#War X Reader

[imagine-darksiders]

War's comical negligence of personal boundaries.

[j0hnpr1c3sm1ssus]

Alpha!Kortac with a new recruit!Reader who's being courted (or attempted to be) by every alpha on base.

All of them try to show off with their various positive attributes, winning fights, showing off conquests, etc.

But then there's König. König takes the time to really truly learn Reader. He learns what reader likes, their favourite scents, fabrics they like, music, everything. He learns it all.

So when heat season comes? On reader's doorstep there's about 20 different scent items, labelled from various alphas.

They're all big blankets, or hoodies, all theirs.

But then there's König's. He brought a box.

It's shirts, all your favourite colours and fabrics, some freshly bought, others from his collection. In the bottom is a fluffy blanket, it's comfortable looking, too. It has a note on it, which reads "Saw this in the autumn and it reminded me of you. I've been making sure to scent it frequently for you." With a little crown doodle. It's from König.

It's not a massive surprise to him whenever he sees you on his doorstep, trying to tug him to your nest, thick with heat smell.

[granddaughterogg]

horsemen reacting to their s/o being rather loud in the bedroom?

Sorry for answering so late! I’ve been through a rough patch lately and neglected my mailbox.

Fury is mistress teaser and has a sadistic streak to her, so she loves it when you moan - especially if it’s to express pain or beg for more or whatever she’s doing. She considers modest silence on her bedmate’s part a proof of her failure as a lover (”if they’re being silent, they can’t probably be having much fun…”), so by any means don’t hold back.

War makes so much noise himself, he doesn’t really register yours…unless you two peak at the same time and form a singing duet. This doesn’t happen often, but whenever it does, he’s always stunned by how much this actually heightens his own pleasure. Expect him to say something along the lines: “You have such a beautiful voice…” after you both cool off. He’ll be really soft and rather shy about it, too.

Strife just loves it when you make noise. It makes his chest swell with pride of riling you up so much. He’s fine with incoherent wails but prefers worded communication. And he has honed that skill to a fine edge. Our gunslinger is the crassest creature you’ve ever slept with. The things you’ll hear from him during sex are too obscene for sensitive ears, but for you, they work just right - and he expects you to hold your end of this conversation. Also: the louder you cry, the wilder he gets. If others can hear you? All the better!

Death is usually a stealthy lover himself; to tear a sigh from him means his personal Earth is shaking. He draws great satisfaction from your cries of delight though. Your audible pleasure increases his own, so make sure to let him know how much you’re enjoying this.  He’s not into crude language at all (in fact you’ve never heard him cussing in tongues other than Nephilim) and prefers the wordless moans and groans on your part. Words he finds distracting.

Unless it’s his name. He’ll never admit it, but hearing you draw out his name in a prolonged sob makes his head swirl - and as damn fucking happy as the Grim Reaper can be.

[moodymisty]

Hello! Do you have any hc's of the horsemen reacting to you getting tattooed? Like you get one resembling to the marks on them? As an espression of your love?

Author's note: Sure fam, here's a few <3

Relationships: Strife, Fury, Death, War/GN!Reader

War:

War is so confused.

Like why would you tie yourself to him on that level? To him, he brings basically nothing but trouble, so to see someone actually mark themselves like that is a bit, overwhelming.

Once he gets over it thought he finds it quite endearing. He won't say anything, or even smile about it, but he really does get this sort of swell of pride whenever he catches a glimpse of it.

Strife:

Strife is externally fucking pumped.

Like who wouldn't want their loved one getting a tattoo like that? He thinks it's the best thing anyone has even given him.

Internally, he still loves it, but the feeling is a bit more complex. He has issues with feeling as if he doesn't deserve this sort of thing. That you pulled a dumb stunt and eventually you'll realize what a stupid mistake you made.

He'll slowly get over the feeling with time, but you may not even realize to begin with, as Strife is super good at hiding his feelings behind the whole 'snarky cowboy' shtick.

Death

He's pretty much War's reaction, but so much worse.

Death is completely apathetic to his own existence, so anyone actually going through the effort to not only acknowledge him but actually 'brand' themselves in a way that signifies that they know and/or love him? Absolutely inconceivable.

He deals with it by just calling you stupid and moving on, ignoring the fact that his heart feels like it's going to explode.

He hasn't felt that amount of actual, genuine love in, well, forever.

Fury

Of course you would do this, why wouldn't you?

Fury likes to ham up the whole 'she's the best' thing, but beyond the comments she really is flattered that you would do that sort of thing.

She loves to say that the two of you match now, and she's always eager to bring that up whenever she gets the chance to. Dare you say it almost becomes a bit annoying.

[darkdemeter]

Dom War x Sub Fem reader NSFW! Set in Eld AU, War’s heavily injured and lone survivor of a tough battle, but meets S/O, who’s a healer and treats his wounds. Time spent together, S/O heals his wounds and War protects her from danger. S/O is a traveling healer and has nowhere to go, so War offers to take her back to his Nephilim tribe as his mate and new healer of the tribe, which she agrees. S/O eases his pain, physically and emotionally, and if he’s frustrated, she can always “help” him.

A HEALER TO CHAOS

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE Pre-Horsemen!War x Eld'hyunen!Female Reader

NOTES ↳ It’s so fun and cool to be exploring and sharing the Eld universe with you guys through requests, I feel like it allows readers to become immersed in the lore I’m building for the AU! Thank you anon for this request! WARNINGS❕ ↳ Mature rating, 18+ — mention of mass murder — depiction of violence and killing — lore building — SMUT mdni — unprotected sex — pregnancy — neck biting/marking — mate claiming, virginity loss (hymen breakage) — I think that’s it?

✎ 3.8k ────────────────────────

It’s the scent of blood and the ominous purr of silence that draws you out of hiding. From the crop of rocks sheltering you, you move to inspect your surroundings with a peeking gaze, searching over the battle terrain to see your hunters and your enemies lay motionless on the ground. All but one. 

