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idkifimawake · 8 months ago

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Septem x reader hc +oneshot

Warnings : mentions of blood and maybe mild self harm near the angsty part?

Reader isn't like a symbol but just an angel(no specific gender), To eat a god is a visual novel.Could be ooc , pls don't come after me.

Would probably be cold towards you around other people , they wouldnt even notice you guys were in love and when you're alone with him he would be more softer but still cold nevertheless

If you're smaller than him he would love to nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck

Would feed you if you refused to eat in his domain or if he's in a bad mood he would let you starve

If you're more quiet I feel like he'd like this more since you wouldn't necessarily fight back but if you did he would find it amusing and like pat your head or smthing(idk)

If you're more talkative I feel like he'd love seeing you constantly fight back and know you have like no power against him but he still finds it very amusing.

The more longer you would stay with him the calmer he would be in your presence, I feel like he would start leaving gifts and letting you chose what to eat rather than him force feeding you whatever was healthy

As long as you respected him he would love you back

Quiet reader:

It was another bland day in Septem's domain , another quiet day. Which was nice but not normally what you got from the time you spent in Unum's domain. You had your long luscious wings out , to make yourself calmer. You had to pluck some fresh because they had gone all wierd. A knock was heard at your door , it could only be Septem.

"Come in" you said quietly, putting your wings away. Septem walked in with a plate of food.

"Keep your wings out." His voice was stern and soft. "I will pluck them for you." He would? That was odd , he'd normally leave you to do these things. He put the tray of food next to the bed and sat behind you , touching your wings with his pristine fingers , soothing your soul.

"You know I love you." He said , his voice resonating in your body.

"And I love you back." You said quietly, almost a whisper , you weren't sure if he heard you but it didn't matter at all

Talkative Reader:

It was another boring ass day in Septem's domain. There was no colour. No anything. How you wished to go back into Unum's domain , it was tropical and nice , it reminded you of the time you went to earth and met some humans.

You were lying down on the bed , playing with your feathers. Septem was doing who knows what and you felt like you were going to die of Boredom. It was so tiring and you couldn't leave to Nulla's domain until a bit later.

"Stupid fucking bitch." You said to yourself , sighing and covering your eyes.

"Language." Septems voice rang through your ears , he was right beside you. He just got here.

" 'm sorry." You said with a grin on your face , it was your favourite time of the day , to bother Septem. "Did I break one of the rules again?"

"I have told you multiple times and you seem to already forget , is your soul worse than your body?" He said strictly, standing up to his full height.

"Why don't you go through the rules for me again , m'kay , I'll listen you to real good." You said grinning , staring up at him. Septem thought about and sat down on the bed , you put your head on his lap as he started going through the rules again.

Angsty stuff(inspired by the Nevemore Webtoon):

It was all so bland , all white , you thought you were going insane. No colour no nothing. It was like it was a limbo , you were in a bridge between life and death. You began clawing at the walls , destroying simple things to table and pillows to the bed itself. He hadn't let you out because of your atrocious behaviour but his ideals didn't help , your feathers had been whizzing around his house , grabbing food that he had purposely let out for you to take.

You were currently lying down on the bed , staring at the ceiling , what should you do to get more colour? Unum's domain was bright and vibrant but he refused to let you out , you couldn't even call for Nulla since he would be powerless in this situation.

After a few days you stopped letting feathers take food into your room. He found this unusual and he started knocking on your door , you didn't reply.

"(Y/n)?" He asked politely, knowing the door , you didn't reply but he did hear laughing , he forcefully opened the door and there he saw you, there was red all over the walls which he presumed to be blood.

"Look, my love, I found colour , there will be a change!" You had gone completely insane and he hadn't planned for this. You kept laughing and laughing like a demon, your feathers had been ripped but were only slightly bloody.

"(Y/n) I-." He stood next to you, seeing all the blood. "I- I'm sorry." He said , sitting next to you, he held his hand up to the wall , turning it back to the original state.

You sighed , putting your hands on your head. The colour was the only type of hope you had. The only hope of life!

"Why , why did you do that , Rafael?" You said , staring into his eyes. He fell to the floor , shocked and confused

"H-how do you know?" He looked in pain, maybe there would he more colour?

