#War x Reader x Strife

[imagine-darksiders]

I made them a gif.

[darkdemeter]

Tis I again! With more requests for darksiders!

Can you write the four horsemen with a human s/o that Is just really supportive and really Open with their love towards them

(Like they always make them tea when they come by their home, or when they go out into the realms together their s/o makes sure they have somewhere confortable to lay down on if they need rest or something to cover them if they get cold.

They also try to cheer them up with compliments and silly jokes [war May not understand any of them but hey A+ for the effort] and are also very cuddly and have those casual touches of like,holding their hand or patting their back, or playing with their hair and maybe say "hey,remember I love you okay?" A little too often as a way of reassurance and are always up to listen to them and their problems if they need It.

They'll of course stop if theyre told to do so,cuz respecting boundaries and all)

These four need some actual love,they deserve so much better!

As always take ur time and thanks in advance!

Have a great day! (And sorry for the huge wall of text)

A HEART SO UNCONDITIONAL

◤✘DARKSIDERS COLUMN | Death/Strife/War/Fury x GN Reader

NOTES: ↳ I thought I'd take a different approach in giving each of the riders their own little short story while mixing around the elements you listed. (That's why it's taken so long.) Thank you @screechinginthevoid for this one and for being so so patient! They do, our Horsemen deserve the world! 😭 WARNINGS! ↳ A lot of angsty hurt/comfort with fluff — depictions of established relationships

✎7.2k

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DEATH

Who said that loving the reaper himself would be a walk in the park? It’s not, but the hardships don’t worry you. So trusting in him and understanding, yet you always have this overwhelming aura about you that Death remains unsure about. 

How can a human possibly have so much love and compassion for him? The very being that will take your life from this world when your time is done.

But you don’t allow that to phase you – to never stop you from reminding him each and every waking moment you share together, how much you love him and that you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. You cherish him to the point he fears it blinds your mortal eyes. 

Humans, he’s found, are so fundamentally flawed by the very thing that makes them integral to the balance: their love. A power so absolute, yet corruptible and easy to turn, and though you show no sign of that tainted mark he very much believes it has been poisoned by his presence.

You hand him his mug, the dark stew of tea ringing around in tidal circles until it calms under his steadiness and the tea’s stilling reveals his reflection.

A reflection he never took part in recoiling at before, now almost flinching at the dreaded sight before him that was him. Looking up to watch you at the sink, absently humming a song’s tune to yourself as you set to working away at the dishes, he wonders if this settlement is right for you. He’s grown far too attached now. He has to stop it… but he can’t. He doesn’t want to. 

Death wonders if the seven sins have infected him with these selfish desires that keep him from severing the cord that’s already pulled you both together. Before, he could have done it without any ties of remorse to haunt him afterwards. Your love is overwhelming. How you express it, how you say it, how you care for him. 

He can’t fathom it. Finishing up your chore at the sink, you dry your hands and toss the hand towel onto the counter and wander over, a gentle grin on your lips as you reach a hand to lay on his tense arm. 

Death flinches away at the action, alerted by the sudden press of warmth that your skin brings to his colder temperature. He wishes he could succumb to that feeling, bask in its entirety but something holds him back. 

Your hand lifts slightly, your smile turned and your brows furrowed to express your sincere, silent apology for alarming him. Throughout this relationship, you have always seen how Death keeps himself well beyond the comfort you try to give him, leaving him to reserve his emotions and affection. 

You remain patient that he may eventually open up. Even if it takes you to the very end of your life, so be it.

“Hey,” you greet softly, trying again as you rest your hand back on his arm. “I was thinking maybe we could venture out to the Maker’s Realm? I thought it’d be nice to have a picnic.”

He hasn’t visited that realm for quite some time and he recognises the way you’ve been feeling stuffy inside your humble abode. Itching to be let out of your cage like a little bird. His little bird that sings happily for his ears to hear, trapped inside a cage you don’t see as imprisoning and he’s far too selfish to let you be free.

Maybe this picnic would help him ease out of this habit of keeping you to himself, that finally he can set his little bird free.

The air is fresh with the aging scent of pine leaves and the sun bathes your skin with a comfortable warmth. Through Death’s actions, he hoisted you off of Despair’s back, his grip strong and firm with you before he set you down. Just like always, you scuttle off in that human nature, the basket held tight in your hands as you settle down on the hillside. 

Death takes a moment to himself to simply admire it all – perhaps for the last time. His hand runs over Despair’s neck with an uncomfortable sense of dread he has not felt in a long time, the pain that follows the loss of something he holds dear creeping over him that in turn unsettles his loyal undead steed. 

“You coming?” you ask, voice innocently inquiring in his absence, laying out a large canvas of a day blanket atop the pasture of grass. While you stare at Death, he feels his resolve waver. 

He can’t do it. How the sun sets a glow to halo around you, hair gently tousled in the wind makes you appear like a dream. 

He can’t remember the last time he had dreamt, when he had a moment of true peace that granted him an escape from his troubles. 

He wants to stay in this place with you always but he knows he cannot. There comes a time where he must wake up. There is a time he will have to let go and say his final goodbyes. Death stalks over to where you’ve set up, intending to sit beside the laid out blanket only to catch your gaze. 

You’ve the look as if he’s committed the most heinous of crimes before a large grin crosses your features. “Come on over, I've saved room just for you.” 

Indeed you had, the blanket large enough for two, even still he harbours his hesitance. In an instant, you give him that same, sympathetic smile you had in the kitchen. “Only if you want to, whatever makes you comfortable.” 

He moves cautiously and inches himself until his weight hovers at the chequered edge. You lean against his side and rest your head against his shoulder, still smiling up at him.

“What a beautiful day. Thanks for taking us out here, I really appreciate it.”

He only huffs in response, shoulders knocking your head off balance from shoving down slightly, but you only giggle. “I do! I really, really appreciate it. We get to spend the day together in the sun and enjoy a nice picnic. And you know what’s even better?” 

“What?” He asks, voice low in his gruff timbre. Your smile is radiant. Infectious to the point that it makes something inside his chest swell and pulsate. Dangerously so that he doesn’t know what to make of it, denying the possibility that it may very well be… love. 

You raise a finger to trace down the bridge of his masked nose, so lovestruck and in awe of the way his amber eyes flicker like nervous flames, silently watching and waiting. You answer softly, “That I’m with you.”

For a second you think you catch a rare and radiant glimpse of something in his eyes but he quickly diverts his attention ahead to watch the scenery. You know that he’s troubled but in true fashion, he doesn’t unload you with any of it. He’s hardened his shell to keep his secrets from you.

You reach a hand between you and find the cool define of his long, spindly hand, your fingers entwine with his own and give a reassuring squeeze.

“Death?” You ask, eyes shifting to look at him out of the corner of your vision. He doesn’t respond but you know he’s listening.

“I understand that you keep things to yourself but I want to help. I would like to be someone you can talk to.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he sighs. It shatters you, yet you are aware that it is the truth. 

“Have I done something wrong?” 

He turns his head to face you, eyes glaring downward and you feel your breath hitch, lungs caught in the flames of his eyes. 

“I— I’m sorry, whatever I’ve done I am sorry, I just… I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong…” his head bows and his shoulders deflate with a heavy sigh. “Not intentionally.” 

“Then what is it?” You move to sit on your knees, facing him. 

“Little bird, I fear that you don’t understand what it means to love me.”

His words are a wound stabbed deeply into your heart. Still he continues, scoffing with a shrug, “It all seems tedious to shower me with your affections, only to meet your end with me. Why bother?”

“You don’t get it…” you sigh, bottom lip trembling slightly as tears cover your eyes with a shiny gloss. “Humans are so difficult when it comes to love, yes. But sometimes, we don’t get a choice in who we fall in love with. We just do.” 

You’re overcome by the sudden high of your emotions. Before you know it, your arms pull around his shoulders and drag yourself in until you sit in his lap, his hands frozen to hover over your waist. You don’t care if he doesn’t reciprocate your actions, you just want him to know how much you care for him.

“You mean so much to me, Death. Without you, I would have given up trying to survive. Without you, Humanity would have ceased to be. You are the most noblest soul I have ever come to know.” 

You recall that time. What you thought would be his final goodbye. He left you in the care of the Makers until it was deemed safe to return to Earth. It wasn’t as much of an emotional farewell on his part, but you had caved right there, as he turned his back on you to walk away — to enter the well of souls and never likely to return. 

You cried, screamed and shouted, you begged him to hear your confession. That had been the night when you realised… “I made my peace the moment I knew I had fallen in love with you.” 

Your hold around him increases as sobs rack through you. Tears wet on your lashes, you sniffle. “I’m sorry if I’m always clingy, I promise I’ll try and not be, I just—I just can’t bear the— thought of losing you again!” 

His arms move slowly to circle around your waist, his presence a haunting comfort as he holds you to him. He can’t bear the thought of telling you to stop. He can’t let you go. His little bird in the cage wouldn’t last, not with wings too damaged to fly on your own again.

To be called the noblest of souls holds a light to the high regard you hold him to. He only did what was necessary for balance, for his brother. But that night, leaving you behind knowing it was for the last time, he was shaken to his core because he found that saying goodbye was so very hard when he realised he had fallen in love with you.

And so he holds you as you cry against him, perhaps not for the last time after all.

STRIFE

With a heart of unbridled magnitude, you love hard and fiercely. It shows in the way you always throw yourself on the towering nephilim whenever he steps a foot on your front porch, face lit up in your excitement to see him shadow your doorway.

“Whoa there!” He laughs, hands taking hold of you yet resisting to use all his strength unless he crushes you like a toothpick, anxiously aware that the daggered irons of his gauntlets can so easily shred and puncture you if he isn’t careful. 

You invite him inside with a tug of his hand in yours. “Come on, come on!” You’re always so cheerful and buzzing with energy. He’s stumbling paces behind you as he’s dragged further inside where you begin to make his usual tea in his favourite mug. 

“I’ve missed you so much, it’s been so boring around here without you,” you begin to rave and rant on, hearing the creaking of one of the stools support his weight. 

You ask with a cheeky smirk, “So what have you been up to lately, handsome fella?”

He replies with a casual roll of his shoulder, “You know me, firefly. Just doing my thing as a Horseman.” 

“Sounds like you’ve been busy.” You turn, hotly made tea nestled in your hands that you set in front of him. With a thankful nod he takes it.

“You have no idea.” 

With him sitting on the opposite side of the counter, your body hunches forward, pressed to lean your weight on the surface with your palms supporting your chin as you stare with what Strife can assume to be heart eyes.

“What?” he asks, golden eyes blinking rapidly. “Did I ever tell you that I love you?” 

Your voice is sickly sweet, sung in a playful note while you tilt your head side to side, lost and aloof in some daydream. 

“Every time you see me,” he chuckles and you perk up, grinning like the cat who ate the cream. 

“Well, I love you, Strife!” You’re suddenly at his side within a flash, arms thrown around him until you’re stuck to him like sap on a branch. You hum, happy and content to have him back, head nestling against his neck. He smells strong of gunpowder and a musk of burning wood that reminds you of the winter snuggled close by the fireplace. 

“I missed you so, so much…” You sigh quietly this time. 

Strife had entered your life with a flash and a bang. Literally. He fell from the sky as a massive ball of flame that scorched and melted the world around him. Just when you needed a saviour’s hand, he had arrived. From that day forth, you were constantly stuck to his side, even the few times he tried to brush you off to someone far more capable than him to care for you, you insisted that you remain with him. He made you feel safe in a world that no longer did. 

Him? He had almost laughed. He made you feel safe? Even when Ulthane promised that no harm would befall you under his charge, you were still determined to ride with a Horseman.

Was that the point he realised he loved you? Well, you sure left that much an impression on him that he fancied something about you. For the handful of humans that managed to survive you were the only one willing to come near him, no less be with him. It only felt natural in some way when your relationship evolved into something more after a single kiss — but just as instinctual as it may have been, Strife found himself drawn into something forbidden — not intended for him. But you assured him that he was the only one you wanted, that you loved him. The complicated nature of humanity at play before his very eyes. A mortal so hopelessly in love with him of all lovers to choose from.

He strips himself of his mask, letting it sit on the counter as he enjoys his tea while you huddle yourself against him like a kitten snuggling into his lap. Strife’s siblings often remark how attached you were to him. Whenever he would spend the night, the following morning he would have to say his goodbyes until your next meeting.

It hurts him every time he has to see that sorrow flash within your eyes, before you dismiss it and assure him that you will be alright and that you will be waiting for him just like always. 

There are days where you will pace the floorplan of your home just waiting for him, to hear the familiar clobbering of hooves raging against the pavement and a snorted whiney from Mayham, who you may have a bad habit of coddling and feeding one too many carrots to from your kitchen window when Strife isn’t paying attention. Hey, he enjoys them and who are you to deny the rider of unrest itself, and it keeps Mayhem from riding your recently planted greenhouse. 

“Alright there, sweets?” Strife chuckles, his voice having grown lower with a tired drawl. You hum, happy to bask and bathe in the intoxicating warmth radiating off him that seeps deep into your bones. 

“Hard not to be when I’m with you,” you coo softly, eyes droopy and you fight hard to hide a yawn. 

“How long have you been waiting up for me?” His question takes a sudden shift as he turns you in his lap, your body small enough that maneuvering you was as easy for him as it is for you to move a feather. 

“Not… not that long, just a couple… couple ‘fhours…” Again you strain to keep yourself from yawning. But Strife sets aside his unfinished tea, already scooping you to rest you on your back in his arms and carries you towards your bedroom. You whine, hands tugging at the fabric of his scarf. 

“But Strife,” — a large yawn finally stretches your mouth open — “I don’t wanna sleep, I want to cuddle you and tell you how you’re the darndest handsome fella I could ever call my own—”

He shushes you then, hands careful to lay you down on your mattress and pull the covers over you despite the weakened struggle you put up. “How can you be so handsome, honestly? And funny, and strong and just everything I could ever want in a partner?”

The fog of sleep is close to taking you under, however, the last of your energy that wanes like a candle wick almost burnt out comes as an attempt to sit on your knees. Yourhands splay over the large front of his chest, his golden eyes bouncing in their softened gaze as he silently pleads with you to rest. Still, you remain adamant even as the heavy lead drags your lashes down together. 

“You know… I just want you to know that I love you, okay? I’m always here for you, ‘m not going anywhere that isn’t with you.”

The darkened lines of his brown brows flex up, furrowed in his contemplation over your words. It’s almost like his spiked hair became tenfold bristled under the weight of such a reminding confession. Often, you tell him these things and he still has a hard time accepting that they mean anything true. You’re a human, even love is so cruel in blinding you. 

He figures that you will eventually grow out of it. Someday, you will find another man who will take care of you. He dreads the day that you will no longer be his baby, his precious love; the bright star alight in the cosmos that guides him home every time. 

A chapped kiss lands on your forehead, almost ghosting over the contour of your skin and he leans in close with a whispered, “Sleep.”

Nestled under the covers and head draped onto your pillow you let yourself drift off into a much needed slumber. Strife sighs from his place beside you, crouched and yet still very much hovering over your sleeping form. His hand runs over his face, deeply engrossed in the endless branches of unfinished thoughts and dwelling fears.

Is it all true, what you say to him? You have this way of overwhelming him and giving him exactly what he wants deep down. You say the prettiest of things to him, whenever you kiss him he believes he’s found his heaven eternal with you in his arms. How you refuse to go about your daily life until you have expressed exactly ten times how much you love him, that when you wake up in the morning happy it's because he’s the first one that crosses your mind and because you had the sweetest of dreams about him. 

You look so at peace when you sleep. Rarely can he enjoy it, haunted by sin and haboured regrets, a place where his greatest of fears can become a manifested prophecy that warns him of what will become of him. Of you both.

So he goes without. Besides, unlike humans who require it in their health, that’s not so much the case for him. Still, your dreams must be so sweet. So innocent of him. Unknowing of the real him, the identity he can never allow you to love. 

You awaken first to the feeling of something enclosing your waist with a vice-like grip, squeezing you in and in until you're struggling for air. Secondly, the sound of choked cries and intensely curt breaths that come and go far too quickly.  Your eyes are wide, rubbing away the drowsiness in them as you immediately tend to Strife, armor stripped into clunky masses on the floor around the bed like a protective shield. 

His large shoulders heave, the warping trail of heat rising from his body as he drowns in his sleep, his arms hold around you tighter. 

“Strife, baby— it’s okay, I’m here, I’m here,” you croak, voice already trembling with tears brimming in your vision. 

He hisses out your name with such vigor that it makes something in your heart rip asunder. He sounds so angry. So guilty. 

You call to him in his dreams. His eyes open, the powerful glow of tear filled gold bright and blinding you with dark spots. His breath shifts so sharply that his body physically vibrates against you, his chin tucked and pushed into your sternum, he glances up at you and his arms weaken their grip on you. 

Your hands caress the scarred texture of his skin, fingers tracing each one with delicate intent when you feel him flinch and shudder under your touch that finds its way to comb one hand through his hair. 

He tries so hard to keep the tremble of his sobs silent yet you’re aware that his resolve has crumbled, that front he often puts up cracks under the pressure and you’re there ready to catch him. 

“I know it’s tiring to hear me say it, but remember that I love you. I’m here for you.”

His arms then curl around you, holding you so that you have no choice but to remain there with him. He doesn’t want to go back to the past, he’s unsure what awaits him in the future. All he wants is to be here in the moment with you.

With a low voice, he utters, “Too many times… but please remind me again.”

WAR

Most honourable souls are not without their contrasting attributes. The red rider is known for his stoic personality and for being an unrivaled engine of chaos and pain, you are one of the very few who see him under the battle-worn hide. 

He’s endured much, been the discarded tool to a plot set to unravel the whole cosmos asunder and and let him take the fall for it. He’s been beaten down only to get back up when he saw you hidden away, eyes wide in your terror for the fate that awaited you should he fall. 