His ashen hair cascades in fluttering waves in the light breeze, hands clenched tight around the hilt of a massive blade bloodily sheathed in the muscled belly of his foe. Those that he came alongside with don’t get back up. He is the lone survivor of this gory battle.

Seeing so many corpses litter the ground reminds you of the awful slaughter of your tribe that were migrating towards the hillside pastures for Spring. Then, without warning, these beings of soured and unnatural origin, began an invasion upon your realm and in turn, attacked the travelling caravans of your people. You had run at the command of your mother and father and paid the price in watching all who you held dear and loved die. And now this one saved your life. Saved you from the carnivorous beasts that have stalked you for many moons. 

He rises to his feet, standing at a height that far exceeds that of your own kind. Pulling the blade free with a wetted splatter of blood that drools in thick sloshes, he stumbles back with a low and pained grunt, his body marked with grieving wounds. 

Your ears perk up slightly and the shortened coil of your tail sweeps across the back of your heels. He needs your help. He won’t survive if his wounds go untreated. And you have been alone for many, many turnings of the sun and moon. Perhaps he…

Still crouched low to the forest floor, your feet slide across the shredded bark and softness of grass as you pull yourself more into view. Slowly, you stand only to flinch when he turns sharply to face you, the glow of blue eyes beam at you with narrowed suspicion. 

Your breath becomes light in your chest until a hollow shape dwells there. His hand that holds his blade idle between sheath and arming clenches hard and you swallow the thickened bile of fear in your throat. You hold your hands up to bear your offering of peace. When he sees you mean to approach him, he remains largely skeptical, but otherwise lets you wander closer with cautious steps. 

“You are hurt.” Your voice is small, almost a mousy whisper. Head bowing and tilting this way and that, you observe the damage that’s been done to him, your nose inhales the sharpened incense of blood in the air, already you begin to recollect what balms and natural ointments that will benefit him. Against him, your hands are smaller and feel so soft moving across his skin that lay exposed. 

“They will heal,” he interjects with a low and booming voice. It astounds you, almost sends you rushing back to hide if only to be left in your fluster. 

You shake your head adamantly. “They will fester with sickness. I must tend to them.”

He pulls his arm from your gentle grasp, your lips parted with a gasp as your eyes find his. “Please? You saved my life. Allow me to do the same.”

The hardened front of his browline deeply creases, a twisted sneer smeared across his lips. Body shifting, he is once again pained by the carved gashes that line his torso and shoulder “How?” 

With a tilted bob of your head, you indicate for him to follow you. Your hands weave themselves to embrace the larger of his, fingers entwined to grasp the callousness of his palms and fingers. “Come.”

By nightfall you reach the forest hot springs that reside higher up on the rockier perches. The warrior whose name you come to know to be War, follows you. You situate yourself before the water’s edge where a heated mist of condensation rises. 

You can see the question in the quirk of his brow and the daggered contact of his gaze that forces your head to turn away, a flustered warmth covers your cheeks. “These waters are used by healers to cleanse wounds of infection.”

War only moves after a moment’s hesitation defeated by the insistent nod of your head, your voice humming. He strips from his armour, the giant sword on his back leans on the cave wall at its pommel. Bulky chunks of metal, slings of leather and folds of fabric reveal the defined shape of his body. 

Your breath escapes you as a quiet gasp, eyes wide and face plagued by a hot rush. Though you mean to tear your eyes away they keep moving back to stare at him. You dare not meet his eyes as he then steps down into the heated waters. You can hear the way it sears and stirs against the eruptive barrier of his skin while he wads through it.

The pouring streamline of the upper basin flows steadily, a constantly stirred motion bouncing and rippling the surface that fades outwards. You admit, he looks so tranquil standing beneath the shower of the hot springs, blood seeping into washed out, lesser rivers. His hands douse handfuls of the curing springs over his head and you hear him sigh heavily, the burly muscle of his shoulders falling lax. With the blood cleared, you can see just how deep the beasts had dug their claws and sank their fangs. 

Eyes marvelling in silent awe of each scar that marks him, you then cower beneath the glow of his stare when you discover you have been caught, hunching in on yourself as you sit at the rocky ledge. Your tail, nervous, slides with idle and slow absent thought. You must shake yourself of these thoughts, sensual and primal in nature. You mustn’t let yourself be so engulfed by the consuming ache that dwells between your thighs. 

But the idea… why, the pointed tips of your ears flick back quickly with an excited tick. His stance indicates a stern and rigid expectancy.

Ahold of your senses and awakened from that stupor, you disrobe the woven strap of your belt that holds your small satchels and your cowled shawl. Setting them aside, you comb your hand through clusters of moss that thrive in the dampened poolsides, the spongy tissue of the natural balm familiar. 

You pad your way down into the water, one leg followed by the other. The water level just touches at your breasts that are barely concealed by the thin linens and corded leathers of your chest wrap. 

You make your way over, cautious once again under the scrutiny of his studying eyes that follow your every move like the fearsome and revered Obsidian Hawks. You don’t dare forget how tall he towers over you, fighting to keep your eyes from wandering down the deepened lines of his waist that disappear under the water. 

Before you stands one of the many who ravage the land you call home. His brothers and sisters cleave and sever blood from blood, soul from soul in claim of their undying bloodlust. 

It would have been wise to let him die. You should have, after all that you have seen, been subjected to, living out your days alone and wandering without the security or familiarity of your tribe. 

But you begin to smear the spongy texture of the healing moss to his wounds, applying with gentle care to the ones you could reach easily. Your attention focuses into the tap of the inner leylines, the spiritual veins of your soul that extend unto him. A hover of ethereal matter emits from your palms and touches along your fingers with a warm, softened glow. 