My requests are open for to eat a god x reader things

#Septem #to eat a god x reader #To eat a god #Septem x reader #Visual novel x reader #Teag #Nulla #Unum #Fames

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msriri030 · 17 days ago

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The man that I love Pt 1

Unum x reader with a yandere Nulla. Empire Au. Masterlist

Tw: Greif, losing a partner.

Summary: it has been ten years since Unum went to war, now stranger is asking for your hand. Based on this song. Part 2

In the quiet cradle of early morning, just before the sun had crested the horizon, you slipped out of bed with the practiced silence of someone used to leaving unnoticed. Around you, the gentle rise and fall of your sister-wives’ breaths filled the chamber, tangled in the soft sighs of sleeping children. Their tiny hands clutched plush toys and embroidered blankets, unaware of the ache lodged in your chest.

You reached for the robe — the deep crimson silk one Unum had gifted you on your wedding night, its embroidery still smelling faintly of the sacred oils used in your union rites. The cool fabric kissed your skin as you wrapped it tightly around your form. Your eyes wandered to the middle of the grand bed, the place where your husband should’ve been. Cold. Empty. Untouched.

You exhaled slowly, not wanting to stir anyone, and padded across the mosaic-tiled floor. The door creaked faintly as you opened it, and you winced, pausing — but no movement stirred behind you. With a last glance at your sleeping family, you stepped into the dim corridor, pulling the door shut behind you.

The palace halls stretched before you, long and shadowed. The encaustic tiles beneath your feet were cool, decorated with symbols of the old gods — a cruel reminder of how little comfort they’d offered. Your steps began soft and measured. But once you turned the corner and disappeared from view, your stride grew faster. Sandaled feet slapped against marble. Your robe flared behind you like a banner in the wind.

You were running — breath sharp, heart wild — unbecoming for a consort of the Emperor. But titles didn’t matter in this grief. Not when your heart beats only for a ghost.

You burst into the garden as if it, too, were holding its breath. Dew clung to the grass, glistening like scattered starlight. Rare fruit trees arched high above, their twisted branches heavy with plums the color of midnight and citrus that glowed faintly with gold. Flowers climbed every surface — naked man orchid, blood-colored hibiscus, and pale mourning lilies blooming in profusion. Some were shaped into arches, trailing petals down onto the path like a gentle rain.

The garden path gave way to polished marble, veined with silver and opal. You slowed as you reached the edge of the garden’s balcony, set atop a cliff overlooking the ocean. The wind tugged at your robe, salty and cold. Below, the sea was endless — a vast, undisturbed sheet of gray-blue, flecked with distant birds but no sails. No sign of him.

Ten years. Ten years since Unum had vanished into the war by Bishop Septem’s request — a war for the 'Creator’s glory,' they said. You remembered how you clutched his arm and begged him to stay, your voice breaking with every word. "Just wait, the twins were just born," you had pleaded.

But he promised it wouldn’t take long. He’d be home before their first birthday.

Liar.

Your grip tightened on the balcony’s rail, marble biting into your skin. You had every reason to hate him — to curse his name until your throat gave out. But still, night after night, you whispered to every god you knew. Please, you begged. Just let him come home.

A soft voice broke your thoughts.

“(Y/N).”

You didn’t turn. You didn’t need to. Aeliane’s voice was always calm, always careful — like a breeze through paper lanterns.

“I need to…” you said, voice trembling. “He still might…”

“I know.” A pause. “I miss him too.”

You heard her footsteps behind you, soft against the marble. “The children are in the kitchen,” she said gently. “They’re making breakfast with Ignis and Solaris. Burned toast and all. We should join them… shall we?”

You finally turned, tears balancing at the edges of your lashes. Aeliane stood in a gauzy robe of pale rose, her amber hair loose around her shoulders, eyes shining with the same quiet sorrow. She reached out a hand, steady and open.

You took it, letting her pull you into a gentle embrace.

You held each other — not as rivals, not as co-wives, but as people who loved the same vanishing man, and who bore the weight of his absence every single day.

When you stepped into the sun-drenched kitchen, a soft smile tugged at your lips. The space was alive with warm light pouring in from the wide glass windows, gilding the stone walls and casting golden halos across the wooden floor. The scent of fresh pancakes, berry compote, and cinnamon butter drifted through the air, wrapping around you like a hug.