Never once did he fail you. 

All this time, he’s been nothing short of a protector, an honourable warrior who seeks only the fairest of retribution and the security of all that depend on him to make things right and at peace. You don’t see him as the monster others make him out to be. In your eyes, he is someone very special to you.

“So where exactly are we off to, hero?” you chuckle, feet kicking up slightly with Ruin’s incredible yet lackluster stride, hooves clobbering so hard it digs puddle sized gauges into the dirt. 

War sighs, his chest easily pushing you forward in the saddle easily to it’s both embarrassing and flustering. Your cheeks brighten with a blushing pink. “We are scouting ahead. The ruins should not be too far ahead now.”

“You said that eons ago!” you huff. Eyes rolling drastically they almost fall out of their sockets. 

“It’s not been that long.”

You pucker your tongue between your lips, popping an obnoxious raspberry. The ride wasn’t at all bad, just a tad boring and your thighs were beginning to ache just a little from being sat in the saddle for a while. War’s hand had a controlled grip on the bulky chains acting as the reins, leaving your hands to either grip the horn or fumble in resting them atop of War’s larger one. The latter of which you’d feel his chest lock up with a sudan hitch buried in his throat and a smile stretching far and wide across your face. 

Your effect on the Horsemen was really that obvious, wasn’t it? Anyone can see it.

Because of your arising boredom and your need to entertain yourself, you begin to mimic the action of looking out for the ruins War spoke of, hands curving into little circles to cup over your eyes. “What are you doing?” you hear his voice ask from above and your turn your gaze upwards, hands still formed into makeshift binoculars. War will only ever admit to himself, he almost chuckled. “I’m keeping an eye out for our destination.” 

“You are being playful,” he remarks, seeing you bounce your head in agreement as your hands fall to hold the scratched metal of his gauntlet. 

“You caught me. I’m just bored, ugh!” Pouting you add timidly, “And my butt hurts.”

You jerk forward to catch yourself against the horn with a gasp, Ruin’s weight shifting to a complete stop. Turning your chin, you catch a glance at War who’s looking elsewhere other than forward, his head moving slowly this way and that as you follow his gaze. He’s scanning the nearby cliffside to your side. One wrong slip of your footing and you’d be rolling down a steep incline of rocky foliage and winding branches before you even make it to the rushing stream far below. 

But the scenery is nice. A sunset smearing softly integrated pinks and darkish purples, reveling in the warming tan of orange nearest the silhouette horizon. 

You breath out, eyes transfixed, your stun an evident and final confirmation to War that taking a small break wouldn’t be so terrible. Who knows just how long his siblings would before meeting him at the ruins. 

With a firm nudge of his boot, War commands his steed to steer himself towards the sloping hillside, the horse chuffing loudly a cluster of embers that spark and frazzle with a crackling pop like flaming stars. 

The saddle is cradled to one side with War’s dismount, almost turning you over and out of the saddle completely before he aids you in getting you off Ruin’s back. 

Your back pops delightfully from stretching and you sigh in relief. The chance to stand and pace around allows the blood flow to seep back into your legs, standing at the cliff edge, you stare out at the picturesque scene with a deep inhale of the breeze. “It’s so pretty,” you say with a toothy grin that crinkles the corner of your eyes.

As you stare in admiration, War lets himself stand beside you, a regular force of habit that something may dare try to leap out and attack you, it’s ingrained into him as muscle memory to put himself between you and an enemy. 

But you haven’t encountered any enemies. Noo once since you arrived in this realm, its atmosphere almost entirely made of a peaceful ambience. For once, War can somewhat relax. 

“I kind of miss Earth being this way.” It’s hard sometimes to think of home, it’s once way of life slowly thriving, but it will still take some time to become an inhabitable biome. Until then, you mostly travel with War. On the off chance that you must stay behind, you stay with the Makers or the pocket haven with other humans until he returns to collect you. 

Meanwhile, War silently contemplates a darker memory. Back when the nephilim invaded countless realms much like this, carving out its natural beauty to leave behind a shattered husk. His hands clench into tight fists, weight crunching the dirt under his feet with a low rumble. He thinks about the terrible rage he becomes whenever he loses control of himself, slipping into this facade that feels all too real, fearing that it may very well be the real him; that his code of honour is the facade. 

By the time he snaps out of his thoughtful stupor, he sees you playing in the dirt. 

Stick in hand, your drawing something, focus entirely on your illustration and War cannot help but half-heartedly ask, “What is that?”

“Us!” you beam, “there’s you, there’s me and this is Ruin.”

The war steed bellows a proud whiney at the mention of his name, massive head shaking the heated curtain of his mane. His front hoof paws the ground in triumph. War kneels down, body closing in that his shadow very well hovers over you while he studies what you’ve drawn.

“And… what are you doing there?”

To answer his question, you lean into him and plant your lips to his cheek with a quick peck, chuckling at the Horsemen’s expression that is too stun to compute. His frozen eyes are wide and it takes a good long while before he even blinks. He turns his head with a frightful and sudden jerk, the fading sunlight letting you see that which the overcast of his hood fails to hide — a pink dusting of a blush in his cheeks. 

“What— was that for?”

“Because I love you, silly!”

You settle yourself down on the patch of grass and pat your hand encouragingly for War to do the same beside you. Once he does, albeit the awkward motion of adjusting himself to do so, you lean all your weight against him that he supports with no issue. To him, you weigh nothing more than a feather pillow.

Your head presses to the hardened bulk of his shoulder. You sigh in contentment.

“This is really nice, being out here with you.” Your hand falls over his, the comfort of it letting all your fears and worries wash away. Whenever you try to hold hands with War, you are the one to initiate it, feeling the hesitant way his hand tense before it releases and coaxes itself to grab yours in turn. However, you decide against trying to force it. 

He asks, “You truly mean that?”

You nod in reply, cheek rubbing against his arm. “I do.”

Then you feel it. His hand turns so that his palm flatley faces up and his large fingers curl around your hand, capturing it in his grip. “You know, if I had my sketchbook right now, I’d paint you like one of my french girls.” 

Your voice had dropped into an exaggerated accent, your other hand pursing your fingers together. 

Of course, another playful jest goes right over his head by the puzzling quirk of his snowy bow. That’s joke number 1,551 and counting. Many of your journeys consist of you trying to get one joke to land with the behemoth in red, but none have seemed to catch. Your face puckers inward like you sucked on a lemon and tried not to react.

By now the sky has grown darker, stars dotting the sky’s nightly canvas and the moon rising just as the sun’s last rays kissed the mountain terrain. 

“Hey, War, knock knock…”

His lips form into a sneer, tsking in a slight of annoyance. Not this again…

He sees you’re not going to back out of this one, far too stubborn to do so. Giving in for the first time ever to the infamous two lines he’s heard too many times to count, he grumbles, “Who’s there?”

“Me?”

His eyes narrow again. You’re up to something with this, he knows it. “Me… who?”

“It’s just me, and I want to tell you that I’m thankful to have you around. Whenever I wake up, I think of you and how you’re doing, and if that someday… you’ll finally recognise that you are my hero — and not the monster.”

This is the most peculiar of jokes. But wait, you’re not laughing. You’re not waiting for him to acknowledge the play on of the punch line. You’re being genuine. “And that whenever I’m not around you, I get so scared not only for myself but for you. I care about you so much that I stay up in hopes that I’ll see you again before I collapse from exhaustion. Whenever we’re riding together, I feel secure and warm because I know you have the reins and you have me.

When you’re around, you scare away the real monsters. And that is what a hero does, and that’s what makes you my hero. Because you’ve always been there when I needed you.”

War’s eyes fall away and you take his loss of eye contact as failure. Again, he doesn’t see how much you love him, how your heart pounds rapidly when you both stand close to one another and that your heart is his for eternity. That for you, there is nobody else to love. Only him. 

His hand that holds yours drags you into lap and his lips ghost over the crown of your head, causing your eyes to widen and your chest to cease its breath. “I’ll always be there for you, my love.”

Tears mist over your vision, wetting your lashes as your arms reach around him as far as they can, engulfing him in a hug. He really is your knight in armour of creepy faces. 

FURY

Her determination remains just as strong, even now. She refuses to let you see at her weakest. All you want is to be a rock for her to lean on when things get tough. She cannot accept that, will not let you shoulder the burdens that are hers to carry.

She’s a fearsome sort of stoicism but therein lies her beauty in your eyes. Where she sees nothing but a misshapen and discarded weapon of war, you see the comings of a Phoenix rising from the ashes. A past that seeks to destroy her and yet she still fights on.  

She inspires you in ways she can hardly imagine. The days she comes to ride up to your house, elegantly sat in Rampage’s saddle with a sense of control on the reins that chink and chatter with a chainy rattle, you’re already launching yourself ten feet out of the door and making her pull hard to a stop. 

She bites your name harshly, face furrowed into a glare. You know her better than that, it shows in the coiled edges of your big and bright smile. 

“I missed you!” You cry out, bouncing on your feet like a hyped jackrabbit. 

You throw your arms around her without a second thought once she has dismounted. Despite the obvious of her much taller height, you hold nothing back in the way you hug her tightly.

She’ll feign annoyance as her dark lips turn into the faintest of smiles in the shadow of her features, a telltale sign that she appreciates these wonderful moments that she secretly misses.

However, there are times that your illustrious partner of a Horsemen will shut you out, more often than not as of late, she huffs and mutters to herself with an expression screwed into a sneer. She’s troubled by something and its mystery writhes a flare of determination within you to find a solution. A problem solver. That is what makes the bulk of your intimately struggling relationship with Fury. You try to solve all her problems, no matter the weight, big or small.

She walks with a swaying saunter towards you, Rampage pawing at the ground with a ruffled snort, shaking off the remnants of unease his rider held. “How’ve you been, Fury? Would you like some tea? I also thought we could finish reading that book together, or maybe have a late evening dinner in that realm—”

She flicks her wrist dismissively, bluntly saying under her breath, “Whatever is easiest. I don’t have the patience to decide.”

It stops you in your tracks for sure. The impact of her response weighs heavily on your heart and you bite aggressively into your lip to prevent yourself from shedding the springing flush of tears. She’s just mad, you try to reason with yourself. I have to find a way to cheer her up.

You follow her inside, watching how her body slumps forward slightly with a sigh as if she sheds the cumbersome shell of her burdens at the door and proceeds forth with a more sluggish pace. You frown at this. “I’ll make you a tea,” you say from behind and rush off to the kitchen, setting to making her drink before going off to fetch one of your comfort blankets. Whenever you find yourself in a pit of doubt, sadness and impending woe, you toss one of the soft blankets you’ve had for as long as you can remember,snuggling into its warmth as you settle in with a good book to read or a small puzzle to fix your mind on something. It always helps you, so why not try it on Fury?

You see her take a seat on the couch, posture slouched so far forward now it rivals Death. Hands clutch into the blanket, nails gnawing into it thoughtfully, praying that this works, then like a mouse you tip-toe out from your hiding place and throw the blanket over her shoulders, enveloping her in another yet shorter hug. 

“Ugh– what are you…” Her eyes shift to turn to you, lips revealing a nasty snarl on her part but she stops suddenly, seeing the flash of something cross your face. She doesn’t mean to project her anger onto you. It’s just that she can’t exactly explain why she keeps coming back to you when she is in this particular mood, feeling like she has nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. Still, she pushes you away with every attempt you make to cheer her up. 

“A comfort blanket,” you answer with a kind smile. “They always make me feel better.” You round the couch and sit at her feet, hands taking a second guess before they find a tender placement on the armour of her leg. 

“Hey, remember I love you and I’m here for you.”

You see the gears turning like clockwork in her head, eyes torn between narrowing and relaxing and the contortion of her mouth leaves you to believe she’s fighting herself on this. She wants to say something but nothing is coming out. She’s trying to find a way to word it without hurting you to the point that it may break you. 

She cares for you, more than what she would like to admit to anyone. But it’s true. She has become ensnared by your attention, your love and the way your presence is uplifting to be around. Like a moth drawn to a flame she keeps coming back. 

“It’s hard.” It stings her to say it, but she just needs time. She needs to think this through. “I know you love me. But it’s just… it all feels too much for me.”

Your eyebrows move upward, sympathetic as she speaks her mind. It’s not common for her to be so vulnerable with you. So you take it in stride, taking in a deep inhale. 

“I’m sorry. I will do better in toning my extreme outpour of affection until you’re ready.”

Sometimes you wonder if you carry on a tad bit more than you should, giddy and over excited to see Fury even if it’s only been days between visits. 

If this is how Fury feels then it is your obligation to be supportive and respectful of her wish for space, granted it may prove to be a bit of a challenge but that is what relationships are about. Overcoming the many trials you face in one another and together. 

She nods thankfully and you hum, pressing a quick, light kiss to her forehead and then head to the kitchen, soon reappearing with her steaming cup of tea. 

By the time you get back you see she’s immersed herself in the comfort blanket, hands tugging it over herself that bit more until her focus lands on you, eyes moving between your genuine smile and the mug cupped in your offering hands. She takes the beverage with a softly muttered, “Thank you, dear.”

The two of you curl up together on the couch, and Fury lets you drown her mind with the last half of that novel you wanted to finish during her last visit, only to find that you had passed out, reading yourself into a slumber that left her tugging heartstrings no choice but to carry you to bed and lay you under the covers, bidding you a farewell. 

As you read the contents of the page, mesmerised in the storyline, Fury’s attention is only half engaged with it – the other just taking the time to admire you. 

How well you have taken her request when for sure she expected you to cry. She didn’t miss in catching the way a glossiness covered your eyes when she spoke with you, and perhaps she should feel shame for it. She’s pushing you away because she’s utterly terrified. She doesn’t register your voice saying her name, finally snapped out of it she looks to see one of her hands clenching into the couch arm, ripping and rendering its cushioned flesh. 

Before she can begin to make any form of apology, you raise a hand to pause her, understanding that her mind had been elsewhere. 

It isn’t… easy being a Horsemen. Hell, it’s not easy being a human sometimes, and the factors of this relationship should be difficult and impossible on any and all levels. You don’t let it stop either of you in the end. You do what you must to make it work, you fix her problems just as she fixes yours.

“Why are you so understanding?” she asks and your eyes widen a little, blinking a flutter of your lashes a few beating times. Your shoulders shove up and down with a steadied breath. 

“Because I—” you cut yourself off, aware that you’re it again. You clear your throat and tilt your head to the side, meeting her gaze. “Well, because that’s what you do in a relationship. You have made your concerns known and it is up to me to respect that. It’s… what humans do. We care.”

“Will you stop completely?” You know what she means. Somewhere deep inside she adores the shower of affection you show her, but delving outward is the hardened hide of a warrior. A fighter who has known nothing of love like your own. You shake your head, lightly chuckling. “Never. I adore you too much. My love is unconditional when it comes to you.”

A wider smile forms over her face then. It may not take so long as tomorrow to think this through and to be more accepting of your overbearing nature to coddle her with your love. Afterall, it was the way you expressed how you felt for her. A human so special to her, how could she deny your unconditional love?

[voidwritesstuff]

Camcorder Stories.

Cw: War being self deprecating. (No surprise there)

Summary: The Four happen to be travelling with a human survivor who is a devoted learner of all things cinema. They're learning about human culture one way or another, even if they dont like it.

>A/n: Inspired by the lovely @darkdemeter and her amazing Darksiders writings. As A film student, I felt like I needed to share all this knowledge that has changed the way I watch films and other multimedia content. To share the hard work involved and the appreciation I have for it :DDD.

The horsemen had no concept of what Film was. Not even Strife,who was the most acquainted with humanity even before the end times.

But now the riders found themselves with a young human who had dedicated a good portion of their years to studying cinema. And much to their chagrin or excitement...

This human carried an old camcorder with them. And with tapes to spare.

Death:

Not even theatre was of particular concern or interest to the pale rider. He was never one for the arts,other than the art of necromancy, so at first he pays the human no mind when they begin talking about film.

"Oh hold on,I need to film this. Stand there at the edge of that cliff...I just need to fiddle with the ISO. So bright..."

Death was just looking at the Valley below,the sickly sun of the kingdom of the dead shone on his cold skin. The warmth was sticky and awful. But hes never been one to complain.

The tall bone towers stood on the far distance on each side of him, a perfect frame of Demise between the reaper himself.

His human companion fiddled with buttons and he could see the lense of the strange device the mortal held. He saw how it opened and closed like a predator's Gaze.

"Okay! There we go. Finally. Please stand there,Im going to do a traveling, then a zoom in And finish on a medium close up...you just stay there like in a reverse shot. " the human made a pause,as if thinking about their words "stay still,look Cool. Back to the camera and look forwards to either of those towers"

Death doesnt know why he indulges in these outbursts of cinematic inspiration. He thinks it helps his companion Keep their sanity..and it keeps them tame and less prone to trouble.

He can hear the mortal slowly walk to him. His ears catch the sound of their footsteps from his right. He can guess theyre putting most of their weight on their heels so they can turn upwards and close in on him to somewhat eye level.

The sound comes from his right to then begin walking a Straight line behind him. Thats the travelling.

This "useless" knowledge of film has been drilled into his mind against his Will. He knew a travelling meant this human would slowly move towards him from either of his sides.

After comes that close up. Those always put his hairs on edge. Like theyre sneaking behind him. He absolutely hates it. Even if theyre not even a threat.

Finally,the medium close up meant the camera would only film from his shoulders up.

He can hear the whirring of the camcorder as it takes in his form.

It cuts when the camera is right on his left shoulder.

"Satiated?" He asked,a gruff in his voice. The annoyance bellows from the base of his throat.

"Very..." he turns to see the human look at their recording"I know you hate doing second takes...I know you think this is silly but...I'd like one more take. Please? . Its not often that outside light behaves,usually its better to do all this in a studio-gives you more controll over the lights and shadows.. but this is almost a golden opportunity.."