War’s lips tug into a wince, eyes scrunching at the beginnings of his wounds healing, the moss you applied to his marred skin tinged with a pulsing turquoise hue, acting as a medium for the magic that blooms from your hands. Your eyes flutter closed to influence your concentration further, though there lies a troubled bevel between your brows. Your hands follow the link of the leylines within him that guide your healing touch, but the infernal heat of his soul has a bite that feels as if it burns your skin with the warning intensity of fire. 

As uncomfortable as it is, you continue to push your skills beyond what exceeds your limit. Your shoulders rise and fall heavily with each laboured breath that passes you. War’s eyes track between the movement of your hands and your face, gaze intently set on you that then delves lower to the plushness of your breasts pushed together by your chest wrap, the linen fabric wetted to reveal a translucent viewing. Feelings arise, stirring, sensations he has never felt to entertain before until now. Through the thin and clinging fabric he sees the perky stiffness of your nipples, poised and glistening. Below the water he feels himself become erect, an ache reaching from his tip and down the long girth of his length. 

He’s suddenly pulled from his silent observation, his besotted hunger, when he sees you struggle. Whatever inner force that grants you your ability wanes as you strain yourself to reach the higher peak of his injured chest and shoulder. 

Without warning, his arms curl around you and he lifts you up, ignoring the protesting gasp you make or the way your glossy eyes widen in your own infatuated terror. 

The last of the moss dissipates with a flaring sizzle under your magic, though the wounds still require attentive care of stitchwork. You mean to turn away despite still being held in his arms and he suddenly stops you. He pins you to the pool’s rocky rim, your arms moving to support yourself, palms scratching against the roughened, wet stone with each yearning thrust that has your core arching out of the water from his hips. You let out a squeal of a whimper that pleads for him. 

Ever since you laid eyes on him you were mystified. The enchanting waves of his white hair that accented the angelic hue of his eyes, his larger and handsome physique leaping into the fray without fear. He hadn’t anticipated saving you, undoubtedly caught in the cycle of predator hunting predator, tearing down the original hierarchy to make room for himself amongst its chain. 

Those of your tribe always respected the strength and prowess of the ones who hunted and defended your wandering caravan. And such a display won your heart despite your better judgment that he was an invader of your realm. 

He moves to roll his hips attentively, slowly that causes an aching crawl to travel up your spine, sending your nerves into an aroused frenzy. His weight pushes against you as if to test you, to see if you’re more submissive than your Eld’hyunen counterparts. When he sees you pose no issue in challenging him and instead your body leans into that want, his head bows down and you feel the scrape of his teeth. The sharp incisors pleasantly run along the flesh of your shoulder, lingering close to the curve of your neck. 

Your size is impossible to compare fairly when held flush to the confines of his body. His hands are overly large enough to swallow you under his reach. The burning heat emits from his skin like a fiery blanket that consumes you. He bends the lower curve of your spine, your thighs burn with that strain that pulls your muscles from being spread wider to the gate of his hips that continue to rut into your clothed sex. 

Your hands smooth over his watered body, palms caressing the flex of muscle and taut flesh while your lips move across his skin with a ghostly sigh. As he aims to tear away the material of your lower garments, you unravel the translucent fabric of your chest wrap, peeling it off to reveal your breasts spilling free. Naked before him, he pulls you into his arms and you gasp sharply, tail swatting across the water’s glistening surface when you’re seated on the crown of his swollen — and very large — cock. 

It’s… enormous. Far beyond what you’re possibly capable of taking. His eyes study the blatant visage of your furrowed brow, the way your ears twitch nervously and the way you adjust yourself hesitantly almost as if to squirm away from him. 

“Be still,” he rumbles lowly, handling you and pushing you down on his tip. You hiss, the intrusion more shocking to your system than painful, merely knotting his leaking head between your slickened folds. 

You comply with his demand and allow him to do as he pleased. You were not denying him on this front, that wondering curiosity of what it would have been like had you completed your courting taking over. That need to finally have what you prematurely lost. There had been a few males you were potentially interested in, some had given you small yet thoughtful offerings as gifts in seeking your approval. 

But with War before you now, dare you even admit that none of those males could compare? 

You sink, further and further down and your walls stretch until you’re completely full but it doesn’t stop. He punctures through your hymen and you yelp, body trembling against him and he holds you tighter. It continues on as you take in another inch, followed by another. You whine and mewl with small, weakened pants that beat against his chest and your fingers curl to bite deeply into his skin as your walls struggle to take him. 

The last inch is unable to fit when he meets the final resistance. He groans deeply at the way your walls hold around him like a vice. Immediately he begins to rut his hips, a hard but slow pace set that physically bounces you up and down, you’re weightless in his grasp. Withdrawing from your cunt has a pained hiss escaping you, baring your teeth before it finally subsides with the pleasure. 

His lips take to devouring your skin, suckling and kneading the tender spot of your neck between his teeth. You moan louder and he grunts in response, uttering words in a tongue not of your own, though its canter is beautifully intoxicating that you want to hear more. He arches you back to watch how your breasts bounce with every move you make before he takes one of your stiffened peaks into his mouth, groaning lowly as his tongue envelops it.

A painful strain forms in the length of your hips but you care little for it now that that dull, needy ache is being satiated between your thighs. Your body practically curls into him, readily possessed by his strength and desire, anything and everything he would want for, you would give; and you would live out your remaining existence happily if he chose you. 

Of course, you don’t expect him to know or even acknowledge the more intimate factors of your culture or your ways of courting, but perhaps he could learn from you as you can from him. Even now you learn with each other, finding what the other craves, what pleases each other the most. He moves onto the other neglected mound of your breast, lapping at it with aggressive care as he picks up the speed of his thrusts. 