You didn’t even get a chance to take another step before you were tackled.

Two small, giggling bodies crashed into you with a joyful cry, “Good morning, Baba!”

The twins knocked you off balance, and you stumbled back with a surprised laugh, landing on the cushioned rug with a gentle oof. Shams clung to your waist, her short hair bouncing with excitement, while Noor scrambled up your chest, snuggling into your neck with a content sigh.

“We made pancakes with Mama Ignis and Solaris!” Shams announced, eyes wide with pride.

“Yeah!” Noor chimed in, voice muffled against your shoulder. “We made them just for you.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep within your chest, a kind of joy that had been buried beneath ten years of waiting. You wrapped them both in your arms, pressing tight kisses to their round cheeks as they squealed and tried to escape your grasp.

“Babaaa, noooo!” Noor giggled, legs kicking.

“You’ll never escape the kiss monster,” you teased, raining another flurry of smooches on Shams, who shrieked in delight.

When you finally released them, they sprang up and ran off, chasing Solaris through the kitchen like tiny bolts of lightning. Solaris let out an exaggerated yelp, raising their arms dramatically as they fled, the hem of their robe trailing behind like a cape.

“Scaredy-cats,” Ignis muttered from the stove, chuckling as she flipped another pancake onto the growing stack as flour dusted the edges of her sleeves. “They act like you’re a villain when you hug them too hard.”

“They’ll grow out of it,” Solaris said with a grin, catching Noor mid-run and spinning him gently in the air before setting him down with a kiss to his forehead. “They’re Unum’s children, after all. And we all know how he was addicted to our affection.”

Your smile faded just a fraction, touched with nostalgia.

“That he was,” you murmured, brushing flour from your robe as you rose to your feet.

You glanced around the room — the sunlight, the laughter, the messy plate of syrup-covered fruit on the table. It was all a beautiful, chaotic harmony. And even if one piece was missing, you still felt him in every echo of laughter and every pair of shining eyes.

For a moment, you let yourself simply exist in the joy. The soft thud of little feet on tile. The sweet warmth of breakfast is still cooking. The quiet knowledge that no matter how long he’d been gone, love had stayed behind — in these children, in your sister-wives, in this home.

—------------------------------------------------------

After everyone had eaten their fill of the sweet, golden pancakes, the house gradually settled into a quieter hum. The children were ushered off for their morning lessons, and the scent of syrup and butter slowly gave way to the clean aroma of rosewater and parchment.

Now, you sat in the imperial throne room — regal and composed, though your hands still remembered the warmth of little fingers and sticky syrup.

You were in your place: to the right of the central throne, which was carved from gold and inlaid with sunstone. Aeliane, poised and serene as ever, sat on the left. Between you, Unum’s throne remained untouched — a monument to absence. A silent testament. The banners behind it fluttered gently from the sea breeze that snuck through the high windows, whispering of tides and time.

Father Rafael, robed in ash gray, stood a respectful distance behind your chair. His pale, inked-stained fingers clutched a scroll, and his gaze flickered between you and the speaker with sharp interest. Beside him stood Bishop Septem, draped in his ceremonial violet and gold vestments, a man of fewer words but deeper, more calculated silences. His eyes missed nothing — especially the expressions you tried to hide.

The court was filled with the soft rustle of silk and the calculated tones of petitioners. Today, like most days, there was a suitor — dressed too boldly, speaking too confidently — trying to win your favor. Claiming loyalty. Promising glory. Some were clever. Some were beautiful. None of them were Unum.

As usual, the attempts ended in embarrassment or quiet dismissal.

By the time the court recessed for the midday break, your spine ached from sitting so straight, and your heart throbbed with a dull, tired rhythm. You excused yourself from the others, nodding at Aeliane before slipping away.

You found yourself again on the balcony overlooking the sea, the same one from that morning — though now the light had sharpened and the wind tasted more of salt than dew. The ocean below churned gently, the waves licking at the base of the cliffs, speaking to you in a tongue only you seemed to remember.

You leaned on the stone rail, eyes searching the horizon once more, even though you already knew — there was nothing.

Your voice rose softly — hesitant at first, like something fragile waking after a long sleep. It was barely more than a whisper, but it carried through the garden air like smoke, curling into the warm morning breeze. You stood at the edge of the balcony carved from pale stone, the sea stretching before you like an open wound that never healed.