He asks himself again why he indulges the mortal on these things. But he looks at how their eyes glimmer at the prospect of connecting with something so tied to them and their people that went on a horrible decline by the hands of things older and more powerfull than them.

And he cant squander their happiness.

Perhaps hes grown soft, perhaps hes intrigued by such arts.

"One last 'take'. Make it count,human"

The smile they give him could melt any Ice. And if the Creator willed it,maybe the one that wrapped his dead heart.

"Okay! Ill do my travelling from the left, then a zoom and finish on your right shoulder. I know theres not much difference but the sun is coming from the left...I think its going to be more dramatic that way!"

Death couldnt help but let out a low,low chuckle"One of these days,I'll make you show me all these things youre...filming"

"Death,after this take I'll show all of them to you. I promise" the human's voice sounds the happiest hes ever heard since meeting them "I think all this Will make a smashing docu-series. Ill give you credits of course, though putting "Special thanks to the literal horseman of the pale horse" sounds a little weird"

Another chuckle left the old reaper "With everything your people has been through,thats your concern?"

The human laughed,a sound so heavenly"Alright,alright,fair. C'mon. Stand there again and We'll wrap this up faster than you can say 'action!'"

Fury

Her opinions could make even the saltiest of film critics cry. And shes not ashamed on telling his human companion how pointless and useless their outbursts were.

But then she saw how cool she looked,and it fed her ego so much she changed her tune.

"Youre going to kill me because of this,Fury. But move to that lightsource there" the human Pointed at one forwards down the Hall of arcane lights they were in.

"Whats wrong with this one, mortal? " the she-horseman asked with her hands on her hips and a little annoyed glare in her white eyes.

"I can tell from how it looks here in the camera that this is an incomplete spectrum lightsource "

"English,human "

The mortal sighed,putting down the camera "Incomplete Spectrum Lights dont do well with colors that are a mix of two others. Your hair is magenta, the middle between blue and red. Depending on where you stand, its taking the color of your hair from bluer to redder. Not a nice look,and not the one im looking for "

She relented and Walked further down the Hall. She raised her hands in annoyance and said "Well? "

"Perfect!! Do something cool with your whip! -Oh I need to change the obturation velocity. "

"...human" Fury scowled.

"How quickly the lenses Open and close to register the image. The quicker it opens and closes the clearer the image of your whip moving Will be"

Fury saw them click a few buttons on their camcorder. The tech was foreign to them,only her watcher seemed to be aware of how they worked. So,when the human wasnt listening, the shadow being explained to her mistress what a camera was and how it functioned.

"There! Ready. Im not sure on what shot to use.."

She did say she didnt care for film knowledge. Shes heard it enough times against her Will but...

"Medium length shot. Didn't you humans call it an 'American Shot'  too?" she asked,grabbing the Hilt of Scorn.

The human smiles,the glimmering of their eyes like theyre finally being acknowledged

"Or 'cowboy shot' yeah. You...you remembered! "

"Just because you said it a thousand times. "

By now,her mortal companion had grown used to her dismissal. "Uh-Huh sure. Ahem, alright. 'Fury being awesome ' take one! And...action!"

Just a few takes later,The human approached the horsewoman and showed her the display screen of the camera. Within it she sees the last take they did, which seemed to be the best one yet.

There truly is an art and a skill to it. How they move about to catch each angle, evading any lightsource that May betray their shadow and ruin the film.

Fury catches the warmth and pride in the human's eyes. This is the first time shes seen them so content. Mortals needed little to be happy.

It made her heart squeeze. She almost felt...guilty for being so critical and mean about this,admitedly, unique art form.

"Not bad. Perhaps you'll even make this into something worth watching" she ruffles their hair to add her usual emotional distance, but the human is inmune to It.

"When I do,you and your siblings are invited to the red carpet premiere. You Better dress your best"

"I never dissapoint,human".

Strife:

The horseman of the white horse loved any and all things human related. Was this his way of making up after his failing at protecting humanity from corruption? Maybe.

Or maybe he just really likes the culture.

Not like he'd tell his human companion about why he seemed so interested in their filming.

"Okay heres a fun bit of info for you. Did you know we had an art form called stop motion?"

"I Didnt know, how does it work?"

He listened attentively as the mortal told him about the millions of variations of puppet models,the replacement, the neat little tricks to make things move and seem Real.

To him,stop motion animation sounded like a real labor of love.

"I had to make one for a class once. It was painful but fun"

"Do you still have the recording?"

"I...dont sadly. We made it on a digital camera and god knows what happened to it after this shit show"

"Oh...".

"But if you give me a few hours we can make one together"

Strife knows himself enough to be aware of his lack of patience. But he accepts the deal if only for the experience.

He sees his human companion,his Friend, work away at making a few tiny little puppets that they can pose. They use pine cones,Grass,rubble, anything that they can get their hands on.

The mortal sets the camera on a rock,making sure it cant be moved. Then, they spent the Next few hourstaking pictures and making the puppets move and do silly little things.

Strife defenetly didnt have the patience for this, but it was all worth it when he saw the animation they made together. How the doll moved about in its little scenario,how the arms hoist up some pebble.

" Ive never done anything like this" he had admitted as he cleaned his guns. This was his way of unwinding. "It was fun, but painful. You sure its not some human torture method?"

His friend laughed,shaking their head as they press record on their camera and begin to move it delicately to drink in all the details of the horseman's hands cleaning the gun

The campfire beside them gave the shot a dramatic light that flickered and danced in a way that made the metal glint. And with a low ISO (aka the camera's sensitivity to light) there was no oversaturation to ruin the recording.

"Watcha doing'?" The gunslinger asked, not stopping the cleaning of his weapons.

"A detail shot. Usually its for props. In this case, the props are your guns." They explained "I personally love detail shots. They showcase the love put into the props by the art department"

"Theres an art department?"

"Ya. Theres also a lights department, writers,directors, producers, special effects- like a fake wound-, a costume/clothes department.-"

"So Many people for one movie?"

"Mhm! I can tell you all about it "

"Sweetheart,we've got nuthin' but time. 'M all ears"

War:

Creator help the human that the red rider travels with. He knows little of things like theatre and magic and tech are a mystery to him in so Many ways. Had it not been for the watcher, the behemoth in crimson would have no clue and think its an elaborate human prank.

"Okay so in a movie,you'd have four stages. Pre- production,where the story and list of resources needed for the film get made. Production,which is getting everything on the list plus actors and catering and a bunch of other things. Filming,the fun part. And post-production, where everything comes together"

War raised his brows in surprise, his expression would have been hidden if it wasnt for the slight widening of his shining white eyes and his voice as he says "I...was not aware of how much was needed for such a  seemingly simple thing"

The human was unaware of the expression he was making,seeing as their back was to his chest. Ruin trode lazily over the broken pavement.

"Yeah! You need a lot. Think about this,you need a scene in a home.." they begin,opening Their camcorder to put a tape within It "you can either make it within a studio- which means making everything from the ground up- or get a house with the furniture inside it "

He listens attentively "Im sure its more complicated than that...You'd need...lights? You have said that. And you told me natural light can be...tricky"

"Yeah!! " they sound so happy at his remembrance "For a home you manage to "borrow" you need to block out the Windows- unless theyre shown in the shot- and replace the light with artificial ones. But you'd also need people and services to haul the equipment to that home. "

They made a brief pause "a big guy like you would be useful. You May have a spot on the industry after all!"

"I dont see myself-"

"It was a joke,War"

"Right"

"Thats joke 1000 and counting" they breathed out,before turning on their camcorder. "Hey...I want a birds eye view of Ruin's head. Can get on your shoulders?"

He sighed "very well. Be careful"

The human climbs on him with ease. His armor provided foot holds and places to grasp. And its not the first time this happened...

War barely registers their weight on him. He looks up past his hood to see them record the sunset,turning side to side slowly in a panning motion.

"Natural light can be finnicky...but things like these can be breath taking...Wonderful shot"

At this,something comes to the rider's mind. "Why do you...record all these things? Arent they painful reminders? Do you do it to inmortalize yourself?"

The mortal looked down and smiled,shaking their head"in film,we tell stories. I want to tell this story...our story" the camera bends down to record him. And he huffs,all afluster.

"The nephilim are not worthy of remembrance".

"But you horsemen are. Your stories are worth sharing. And im making sure they happen. Your voice deserve to be heard"

"What makes you so certain?"

"I...Im not sure. Its just a feeling.."

He saw the way the human's brows knit together. They chew the inside of their cheek and turn the camera to take the view of Ruin's firey mane.

"Wonderful films have been made out of less. Sure,your stories are amazing and interesting- but thats not quite It. We have all seen stories of guts and glory,of massacres...but you horsemen are different. Unique."

"We're the accursed union of Angel and Demon. We're unique because we shouldnt exist "

He feels them kick him with the heel of their foot. "Dont say that about yourself. Good god" they sigh,looking at the sunset "theres nobody in this world like you four, youre unique in a wonderful way. You are a union of angel and demon but youre nothing like them. Youre uniquely independent, in a League all of your own. I seek to understand it I guess-  I want to tell your stories because..."

The words are on the tip of their tongue. So annoying...

And War sounds almost...meek in asking. He hopes of acknowledgement, of being seen, as deep down as that feeling is.

"Because theres simply nothing like you,and I think everyone deserves to know how noble,how kind and how strong you are. Maybe we can even learn something from you for. Your courage and disposition are unmatched. As scarred as you May be,as hurt even...I just think you deserve to be shown and appreciated for your uniqueness"

The rider was unsure on what to say. They are perhaps the only being in existence that appreciates the four in this way. And...he quite likes it.

"No doubt you'll make it far in your carreer" he complimented after a long silence."few beings in existence have the heart that you do..."

He heard them chuckle, their shadow moving as they hook their feet under his armor to stand up and bring their camera further up,showing the low brush and lushness that begins to overtake the landscape. The blue hour fully setting in.

"Will you come watch what I make?"

It was so obvious there was a slight hint of humor. He could tell the human wasnt at all convinced he actually cared for their art.

Too bad he means to show them he does

"To see the fruits of your hard labor? Of course. "

He hears the slight sniffing,he feels the slight trembling..."Ill- ill get you the best- best seats at the theatre. I promise"

War raised his normal hand to wrap around their calf, as a comfort but as a steadying force. "Ive no doubt you'll uphold your word"

[moodymisty]

How would the Horsemen react if will they discover that they have feelings for the reader?

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: Ohhh this is cute... Particularly for War, I just love big angry characters having soft emotions. Enjoy my unhinged ramblings.

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

Warnings: None

✦ War ✦

Very abruptly. It's one of those moments that hits him like a hammer.

He hadn't even been realizing how much you'd been growing on him over time, let alone that he had been falling in love with you.

But War doesn't exactly know how to go about saying it, so it ends up sitting in the back of his mind forever. War isn't exactly super in touch with his emotions, let alone expressing them.

He's awkward for awhile simply because he desperately wants to do so much, but doesn't know how to just, say it. And much to his annoyance, he feels a bit shy about it. Expect him to get angry at himself at random times when you're alone, sometimes his cheeks even turning a bit red.

He doesn't have that same silver-tongued confidence that Strife or Fury have when it comes to these sorts of things, so he feels very out of his depth.

Once you begin to notice him becoming distracted often, or simply shutting his mouth and even at times walking away from you, you ask him what's wrong. That's the moment he finally admits his inner turmoil, through a bunch of sighs and searching for the right word to use.

He's so internally happy when you reciprocate. I hope you enjoy having a massive Horsemen as your shadow, because he isn't going anywhere.

Gives the most firm and aggressive kiss. It feels just like him.

"It is not wise to love a Horsemen; But if you'll have me, I promise I will never leave your side."

✦ Death ✦

For Death, it's a slow crawl. A slow crawl that he feels agonizingly creeping up on him as time passes, no matter how much he tries to push it down deep enough inside himself where he can forget about it.

Its an emotion with a creeping dread to it to him, as he fears the longer he lets it go on, the worse it'll be for him when he has to inevitably run from it. Or you, is his excuse. He tries to put the burden of being in love an emotion coming from you to him, and not the other way around as well. It makes it easier for him to just de-tatch himself from it, or at least try to.

But when he can't, or more so realizes he doesn't want to, he accepts that you're just a part of his heart now.

It a way it sort of, unnerves him. He doesn't like having someone so close to him. Not because he doesn't enjoy it, anything but he'd die without you being right next to him, but his mind sometimes rolls through every terrible scenario. A bad habit.

He doesn't really say anything about being in love with you however, it's just a silent upgrade in your relationship. He sits closer, touches you more; Is far gentler. His hand goes to your waist instead of your shoulder, he'll call you by your name more, or even something more personal as time passes. If you don't want him, he knows you'll push him away.

"Come here and sit down, before you go running off again."

✦ Fury ✦

Fury realizes a decent while into knowing you.

She shrugs most of the small hints that she might be falling in love on simply enjoying your company more than most, or perhaps just enjoying the company of a person besides her fellow Horsemen; And various demons and angels. None of them exactly make invigorating company, at least the ladder, so she's pleased Humans despite their nature are surprisingly pleasant company.

Far better than that Watcher, at least...

But Fury's heavily defensive of making sure she doesn't show any sort of weakness, so she confesses far less overtly than someone like say Strife. Being unwaverable and confident is a part of her horrible self defense strategy, one that's hard to break.

Though once she does, that confidence definitely translates in the opposite direction. She's not afraid to woo you once she knows there's no chance of her feelings (no one can tell her she has them though or she'll get angry) being dropped off a cliff with your rejection.

"Don't look at me like that, I'm not g- Fine. I love you. Now are you done looking at me like that? It's not fair."

✦ Strife ✦ DONE

Strife falls hard. And fast.

So few people have shown him kindness in his long and awful life, he's infatuated when you show him so much of it. He swears the first day he met you he fell in love and just didn't realize it; But he'll never admit this thought.

However his desperate desire to be seen and be loved conflicts with his inner turmoil about his past and current sins, and it eats away at him until he doubts that he's even worthy of being near you, let alone loving you.

He's been of the mind that an ex-cutthroat isn't one that you should be around at all, let alone making your lover. You're his little human, he wants to keep you safe and after awhile, he sees himself as part of the things you should be kept safe from.

At the climax of it, Strife vanishes. You don't see him for days, until one day he comes rushing to you like a bat out of hell, more than likely waking you up in the middle of the night.

He'd had the frightening realization that his heart would just shatter if he didn't see you again, and if he didn't just let all this out.

He tries to spend next hour verbal vomiting every single thought he's had about being in love since meeting you, until you just shut him up and kiss him.

"I ain't going anywhere. You're stuck with me now, you hear?"

[sketch-guardian]

Imagine the students with an mc who’s like a middle aged man and has a beer belly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone write about a loud middle aged man in obey me

You're right, I guess I haven't seen many headcanons about such theme either🤔so I'll do my best to fix it☺For my headcanons, however, I usually use a gender neutral MC to make everyone feel included, so I hope this small change won't bother you too much🙈(I also apologize for the delay😥classes have started in uni again and I'll have less and less time to reply to asks, I might need to close the askbox for headcanons soon😭):

"RAD CLASSMATES+NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS WITH A MIDDLE AGED MC WHO HAS A BEER BELLY"

DEMYA

Demya loves a bit of meat on bones, she can appreciate the thinnest or most muscular physiques too, however she would find a bit of plumpness charming, because it would make her mouth water. Middle Aged MC however wouldn't have to fear being mauled, because as Demya's mate, they would be off limits and have privileges that others would not be granted. Demya may nibble or kiss Middle Aged MC's beer belly out of affection while liying down on it during cuddle sessions in her soft nest, so hopefully Middle Aged MC doesn't mind having some marks, in easy-to-hide spots. Since Demya and Middle Aged MC are both troublemakers and food lovers, they would likely be a loud and occasionally chaotic couple, but still very much in love

DOMNRA/MOBIM

Domnra is a pretty fit and sporty demon, however he wouldn't force Middle Aged MC to follow his training regime, he would leave the choice up to them, depending on how they feel, Domnra would joke about Middle Aged MC deciding to settle down with a demon of all the available options though, at such an age too. Domnra could become Middle Aged MC's drinking buddy, celebrating with glasses of alcohol and getting angry at TV, shouting and breaking havoc, Domnra would mostly be a depressed drunk though, as if Demonus eased his anger issues. In quieter moments, Domnra would hold Mobim in his arms and rest his back on Middle Aged MC's soft beer belly, playing some music to listen to together, making sure to satisfy both of their tastes in music

AZUL

Azul is a twink, so the idea of ​​carrying Middle Aged MC in his arms or holding them on his lap without using magic would be quite out of the question, at least for Middle Aged MC at first, because they wouldn't want to risk hurting Azul with their weight, however he would likely be into such stuff and, as a demon, he would still be rather resistant, so as far as he is concerned, Azul would let Middle Aged MC crush him, hell he would even thank them. Being quite eccentric, Azul wouldn't care if Middle Aged MC made a racket, to be fair he's chaotic too so they would be one of the wildest couples at parties, and if they were to suffer from insecurity due to their age or chubbiness, Azul would remind Middle Aged MC of their beauty through drawings and photographs, or straight up physical intimacy such as kisses and hugs, if the first options didn't work. Azul would like Middle Aged MC to feel confident in their own body and if they wished to lose weight, he would support them, suggesting dancing as a fun exercise

ZURI

Many demons would wonder how the hell Middle Aged MC managed to woo an ethereal and elegant woman like Zuri, the answer probably being their charm and genuine feelings winning the demon over somehow, making her overlook their appearance for a while, their relationship could almost remind a bit of the one between Morticia and Gomez, in a certain sense. The occasional loud mess might upset Zuri, who often gets migraines due to her hectic work, therefore she would appreciate if they could spend some quiet quality time together, while occasionally sharing a glass of Demonus. However, Zuri would still attempt at helping Middle Aged MC with their drinking problem and would try to clean them up a bit, by buying them expensive suitable clothes that compliment their figure and curves