“Please… pl—please…” you beg softly, voice barely above a whisper to be heard over the watery slosh and rapid clapping of skin. 

he pants the utterance of your name you feel your entire body grow hot, fast approaching your release. It overtakes you as a flash, white and pulsating that has you arching to have his entire length sheathed inside you, never wanting to be apart. You moan into the recess of the hot springs, the cave walls capturing the sound as an echoing choir. 

His teeth bite down hard upon your neck and you cry out, nails drawing red lines that stake your claim over him as much as he does to you now. Blood sweeps up your neck, gathering as a pool that seeps through the broken skin. 

Your chest heaves until the swell of your ribcage is sore from the need to survive by breathing. Your head dizzied and eyes foggy, lidded with a heaviness, you pull yourself back to him, chest to chest. 

“War,” you moan, low and sweet and the sound of his name on your lips sends him over the edge. A few harder pumps that reach that one spot has you mewling for more and he releases his seed into the precious silk of your womb. You hear the way your combined juices mix together and feel the slow crawl of it drooling down the steep angle of your walls. 

Through the haze of your bliss you see the punctuated hue of his blue eyes staring at you, marvelling at you. Your fingers, so delicate and soft that he cannot help but try and gently kiss them, smoothly trace the lines and structure of his jaw, taking the time to study every single part of him that’s scarred and not. 

He brings you back over to the edge of the pool, the faded mist and water parting before his destined strut. He sets you down and you begin to weave and stitch what remained unhealed while his hands and mouth continued to discover you until he reached the lower folds of your cunt, tongue dancing over the still sensitive bud of your clit and you sharply gasp, an elicited sound he finds great pleasure in wanting to hear. 

Under the dawn’s abode, you begin to stir when streams of sunlight bathe you with a glowing, tempered greeting. Not too far from the hot springs had you and War made camp where the two of you continued to explore newer pleasures. From behind you, War cages you with a security you have not felt in so long, held against his sturdy chest, your back warmed by him long since the fire went out. 

His nose presses against the indented mark on your neck and you purr, enjoying the way his breath caresses you, his lips kiss and his teeth nip at you. He’d discovered you enjoyed the form of his fingers or tongue curling deep inside you, mesmerised by how your legs would shudder and your toes clench into tightened curls. He adored the way you admired and praised his body, submitting to his far larger size and able to cover you beneath him as he took you over and over again. 

By the time the both of you were properly dressed, he encouraged you to follow. Not that you had much of any thought against it, relieved that he intended for you to stay with him. 

“You are without a tribe now,” he had said.

“I am.”

“Then join my tribe, as a healer and my mate.”

With a smile, you had agreed. The days that follow were spent travelling together. He kept the creatures that stalked you at bay, often pulling you behind him to protect you and after such battles, you would nurture and tend to his wounds, intimately caring for his soul that has seen much bloodshed and been tainted by many horrors that plague his sleep. 

He would watch you comb your fingers through your hair, gathering a thickened lock of it on your left side and begin to plait it into an elaborate braid. War could see the way you smiled the entire time, cheeks seemingly warmed and not by the fire but from the significance your new braid bore. 

You would decorate it, using scarlet dyed threads and small, painted beads to intertwine with the braid, their stunning hues beautifully complimenting the colour of your hair. 

Oh, how you wanted to ask him if you could do the same, to signify that he was lovingly spoken for, but… from the way his brethren of the tribe interacted with one another, a brutish culture, you’d thought better against it. At least for the meantime. 

Though it has taken quite some time to grow accustomed to the way the Nephilim go about their bidding within the tribe, their violent nature often demonstrated right before your eyes just as much in the field of battle, it’s better knowing that you were no longer alone. Of course, you could have fled to any number of the fellow Eld’hyunen tribes, they would have taken you in without discrimination, but what then? They too would have met their bloody end for sure, and perhaps your soul claimed amongst them. 

And you would not have met your beloved War. A formidable fighter and very capable of defending your honour whenever one of his Nephilim brothers attempted to claim you for themselves. 

But there were times where you would have to remain in the camp and wait for the war party’s return. A tiny shred of fear always accompanied these long tides of waiting, gnawing in the back of your mind that War would be counted among the numbers that didn’t get back up. That they would carry his near-dying body to you and you would be left alone again. 

But he always came back. However much you scolded and fussed over his wounds, you were thankful he was alive. 

Nights were spent together in the privacy of your personal tent, skin pressed to skin, body to body and enveloped by the flood of your sated arousal that audibly guaranteed that War had claimed a mate for himself, that you were all his. Other times you simply would lay together atop the gathered furs, listening to the hungry smolder of the fire and the lingering mingle of your breath matching.

Many days and nights after his return from battle would see him approach you, agitated by something but you knew just what would help to ease the pent up rage, your body used for his explicit aggression. 

Eventually, you were given permission to braid the left portion of his ashen hair. Of course, you made it less obvious than your own but being able to gently comb and filter the locks of white between your nimble fingers, fashioning a beautiful courting braid and securing it with a red lacing that matched yours gladdened you. 

Your lips hover over the naked scar of a recent wound on his shoulder, humming a soft lullaby for his ears to hear. The fire in the small tent crackles, its smoke filtering out through the opened gap in its top. 

War buries his nose deep into the crook of your neck, right over the healed scar of his mark and you smile, turning in his lap to sit in the comfort of your silence. His large hands rest over the top of yours, the two of your carefully nursing the small, beginning bump of your unborn young. 

[darksiders-junkie]

Death: Lately (Y/N)'s gotten into dad jokes, but what's worse is that War actually likes them.

Reader: I had a nice vacuum cleaner, but I had to sell it. It was just gathering dust!

War, chuckling and clearly crushing on Reader: Isn't that what it's supposed to do?