It was a song older than you, older than the empire. A melody passed down through your bloodline, once sung under moonlit balconies and in candlelit nurseries. And it was his favorite.

Unum would hum it under his breath when he braided your hair. He used to sway to its rhythm as he held your babies close to his heart, feet bare on the mosaic floor while you sat smiling, watching the sun pour golden light across their skin.

Your voice cracked on the final line. The sound wavered in the air and was swept away by the sea wind before the last note could finish. You clutched the marble railing, the coldness grounding you, a contrast to the burn in your chest.

“The man I love is not afraid of anything,

But when he loves, he shakes everything.

A restless warrior after adventures,

With strong, soft hands.

The man I love, knows I love him —

He takes me in his arms, and I forget it all…”

Below the balcony, the waves rolled against the cliffs, a steady rhythm that mocked the absence above. No sails on the horizon. No ships. No banners. Only the salt-bitten silence of waiting.

Behind you, the garden bloomed in soft defiance of your grief — white-petaled lilies trembling under archways woven with twilight roses. Fruit trees, rare and sacred, bowed gently with heavy harvests. You had once walked here hand-in-hand with him, a crown of blossoms in your hair, giggling as he pressed you against the warm trunk of a fig tree and kissed the corners of your smile.

That was ten years ago.

“Still no ships,” Aeliane’s voice broke the silence like lace tearing. She stood a few steps behind you, her hands clasped before her, her expression gentle but etched with the same ache you carried.

You nodded, swallowing the lump that had lodged in your throat.

Aeliane moved closer and stood beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. “I remember how he loved that song,” she murmured. “How he made you sing it to the children so they would never fear storms. He said if they could fall asleep to your voice, no monster could ever reach them.”

You smiled faintly, though it felt more like an old scar stretching. “He thought he’d come back,” you whispered, “before we ever had to sing it without him.”

You looked out over the sea again, the color of it deepening under the morning sun. Somewhere, far beyond what your eyes could reach, was the truth either swallowed by salt or waiting to return.

Aeliane slipped her hand into yours without a word. Her grip was firm, steady. Familiar. You let your fingers wrap around hers and leaned into her warmth.

Together, you stood side by side in the garden above the sea shaped by a shared love watching the horizon and waiting for a ghost who had promised to come home.

—-----------------------------------------

Your shared moment with Aeliane was shattered when the heavy doors to the balcony burst open with a thunderous crack.

Father Rafael stumbled through, breathless, his face pale and tight with fear — a kind of fear that didn’t belong in a man known for silence and composure.

“Consort (Y/N)... Consort Aeliane…” he gasped, voice trembling, “we have a major problem.”

You didn’t wait to ask.

You and Aeliane exchanged a sharp glance before your feet carried you down the corridor, silk and gold fluttering behind you like war banners. Your heart thundered in your chest not from running, but from a dread you hadn’t felt in years. The kind of dread that told you, before you even saw, that something sacred had been touched.

As you neared the throne room, the sound of raised voices echoed off the high marble walls.

“How dare you sit on the throne?!” Bishop Septem’s voice cracked with fury. “Do you have no respect?! That is the Emperor’s seat!”

You froze in the doorway, your breath catching in your throat as your gaze snapped to the dais.

And your blood ran cold.

There, lounging upon Unum’s throne like it was nothing more than a merchant’s stool, sat a stranger draped in obsidian armor etched with glowing red sigils — the ancient kind. The pauldrons curved like the wings of a raven, and his gauntlets gleamed as though slicked with blood.

His black hair was slicked back, and his posture was relaxed, but nothing about him spoke of peace.

His black, dull eyes stared down at Bishop Septem with disinterest, as if the man were a buzzing fly, barely worth his attention. But the moment those eyes found you, they sparked to life. They were filled with love. No. It was with obsession.

“Ah” His lips curled slowly across his tan skin, like a serpent tasting warmth. “The person I came to speak to has finally arrived.”

Aeliane stepped protectively in front of you, her hand twitching at her side as if reaching for a blade that wasn’t there. “You dare defile this hall with your presence, let alone sit on his throne?”