ODON

Not gonna lie, the first thing that came to mind when thinking about a couple made of a middle-aged human and a horror beyond comprehension was Gravity Falls, specifically Stanford Pines and Bill Cipher, even if the dynamic would definitely be different. For Odon, most people, both on Earth and in Devildom, are quite young when compared to them, even Lord Diavolo, so they wouldn't really pay too much mind to Middle Aged MC's age, only if pointed out, it wouldn't make any difference though, especially because Middle Aged MC would still remain the youngest, even compared to the only other human in the exchange program (Solomon). Odon wouldn't care about Middle Aged MC's appearance, considering that the form in which they technically presents themselves doesn't correspond to their true monstrous appearance, so Odon would love Middle Aged MC no matter what and their messing around wouldn't even bother the eldritch horror, on the contrary it would amuse them, plus Odon would keep Middle Aged MC company while they drink, to make sure they're okay, drinking a cup of green tea instead of alcohol. Odon and Middle Aged MC would often lounge together, like an old married couple, on a couch covered in a flannel blanket while reading books, in the comfort of Odon's cabin in the woods. It would be cute to imagine such a domestic life

REMIEL

Remiel is aware of how fragile and short life can be, she considers it precious and would get quite concerned over Middle Aged MC's health status, from a logical and medical point of view. Their age would also remind Remiel of how little time she has left with Middle Aged MC and therefore, despite some somberness, she would try to enjoy as many moments as possible with Middle Aged MC, kindly trying to help them change their harmful habits, not wanting the day in which she will have to assist their soul in reaching the afterlife to approach so soon. Remiel, apart from her wings, has cold skin, so being in Middle Aged MC's arms, pressed against their soft and warm beer belly, would certainly be a new, but pleasant experience, a source of heat, perhaps enough to lull the angel of death into a light nap, which she would honestly need, as she often attends to her celestial duty. Middle Aged MC being loud would surprise Remiel, since she is more used to a calm and isolated environment, however it wouldn't bother her too much, since she literally has two uncles and an aunt, who don't know much about the concept of being quiet, whether it's because of her powerful voice (Fury), his heavy step (War) or his shenanigans (Strife)

NATHANIEL

Nathaniel would notice Middle Aged MC's age and size, however he wouldn't give too much weight to such details and would focus more on their affinity and how to spend time together. Nathaniel would be quite capable of handling Middle Aged MC being loud, after all he isn't the Archangel of Patience for nothing, however if Middle Aged MC bothered him too many times during his meditation sessions, then Nathaniel might decide to take revenge, it would be unclear how or when and Middle Aged MC would live for a while with anxiety, not knowing what to expect and when the angel would strike, usually it would just be a little tease anyway, because he's lenient. Being very chill, sometimes, Nathaniel would let Middle Aged MC sit on his lap while he meditates or while they rest like, playing with their belly as if it were a stress reliever and resting his head on their shoulder, finding the act very therapeutic. As for drinking, Nathaniel would just make sure Middle Aged MC doesn't overdo it

URIEL

Even Uriel would have no idea how Middle Aged MC managed to capture her heart and yet, much to her embarrassment, they still somehow accomplished such feat, however, due to having a reputation, the warrior angel would appreciate if Middle Aged MC avoided being loud or messy while she's busy with important celestial matters. Uriel knows how fragile humans can be and how many things can contribute to a premature death, therefore, not considering Middle Aged MC's lifestyle healthy, she would try to help them exercise, stop drinking and eat healthy, at least Uriel would do her best to not turn the experience into military training. One thing Uriel would be able to do with ease would be lifting Middle Aged MC in her arms, without effort or trouble, no matter their height or how big their beer belly is, Uriel is strong and Middle Aged MC would be like featherweight to her, so that would probably make them feel like royalty. Uriel would also enjoy the contrast between her sturdy body and Middle Aged MC's soft one

[darksiders-junkie]

Good evening friend! I've had a bit to drink while replaying Darksiders 2 and have been wondering if death would be fun to drink with. Thoughts? I figure Strife would be hella fun at first then if he overdoes it he'd get a bit maudlin. Feel free to add on for other characters if you want to!

Appreciate your contribution to this teeny fandom! *Toasts you with drink of choice* ❤️

Sure thing! I'm actually going to do them all :))

War

He is not fun to drink with. Man has one drink and calls it a night. He doesn't like alcohol, and he hates feeling tipsy. It makes him feel like he's not in control of his own body.

If you do manage to get him to drink more, I'd suggest drinking at home. He loosens up and becomes way more talkative and he won't be happy if other people (strangers at that) saw him like that.

And when he becomes more talkative its really all slurred and jumbled together, you have to get him to announciate his words to try and understand him.

At the end of the night, you can bet he's throwing up and passing out on the floor. And since you wouldn't be able to move him, well just put a pillow under his head and drap a blanket over him. He'll be fine.

He wakes up to the biggest migraine ever, and will proceed to be 10x grumpy and scowly until it has passed. So make sure to give him plenty of water, migraine meds, and a big old greasy breakfast in the morning.

Death

He usually tries to avoid alcohol all together. You'll find he'll have a glass of wine for the silly human holidays you enjoy so much, but other than that he doesn't drink.

If you do manage to get him to drink, well you're questioning if he's been dumping out his glass while you weren't looking. He's hardly changed at all!

But no, he most certainly has been drinking it due to your wishes. He's just really good at seeming not drunk.

You can only tell with the slightest of slurred words, and the fact that there is no more bite in his tongue. He may sway slightly while walking, but it'd be hard to tell if you were also drunk.

At the end of the night he'll take a shower and brush his teeth (about time), to get rid of the alcohol smell. He'll pop into your room to make sure you made it to bed alright before finding his way to hiw own room. And if you do share a bedroom, then he'll crawl in behind you and be unusually a bit more cuddling than normal.

He'll be up way before you in the morning, having left some water and meds by your bed and being down stairs cooking up breakfast for the two of you.

Strife

He is hell of fun to drink with, in the beginning that is.

He'll laugh, crack jokes, and even nudge you when you aren't taking a sip. A real partier, so even if it's just the two of you, he fully expects you to yell "Chug Chug Chug" as he downs his glasses. Of course, he'll do the same if you decide to chug.

But eventually he'll flip on a dime and just start crying. It's the worst because there is no warning either. Just

"I'm the bestest friend/partner in the whole world right?"

"Do you love me (Y/n)? Because I love youuuu! Tell me you love meeeee!"

And he's also very clingy. He'll literally hang off you, quickly remind him that you are infact human or otherwise you'll end op on the floor with him.

To avoid this, either head to bed early so he'll do the same, or take him out drinking. If he's around people he won't be like that. Although the car ride home (either by uber or the other siblings. Uber definitely prefered if you dont want to hear a screaming match between siblings) would be a different story, but at least you got to have a longer time to have fun.

Although if you tuck him in, and even as his friend cuddle him through the night, he'll be less of a whiny bitch.

In the morning, he'll most definitely be sluggish and whiny. Keep him away from his siblings because they don't tolerate that shit no more lmfao. Make sure your Strife has plenty of water and meds, and order him food.

Fury

She'll often have a few drinks to get tipsy, but will stop drinking at that point. She doesn't enjoy the hangovers in the morning, and she's often been told she's a raging drunk.

She'll never turn that rage onto you. She thinks you're far too soft and pitiful to do that. No, instead, you'll find her screaming at the wall she accidentally bumped into for 10 minutes straight.

Or trying to pick fights with people, so I suggest keeping her away from her siblings at this time. She won't pick fights with humans though, but I still suggest staying away from bars as she will still find something to scream at. (Like the TV. Everyone is screaming about the silly game, why can't she?)

At the end of the night she will definitely soften some more, and make her way to her own bed. She will not give two fucks if you make it to your bed, unless you share a bed.

In the morning she'll be awfully quiet and just cluching her head at the table. Don't dare to comment on it, just give her some meds and water. You can try feeding her but she'll just push it away.

[randomdarksidersblog27]

THE HORSEMEN AT MARDI GRAS

Death:

Death is not one to party. Not this version of him,at least. Younger him however,is a totally different story.

But, he'll indulge you and go to a few parades with you,mainly the small ones like in Slidell or Lacombe.

Stays away from the big parades in New Orleans and such, especially after finding out about all the random shootings. Gotta keep his favorite human safe right?

He tries his best to get you the best things,like the cute stuffed animals and such.

Gives his extra beads to the little kids and enjoys watching the dance groups.

All in all a pretty chill guy to go with.

Strife

Oh he's going to ALL the parades. No matter where they are.

WILL try and drink anyone under the table too. Tell him about the hand grenades,you'll lose him on Bourbon Street. He will down like,eight of those fuckers and only feel a buzz.

Oh and don't tell him about the flashing boobs for beads. He will look at every woman who did it unabashed. Will try to get you to do the same(if you have tits)

All in all,he's a party animal and fun for the first two weeks of Mardi Gras.

Fury

Not that into parades honestly. But will go with you if you ask,like Death.

Likes seeing all the face paint and body art going around, she'll probably try to do some on you or have you do some on her.

She will also,try and drink anyone under the table. Can ALSO drink a shit ton of hand grenades and not feel a damn thing.

She likes looking at the little shops on Bourbon Street, especially the Marie Laveaux voodoo shop.

She LOVES the dog parade in Slidell. Gets to pet all the cute puppers.

All in all,also a chill person to hang with for Mardi Gras. Not as crazy as Strife,but still fun to party with.

War

Not going to a parade. Nope,not one for crowds or anything like that.

Doesn't understand the concept of it either,and when you explain,he just shrugs and says he can BUY you stuffies if need be. Why go out,in large crowds,to drink and possibly get smashed into,run over,cussed at,spilled on,possibly SHOT,all for some measly plastic strands you place on your neck?

Oh don't even TELL him about the Boobs for Beads thing. He WILL padlock a shirt onto you if you somehow go to a parade without him. No one should be showing-or seeing-that for some stupid beads!

MIGHT have a drink or two,just to see what the hype is about. Meh,not the biggest fan.

If you DO manage to drag him to a parade,his favorite parts are the horses(duh)and the JROTC. He comments on their posture and such and enjoys the little show.

All in all,just stay home with this lovable lunk.

STAY SAFE THIS MARDI GRAS SEASON, PLEASE!

[eraenaa]

Virginal Whore

Aemond Targaryen x Celtigar Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Prince Aemond sets out to find a whore to warm his bed; he finds a virgin instead. 

Warnings: Dub-Con, Oral Sex (f receiving), Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 3,345

Sequel: Prince's Whore

Strife, suffering, and sorrow are all the Prince now feel— perhaps even then. He could no longer stomach the tolls of the war that was reigning havoc on the lands of Westeros. He sought a moment of reprieve, solace in the arms of a lover that he could take into his bed. Harrenhall was bent to his will; everyone was taken and at his mercy. He had women in his grasp, serving girls and some highborn ladies, even a bastard of House Strong, yet as comely and shapely as they were, none were able to stir the need brewing deep inside him. He could not find the want to take them into his bed and warm his cock.

He was, for a moment, entranced by a witch who held the name Rivers. The sorceress tried to seduce him with her lingering glances and mysterious presence, and he was ready to give in, to take her to his bed, but he had caught her placing her spell upon him. Slipping a vial of an unknown substance into his wine, Aemond could not tolerate such acts. He invited her into his chambers, luring her in with the pretense that he had succumbed to her charms, and as she sank to her knees before him, his cock in her mouth, and he was on the verge of spilling his seed in her throat, he took a dagger and slit her throat— him coming undone as her lifeless body fell and her blood pooled onto the floor. 

That sufficed the need in Aemond for a short moment, but just a few days later, he found himself in want of release again— something that would quench the ache in his loins and the fire in his veins. Not just a mouth around his cock but a cunt as well.

He blended into the night and reached town; slipping into a whore house, he heard a few of the soldiers muttering about. When he entered the establishment, nothing of note came into view. It was the same as any houses of pleasure he had stumbled upon during the night. He was in desperate need of company. Scattered around him were the perfumed bodies that masked the smell of vile scents wafted about the room. His eye searched for something that could possibly sedate his raging cock. 

He peeled away his hood, uncaring that the whores and their patrons could see his silvery locks; surely they have more pleasing matters to attend to rather than his presence. As he announced himself, he was quickly approached by a rather well-dressed man who he supposed was the owner. “My prince, welcome… you honor us with your presence.” He bowed lowly, and Aemond simply scanned his eye about the room once more. Without another word, the owner snapped his finger, and Aemond saw some workers hastily running across the establishment, surely readying themselves for him. 

Aemond was led deeper into the den of depravity and into a secluded room where a bed waited along with a line of whores on their knees, waiting for the prince to take his pick. Aemond still paid no mind to the owner as he tried to sell the girls. Aemond assessed each one of them, presenting him with their seductive gazes and trying to allure them with their smiles, pushing together their breasts in the hope that would press even further desire into the prince. 

He sneered as he almost finished assessing the lines of girls, ready to demand the owner to present him with a new batch, but his gaze was then caught by a cowering figure. Her eyes were planted on the floor, and she had used her long, flowing hair to cover her body, trying to display at least one ounce of modesty. 

Aemond strayed closer to you, his curiosity peaking. When the owner’s gaze noticed the prince had focused on you, he quickly stood by your side, who was kneeling at the end of the line. “A newcomer, my prince,” He said and forcefully yanked the back of your head in order to raise your face so the prince could see your features. “I think you would like her, my prince… the prettiest one we have.” 

Aemond said no word nor made any reaction, only studying the way your lips quivered and your eyes pooled with tears as you tried to avoid his gaze. “If her face does not please you enough, I am inclined to tell you that she is a highborn lady snatched away from her traitorous lord father’s care at the start of the war,” He added in pride. It was most beneficial for his business to have an asset such as yourself. Pretty, filled with youth, and had the blood of nobles coursing through your veins. 

Aemond blinked as he felt his cock strain further into his trousers. You were certainly far from his usual type, but only you had stirred such a need in him that he had not felt in many moons. “And if that still isn’t enough to please you, your highness… I shall as well inform you that she is a virgin. Untouched by any man… but I do warn you that may not be the case in a short while.” The owner heinously laughed. Aemond did not know how to take such facts. He was accustomed to experienced hands bringing him pleasure and comfort… but there was just something in your innocence that he found wholly more appealing. 

He turned to the owner and gave a nod. You breathed sharply as the room quickly emptied out, leaving you alone in the presence of a cruel prince. You were still on your knees, and your gaze quickly panted themselves on the floor once more. Aemond placed his hood by a chair and assessed your trembling frame that still knelt on the cold floor. “What house do you come from?” He questioned and brought a chalice already filled with wine to his lips. He drank two sips from it, but you still have not answered his query. “Speak, girl. Are you a mute?” He questioned, stepping before you. “N— no… my prince,” You say, ever so silently. He reached to grab your face in his hands, his fingers squeezing your soft cheeks together, a horrified expression screaming in your eyes. 

“What traitorous house do you come from?” He almost spat. “House… House C—Celtigar, your Highness,” You almost cried, and Aemond was silently surprised. The blood that coursed through your veins was not from any plain noble house; the blood in your veins was the blood of Old Valyria. “Hm,” Aemond hummed as his fingers that held your cheeks savored the way your soft flesh felt. “And how have they taken you?” He questioned and raised the cup of wine to his lips once more, waiting for your answer. 

“I was to be sent to Essos, but they— they commandeered the ship and slain the captain, and I was— was sold off from one man to another.” You explained, your hands clenching at the sheer fabric they made you wear, the material so thin that it did nothing to hide your body. 

You boldly raised your gaze at the prince, hoping to find at least one speck of empathy in his lone eye, but you paled further as you saw a sinister smirk rise to his lips. How fortunate was Aemond to stumbled to the whorehouse at this moment, having the pick of the litter. An overly pretty, untouched noblewoman is now kneeling before him; the gods seem to take pity on his needing state that had plagued him for moons that had left him restless and irritated. “Stand,” he commanded and finally let go of his hold on your cheeks. Watching as you slowly and wobbly obeyed and stood on your feet. 

He raked his eye upon your body, from your pretty face to the apex of your neck to your breast that hid behind the curtain of your hair. His gaze continued to travel downward from the curves of your hips and waist to your sex that was hidden by a dark shadow and to your plush thighs— as he saw the limbs of lavish flesh, a deeper sense of lust overcame him. He placed the chalice down and stepped closer to you. Aemond’s smirk widened as he heard a whimper leave your lips and your eyes tightly closed as he tore away the sheer fabric they made you wear. 

He threaded closer and brushed away the hair that covered your frame, feeling you shiver beneath his touch as his hand trailed to the small of your waist, then upward to your ample tit, your nipple pebbling beneath his cold and calloused touch. He lowered his head and placed it in the nook of your neck, inhaling your scent that was not riddled with the generic perfume that they bathed the whores with. Compared to them— you were a breath of fresh air. 

You gasped and turned stiff as the prince, without warning, pushed you upon the silk-covered bed. You cowered towards the headboard, petrified at the sinister smirk on the prince’s lip, completely enjoying your fear. “I must admit… I’ve never fucked a virgin before,” He said lowly as he took off his tunic, and you looked away as you felt your cheeks heat. “I’ve always preferred my women to be ones with experience… but there is, I suppose, something appealing in being the one first to taint a maiden— perhaps that is why my brother could smell them from a mile away,” Aemond said, a bit amused as he now realized the reason for his brother’s preference of seeking out virgins to be brought to his bed. 

Aemond undid his trousers, standing bare before you as you curled into a ball at the head of the bed. Aemond relished in your cry for help as he pulled you toward the edge of the bed— thrashing upon his hold. You feel your tears slip from your eyes as the prince spreads your legs, and your cunt is fully exposed before him. You inhaled a sharp breath as you felt his breath fanning your folds, assessing you. Aemond bore witness to the truth that you truly were a virgin, your maidenhead still intact and just waiting for him to be ruined. 

