Attack on Titan reference!"

Trunks frowned.

"...I don't think it is."

"It absolutely is!"

"It's... literally just the Latin translation of cerebrospinal fluid."

"But they use it in Attack on Titan!"

"..."

"..."

By the time the two boys wandered off you had already begun enthusiastically explaining Titan biology to an increasingly bewildered God of Destruction.

Liquiir didn't understand half the words coming out of your mouth.

He did understand your excitement.

...And, somehow...

That was enough to keep listening.

Meanwhile, Korn quietly wondered whether angels were allowed to request a transfer.

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Bulma: "…This sort of "book club" is probably a lot better—and calmer—than Saiyans. I just don't get why it’s all happening in my house."

Just another Tuesday

Bulma had stopped asking questions a long time ago.

The first few visits had been reasonable enough. Beerus wanted food. Whis wanted dessert. Goku somehow wandered in because he smelled cooking from several kilometers away.

Normal.

Well, relatively speaking.

Then one afternoon, you showed up carrying three board games under one arm and a bag full of snacks under the other.

By sunset, somehow every deity in Universe 7, and several from outside it, had squeezed themselves into CC's living room.

Beerus argued over whether someone had cheated.

Whis patiently explained the rules for the fifth time.

The Supreme Kai insisted they should be playing "properly."

The Grand Priest smiled pleasantly while somehow winning every single round.

Even Zeno was enthusiastically stacking little wooden pieces into a tower that absolutely wasn't part of the game anymore.

Bulma watched all of it with a cup of coffee in hand.

"...I don't even know why I keep buying more chairs."

You looked around the room, taking in the bizarre sight.

Angels.

Destroyers.

Supreme Kais.

All arguing over cardboard and a dice.

"...You know," you admitted, scratching your cheek, "I'd be completely unbeatable if I actually knew the rules of Dungeons and Dragons."

Several conversations stopped.

Beerus looked over.

"Dungeons... and what?"

"A tabletop roleplaying game."

Silence.

You smiled sheepishly.

"I've... never actually played."

Whis blinked.

"You organized today's gathering."

"I know."

"You brought the books."

"I did."

"You own the dice."

"Yep."

"..."

You sighed dramatically.

"I just thought everyone would have fun."

Beerus groaned.

"So we've all been sitting here for twenty minutes because you don't know the rules?"

"I was hoping someone else did."

The room became suspiciously quiet.

One by one, every pair of eyes shifted somewhere else.

The Grand Priest politely looked at the ceiling.

Shin suddenly found the snack table fascinating.

Even Whis coughed into his hand.

"...None of us have played," he admitted.

"Oh."

"..."

"...Well," you said brightly, "that's awkward."

Bulma pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I have a house full of literal gods."

Another pause.

"They're having a book club over fantasy dragons."

Another pause.

"They're arguing over dice."

You offered an apologetic smile.

"...Sorry?"

She looked between you, Beerus trying to read the rulebook upside down, Whis quietly correcting him, Goku asking if rolling a natural twenty meant he could punch the dragon immediately, and Zeno happily coloring on one of the character sheets.

Then she sighed.

"...You know what?"

You tilted your head.

"This is probably a lot better, and a lot calmer, than having Saiyans fighting outside my house."

You smiled.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I just don't understand," she muttered, taking another sip of coffee, "why this keeps happening in my house."

No one had an answer for that.

Not even the gods.

But somehow...

The next session was already being planned before the evening was over.

Masterpost

DBS Masterlist