The man’s smile deepened. “His?” He looked around mockingly. “Strange. I don’t see your precious Emperor anywhere. Do you?”

Gasps rose from the courtiers still in the room. The throne was never sat upon. Not even by the children. Not even by you.

You stepped forward, steady despite the ice creeping up your spine.

“And who are you,” you asked, voice ringing with iron, “to cross our gates, wear war armor in sacred court, and insult the absent King?”

He stood slowly, each motion deliberate, as if unveiling a secret. His boots echoed loudly against the marble steps. When he reached the last step, he bowed deeply not out of respect, but mockery.

“I am General Nulla,” he said smoothly. “I came to claim what mine.. and the last to see your husband alive.”

“What…?” you breathed, the word barely leaving your lips.

It hit you like a blade beneath the ribs.

Unum. Your Unum.

Dead?

The throne room blurred around you. The marble walls, the courtiers shouting in disbelief, even Aeliane’s sharp intake of breath — it all fell away.

Your mind betrayed you, pulling you into memories. The warmth of his arms on cold nights. The way he laughed, full and golden, like sunlight crashing through storm clouds. The hush in his voice when he told you nothing could take him from you. The way he held you when the fevers took you, whispering lullabies as if they were spells meant to keep death at bay.

He was gone?

You blinked. You stood frozen, your breath shallow. It was as if the very ground under your feet had shifted, and you were left hanging in the air, untethered.

The court erupted behind you — guards drawing weapons, advisors shouting, Bishop Septem demanding answers with fury in his voice. But you heard none of it. You only stared at the man before you.

General Nulla.

His eyes, voidlike, glinting with cruel amusement, bore into yours as he stepped closer, slowly, deliberately. His gloved hand rose, reaching toward your cheek with a gentleness that sickened you.

His fingers were just inches from your skin when—

“Don’t touch them!” Aeliane’s voice cracked like a whip as she yanked you back, shielding you with her body. Her eyes blazed with protective fury, her stance feral despite the silks she wore. “I don’t believe you,” she spat. “You come in here wearing armor like a conqueror and dare say our husband is dead?”

Nulla didn’t flinch. He lowered his hand slowly and smiled, a mockery of comfort. “Believe what you wish,” he said smoothly. “But denial won’t change the truth. I stood on the scorched field where he fell. I held his whip. I heard his last breath.” He turned slightly, addressing the whole court. “Your Emperor is gone. And I have returned in his place.”

You trembled.

Not from fear. From grief—sharpening into rage.

Unum’s whip. His throne. His name.

All in the hands of a stranger.

But something in Nulla’s eyes. The spark when he looked at you, the way he smiled not like a victor, but a man laying claim.

There was more. Far more.

And you intended to uncover every word of it — no matter what truth it shattered. You gathered your courage to ask a simple yet heavy question, “Why? Why did you come here?”

“You. I want you.” Nulla’s words weren’t a request. They were a claim.

The room recoiled in stunned silence — courtiers froze, soldiers faltered, even Aeliane stiffened beside you. But you could barely hear the ripples of shock behind the thunder of your heart.

Nulla’s gaze roamed over you, not with lust — no, something more unnerving.

Worship.

“If you knew…” he began, stepping down from the dais with slow, measured steps, “how long I’ve watched you — how long I’ve wanted you.”

He stopped only a few paces away, the red light from his armor casting faint shadows across your face. “It was the first time I saw you,” he said, his voice oddly gentle, as if recalling a dream. “You were standing on the cliffs, hair caught in the wind, singing to the sea. I thought you were a vision. A god’s answer to a soldier’s prayer.”

You stiffened, your breath caught in your throat.

That moment. That cliff. You remembered it — years ago, long before the war, when you stood alone while the palace still slept. You thought you had been unseen.

He continued, eyes darkening with remembered fury.

“But then he came. Unum.” His lip curled around the name like it burned him. “He kissed you, held you like you were already his. I nearly brought down the skies right then. I almost killed him for touching what should never have been his to hold.”

Aeliane stepped forward. “You speak like a madman.”

Nulla didn’t even look at her.

“I loved you before I knew your name,” he said, eyes only on you. “That's why I started the war. And when he died, I felt nothing but hope. That I could finally stand where he once stood. Not to rule. Not to reign.”