He thought about how to proceed; usually, he would have a maiden on their knees or on her stomach and take her from behind— no tenderness or foreplay, simply taking what he wanted and be done with all the bother. But somehow, your cunt was calling for his lips. He never found the appeal of it, feasting on a cunt that had been used and abused by differing men, sullying himself with the taste of other men on the body of a woman. However, you were untouched, and Aemond indulged himself with an act he was rather more curious about. 

You froze as you felt the prince’s fingers trace along the slit of your cunt, the sensation new and disturbing as no one had ever touched you in such a place before. You felt his hand press your fold together, his eye on every movement you made. Aemond marveled at your cunt, never truly assessing one before— he never thought a cunt could be so… captivating. When he ran his fingers in the middle of your slit again, he chuckled darkly as he felt wetness gathering in them; despite your reluctance and defiance, your cunt was begging to be touched. Aemond’s mouth salivated at the thought. 

A gasp left your lips, and you tried to close your legs as you felt the prince’s tongue replace his finger and lick a clean stripe in the middle of your folds. Aemond could not help but moan at the taste of you, tart and sweet, and he began to wonder if this was how his depravity would begin, with a taste of a virginal whore.

You bit your tongue as you felt his lips latch on the sensitive pearl, his tongue darting out and licking you further, teasing your hole and bringing further wetness. “Stop acting so demure and coy; you enjoy this, do you not, my lady?” He menacingly said against you, refusing to let his lips stray away from the sweet nectar of your womanhood. 

You shook your head and felt your tears fall further, but any denial you do did nothing to stop the arousal dripping from your cunt. Aemond chuckled and used his tongue to tease you further, slipping it into the void of pleasure. 

You finally let out a moan, one that was unexpected, and you felt shame as you found pleasure in such actions. That spurred further determination in the prince, darting his tongue in and out of you, his fingers sinking into your plush thighs as he, too, was overwhelmed by the pleasure of feasting on your cunt. Your sensitive pearl rubbed itself against the high bridge of his nose, your blood alight, your skin glimmering with a thin sheet of sweat, and your body ready to succumb to pleasure. Aemond felt it too, that you were close to what he concluded to be the first climax of your life, your body agitated and uncertain, your moans wry and held fear. He was debating if he should let you come undone now or wait when until his cock was buried deep inside your cunt. He was straying towards the latter, but as the thought of tasting you further infiltrated his mind, the prince obliged you to reach your peak and taste your orgasm. Your uncertain moans turned loud and sure, and your hands instinctively clutched the silver locks of the prince’s hair as you came undone by his tongue. 

Aemond hummed in content, feeling his cock weeping at the taste of you. “I’ve never thought a cunt could taste so delectable,” He mused and planted his weight on his knees, staring down at your bare, flushed body and your face that was still trying to comprehend your first taste of pleasure. 

The prince did not give you much time to grasp what had happened as his rough hands found home on your waist, and his cock was aligned against your dripping entrance. Your pleasured-clad face morphed into one of pain as you felt his length penetrating your undefiled hole. It was mean and sadistic, but Aemond found pleasure in taking away your innocence. He was filled with further satisfaction as he glanced down and saw how his cock was tainted with red, your maidenhead taken by him. 

“What lord will have you now, my lady? Now that you’re the prince’s whore?” He grunted as his cock was fully sheathed inside you, the tip of it brushing a spot he knew all too well. “Are those tears of pain or pleasure?” Aemond taunted as he bent down closer to your face, his fingers brushing away the salty water that spilled from your eyes. “If it is the former, I will try not to take it as an offense. There are worst fates than being my whore, my lady— just ask the girls that served my brother,” He smirked and kissed away your tears, his lips straying further to yours.

He never found much pleasure in the act; he would only sometimes oblige the old madame in his once-favored whorehouse with the act because she seemed quite keen on it, but he never liked the way she tasted on his tongue after. But you, gods, was it too much if he would say that just one taste of you has had him on the verge of addiction?

You took in sharp breaths of pain as the prince thrust into you; he was kind enough to slow down his movements, letting you accustom yourself to his length, but by the second, Aemond was growing impatient. His moves started to move at a faster, almost violent pace, ignoring your cries of pain as he was certain they would soon turn into cries of pleasure. He had never had a cunt as tight as yours before; he had never truly paid enough attention to every fluter, every clench, every movement of the woman he was fucking, but now he could not help but focus on anything that you did underneath him. 

He savored every moan and sigh that left your lips, every line on your furrowed brows, every scratch of your nail on his back as you felt his length rutting inside you. Aemond let out a groan as the moons of need started to overwhelm him. He was close to the peak he desperately sought, but he was genteel enough to coax one out of you first; you were a noble lady; after all, it would be terribly rude of him to leave you need and unsatisfied. 

Aemond straightened his back and felt his cock twitch as he saw the site of you laid before him, your legs on his shoulder, his fingers sinking on your soft thighs, and your tits bouncing at his every thrust. You watched through hazy and pleasured-filled eyes as the prince licked his thumb and placed it flat against your nubbin, and his other hand pressed down on your lower stomach and spurred you further into pleasure. Your lips spewed out his name as you came undone, and the prince was quick to follow you. Filling your cunt with his seed, and finally, Aemond felt relief and satisfaction over him. 

The prince panted heavily as he tried to regain his thoughts; he removed his length from your cunt and felt a lazy grin come to his lips as he saw the essence of both of you spill from your hole. Through your haze, you did not expect the prince to dip down and capture your lips into a kiss once again; tongue sought entrance, and you could not find it in yourself to deny him. 

Both of you panted as your lips parted. You stared into the unique lilac eye of the Targaryen prince and were soon overcome with the implications of what had just happened. Your cheeks further turned red as you avoided his gaze once more, ashamed at how you relished and had enjoyed being defiled by him. 

Aemond smirked and collapsed atop of you, savoring the feel of your intertwined bodies for a moment. You just lay there beneath him, and somehow, that was enough for him. But as he felt your hands wrap around him and your hand went to comb through his hair, he let out a further satisfied sigh at the feeling of comfort he never thought he could find in another. 

It did not take long before Aemond had drifted into slumber. The cacophony of his release, fatigue, and you lulled him into a deep yet quick slumber. When he woke, he found you asleep beath him as well, looking so peaceful with your tear-stained cheeks and plush parted lips. Aemond delicately removed himself from you and silently walked out of the room. 

When you woke, you found a pouch filled with coins by your side and the distant sound of moans and footsteps approaching. You raised the sheet of the bed to cover your naked frame as the curtain was lifted, revealing the silver prince. You stared in confusion as he tossed the dress you wore when you were abducted on the bed. “Get dressed,” You could only stare at him in further confusion, your limbs refusing to move. 

Aemond smirked as the fear returned in your eyes. He was halfway through his return to Harrenhall, but the thought of you haunted him. He finally found the release he sought, and it would be foolish of him to let it wander free. Aemond was a selfish man. He could not oblige the others and let them have a taste of the pleasure that only you could present.  

“Get dressed. I have brought you from your master. You’re all mine now, my lady.” 

[swordgrace]

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!healer!reader.

SYNOPSIS: serving as a healer on the frontlines of a war that is tearing the realm apart, you come to tend the wounds of the warden of the north. inspired by robb & talisa’s relationship.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 8.2K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), fic is inspired by robb & talisa’s relationship, description of wounds/injuries, mentions of violence & war, canon-typical misogyny (cregan goes to the northern school of feminism), heavy mutual pining, both cregan and reader have experience, p in v sex, unprotected sex, all stark men have a breeding kink, size kink (cregan is much taller/bigger than reader), fingering (fem!rec), biting, breast play, hair-pulling, rain-soaked cregan, bed/cot breaking, lotus position, riding/cowgirl, gentle-ish sex, soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Back with another Cregan fic! I absolutely love writing for him & this request was so perfect. This is taking place during the wars (HOTD S3). Thank you guys so much for your continued support and kindness, it means a ton to me! I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 — 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.

Yet, as he lay in his tent, feeling the bitter sting of what pain could bring, face-to-face with carnage, he felt some semblance of fear. It was the only time that a man could ever be brave, in the face of such strife. The Riverlands were occupied by Ser Criston Cole for some time, and in the name of the true Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Cregan Stark aimed to reclaim it.

The road to the Riverlands had been a lengthy one, hard on his force of Winter Wolves, greybeards that itched for combat. They were met with resistance at every turn after crossing the Twins, yet they endured, still a force of nearly two-thousand men.

More were on their way from the North, bannermen of all ilk and family called to-arms at Winterfell, to ride North and join his forces in the Riverlands. Despite his youthful age of one-and-twenty, Cregan was a fierce and proficient fighter, better than a great deal of the men under his command.

Struck by a stray arrow and slashed with a blade, he bared his injuries incredibly well — better than most. Cregan’s stalwart, hardened exterior served him well, never giving way to the pain he felt beneath. The arrow had gone clean through, thankfully. Much of his recovery was simply bandages and time.

He chafed at the notion of being bound to his tent for days on-end — he wanted to be with his men, helming any attacks, leading them to victory. He was useless here, abdomen wrapped in soiled bandages, laid-up and no good to anyone.

The healers who passed through all possessed older, wrinkled faces — men who had seen countless wars, perhaps thrice his age, acclaimed in talent and skill with the art of mending wounds and sewing bone together.

Imagine Cregan’s bewilderment when a young woman entered his tent one dismal morning.

You couldn’t have been much younger than him, clad in a tattered, coarse dress with a hem steeped in mud, white apron sullied with countless stains. Much of the cruor on your garments wasn’t your own, the blood of Stark men, men from White Harbor.

“Good morrow, Lord Stark.” The songbird’s lull of your voice had made him unusually calm, as if able to quell the growing tide of irritation he’d felt with his inaction. You brought with you a basket of supplies, tools of the trade that you had to scrounge around to get.

Men never looked upon a woman-healer with interest or a desire to teach — much of what you knew was from your own mother, or things you’d observed and taught yourself from piles of books at your disposal. Though, you found yourself excelling within your area of expertise.

Perplexed, Cregan watched you hawkishly, sluggishly sitting up from his bed of furs, a low grunt escaping him in the process. “My Lady,” He greeted with a nod of his head, muscles aching and sore from the clashes and skirmishes, coupled with time spent on the road. “You are a new face.”

Part of you wondered if he would take offense, given that you were a lady, but you decided not to address it. “I certainly hope that it isn’t a disappointment,” You mused, placing your supplies down at his bedside. “Other hands were needed elsewhere.”

He wasn’t disappointed in the slightest.

Cregan found you to be breathtakingly beautiful — it took one stolen glance for him to discern that. Your very presence seemed to flourish with warmth and amiability. It was a welcome change from the old men who poked and prodded at him, and he wouldn’t complain about being in the presence of someone his own age.

With a huff, he shook his head, wisps of chestnut tresses framing his visage. “Not at all,” He murmured, studying you with a thinly-veiled intrigue. “A welcome change.” Cregan replied, catching your amiable smile, as warm and as bright as the first inkling of springtime.

You had seen Cregan only in-passing, brief moments where you spotted the young Lord atop his dark steed, or stomping through muddied encampments alongside his soldiers. Now, up-close, you realized how young he really looked, with a youthful, babyish visage that did not match his stony expression or wisened, gray eyes.

“You say that now, but you’ll have to get used to me first, my Lord.” You mused, reaching for the first wrap of his soiled bandages. It was easier to make small-talk in the midst of situations like these — it often eased your nerves, gave you something else to think about.

Cregan moved his arms just enough, allowing you to unravel the crimson-crusted bandages. There was some momentary relief, without the scratching and irritation of coarse linen, wounds exposed to the lick of fresh air.

A steady exhale escaped him, and he watched as you discarded the bandages, fetching more from your basket, coupled with some strange poultice in a jar. He did not recall his former caretakers ever giving him something like that, and he refused Milk of the Poppy.

“How long have you had an interest in this?” Cregan inquired, genuinely interested in what led you down such a path. It wasn’t commonplace for a woman of your station, not in the slightest. He would never discourage it, but he was itching to know.

As you wrung out a cloth of hot water, you brought it to his left shoulder, thick and burly with muscle, gingerly swiping over the wound to clean it. “Many years,” You hummed, brows furrowing together in concentration. “My father didn’t like it, but I learned what I could from others.”

Cregan was the stoic sort, an indomitable mountain of a man who appeared so rugged and indifferent, yet he possessed a gentle hand and heart when away from wandering eyes. He listened attentively, soothed by the tenderness in your touch.

Becoming a Maester was something you’d desired in your youth, yet the Citadel never allowed for women to study and attain the position. You were left to your own devices, a life of healing and service to those who needed it most, and you were content with that. You would forge your own Maester’s Chain.

You then pressed the cloth against the still-swollen gash from the sword across his abdomen, the flesh around it somewhat angry and reddened. “You took quite a beating. I have no desire to see who was on the other end of your blade.”

A soft huff escaped him as he rolled his shoulders, dwarfing you completely in size and stature. Even for a man of his youth, he seemed imposing, larger than plenty of young men his age. “Best not to dwell on it,” He grunted, stormy hues following you wherever you went. “You are not a Northerner.”

The lack of a Northern accent gave it away, but you also spoke properly and eloquently, as if you had been raised somewhere with plenty of civility. “The Stormlands — I am from Bronzegate.” You replied, which happened to earn you a very threadbare smile from Lord Stark.

“A Southerner, then,” A twinge of amusement seemed interwoven with his gruff, husky timbre, a voice that you were rather charmed by. He was mesmerizing to listen to, Northern dialect and deeper voice marked by a stalwart calm. “What are you doing here?”

As you cleaned away the sluggish ooze of cruor, you ensured that his wounds were free of dirt or dried blood, inspecting them for infection. “Finding my way in the world,” You confessed, reaching for the jar of herbal poultice, a salve that you had made yourself. “As we all are.”

Cregan could respect your honesty and earnestness in knowing that you didn’t know what you were doing with your life — sometimes, he didn’t know, either. It was easy to forget oneself when tasked with the charge of leadership, easy to allow it to become a burden instead of a challenge.

Dipping your fingertips into the salve, you gently spread it across the wound on his shoulder, the strange concoction icy against his hot flesh. “What is that?” He questioned, the unusual smell of it stinging his nostrils. Whatever it was, it felt incredible.

“A salve that I made,” You chimed, clicking your tongue as you concentrated on spreading it thin, layering it across his skin. “It’s not something conventional. I exchanged certain herbs for others, and added something of my own. It takes the sting away, numbs the flesh around the wound.”

It did take the sting away, as you said, and soothed his wound at the same time. Cregan admired your ingenuity, charmed and ensnared by you. He hadn’t expected to enjoy your company as much as he was, which was always enough to draw some concern.

A union formed out of wedlock was a dangerous one, but these were perilous times, in the midst of war. He was bound to no one — he had no one. Gray hues silently appraised you, and whenever you got close enough, he could feel your sweet breath upon his flesh, smell the faint aroma of wildflowers and a dab of honey.

“If you are willing, I’d like to have your ingredients. It would be worthwhile for the rest of the healers to craft it, too. Do not waste it all on me.” Cregan rumbled, a soft sigh of relief escaping him as you spread the poultice all along the gash across his abdomen.

The instantaneous relief he felt made him relax, the tension unfurling within his shoulders. Once the salve began to dry just slightly, you took to bandaging him again, nearly chest-to-chest with him when you wrapped the linen around his torso.

Cregan’s jaw tensed, muscles tightening whenever you pressed closer, even if the action was a necessity. You felt the onslaught of warmth creep into your features, goosebumps cascading down your spine with the intensity of his gaze.

You happened to meet his smoldering stare for just a moment, butterflies swelling within the pit of your stomach, followed by a rush of heat that seeped into your very bones. “I will provide you with the list tomorrow.” You murmured, finishing wrapping up his wound.

The arrow puncture on his shoulder was something that you covered in a few layers of sturdier medicinal cloth, before wrapping it once to keep it stable. You had backed away slightly, the close proximity having made your nerves spark to life.

It was a warmth and intimacy that you hadn’t touched before, unfamiliar yet wild with curiosity. Perhaps you had a tryst with a young man back in Bronzegate, but never to this degree of intensity. Cregan gazed at you as if you were the only one to exist.

“I am finished here,” That was enough to shatter Cregan’s incendiary look, the heat dissipating from his gray hues. His visage resumed that stone-faced look, and he suddenly remembered himself and the bonds of propriety. “I will visit tomorrow with your list, if that’s all you need from me.”

He noticed how you straightened, posture somewhat rigid, fingertips stained in dried blood and cruor. You retrieved what supplies you had, placing them all back into your basket before you curtsied, as a Lady would before a Lord.

“You do not have to bow, my Lady,” Cregan assured, standing to his feet with a strenuous grunt. He was massive even when sitting before you, but seeing him upright and so close — Gods take you for the things you began to ponder and imagine. “I am grateful for your aid in these dour times.”

Cregan was as stubborn as an old mule, despite being so young. Rarely did he accept help from other people, preferring to do it all himself and be the guiding example, but this was something he was not practiced at.

“It is my duty, my Lord. It is a responsibility that I share for yourself, and for your soldiers. I pray that the Gods will usher you into a swift recovery, and victory.” That smile — Gods, you had a beautiful smile. It could melt even the hardiest of ice, bring exuberance and joy to those who had none. “I should take my leave.”

“Of course,” Cregan bowed his head, timbre gentle and akin to the roll of thunder before an encroaching thunderstorm. He retrieved his tunic from the foot of his bed, and before you could disappear from the tent, he cleared his throat. “What is your name, my Lady?”

You smiled, gaze dancing with a twinge of mischief and amusement as you chewed at the inside of your cheek. Lingering within the entryway of his tent, you took one, deliberate step backwards.

“I suppose you’ll have to learn that tomorrow.”