Death: Every time I think my hell can't get worse, life finds a way

[theanimekid]

War's Kindle Winters

Synopsis: War spends his first winter with you in your grandfather's cottage

Warnings: fluff, sleeping, laziness, heavy snowfall, cuddles, Soft! War

A/n: I did it for the sake of curiosity. And I'm a little proud tbh

*Flashback*

The snow had fallen to the earth, the trees were covered in a blanket of white, and little snowflakes danced in the cold air like ballerinas. You stood in the middle of the forest, A faint winter coat, gloves, snow boots, a case of arrows on your back, and your bow in hand. A deer wandered into your vision sniffing at the frozen ground, you let out a tiny sigh as smoke left your mouth, You grabbed the arrow, raised your bow at the deer, and pulled the string along with the arrow. You let go of the arrow as it flew in the air and shot at the deer's neck. The deer stumbled to the ground. You raced over to see that the deer is dead.

A dark shadow stood behind you in a menacing way, you turned around to see a demon in a dark cloak with red horns in the show. You smiled calmly knowing that it was just your grandfather, who you called since he didn’t tell you his real name. He looked around the area the sound of howling and growling filled the snowy grounds. He held out his hand, “Come now, we must head home before it gets dark.” “ Yes, Grandpa.” You answered sweetly as you dragged the dead deer with one hand and the other holding his. The two of you walked together back into your cottage in the mountain of winter.

***

It's been 25 years since then... 25 long years.

The sound of crunching snow and hooves echoed the first You and War rode side by side as you both trotted in the snow, you came to a stop at a familiar tree with a gash mark on it. You're close. " Come on, we're almost there," You said as you rode your horse past the marked tree, War soon followed you. The winds sang lowly as the flakes of snow danced in the earth. War has been by your side since he first met in The Crossroads, alone, your instincts heightened, and weapons ready at your side. He was utterly shocked to see a human wandering the dead earth for a century. Now, he's riding with you in a forest, following your lead. " It's here... after all these years it's still standing." You spoke to yourself as you stood before you the cottage in the mountain, it's like nothing changed nor touched since you left.

War went beside you as you looked at the wooden home with a little perplexity and a bit of sadness like you were here with someone before. Got off your horse, and you led her to the small stable house. War and Ruin watched you curiously as you locked up the gate in front of her horse. She walked into the buried snow towards her cottage.

War soon followed, his giant footsteps echoed through the dark room, with one swift of flame magic you first lit the empty fireplace. The fireplace blazed but soon calmed down, dancing like one small but giant light, you sighed as took off your armor and fur and lay on the small long desk. You turned to see War carefully observing since you walked in You offered your hand to him, " Come now get comfortable, we'll be here for a while. " He stared at you curiously and a little shockingly, no one in all his years of existence has ever shown this type of... feeling of genuine kindness and acceptance. He took off his armor piece by piece, except for his sword, he keeps it at all times. He followed you inside your home, and you stopped in the middle of the living room. " Wait here, I'll be right back,""You requested, as you hurriedly rushed upstairs to get him some clothes that can fit his muscular build. You came back down, with a checkered sleeve shirt and decant pants, you gave him the clothes and shoes him the way to the bathroom.

It was War's first winter with you in your grandfather's cozy cottage. As the snow fell heavily outside, the two of you huddled together inside, enjoying each other's company. War had never experienced anything like this before, and he was fascinated by the warmth of the fire and the softness of the blankets. As the days went by, War found himself becoming more and more relaxed around you. He had always been a warrior, always on the move, always ready for battle. But with you, he didn't feel the need to be constantly vigilant. He could let his guard down and just be himself.

One lazy afternoon, as the snow continued to fall outside, War found himself dozing off on the couch. You were curled up beside him, your head resting on his chest. He could feel your breaths against his skin, and he felt a sense of peace that he had never known before. As he drifted off to sleep, he found himself wondering how he had ever lived without you. You were his rock, his shelter from the storm. And he was grateful to have you in his life.

The rest of the winter passed in a blur of lazy days and cozy nights. War and you spent hours talking, laughing, and cuddling together. And as the snow melted away and spring began to bloom, War knew that he would always treasure his memories of that first winter with you in your grandfather's cottage. For War, it was a time of growth, of learning to let go of his fears and embrace the warmth of love. And he knew that he had you to thank for that. You had shown him a side of himself that he had never known before, and he was forever grateful.

[beastsovrevelation]

Anyone want Crowley x Readers? Or War x Readers? I don't know how long I'll take to start uploading my WIPs, and I don't like to not upload. Female Reder. Both male and female Crowley (not at the same time). War'd be... Herself.

What are you saying? I'm procastrinating? Why, ✨yes✨, how did you know? On my WIPs, original works, and papers for uni.

[saintfaux]

[aphrcdites]

the bond between a girl and their favorite fictional man is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object

[iftadwascool]

what a fucking coward

[imagine-darksiders]

Wait. The Eden's Heir gang's actual dynamic.

[vinamari]

How it feels going to bed after reading some words

It was angst

[invoncible]

I’d love to see Invincible!variants meeting OG reader with powers/super strong because in their world, their reader is normal. I’d like to see their reaction when they’re expecting someone weak and then they suddenly fly off or get decked in the face!

INVINCIBLE VARIANTS & reader who can put them in their place ✧˚. ft. nogoggles!mark, mohawk!mark, viltrumite!mark, the surviving 8 cw. canon typical violence

— this is so funny ily nonnie but uhh rereading this i feel like i lost the plot, hope u enjoy nonetheless lol <3 ! — reader is with MAIN!mark & has scarlet witch type powers

when multiple versions of your boyfriend were zipping around the planet causing indescribable amounts of destruction, you were a little confused. all of these guys... were mark? what mark could've been if things went a little different?

you held back a little when fighting them because they had the face of the boy you loved so much, but after seeing them in action... they had to go.

you were flying beside your mark, the only good one apparently, when cecil barked in your ear.

"y/n, i need you." your comm buzzed to life with cecil's instructions.

"kinda busy, cecil." you muttered under your breath.