He took one more step closer, close enough that Aeliane’s hand twitched again.

“But to be yours.”

You stared at him — this man cloaked in black steel and sin. A presence too sharp to be called a suitor. He was not a visitor, nor a petitioner, nor a passing shadow.

He was a storm. And storms never ask.

“If I don’t…” you began, your voice trembling like a candle’s flame caught in the wind, “what will you do?”

Nulla’s gaze softened, not with kindness. With possession. His hand reached for yours with all the tenderness of a lover’s vow, yet it felt like a trap made of silk. He pressed your knuckles to his lips.

“Then I will destroy everything and everyone,” he whispered against your skin, “until you do.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you held them in place, refusing to fall apart — not in front of him. The room was frozen. The court was too frightened to breathe, the guards too stunned to act.

“But…” he continued, pulling away with a smile that should not have belonged on any man’s face, “I am a gentleman.”

He stepped back, arms open as if to offer a blessing, a mockery of peace.

“So I will give you the sunrise. Tomorrow. One dawn. One breath of mercy. Mi vita.”

And then, before you could blink, he was gone.

He said the words like a brand — not a confession, but a claim burned into your skin.

My life. Not a title. A possession. A vow drenched in madness.

His body broke into smoke — a violent unraveling. Black feathers exploded from where he’d stood, scorched at the edges as if they’d flown through fire. They rained down like dying embers. One landed with eerie precision on the arm of the throne.

Unum’s throne.

The throne room swirled into chaos around you, voices overlapping, footsteps scrambling, but all of it felt distant, like echoes underwater.

Your knees buckled under the weight of its memory and fear of locking your body in place.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream.

Aeliane clutched you from behind, her sob muffled against your shoulder. Her nails dug into your waist. A tether. A plea. Then the court erupted.

“Messenger! Now!” Bishop Septem’s voice thundered through the chamber. He stood, eyes blazing, robes sweeping the floor like a war banner as he pointed toward the doors. “Get eyes on the coastline! I want citadel eyes and every rider dispatched now!”

Pages ran like scattered birds. Guards surged forward and faltered, some pressed to the windows, others clutching their halberds as if prayer could be sharpened.

Father Raphael stood at the center, hands raised, robes fluttering like wings. “This is not yet a declaration of war,” he cried out, voice cracking under pressure. “P-please! This panic... it only gives him more ground!”

You stood in the eye of the storm — and you were unraveling. The world trembled around you. So did you. Your ribs were iron cages. Your breath was dust.

But then— You remembered.

And now…You took a breath.

Unum.

The warmth of his hands. The sound of his laughter echoing through the halls. The way he kissed your fingers one by one when the world felt too heavy causing you to wipe your hand of Nulla’s kiss off.

Then another. Slow. Deep. Your heart screamed, but your spine straightened, forged from the pain he left behind.

“I won’t let it fall,” you whispered. The vow left your lips like a secret sent to the gods. “Not while I still stand.”

You pulled gently from Aeliane’s grasp, squeezing her hand in return giving her what little strength you had.

Then you walked — no, rose — each step up the dais like a ruler claiming their battlefield.

You stood before Unum’s throne. The throne where your love once ruled. The throne where a monster had just sat. You brushed the black feather from its arm, the gesture simple but deliberate defiant.

Then you turned and spoke.

“Ground yourselves!”

It wasn’t a request. It was a command — forged in fire. The court froze.

“I, alongside my sister wives and Bishop Septem,” your voice rang out, “will come to a decision by sunrise.”

A breath rippled through the chamber — a single, collective inhale. Even Bishop Septem stood stunned, silent. Father Raphael lowered his hands.

“But until then—” your voice held steady, sharpened like a blade, “no harm will come to this empire.”

You paused, letting the silence fall heavy as stone. “Not from beyond. Not from within. Not while I still breathe.”

Your voice was the sound of steel drawn in mourning — regal and relentless.

Aeliane joined your side, shoulders squared, eyes dry now — fury replacing fear. Bishop Septem gave a slow nod. No arguments. Just understanding. Even the guards seemed to stand taller, as if drawn up by the strength of your resolve.

And on the marble floor, black feathers still lay scattered like omens — a trail of darkness across sacred ground. Each one whispered the same warning:

Sunrise is coming.

And with it… the storm.