Sitting idly by while a war raged nearby had soured Cregan’s mood exponentially.

He had stared at the canvas canopy of his tent for so long that he began to lose count of the hours. It was only when his second-in-command harkened him to the war table, that he obeyed.

Green forces had stationed a battalion at The Trident, and the rest were attempting to seize Harrenhal from Daemon Targaryen and his Rivermen. Cregan intended on cutting off the battalion, ripping them out root and stem, effectively carving away a portion of Cole’s forces.

War was an ugly thing — killing a man never pleased him as it did some, but it was an unfortunate necessity. Ensuring that Rhaenyra Targaryen took her place upon the Iron Throne was paramount, an oath he forged with her son, Jacaerys Velaryon.

Cregan covered his wounds with his tunic and a fur cloak, knowing that the weight of armor would only hinder his recovery, and he needed to be prepared for what was to come. He spoke strategy with Lord Roderick Dustin of Barrowton, before taking his leave.

You happened to occupy his thoughts — a girl from Bronzegate, with a rosy, heartening smile and a demure nature, tending to his wounded men. Not a moment passed from last eve to now, an afternoon marked by grim, gray storm clouds, that he hadn’t thought of you.

It was improper, perhaps, to think so fondly of a young maiden out of wedlock, one he barely knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to you — and he had a feeling that you felt the same, a mutual sentiment.

The massive tent erected for those wounded in battle was marked by an ivory canvas and the hurried pace of healers floating in and out. Cregan knew where to find you, and he had learned of your name from several of his bannermen.

He spotted you outside, washing your hands free of crimson, the ends of your sleeves just as tattered and wrought with blood that didn’t belong to you. Your tresses were pulled into a braid to avoid interference with your work, brow creased in concentration.

“My Lady.” He greeted you with that familiar timbre, husky and gallant. There was a warmth that radiated from him, both in his tone and physically, that enveloped you whenever you were in his presence. He was a man of few words, but you made up for it.

Surprise settled into your features as you regarded him with mild bewilderment. You weren’t expecting him to seek you out. “My Lord,” You exhaled, bowing your head in reverence as you wiped the blood from your hands with a rag. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Cregan enjoyed your concern, staving off a threadbare smile before he shrugged, wisps of chestnut tresses fluttering with the breeze. The air smelled of rain, an approaching deluge. “You never said that I had to stay.” He stated, looking towards your hands.

A huff of laughter escaped you, hands mostly free of any blood, your knuckles bruised and bearing some scrapes. “Are you feeling well enough?” You asked, head canting to one side. There was a quell in the battle for now, allowing you time to recuperate.

“I have been for some time,” Cregan sighed, brows furrowing together. “Old men wished for me to stay abed, and I heeded them, until now.” Two wounds wouldn’t stop him — there was something powerful about him, a determination to continue even in the face of agony or strife.

You couldn’t help but smile in spite of his stubbornness — you wondered how his men dealt with him. Many soldiers and bannermen that you had conversed with praised Cregan, with nothing but honorable things to say about him. He was regarded as stoical and resigned, patient and pragmatic.

“Let me have a look. It’s the least that I can do, considering you made the trek here.” You motioned for him to follow you, sweeping the canvas aside as you beckoned him into the wounded tent. There were scores of men in worse states than he — some of them brushing close to death.

Cregan stepped behind you like a massive wall of stone, a mountain of a man, his shadow casting itself over you. Some of the healers seemed surprised with his coming here, a handful being familiar faces that had tended to him when he was first wounded.

The space in which you operated was a great deal smaller, yet tidy and orderly. He sat down with a grunt atop the cot you gestured to, shrugging off his fur cloak. Part of him felt strange for being here, considering the grievous state of some of the men.

A roll of parchment lay atop your footlocker, a lengthy list of ingredients used in your medicinal salve, the one that Cregan had requested yesterday. He watched you scurry about, fetching fresh bandages and your mysterious poultice that seemed to do him a world of good.

Some of the healers looked upon you with thinly-veiled disdain and scrutiny, eyes of wizened men who believed themselves to be better than you. A woman doing such gruesome work wasn’t exactly proper.

“Your tunic,” You murmured, averting your gaze away from Cregan’s body as he removed the smoky-blue garment, revealing his herculean musculature. The more you studied Lord Stark, the more enamored you became — he was handsome and well-spoken. Stubborn, perhaps, but most Northerners were. “Thank you.”

Cregan thoroughly enjoyed watching you work — it was a captivating thing to behold, the way you navigated a wound with such care and precision. Your hands were disarmingly gentle as you shifted the linen wrappings away, exposing his shoulder to the brisk afternoon air.

The pain had certainly diminished, moreso in his shoulder than his abdomen. In usual silence, Cregan studied you closely, storm-colored hues appraising you, committing every detail to memory. There was something breathtaking about you, a magnetizing pull that drew him in, kept him enthralled.

He reveled in the sensation of your fingertips tracing around his wound, feather-light and delicate, leaving behind a trail of fire in your wake. “It’s healed wonderfully,” You murmured, brows furrowing together as you applied a dab of honey, a natural antiseptic. You placed the bandage back over it. “How does it feel?”

“Acceptable.” He grunted, though his tone seemed somewhat warped with amusement. Your lips twitched into a brief frown, as if he wasn’t telling the whole truth. “I am well enough. You needn’t worry, my Lady.” Cregan assured, resting his thick forearms atop his thighs.

A soft sigh left you as you circled around him, coming to stand before him with a tender expression. Your countenance still seemed furrowed with concern, but he neglected to comment on it.

Peeling away the linen bandages that clung to his abdomen, the angry-red swelling had nearly dissipated, and the gash remained, still healing. “The salve seems to have helped,” You fought hard to ignore the closeness between yourself and Cregan, mere breaths apart. “The swelling has gone down.”

The scent of your warm breath fanned across his visage, basking him in your saccharine smell. Even if your garments were well-worn and speckled in gore, he could still detect the aroma of wildflowers on you.

“You have my gratitude, my Lady.” Cregan uttered, a valiant attempt to relieve some of the lingering tension. It was something he rarely, if ever, experienced with a woman — especially one such as yourself.

“You know my name already, Lord Stark. You do not have to continue to refer to me as a Lady,” A twinkle of amusement lingered within your eyes, knowing that his bannermen had shared your name with him. “I am not of noble birth, I’m afraid.”

Cregan huffed, and he realized that you were clever. The wit and fiery spirit leapt out from you on occasion, and this happened to be one of them. “Honor and good pleasantries demand that I continue to refer to you as a Lady.” He replied, tender and deep, like the shaking of a mountain.

With an amiable smile, you changed the bandages around Cregan’s torso, applying your salve before discarding the old ones. “Don’t,” You chimed, tone softening to the lull of a songbird. “Call me by my name.” You stood, wiping your hands against a swath of clean cloth.

A low, rumbling ‘hm’ escaped the man, whose chestnut brows furrowed together as he ogled you — shamelessly, this time. There was a fond playfulness laced within your banter, something that Cregan wasn’t entirely accustomed to. “Cregan.” He insisted, establishing a firm foundation for your blossoming relationship.

“Cregan.” You repeated, his name sounding sickeningly sweet from your Southern tongue. The young Lord moved to tug his tunic back on over his hulking frame, musculature working in such wondrous ways. It was difficult to tame your wandering eye, heat crawling along your spine.

Ripping yourself from your trance, you busied yourself with something else. “The salve ingredients that you requested, I made a list.” You stepped towards the footlocker, retrieving the scroll of parchment as you offered it to him. “I hope that it will do some good.”

After having placed his thick cloak over his shoulders, Cregan grunted, the vibration spreading throughout his chest as he accepted the list. “This is noble of you,” He murmured, turning it over within his roughened hand. “The men here owe you their gratitude — as do I.”

Dismissive of his praise, you remained humble, politely curtsying before Lord Stark. “It is my duty, that is all. I will continue on for as long as I am able.” You didn’t like being thanked for healing — it was a passion that you chased after, a job that brought you joy.

“If there is anything that I can do for you as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, name it — it will be done.” Cregan nodded, countenance bristling with a burning affection, one that wasn’t concealed in the slightest. Despite his stalwart demeanor, he made his fondness of you known.

A delicate hum escaped you, but nothing of importance came to mind. You didn’t want to make any demands of him, especially given the circumstances — he had little time to cater to a healer when war loomed overhead.

“If you insist, I would ask for a suitable stationary set,” Simplistic and curious, something uncommonly asked for. Writing was something you had no part in, but illustrations — that was a different story. “Do not toil over it, my Lo — Cregan. Your generosity is kind enough.”

Cregan nodded, taking it into consideration. “I will not toil over it,” He replied, peering over his shoulder toward a pack of healers. There were plenty of wounded men that required your attention more than he. “Consider it done. I will leave you to your work.”

You bowed again out of common courtesy, hands folded together as you offered Cregan another warm smile. “Of course. Should your recovery change course, please do not hesitate to return. I wish you good fortune in the battles to come.”

“Until next we meet.”

Bellflower flourished in moss-laden groves around the forks of the Trident, petals ranging from ivory to shades of cerulean and a light lilac. It grew in clutches, its blooms spherical and pleasing to the eye. Despite the deluge plaguing the Winter Wolves at every step, it seemed to slow Cole’s army down exponentially, too.

As dusk fell in a dark, cloudy gloom across the encampment, Cregan carried a bound bundle of bellflower in his hands, to be given to one person in particular.

It had only been two days since your last meeting in the healer’s tent, his wounds on the mend, no longer weighed down with bandages. The stationary you requested had been brought to your tent sometime the next day, after you had addressed it with Cregan.

It was intended to be a gesture of gratitude, something that he knew you would find favor in, but it was easily passable as a rite of courtship. The constant prodding of a marriage proposal was always at the fringes of Cregan’s mind — it was his duty to marry, and he had prolonged the process as much as he could.

With war tearing the realm apart, there was little time to consider a marriage — but a relationship, perhaps a budding bond, that was something he could make time for. Even in his duties as the Warden of the North, a champion for Queen Rhaenyra, there would be a lull, a calm in the storm.

Your tent wasn’t a far trek from the healer’s tent, smaller and humble compared to his own. It didn’t seem fair, given your importance and what you had contributed to their cause, but he didn’t dwell on it — not now, anyway.

To see the ferocious, stoic Cregan Stark carrying a bundle of flowers that seemed minuscule within his grasp was a most peculiar sight. His fur trappings and leather-and-chainmail bore the motif of the Direwolf, the sigil of House Stark, making him seem larger than he already was. His ancestral longsword, Ice, remained slung across his broad shoulders.

The glitter of candlelight cut through the dismal haze of rainfall around him, its orange glow pooling from your tent, closed-off for privacy. Through the sliver of canvas, Cregan could see you, hunched over your chair, moving a quill across parchment. You wore your hair down this time, visage framed by wisps of your tresses, brow creased in concentration.

Cregan stepped forward, announcing his presence with a noisy clearing of his throat. “My Lady,” He rumbled, standing just outside of your tent, chestnut tresses sticking to his skull from the deluge. “If I might have a moment of your time.”

Your surprise was palpable as you flung open your tent, with Cregan Stark standing before you, soaked to the bone and entirely unphased. Your gaze fell to the bouquet of bellflowers in his hand, features becoming hot almost immediately.

“Cregan,” You stepped aside to usher him in, getting him out of the storm. “I apologize if you attempted to summon me, I’ve been preoccupied.” Preoccupied with the wrong things, perhaps, but you felt horrible that he had walked all this way in a torrential downpour.

“An apology isn’t necessary,” Cregan assured, so tall and mountainous that he seemed to consume much of the space in your tent, scalp scraping the canvas above. “I merely wanted to extend my gratitude, for your diligence and steadfastness in my recovery.” He murmured.

Your lodgings were quite humble, your bed nothing more than a cot lined in fur blankets, pillows stuffed with linens to make it bearable. The rickety wooden chairs were ones you’d borrowed — it served as a place to draw, a series of candles sitting along your footlocker. The ground below was covered in layers of canvas and fur — perhaps more comfortable than the cot itself.

You offered him a polite smile, though the air seemed charged with more than just friendliness. “You’ve already extended your gratitude, my Lord. You needn’t do it again,” You replied, heart thrumming within your chest. “You are soaked to the bone. Why don’t you warm yourself?”

Cregan was plenty warm, his own metaphorical sun, blood running exceptionally hot — especially this evening. “There is no need,” He rumbled, jaw somewhat tense as he extended the bouquet of bellflowers to you, bound together with a thick cord. “Blooming along the Trident. I thought of you.”

Thought of you — did he do that often?

Gods, did you think of him — you thought of him at each waking moment, torturing yourself over him, the Lord of Winterfell. There were nights where you fantasized about him in such sinful ways that it left you gasping for air. It made your belly stir with butterflies, heat simmering across your flesh.

“These are beautiful,” Touched by such a simple gesture, you accepted the bouquet from him, moving to place it inside of a tall flask that once held one of your salves. Its mauve petals added a flair of color. “Thank you, Cregan.” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

Every man in this dreadful encampment paled in comparison to Cregan Stark, who gazed down at you with such intensity that you feared you would melt away. Your breath hitched within your throat when he stepped closer — involuntary or not, you sorely yearned for the closeness.

Droplets of water rolled from his temples, chestnut tresses sticking to his forehead, garb damp from the rain. He smelled of the woodlands — pine and petrichor, intermingled with that of a natural musk. Those gray hues of his raked over you, drinking you in with a thinly-veiled rapture.

“There are other ways to express your gratitude.”

Your mouth moved before your mind could tell you to cease — speaking to your Lord in such an uncouth manner was grounds for trouble. You hadn’t fully realized the salacious implications of your statement until it sank in, and you became nervous. Before you could apologize, Cregan stopped you.

“Why do you think I came all this way, my Lady?” He rumbled, lifting his hand to cup your face, palm nearly engulfing half of your visage. Gods, you were beautiful — nothing short of perfection in his eyes. The bulk of his arm hesitantly reached out to circle around you, drawing you closer into his embrace.

That wasn’t the only reason — Cregan’s fondness of you had manifested into something uncontrollable, and you shared the same sentiment. Your feelings were now just as raging as his own, like a wildfire spreading across a forest, unchecked and unchallenged.

“Aren’t you cold?” You whispered, brought into the warm expanse of his chest, broad and taut with muscle. Even through his armor, you knew that he was indomitable. Though, for all of his physical intimidation and mesomorphic might, he was disarmingly gentle, this mountain of a man.

“No,” The husky timbre of his voice made goosebumps dance along your spine, causing you to shiver. “Not anymore.” He murmured, gaze silently asking to kiss you. He did not move, didn’t intend on acting until you decided to let sentiments flow freely.

It was you that kissed him first, seeking his lips with a desperation that rattled even you. Cregan didn’t hide his mutual desire, brows furrowing together as he reciprocated your kiss, using the leverage of his arm to lift you closer.

His lips were rough, icy from being in the damp outdoors, visage slick from the rainfall. It was a stark contrast to the softness of your mouth, pliant and plush against him, your body curvaceous and perfect within his grasp. He felt your palms press against his chest, drifting towards the nape of his neck.

Rain-soaked tresses glided through your fingers, curling inward to grip and pull, kissing him with such dizzying passion. In the slim space of your lodgings, with rain pounding above, it provided a gentle ambiance that only provided to the charged atmosphere.

Your hands shifted toward the clasps of his thick cloak, hesitating as you pulled away, looking to him for approval. If it weren’t for the many layers he needed to remove, you would’ve shed your dress already.

“Is this what you want?” Cregan needed your consent and assurance before continuing on, thumb drawing circles into your hip as he held you close. His voice had dropped to a near-growl, husky and thick with desire. It only served to stoke the growing fire between the both of you, cracking with a mutual need.

You nodded, nearly rendered breathless. “Yes,” Barely above a whisper, you felt his hands settle over yours, unclasping the metallic direwolves that loosened his cloak. It was all damp and soggy from the rain, and it felt good to be rid of it. “I need you.” You murmured, voice pitched with lust.

Cregan didn’t hesitate, hands unfastening his armor, buckle by buckle, piece by piece. Your hands sometimes joined in on occasion, loosening a strap or helping to take it off altogether. You didn’t move away, allowing each item to join the growing pile until he was left in his smallclothes.

He gently reached for the nape of your neck, massive palm caressing into the base of your skull, tracing along your silky flesh as he brought you in for a kiss. Even without his armor, Cregan was impossibly large, with a bulk and stature that dwarfed your own.

His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, each kiss blistering with passion, an eagerness that never exceeded into something rough. There was a domineering undertone to his actions, but never anything that would hurt you or scare you off.

Northern perfection, an immaculate wall of strength and muscle, yet so gentle — it rattled you to your core in the best possible way, filling your belly with molten heat. You kissed him fervently, until he stopped to kiss along your jaw, roughened lips finding the silky column of your neck.

The coarse, cloth ties that gathered at the small of your back became unraveled by you, loosening the periwinkle-colored garment until it sagged upon your body. You let it drop, your plain dress pooling to the ground in a heap of wrinkled fabric. You nudged it aside, letting it join Cregan’s armor.

Gray hues flickered across your naked flesh, beautiful beyond compare, a woman’s body that possessed the loveliest of curves. Cregan was swift to lower his hands, smoothing them across your sides, and then to your hips, shamelessly grabbing greedy handfuls of your derrière.

“I’ve never seen a beauty like yours before.” Cregan rumbled, mouth pressing soft kisses all along your neck, and then to the hollow of your throat. His calloused palms caressed everywhere they could, savoring the sensation of your velveteen skin.

You shivered at his reverent touch, lips parting as a soft gasp escaped you. Your hands held his biceps, thick and taut beneath your fingertips as a warm slick continued to mount between your legs. He hitched one of your legs around him, keeping you steady.