"please, i know you're done with me. i know both of you are. but don't turn your back on the people who're in danger."

"what does he want?" your mark snapped, the distaste evident on his face.

"help." you answered him with a sigh, your moral compass guilting you into seeing where you were needed. you promised mark you'd be back soon.

"just tell me where the problem is." you shot back at cecil.

NOGOGGLES!MARK

"i need you at guardians' HQ."

you narrowed your eyes in concern. "the guardians are down?"

"it's a batshit crazy version of mark, what do you think?"

you rolled your eyes and rerouted your flight path to guardians' base. within minutes you warped right in the middle of the action.

"what the fuck..." you whispered in horror. kate and her duplicates were out, shapesmith was ripped in half—immortal was the only one still going and even he was struggling.

"nice, they sent someone else!" mark stopped immortal's punch nonchalantly with one hand, grinning down at you from where he hovered in the air. he squinted then gasped, throwing immortal to the ground.

"y/n? why would they send you?" he floated down to you, approaching you like a wild animal.

"you know me?" you stalled, eyes darting around your periphery to make sure that the others were at least alive.

"do i know you?" he laughed, figuring that was a good enough answer to your question. he circled around you with an approving hum. "aww, you playing dress up? i like this color on you—"

activating your power, your tendrils of chaos magic snaked around his body, picking him up and throwing him across the room. you flew to where he landed, lifting the debris of his prior battle telekinetically and sending the slabs of concrete crashing into his body.

your feet touched down on the ground as you walked calmly towards his fallen body squirming under the projectiles. he shot up and out of the pile of rocks with a feral grin on his face.

"holy shit. you're nothing like my y/n." he set his fists and accelerated towards you.

you stopped him with the raise of your hand. his punch stuttered in time and space as he tried his hardest to push past your power and land a good one. you ducked under him, yanking at his ankle and slamming him to the ground so hard he bounced.

"yes," he chuckled lowly, wiping the blood dripping on his chin. "yes. can i take you home with me?"

"no."

"i'll fight you for it," he stood up, rolling his neck. you cringed when you heard the cacophony of cracks that followed. "wanna fight me for it?"

"s'not gonna be much of a fight." you smiled, shifting your weight before taking off again, gaining altitude and using your power as a jet engine to collide your leg with his face.

to your shock and horror, he just stood there and took it with a smile, his body skipping across the floor like a rock over a lake .

"oh..." he grinned, sliding to a stop and licking the blood off his teeth. "oh. i love you."

you blinked in confusion, tilting your head. your body warmed as you channeled your power again, a ball of energy accumulating over your palm. "i'm... going to kill you."

"i know!" he laughed, punching his fist into his palm as he got hyped up again. "that's the best part."

"you're actually enjoying this." you meant it as a question, but there was no room for debate. this mark was 100% delighted by the fact you were trying to kill him.

mark swayed on his feet, blood dribbling from his split lip. his breathing was uneven—you couldn't tell if it was from exertion or excitement—and of course that fucking grin was still there.

"you’re so fun," he groaned, licking his teeth. "i love my y/n, but i bet they could learned a thing or two from you—"

you didn’t let him finish. with a flick of your wrist, your energy surged forward, wrapping around his throat. his words choked off into a strangled gasp as you lifted him into the air.

"i'm not them," you said, voice steady even as you watched him gasp for air.

then, with a sharp twist—you snapped his neck. his body dropped to the floor, limp. you stared for a second, waiting for any signs of movement. nothing. finally, you let out a breath and turned away.

"ugh..."

you froze and spun around. his voice was wet, choked with laughter.

"you're not making it easy to stay away from you."

MOHAWK!MARK

"the penitentiary. prison's getting ransacked."

you were at the scene within the minute, zapping into existence just to see mark with a fuckass mohawk fighting off some heroes tasked with taking him in. they were unsuccessful of course, as when you arrived they were in piles of limbs and blood on the concrete.

his eyes flickered to you, widening in recognition. "y/n..?"

you raised your eyebrow. guess he knew you, or a version of you in his world. it didn't matter to you.

he lit up and tossed a severed hand to the side. "oh, hey!" he walked towards you. "what're you doing here, babe? i know you love when i go crazy but this is a biiiiit dangerous—"

you restricted his movement, pulling him towards you with your magic. you squeezed and squeezed until you heard his breath hitch. "i'm not your y/n."

"yeah, i can see that." he crooned, feigning an impressed tone. "you got a little power now? if you wanted me close, you don't have to be rough. just ask. i'm happy with any version of you." he failed to hide his little grunt, squirming in your hold.

if your grimace was any indication of your sentiment, he didn't take it to heart. he took it as motivation. he broke through your magic, pummeling through the air towards you. unfazed, you slapped him off course with a bolt of magic. he crashed into the wall with a groan.

mark stood up, the dust and rocks falling off his back. "my y/n was a sweetheart."

"i can be sweet," you mumbled more to yourself, brows furrowing as you strategized how to finish him off quickly.

"just not for me, though." mark grinned. "i see how it is. is it the hair?"

"kinda." your eyes flickered up to his hair and you couldn't stop the little smile on your face. all you could think about was your mark with that style. it worked on him, not that you'd admit it.

you picked him up and slammed him down, picked him up and slammed him down again, over and over until he was hanging limp in the air.

satisfied, you synthesized restraints from imagination and fastened them over him. you barely climbed out of the sunken crater you carved with his body when he coughed up blood, eyes fluttering.

you pressed a finger to your ear. "cecil, send someone else to bring this guy in. i've got to get back."

"you just gonna throw me around and leave?" he scoffed, words slurring together from the beating.

"someone's gonna take you in, and you're gonna tell us everything about how you got here." you sigh and barely spare him a glance over your shoulder.

"i won't talk." he sang teasingly.

"you will."

"i'll do it maybe if you come a little closer." he egged you on, a stupid little smirk on his face. "got something real special to say to you."

