Corpse Husband x Reader Oneshots {Request Only!}

Deity of The Underworld

(According to Google Translate Ptoma means Corpse in Greek!)

The ruler of the underworld, Hades, once had a son before Persephone became his wife, the child’s mother had died during his birth, and soon after, the infant became Ptoma, God of Corpses. This god grew up fast and reached adult hood only a few days after his birth. Despite being the God of Corpses, he was young, and very handsome. Even Aphrodite could not deny his attractiveness.

 Being the God of Corpses, he was the reason bodies decayed after death; Ptoma was the reason bodies were left after death. The Olympians tasked him with making sure bodies decayed appropriately, and his job made him rather reclusive. He talked little when he visited Olympus with his father, despite Aphrodite’s constant efforts to woo him. It never worked, and it made her mad.

Your name is (y/n) (l/n). You’re the child of a farmer and spend your days cleaning, cooking, and taking care of the pigs and chickens your father raised and sold at the markets. You often prayed to Ptoma, to spare your meats from quick decay, so only fresh food could be sold at the markets. Your father, a fearful man, didn’t allow praying, believing that praying to the gods made them notice you, so they were going to curse you. You, however, were taught in school that praying to the gods will bring good fortune.

Your teacher was nicer, so you believed her over your father. She taught that you should always offer food to the gods, a plate of goods for them to enjoy, then say your prayers, ask your questions, and she was very strict about one thing, you were never allowed to speak the gods true name in their presence, doing so would kill you.

You prayed in secret, leaving to Ptoma’s temple and buying goods on the way there, leaving them at his shrine and saying your prayer before asking him for your meats to stay fresh for selling. Then you would leave, and return home with various vegetables for supper, and repeat the process the next day. Your father never saw past it, believing you were just getting fresh air and food for supper.

You were a loyal follower of Ptoma; he had never let you down, and you had learned that he enjoyed cinnamon raisin bread you once bought him, you had placed the plate and said your prayer before leaving, but soon returned to gather up a cloth you’d forgotten, and the bread was already gone from the plate.

Everything changed when your father discovered your frequent, disobeying his orders since you were a small child. You tried to reason with him, but he struck you across the face and yelled at you. He started getting more violent, and you ran out, bounding to the Temple of Ptoma to escape your father. It was also the closest temple to your dwelling, and you felt safe in the presence of Ptoma’s statue.

It had been storming when you ran from your father; the rain was cold, and it pelted you like needles. Your father was never far behind you, only hesitating to follow you when you ran into the Temple, giving you time to slam the door shut. You hid behind the wide, solid marble that made up the base of the statue, quickly muttering for help. But you had been pulled up and roughly dragged out from behind the statue. He was shaking, not from the cold, but from anger and fear.

His hand rose, and you threw your arms up to guard your face, but instead of a hand striking you, a larger, colder hand placed itself on your back, and your father let out a fearful gasp. You looked up, gazing upon the face of a tall man, reaching the height of the gods, his face was covered with thick black curls, and a rabbit masked that looked mummified, only his left eye was exposed, revealing a warm, light brown hue. He held a long, knotted, wood staff at your father’s chest, keeping him at a distance. The knots looked like faces, withered, and in all different states of decay, the end, a skull, highly detailed and heavy.

Your father shook, gazing upon the man who resembled the sculpture behind him. You couldn’t look away. It was Ptoma, or your human name for the God, one you could utter before him,

“Corpse…” you said, your breath leaving you. He glanced at you, only pulling you closer to his side, looking down at your father.

“Why strike the one who keeps your animals fit to sell?” He asked your father. His voice was deeper than the myths proclaimed. Pressing the staff more into his chest, pushing him back a step. Your father struggled to answer, rendered mute in the god's presence. Ptoma, or Corpse, rather, only sighed and moved the staff to stand straight at his side, he moved his hand from your hip to point towards the doors that kept the temple secure, he stared your father down, muttering a language you couldn’t understand, or even repeat, ending in your human tongue.

“… leave this temple, before I make things worse for you.” He said, and you watched your father book it. Leaving you behind.

You looked up at Corpse, taking in a breath to say an apology, but the god gently took your chin, bringing your face up to his, “don’t worry, you’re safe now.” He said, moving strands of wet hair from your face. Your face warmed, and you looked away from him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring him here, I just-” you were hushed by him, his thumb pressing against your lips.

“Do not be sorry, I’m quite fond of you, you’re my favorite human.” He said, cupping your face, “I have met no one so loyal to me.” He mumbled before pulling away completely, standing tall, offering you a hand, “follow me?”

(First update from my phone, and I have a planned pt. 2 for this that imma publish!)