As he continued to savor your throat, mouth dragging from your neck to collarbone, his available hand stroked along your belly, tracing a path toward the heat between your thighs. Cregan searched for signs of hesitation or protest, but found none, thick fingers sluggishly slipping against your core.

“Cregan,” You gasped, a sharp inhale escaping you as you desperately held onto him, clinging on like a drowning woman as he toyed with your cunt. He deftly pushed past your folds, digits tracing along your slit in rhythmic motions, exploring your body. “Gods, don’t stop.” You pleaded, face pressing near his shoulder.

Teeth scraped along your throat, gently biting at your sensitive flesh as his digits found a steady rhythm. With two fingers stroking along your cunt, his thumb moved to nudge against your clit, circling around the sensitive clutch of nerves. He was silent, save for the rumbling sounds of his grunts.

Gently coaxing you towards your cot, Cregan didn’t stop to think about how feeble it was for two people. Nevertheless, he sat beside you, wood groaning and splintering in protest to the sudden amount of weight it bore. Sitting atop the furs, he collected you into his lap, slotting you against his thigh.

Tangling your hands into the hem of his tunic, you managed to maneuver it off with his assistance, all wisps of air stolen from your lungs at the sight of him. Seeing him in this light, full of desire with candlelight dancing across his skin, he was wonderfully handsome.

One palm cupped your hips, holding you close as his fingers resumed their previous ministrations, thumb seeking your clit. He touched you with such fervent passion, mouth clamoring for yours, lips unable to tear themselves away.

Each kiss left you gasping and heaving, wanting more of him, all that he could give. Your hands sought to drape themselves over his broad shoulders, threading into his damp tresses as you rocked yourself into his hand. The friction it created was delicious, a raging heat that crawled all over your body.

Thunder split the skies outside, rain coming down in a noisy deluge that pounded against the durable canvas of your tent. Cregan shifted backwards, the cot continuing to groan and creak beneath his bulk, threatening to snap into two if your ministrations continued.

You felt along the corded muscle of his shoulders, his skin unusually soft beneath your palms. With the relentless appetite of a wolf, Cregan kissed you again, pulling away just enough to kiss your collarbone instead. Thick digits continued to nudge against your cunt, threatening to push their way inside of you.

At a slow pace, he eased two fingers inside of you, stretching you just enough for it to be quite pleasurable. A whine of delight tore from your mouth, head rolling back enough for him to have unobstructed access. Teeth nipped at your collarbone, providing a sharp sting that flourished across your body.

He was gentle yet vigorous, digits sluggishly pumping themselves in and out of your tight cunt, thumb providing a burst of stimulation against your clit. Your warm, sweet breath fanned over him, mouth agape as a series of excitable pants escaped you.

Planting hot kisses just above your breasts, Cregan’s rough palm caressed from the swell of your hip to your chest, full and perfect, kneading into your breast. The entirety of your body felt so soft — like a plane of velvet, unblemished and left in some state of perfection.

Rocking yourself into his hand, a myriad of needy whimpers left you in droves, ones that occasionally tapered off into wanton moans, others left hushed. Cregan’s chest blossomed with a stoic grunt, the vibrations of it rattling you to your core.

“Cregan,” A fleeting sigh of passion escaped you, breathless and wanting, caught within a tempest of desire and carnality. Your digits touched him wherever you could, from the bulk of his shoulders to his biceps, thick and taut, and his face. “Gods, I need you.” You moaned, coaxing him in for a kiss.

Such a sentiment was mutual — Cregan did not know what depths of want he was capable of, and the carnal need he developed for you was intense. Though, it had also manifested into something else, transcending into affection and ardor.

He did not want to be parted from you after this.

His rough lips molded themselves to yours, kissing you desperately, until he stole every wisp of air from your lungs. He occasionally scraped his teeth across your lower lip, digits still working their way in and out of you, continuing to palm at your breasts.

Between the stimulation of his mouth and digits, you were already worked up, tangled within a web of desire as the cot groaned in protest again — and then snapped.

Only one of the wooden frames suffered damage, and Cregan was quick to shield you from harm, if there was any harm to begin with. He simply sagged further into the canvas, a look of mild amusement rising to his features. “The ground, then.” He rumbled, and you began to giggle, nose crinkling from the awkwardness of it all.

“I could’ve warned you,” You mused, affection dancing within your fond gaze as you kissed his jaw. “It would not survive with your muscles sitting atop it.” Cregan found it difficult not to smile, the gesture faint yet prevalent as he stroked along your spine.

“I will have it replaced.” Cregan grumbled, but you didn’t care in the slightest, the both of you relocating to the sprawling floor of thick, layered furs. It was arguably more comfortable than your cot would’ve been anyway. Drawing you back into his lap, he touched you everywhere he could.

The glow of orange illumination covered the both of you, however faint, aided by slits of clouded moonlight that poured in from the gap in canvas. You were beautiful — everything that he had ever wanted, caged within his arms, staring at him with a heated intensity.

He was mountainous, even when sitting, large and powerful enough to move you wherever he pleased. Your kisses became feverish, as if each entanglement would be your last, heart hammering within your chest with a flurry of excitement.

For a moment, Cregan withdrew, content to gaze upon your smiling visage, gaze sparkling with affection. He lifted his hand, cupping your cheek and jaw, allowing himself a moment to commit every feature of yours to memory. His next kiss was agonizingly slow in the best way possible, causing you to sigh with passion.

He needed to be close to you, chest to chest, savoring every inch of your silken flesh. Cregan had never touched something so soft before, drinking you in again with those tempestuous hues, as alluring as gray clouds before a thunderstorm.

“I want you inside of me,” You pleaded, lips parting slightly as Cregan’s jaw tensed, lust festering within him. Gods, what a wonderful mother you would make — the thought was fleeting, but it lingered like a thick fog, taking up residence within his mind. “Please.”

Cregan did not hesitate, hands joining yours as you hastily unraveled the leather ties of his trousers. He wanted to stay this way, sitting up with you in his lap, allowing him to look upon your face, ravage your skin as he guided you atop his length.

To match his imposing stature and wall of muscle, his cock was just as intimidating, causing your stomach to turn with a twinge of worry. Then again, you had become so worked up that pain seemed impossible. Cregan’s hands steadied themselves atop the swell of your hips, bringing you up enough to let his cock glide against your slick folds.

“As you wish.” He huffed, letting you find your way, the flushed tip of his length beginning to penetrate you. You moaned at the intrusion, able to feel the girth of it stretch you perfectly, just as his fingers had. Cregan grunted, guiding you down until you could go no further.

Strong enough to ease you along his length with his hands alone, Cregan seized the opportunity to kiss you. You were only a few breaths taller like this, slotted within his lap, hands finding their purchase atop his shoulders as you began to ride him.

Gods, he was big — enough for you to realize that soreness was an inevitability. Being flush against him, nearly chest-to-chest, was perfect, something so intimate and sensual that hot shivers rolled down your spine. Cregan guided you up and down upon his cock, ensuring that he went at a sluggish pace, more for your sake than his own.

Tangled sighs and low, heavy breaths wove together, forming a heated cacophony that filled the tent with your lewd activities. The feeling of his calloused hands sinking into your plush flesh was mesmerizing, leaving behind a wave of goosebumps that crawled across your flesh.

Mouths danced together and then clashed again, kiss after kiss of pure ardor, tongues becoming exploratory as you brazenly lapped at his lower lip. It was messy and hot, feverishly so, bringing the both of you to heel as you happily drowned within desire.

The sensation of his cock filling you completely, nearly kissing your womb, almost made you sob from delight. The friction of your bodies was a delicious thing, with your chest brushing against his, knees squeezing near his waist, hands gripping his shoulders. Your nails sank into the muscle there, countenance one of complete and utter pleasure.

Cregan untangled his lips from yours, finding the column of your throat, greedily kissing and nipping wherever he could. Your taste was ambrosial, skin delicate and saccharine beneath his mouth. You moaned, one hand moving to tug at his chestnut tresses, bringing your hips down upon his cock again and again.

The sluggishness of the repetitive motion was agonizingly wonderful — the pace was perfect, not rough enough in the slightest, but passionate, instead. You much preferred this, the intimacy and closeness of it all, the way in which heat radiated between the both of you.

You felt incredible, every fiber of your body burning for him, arousal thick and heavy between your thighs. “Cregan,” A noisy moan escaped you, grinding yourself against him, hips flush together. It was as if you were touched by hot embers, the heat raking across your body time and time again. “Cregan!”

A deep, trembling groan tore past his mouth, one that made your belly fill with liquid fire. You shivered within his grasp, feeling his lips clamor to the underside of your jaw, nose brushing against your chin. His cock throbbed with a sense of urgency, slick with precum.

He continued to guide you, hands descending from your hips to the pliant flesh of your haunches, digits sinking into your derrière. Despite the chill of the rain and song of the storm raging around you, Cregan kept you anchored, warmth radiating from him.

Your hands deftly roamed across his musculature, coming to plant themselves against the expanse of his chest, his heart thudding beneath your palm. “That’s it.” Cregan rumbled, kissing at your jaw before he finally coaxed you in for a passionate kiss. He wanted you to come undone for him.

The intensity of your release blindsided you, crashing into you like a wave breaking upon the rock. Your nails desperately scratched at Cregan’s chest, sinking into his collarbone as you bucked forward. He continued to guide you up and down along his cock until your legs rattled like leaves in the wind.

Cregan joined you, following suit as he reached his peak, forehead bumping into yours as he sought your mouth for a tender kiss. He swallowed your sweet moans, spilling his seed into your cunt. Hot ropes of his spend filled you completely, causing the both of you to sigh, a low rumble reverberating from his throat.

You very nearly collapsed within his lap, heaving with excitable pants, basking in the aftermath of your release. In an intimate gesture, you kissed his jaw, peppering his visage in soft kisses that only made Cregan pull you closer. “Are you alright?” He murmured, running a hand along your side.

“I am,” You smiled, palm reaching to cup his cheek. Cregan’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, pressing a kiss to the silky skin there. Thunder crackled overhead, followed by a flash of lightning, the onslaught of rain pounding overhead. “It seems you’ve no choice but to stay.”

A bemused huff left Cregan, who seemed more than content to share your tent. “Thank the Gods for the deluge, then.” He rumbled, continuing to kiss from your wrist to your hand. A shiver rolled down the length of your spine, aided by his affectionate gestures.

Removing yourself from his lap, you settled down to lay beside him on the floor of your tent, gazing up at the damp canvas. The Warden of the North descended to you, offering you a muscular arm to rest against, moving the furs around the both of you.

It was a comfortable silence, born in the aftermath of your lovemaking as you curled against Cregan, palm settling above his abdomen. “When do you ride next?” You uttered, referring to the raging war that you were both caught within. It was easy to not think much of it when you were with him.

“On the morrow,” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together. He loathed the thought of leaving again, now that he had so much more to lose. His calloused digits idly traced around your shoulder, his other arm propped beneath his head. “We will fight hard, like Northerners.”

A subtle terror gripped your heart, foul tendrils sinking into every fiber of your being. You sat up just enough to gaze upon him, fingers drifting toward the slope of his jaw. “Promise me that you’ll be careful.” You uttered, stern as could be.

Cregan could not make such a promise — war was harrowing, and it was unpredictable. Instead, he reached for your face, holding you there as he met your gaze. “I will try,” A low rumble left him, gray eyes boring into you with devotion. “Should I fall prey to another arrow or sword, I will know who to seek.”

It was difficult not to smile, in spite of everything. You sighed, leaning in to kiss him, allowing gentleness and ardor to prevail. A low grunt escaped Cregan, gray hues fluttering shut as he drew you closer into the warmth of his musculature.

“I would certainly hope so.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not copy/steal my work and claim it as your own. please do not translate my works onto other platforms.

[adispit]

The Crown (100 followers special!)

Alpha! Rival king x alpha king m! reader

content warnings: bitching, reader gets turned into an omega against his will, noncon turned heavy dubcon, reader isn’t in the right of mind, breeding, dirty talk, degradation, cream pie, knotting, overstimulation, pwp, belly bulge

note: kinda went ham writing this wtf lmfao, anyways enjoy!

The tension in the room was palpable. As the one who wore the crown, your duty was just as heavy as the ornate gems that emboldened it. You were a young and green alpha, barely an adult at the ripe age of 18. Hastily made king, as your many brothers in line and father fell in the decades long battle against the opposing kingdom, your choice didn’t matter. The country needed someone to govern as soon as possible and you as the sole remaining heir was responsible. The whispers and scrutiny of the court didn’t help much either, the weight of responsibility of your decisions over the people and the waging war kept you awake at night, cold sweat dripping from your temples as you could almost hear the cries of your fellow soldiers perishing in battle.

Which took you into the present moment, where a heated debate was taking place of the next action that should be taken for the strife between your country and the rival nation. You sat in the heavy, intricately carved throne that seemed to press down on you, both a symbol of your power and a reminder of the immense responsibility you bore. The room was dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long, uneasy shadows on the stone walls. Around you, the advisors were gathered, their voices a murmur of concern and debate. “Thousand of soldiers have fallen in battle, we can’t take any more losses!” One of the advisors, his name you couldn’t really remember, argued fiercely with a hint of urgency. “The enemy is approaching closer day by day and the people are starving, we must surrender now to avoid total destruction!”

“Surrender?! That would cut off all means of escape! And you can’t possibly guarantee under the rule of the enemy’s rule, our people will be able to live peacefully!” Another advisor shot back, her voice sharp with defiance. Shifting uneasily on the throne, you felt the weight of their expectations bearing down on you. The advisors’ voices clashed, each presenting their case with unwavering conviction. Maps and documents spread out on the table before you seemed to blur as you struggled to focus on the conflicting arguments. Finally, you spoke, fingers drumming nervously on the table as you tried keep a steady tone amid the clamour. “How are you sure that surrender is the only viable option we have to take?” Your voice strained as you fidgeted restlessly.

The first advisor spoke, his gaze was intense, filled with concern. “The enemy’s forces are overwhelming. Continuing to resist will only lead to greater devastation. Surrender is the most rational choice to save lives.”The other advisor leaned closer, her eyes filled with determination. “We have not explored every diplomatic avenue. Surrender might be seen as defeat, but if we negotiate from a position of strength, we could secure better terms.” The room fell into a tense silence as every gaze fell upon you, the choice to surrender or negotiate hung heavily in the air.

However, you chose neither. “I have heard your concerns and arguments,” you began, your voice filled with unusual resolve. “We will not surrender.” Gasps echoed throughout the room as the disapproving gazes began pouring in but you pushed on. “As your king, no matter the outcome in this long war, we will push to the end. If we must fall, let it be with the knowledge that we fought to the last breath for our sovereignty and our principles. We will defend our country with all that we have, even if it means facing doom.” You were exhausted, the war taken its toll on you and you just wanted it to end. “Your majesty! You don’t understand, we-“ “Silence! This is an order from your king. I will now retire to my chambers.” Leaving no room for argument, you slipped away to the privacy and peace of your quarters, away from the shouts and protests of your counsel.

Chucking the heavy crown aside, you sank in your chair with a deep sigh. The flickering candlelight illuminating your weary face, an expression now often seen ever since you took on the role of king a few months ago. Absentmindedly tracing the patterns of the chair, the advisors arguments burst through your mind, doubt and despair both trapping you. God, not even having a moment to yourself was possible in the castle. You seriously needed a break from all the chaos, so you decided to slip out under the cover of night from the castle to the nearby forest, at the very edge of the country’s borders to seek some time to yourself.

As leaves crunched under your every step, the moon cast a gentle silvery glow over your cloaked form. The leaves in the tree branches rustled softly from the occasional breeze, the peace and quiet bringing about a pleasant atmosphere as you trekked through the woods. Arriving at a small clearing where a babbling creek lay, you finally let out an exhale you had been holding. Under the canopy of the stars, and no one around to constantly screech the phrase “Your Majesty!”, the sense of freedom you felt was truly unmatched. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to at least let out your worries, there wasn’t anyone around anyways… “Damn those old farts, it’s not like I even wanted to be king! I can literally see the court eyeing me like a piece of meat every time they argue about the war like I’m some kind of idiot! God, sometimes I wish I was just some simple commoner!” Fueled by your sudden rage, words rushed out your mouth, the confusion and rage you had held in for so long finally let out.

Oh. That actually felt…good. Unfortunately before you could continue, a voice interrupted you, “Your Majesty, are you okay…?” Whipping your head around, you were greeted at a sight of a golden-haired man donned in a commoner’s garb, standing there awkwardly at the entrance of the clearing. Caught off guard, you stumbled over your words, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Well, I …uh…! Sorry, you had to see that… that was pretty embarrassing of me haha…” You rubbed your neck sheepishly, mortified that one of your subjects had seen you so vulnerable. There was a heavy pause as your words hung in the air. The man’s expression softened, and he stepped forward, his tone empathetic. "Your Majesty, we all have our burdens. There’s nothing wrong with sharing your troubles. If you don’t mind sharing some of your problems with this humble subject, I would be happy to listen.”

The man’s unexpected understanding and calm demeanor helped ground you. Word after word, you shared about how you feel, the weight of the crown and its decisions, and the man patiently listened. Hours passed and you learnt the man’s name was Leo and he was an alpha. “Leo, thanks so much for listening to me.” You smiled shyly at him. “Not to mention, you’re really handsome too, I bet a girl or two would be interested in a guy who is as caring and good looking as you. Well too bad, I’m a male, an alpha and the king at that. Alphas can’t really be together.” You joked, failing to catch a brief piercing look that flashed in his eyes before he reverted back to his gentle expression at what you said. “No problem, Your Majesty, the pleasure is all mine.” He bowed. “I am glad you were able to feel better, but I must go. See you around.” Waving at him, you watched as he left the clearing. Weird, you never saw his face before in the servants of the castle…why did he say see you around? Oh well, you brushed it off as you headed back to the castle, it didn’t really matter.