"shut up."

he groaned petulantly and started to push against your magical binds.

"stay." you narrowed your eyes.

his eyes darted up to yours, staring for a moment before huffing a short laugh. he leaned back against the caved-in pavement, man-spreading and getting comfy against the slope. "yes, ma'am."

VILTRUMITE!MARK

"he's off fighting spawn. the poor guy's probably already dead."

"got it."

"watch out for this one, y/n, he's..." cecil sucked in a breath. "i dunno. full viltrumite indoctrination?"

"i can handle him." you reassured him before phasing over to the variant's location.

you watched as he ripped the hero apart, flying him into the highway below for good measure. you soared down behind him, saving all the cars that were launched from the road and setting them down at a safe distance.

mark watched as the cars were gently rescued. he turned around like he had all the time in the world and looked pained upon seeing you.

"please no." he sighed softly. "they shouldn't have sent you."

"why not?" you humored him, stepping gracefully over the rubble.

"i won't stop all this. not even for you, my love."

"i'm not your y/n..." you pursed your lips, getting a faint sense of deja vu. you felt like you said this a few times already.

"don't worry, it'll be over soon. why don't you wait all this out—"

you teleport before he can finish, reappearing behind him mid-air. a surge of energy coils around your hands as you slam a concussive blast into his back. he stumbles forward, muscles tensing from the impact.

he spun around in a flash, hand gripping your throat as he shoves you back-first into the nearest building. the collision sent shockwaves rippling through the complex, glass shattering, debris crumbling to the ground.

"cute tricks." he breathed against your ear. "this is new. but don't make me fight you."

you stabbed your fingers into his pressure points, channeling your power through his nerves. his grip faltered for a fraction of a second, enough time for you to flip, plant your feet on his chest, and kick him off you.

mark spiraled back, barely catching himself mid-air. he wipes the blood from his lip from being effectively electrocuted, chest rising and falling.

"join me," he whispered, watching you in awe. "join me. we can rule the universe together."

"the fact that you think you can ask that and get a good answer proves that you don't know me at all."

"i do."

"you don't."

"we could have everything." he floats towards you. "power. control. be reasonable, won't you?"

you phase behind him again, placing one hand on his back and charging up your energy. he tries to turn around, but you're a second faster, releasing the pent-up force directly into him. mark grimaces in pain as the blast sends him spiraling into the air, flipping and tumbling before crashing into the ground below with a deafening thud.

you crashed onto the ground, unwilling to let him have another opportunity to get up. he saves you the trouble and holds a hand up in surrender.

"i won't fight you." he says simply.

you shake your head incredulously. "it's not a choice."

"i'll come find you when this is all over." he dismissed you easily, walking off your attacks.

"what—?"

he took off at supersonic speed, leaving you in the dust.

THE SURVIVORS

"they're all hovering over mark's house."

"what?! is—"

"debbie and oliver are fine. they're safe elsewhere." cecil cut you off.

you groaned and teleported over to mark's house. unfortunately, they were in your usual spot, hovering over the roof. you hung there in the air for a split second before they all pounced on you.

"we can't all have a y/n, can we?" full mask mark exclaimed, being the first to grab you and spin away from the group with you hidden safely behind him. "i'm taking them and mom back with me."

"you lost mom and y/n?" omnimark shook his head, like a father disappointed in a child. "how can you be trusted with this one?"

you narrowed your eyes. "i'm literally right here—"

"shut the fuck up." prison mark snapped at full mask mark, pushing past omnimark and jabbed a finger at the soft one of the bunch. "i'm tired of your bitching and whining. keep mom, i guess, i don't fuckin' care. but give 'em back."

"i hate you guys." sighed omnimark.

"who said you were getting them?" unmasked mark scoffed and crossed his arms.

"no one's getting me." you broke up the fight, momentarily forgetting that they were all mass murderers just cuz they had your pretty boyfriend's face.

"yeah, cuz you'd rather settle for that stupid fucking mark from this world."

"why'd you say his name like it's a slur?" you deadpanned. "aren't you all technically mark?"

"we're getting off topic." omnimark held out a hand to calm the congregation. "for what it's worth, i have my y/n safe and sound back home—"

"oh for fuck's sake."

© invoncible

[moodymisty]

Was trying to doodle something, but it didn't come out right. So here, have it in writing form instead. Forgib any spelling mistakes or whatnot, it's quick and dirty.

No warnings, just comforting fluff with War.

Strife paces around three or so meters from War, watching intently as the youngest horsemen sits firmly idle. He's been getting quite sick of Strife's incessant pacing, and looks at at him with a heavy set glare when he comes closer again. Strife is talking a bluestreak within moments.

"Come on man, I promise I won't even wake her up you just gotta m-"

After what has felt like hours to Strife, War finally speaks up in a hushed tone. His brow is even more furrowed than usual.

"Cease your incessant yaping," He hisses the rest of his sentence. "You will wake her."

Strife clenches his hands and resists the urge to groan dramatically. Meanwhile you adjust in War's lap, slotted comfortable against his chest as you sleep. They don't quite know if something had upset you, or hurt you in some way, but for now, you seemed to have calmed enough to fall asleep.

And much to Strife's dismay, you'd done so on his younger brother and not him; Despite War being the stuffy no nonsense, no emotion Horsemen. Why you'd want anything to do with Horsemen of no fun allowed is beyond him.

Though War has apparently taken his new duty as massive Nephilim heater and bed combination quite seriously, if his cape being wrapped firmly around your shoulders has any indicator. His right hand rests on your upper back, as your head lays against his chest. His chin just barely brushes against the top of your head. Your hands gently grip him, long strands of white hair weaving between your small fingers.

He has a small- at least compared to him- human on his lap snuggling him, and the Nephilim still has the same stern, grumpy face he always does.

"Find something else to entertain yourself." Strife glares at the red rider.

"Weren't you the one who was all 'why are you wasting your time with humans' not long ago?"

War slowly pulls one arm away from you, and begins reaching for Chaoseater, which is laid centimeters away against the wall. Strife backs up and raises his hands.

"Fine fine! I'll go."

Finally having managed to chase the gunslinger away, War looks down at you to confirm you are indeed still asleep.

Not a peep from you. Just the gentle whistling of your breaths.

His hand gently rests back on your shoulderblades, and you shift a little bit into him.

War's never been good at emotions. So when you wake up, he'll be hard pressed to say more than a few words about this. If someone hurt you? He can just threaten them, that's easy. Anything else, not so much. But if this helps you, he doesn't mind being weighed down for a bit.

[darkdemeter]

WATCH IN SILENCE

✘DARKSIDERS FILED CLIPPINGS | War x Female Watcher!Reader ────────────────────────

A cantankerous behemoth that treads the path of destruction and chaos in his wake. A rider adorned in the banner of red, his trademark hood, and beneath the darkness of his cowl is the war-enamoured glare of whitened blue. A hue far too complicated for any mortal to comprehend. This bringer of all things conflict, and pursuer of vengeance to a fiery engine that can never be sated, his reluctance towards trusting you is to be expected.

For a Watcher bound to the plating of his gauntlet and deeper into his very soul, can only mean that the Charred Council questions his loyalty to them. Untrusted to go about his tasks, to serve the balance, he is now at the tether of a parasite that will feed and revel in the status of your power over him.

But he learns quickly that you do no such thing. Intend nothing of the sort. You just follow behind him as if it is you who is at his leash. He contemplates your motives in his mind, and you do nothing to invade him there, for that is not yours to pry into. There is much silence to be found between you both and he finds appreciation in the beginning of it all. But there comes a time that his appreciation begins to fester into worry. 

Why do you not speak? Why is it that you just watch him?

It is a matter that you’re fascinated by him. A juggernaut of all things chaos, destruction and desolation, in contrast to the vow of his honour; his duty to serve balance and the level of dedication he strives for to make peace for the realms. For one of the four that is known to be fuelled by tempering vengeance and bloodlust, he has a strict code to which he conducts himself to uphold. Duty-bound to his role. You find him a very intriguing rider of the steed known as Ruin. A fitting comrade to his master. 

He senses something about you that sets you apart from other watchers, unlike the more obvious telltale signs and oddities, but within the pulsing energy of your shaded body; he feels that there is a sense of commonality between you both. 

Yes, much like himself, you are not as ancient as the others. No, you are young. And so, that commonality forges a bond between. You understand the struggles he goes through in being the youngest of his siblings. At times, not taken seriously, and other times he is teased and taunted relentlessly with only Death being the main mediator to rid his youngest from such torment. You too struggle with this ordeal within the spiralling, ethereal pool of the watchers. But by no means do any come to your valiant rescue. 

So when you are chosen to be bound to the red cowled Horsemen, you do well to ignore his scornful glare and allow your eyes to crinkle with a mouthless smile. Finally, you are given reprieve from your own torment and what’s more, you get a chance to explore the many worlds. 

At first, he’d been confronted by this… unique behaviour of exploration. The way you gravitate towards the smallest and most mundane articles in your path, you found there to be something entrancing about a single, white petalled flower that remains fighting against the rubble and corruption around it. Or from the wayward cast of your gaze that appeared to become lost in the intricate layout of the realms you travel to. No matter where you are, you always manage to find something that piques your peculiar interest. 

And in meeting Vulgrim, the demon trader who bargains boons and goods in exchange for souls, who’s hunger knows no bounds, is allured by that younger scent of yours. The fiend is salivating in his thoughts and lipless grin, you force yourself to hide behind War, whether as an act of cowardice or self-preservation, but it spurns the Horseman into action. That of defense. To protect you, the baritone of his voice warns Vulgrim off. That by the Charred Council - and by him - you are protected. 

War is silent about his intrigue of your gentle, silent nature. You are often out and about, lingering on the horizon of his watch and never straying too far from him.

"What is it, little Watcher?" he grumbles to you eagerly pounding on the plate of his pauldron to gain his attention, glancing to where you enthusiastically indicate towards a point of interest. In reply, he gives a stern nod of his head. The closest sentiment of thanks you can get from the near-silent rider. But adventurous voyages are cut short to retreat into the crypt of his body and soul when danger lurks near. Despite the inward haven, you find it hard to simply wait out the carnage and a strange sorrow fills the void where a heart should be when you see him falter, inflicted with wounds wrought from battle.

Because of this need to see him unharmed, you will yourself to be brave. Fighting against the demonic forces of Hell’s army, War finds himself becoming overpowered. In your determination to aid the youngest Horsemen, you put yourself in the league of danger, and drive a sharpened point of a broken blade into the beast’s side with a shrill battle-cry. 

At the cost of being grappled and tossed into a wall of torn and reformed rock, War is given the opportunity he needs to gain the upper hand. 

After that particular fight, War notices the slumped form you take and despite his limited expertise, he attends any injury you sustained in the attack.

“This should help, little Watcher,” he says, uncertainty evident in the way he scowls, his low-silken voice drawls with faded hope of helping you. But it matters little, you’re gladdened by the tenderness of his actions. The four are not exactly known to be courteous. And Watchers are despised by them, and any other spiritual being for that matter, so to be taken under his care despite any reservations of loathing he may hold for you; it creates the illusion of a smile in your glowing eyes. 

War doesn’t smile in turn. Nor did you expect him to. But the bevel between his ashen brows ceases just a little and the glaring mask of his stoicism wavers that tiny bit more. Lowering the blackened limb of your bound arm, he stands to his full height before you after having bandaged your wound. The sound of your voice after all this time visibly shakes him, his fangs bared and eyes growing wide.

“Thank you, War…”