As you approached the castle, you were greeted by the sight of the once-grand fortress, now a dark silhouette against the burning sky, that was surrounded by enemy forces. Smoke billowed from the battlements, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of battle. Panic and despair filled you, as their king where had you been? Shirking your responsibilities and leaving your own subjects vulnerable! Your heart sank as you rushed into the fray of battle where the throne room lay, as multiple corpses of your former subjects lay there, a stifling numbness filled you. Gritting your teeth, you decided to fight to the end and honour your words as their king. Brandishing your sword, you swung at the enemy soldiers, desperately seeking revenge for your fallen subjects. Unfortunately, resistance was futile at this point, most of your soldiers were dead. The enemy soldiers recognised you as the king and immediately incapacitated you. Just before you passed out, you swore you could see a familiar smile on someone approaching you.

“—— needs to be done.” “That’s not——!” You jolt awake to the sharp, discordant murmur of voices. Groggy and disoriented, you struggle to make sense of your surroundings around you. The invasion! Wide awake, you opened your eyes to see the familiar throne room and your wrists bound together as you sat on the throne. Enemy soldiers surrounded the hall as a golden-haired man in regal attire seemed to be having a conversation with someone. Wait. No way. Was it- “Leo!” You blurted out involuntarily. Noticing that you were awake, the man gestured for the other person and the soldiers to leave as he walked in your direction. As he came closer, his cerulean eyes met your shocked gaze, there was no mistaking it. He was Leo, the man you had confided in hours ago.

The kind expression on his face you had seen was now replaced with a taunting smirk, a sharp contrast to his former soothing demeanour. A wave of disbelief washed over you, leaving you momentarily paralysed. Tilting your chin up with his hand, he smiled evilly. “Oh, you naive thing. (Name), you were just pouring your heart out to me as your subjects were ruthlessly slaughtered…you truly are a great king…” An almost psychotic giggle left him as he sneered at you. “I was honestly surprised. I thought you were be more well, less stupid. It’s almost adorable really! To not even do your research about the very king that you were at war with, your innocence was so cute.” Disdain was evident in his tone as he made cruel jab after cruel jab at you.

“Just kill me.” You snarled at him, a fierce defiance radiating as you bared your fangs at him. However, your words seemed to take on the opposite effect of what you wanted as he only cooed at you mockingly. “Now, now, I can’t possibly do that. You were so cute in trusting me, I can’t possibly let you go now!” He grinned with malicious intent, his thoughts unpredictable as you glared at him. “The elders at home have been bothering me about getting a wife lately, and you seem to like me after our first meeting so why not make you my bitch.” He beamed malevolently, making sure to enunciate every word clearly.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Bitch? Well, you certainly didn’t like that as you let out a guttural growl at that suggestion, your pride as an alpha rising up. “Quiet.” Leo shushed you almost as you were a disobedient child. Grabbing you with almost inhuman strength, you flailed as he hoisted you on his lap with your back facing him. Terror quickly set in as he began sniffing your nape where your scent gland was, his canines lightly grazing it. One bite and it was over. You wouldn’t be an alpha anymore and instead be bound to the very man that slaughtered your people. In a fit of fear, you began frantically struggling as you pleaded with him. “Leo! Please don’t-!” However, it was to no avail as he snorted back with a snarky “No.” He sunk his teeth into your gland, biting down with as much force he could humanly muster. The harsh pain ripping a pained whine from your throat as you scrambled at the air to grip onto anything to ground you. An intense heat began to envelop you, further intensifying your discomfort.

The bite took immediate effect, heat rushing through your veins as you felt your body beginning to change. Agony shot through you as the forced change to your secondary gender was initiated, a relentless wave of pain that refused to ebb. Your once sharp canines that served to give a mating bite shrunk along with your cock, turning into an omega’s tiny cock. Your unused hole began to leak runny slick through your pants, a sign that the bitching had been successful and your first heat as an omega was about to begin. Weakly twitching against Leo, your muscles felt like stone as all your strength was sapped from you. Satisfied with his work, Leo hummed as he licked the bite in satisfaction.

As the pain shifted to an insatiable need to be filled, you unconsciously grinded against the huge tent forming in his pants, seeking reprise from the unfamiliar heat you felt, your slick wetting his crotch. You whimpered, your newly turned body eager to be filled and fucked. Turning you around to face him, Leo tore off your pants impatiently, eager to see the results of his bitching. “Fuck, your dick has really turned into an omega’s useless cock!” He jeered as he thumbed at the slit at the head of your dick, pearly pre-cum forming at the tip. “F-fuck you…” You spat back, struggling to regain your senses in your lust hazed state. He smirked back, his fingers dextrously rubbing your cock in response. “S-stop!” You cried out, the rim of your eyes red. The humiliation of being bitched and getting jerked off was too much. Coupled with the fact you were a virgin, the pleasure immediately began to fill your frayed nerves. With your senses heightened by your heat, you came almost seconds after, the knot in your stomach tightening and breaking as you dirtied your shirt with a loud moan.

Hands moving away from your weeping cock, he spread your rim dripping with slick open. “It’s like a waterfall…” Muttering, he wet his fingers with your slick before slipping in a finger. The calluses on his finger served as delicious stimulation as they rubbed against your sensitive walls, trying to find your prostrate. Biting your lips, you tried to hold your moans in, not letting him have any satisfaction. Your attempts at resistance were once again futile as he quickly found your prostrate and began to abuse it relentlessly, slipping in another finger. Once again, you felt the familiar singsong of ecstasy rush through you as the pressure in your stomach tightened. “Gh! Ngh—no! D-don’t wanna cum again!” You sobbed as he mercilessly grinded away at your prostrate, crying out as cum shot out from your dick for the second time.

His fingers pulled out as he shared a kiss with you, hot tongue twisting and dominating your mouth. Caught up in the kiss, you didn’t notice him freeing his cock which was now circling your hole. The sudden intrusion had you gasping and pulling away as the blunt head of his cock slipped out from your movements. He grunted at you, annoyed as his cock throbbed impatiently. You shook your head at him desperately as your throat was too dry to form words. A sudden gentle expression formed on his face, “Okay, then if you don’t want it, I won’t force it.” He smiled, almost saint-like. You should have felt joy at what he said but only disappointment filled you. Why did you feel disappointed?! The growing emptiness in you made you restless as your instincts cried at you to make your mated alpha put his dick in you deep and knot you.

Conflicted, you stared at him blankly. “Tell me, do you want it or not?” He chuckled carefree, almost as if his cock wasn’t rock hard in front of you. The intense need to be filled overwhelmed your senses, you needed to be bred. Desperation and horniness got the better of you as you as you nodded your head, hole clenching in response. “Use your words.” He scowled in displeasure. Eager to please your alpha, you tossed aside your pride and shame as you uttered a low yes. In a split second, you felt his monstrous cock stretch you open and then white. You had squirted all over him just from penetration. Your mouth gaped as your eyes glazed over, the repeated orgasms leaving you twitching around the fat dick driving into you. “Shit.” He huffed, smug, and gripped your waist as he bounced you up and down his fat dick. “Ah! Ah- ugh!” Whimpers bubbled from your throat as you swore you saw stars from how hard he was thrusting into you, your prostrate kissed again and again. Watching your flesh ripple as his hips snapped against yours, Leo spurred on, your cries exciting him further.

Indescribable satisfaction filled you as he grinded his hips into you, making sure to go deep and bully your sensitive innards, making you pulse around his cock uncontrollably. “You like that, huh.” He growled, voice dropping an octave as he began relentlessly pounding, determined to sate his desire. It didn’t help that he had an incredibly strong stamina, making you orgasm multiple times, your voice too hoarse to even cry out. “Gonna wife you up, put my kids in you.” He groaned, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as the brutal pace of his cock began to stutter and slow down as the base of his dick began to swell. He was going to knot you. Roughly shoving his swelling knot in your hole, the burn and friction against your insides made you mewl in pleasure.

You attempted to move Leo’s hands away, but when that didn’t work, you tried to crawl off the dick destroying your insides. Tears fell from your eyes, your little cock not being able to keep up with the pleasure continuing to wrack his body. He felt you trying to pull away and grabbed you by the base of your throat, pulling his ass flush against his thighs. Leo continued to obliterate your hole, his other hand reaching down to wrap around the tiny dick. He jerked you in time with his thrusts, licking around the scent gland. 

“Don’t run from it. Take it like a good little wife.”

Finally, the moment came. The mast of his swollen knot locked you both together as he sheathed himself in to the hilt. You slurred incoherently as he began stuffing you full of his cum, a small bulge forming on your stomach. In a rare moment of reprieve, he gently placed his hands against your distending stomach as waves of cum were pumped into you. Trapped in a tight bear hug, your yowls of ecstasy drowned out his moans as you both came together. Barely conscious from the rough fucking you just had, your head lolled to the side on his shoulder.

Breathing in his scent as your hole hugged his cock, you swore you were going to kill him. A small hoarse “fuck you” left your lips before you drifted off to sleep, eliciting an amused laugh from him.

note: well that was it haha, Leo’s a bitch lol 💀. Tried a more descriptive writing style this time, hope u enjoyed the fic :)

Reblogs are appreciated! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

check out part 2 !

see some headcanons about him!

[imagine-darksiders]

Imagine going back to your own wedding with two giant Nephilim in tow and being like, 'Yeahhhh, sorry. They have a few objections...'

[darkdemeter]

War and Strife x Fem child reader Platonic! Takes place during Genesis! A sweet, curious, and kind child managed to find herself in Hell, probably bc of a random Serpent Hole back on Earth, and is now under Vulgrim’s care due to curiosity himself…until War and Strife spot her talking with him. It’s now part of the Horsemen’s mission to get her back home to Earth, after Strife “adopts” her and convinces War that she’s their priority now, for the Balance.

GUIDE HER WAY HOME

◤✘DARKSIDERS COLUMN | (Platonic!) Strife and War x Female Child!Reader

NOTES: ↳ Yes Genesis content! 👏Let's go! WARNINGS! ↳ Just sort of general fluffy content — Reader is a small bean — Vulgrim has to fix some serpent holes, be wary of falling through some of those when you're out and about — I think that's it

✎ 1.9k ────────────────

How fragile mortality is. So sweet and pure, innocence surreal. You wander through this unknown place with a target on your back, a beacon for the darkness to find you amidst its clawing grasp of shadows. But thankfully, one with astonished confusion finds you before any other hellish dweller. Your eyes peer up and up, meeting the greenish pupils of the ghoul that floats amidst the gravity of his ethereal form. His claws tap together in thought, face morphed into a puzzled sneer with a sound rattling in his throat like a grotesque snort. 

Ever mindful of your manners, being the good and well behaved girl your parents brought you up to be, you softly clear your throat. “Hello.”

Vulgrim’s eyes somehow manage to soften in the slightest of wrinkles. How did you get here?

He arcs his body to lower himself, nearing to your eye level but still raised some height above. His nose moves back into a revealing snarl when you attempt to reach a hand out to grab hold of one of his horns, eyes sparkling with a grand cosmos of curious wonderment. Vulgrim, amongst his own similar feeling, finds your reaction most interesting. Your perception of him unhindered by the reaction of fear or caution.

When an echoing shriek bellows from the spired graveyard over yonder, you gasp shortly, and Vulgrim is a witness to this fearful emotion. He watches, properly posed in his towered clutch as your head and eyes move across the surroundings before you shrink away with a small whine, feet pattering in hard succession until you hide behind the floating shades of his belted tunic. 

“Come, child,” he says, “stay right here with me.”

Humans are a species emphasised about their fragile yet cunning adaptability. And while Vulgrim has taken to studying them here and there, not once had it ever struck him that a child’s soul could harbour so much light. So much pure and raw energy that it almost blinds him whenever he looks at you. 

You nod up at him. Your hands clutch hold of the darkened purples of fabric, your fistful grip is harsh much like how you would to your mother’s tunic whenever the roar of thunder scared you. 

Vulgrim can only suspect that you somehow arrived here through the work of his serpent holes. There are a few scattered around earth, though not many, but you must have stumbled upon one. 

“Man, if Vulgrim sends us off on another fetch quest, I’m going to happily plug a bullet through his ugly ass—” Strife tapers off in his rant. 

Both him and War tug the reins of their steeds to bring them to halt. Horses voicing their huffed whinnies, the steadfast beasts comply. 

“Is that…?”

“A child,” War finishes his brother’s question. He could hardly believe his own eyes, having to share a glance with Strife to confirm what it is they see in the distance. With a harsh nudge of their heels, they hurry off towards Vulgrim who glides idly around a rocky cluster, almost pacing back and forth. 

Meanwhile, you are seated atop the rock with your head tracking the spirited demon’s movement. 

“My mama makes the best-est swoup in the village. Do you like swoup? It’s yummy. I always eat it when I feel a hurt in… my belly.”

“Vulgrim,” Strife barks out, “What the hell did you do?”

At the call of his name, the lanky merchant scowls with a hoarse, soured sigh. “Horsemen, it is not I who did this. She somehow found her way here, most likely through the use of a serpent hole.”

The Horsemen dismount, boots clubbing the dirt mercilessly. In your excitement, you leap off the rock. Vulgrim and the two nephilim brothers flinch forward at the sight of your stumble but you brush yourself off. 

Sturdy, they note in their examination. You move swiftly that it catches War and Strife unawares despite their eyes keeping a sharpened focus on you. 

“Horsies!” you chortle loudly, beaming brightly with a smile, arms outstretched. Both continue to stare at you like you’re a newborn faun stumbling on its legs for the first time.

It’s Strife who kneels down to your level. The shift of his armor clatters together and your eyes meet the flare of gold brimming from his eye sockets. 

“You like ‘em, huh?” He means of their loyal horses. He sees your smile turn higher into a grin, nodding eagerly. He smiles beneath the placid face of his visor and merely shuffles aside, his hand beckons Mayham to trot forward. 

The heavy push of Mayham’s nose nestles into his rider’s palm and he directs your own hand to rest there. You giggle as the horse sniffs and huffs large winds of breath that blow your hair back and cause your lashes to flutter wildly. Your hand smears a gentle caress against Mayham’s nose, his lips mouthing the soft surface of your palms, tickling you. 

War finally breaks himself away from it, instead turning his attention to Vulgrim, bearing upon the merchant a fearsome glare. “Just how exactly did she end up here, in Hell of all places?”

Vulgrim shrugs. “I cannot say for certain, Horseman. All I know is that she found her way to me. And perhaps by a play of fate, with the less than favorable fiends she could have encountered instead.”

Strife and War bristle at that. They find the implication that any of hell’s creatures could have found you disheartening. They can only assume that it is what Vulgrim suggests: fate. And greatly fortunate for you. 

Strife remains close at your side, not yet ready to return to the level of his feet, far too entranced at the abrupt pause in his breath whenever his eyes flicker away from you. This instinctive drive to protect you from all harm falls on him like a blanket weighing him down in water. 

“So you have been spying on the humans.” War’s skeptical tone is not appreciated by Vulgrim, followed by the bevelled snarl and recoiling of his lipless mouth that bears his jagged fangs. 

“Studying them. They are fascinating, and I only meant to observe them from afar. However, it would appear that not all my serpent holes on Earth are very… secure.”

“War…” Strife says, voice sunken low in his determined drawl. He finally stands but his head lags behind, momentarily watchful of you before he raises it to meet War’s gaze. “We can’t just leave her here.”

“Strife, we cannot forsake our mission. It is our duty to—”

Strife tries but he’s unable to bite down a growl, the golden dance of his eyes thinning angrily. “You keep going on about the Balance, fine! But right now, she is part of that balance. She is our priority to see her home safely.”

If there has ever been a reason to pull the trigger, Strife now sees it. To protect you. If any threat so much as taunted him with laying a finger on you, he would lose himself to the identity of that killer he tries so hard to escape from. 

“If anyone finds out that she’s here, they’ll come for her. And I’m not going to let any of these mongrel pieces of shit get that chance.”

War’s mind is taken under by the case his brother makes. The consequences to follow if such a scenario were to occur, then balance would only tip further into universal chaos. 

Still, what of their task? 

Both are torn from the heat of their argument when you coo, Mayham pushing his head a little further against you to muzzle into your front. Strife lays a hand firmly on the metal plating guarding the horse’s neck. “Easy there, pal. She isn’t as tough as me.” 

His voice has turned cool, less frantic than it had been before, fired into a flare of emotion just teetering on the edge of lost control. Mayham snorts and complies with his rider’s command, easing his weight and instead embraces the form of your body leaning into his large, armoured head. Your arms wrap around his elongated snout. His breath jostles your breath, his nasal pants match in time with each little heartbeat in your chest. 

Ruin’s nose bows down and with a sharp, deep snort he sniffs at you. The thick skull of his head then pushes into your ribs with a loud whicker, ears prickling about as if to beg for your attention as well. 

“Strife, it will be too dangerous to take her with us,” reasons War, though his brother can easily tell he isn’t so convinced by his own words. 

“It’s too dangerous not to take her with us.”

Vulgrim motions with a dismissive cast of his hand, spatting a puff of air, “Pah! If none of you will take her back, then I suppose she must be left under my charge until otherwise.”

War doesn’t give a second thought to his next threat. “Touch her and I shall cleave you into two, demon.”

“Seconded,” growls Strife with a slivered glare. 

“Very well.” Vulgrim’s claws scratch at his chin thoughtfully, defeated. “Then you will take her back to Earth and reunite her with the other humans.”

Strife and War glance down to find you happily coddling their steeds. “There’s lots of apples at my home. Would you like apples, horsies? Will you be my fwiends?”

“And Lucifer?” War asks the demon trader. Meanwhile, Strife bends down and his hands swoop around you and pull you into his arms. You let out a cheerful cry at the sudden pull of gravity that hoists you up. 

“Vulgrim can work on it while we’re taking her back home.” 

Turning you to face him, Strife gets a good look at you now, a bubbly and excitable soul despite your circumstances. Your head tilts curiously as you take your time observing him, small hands reaching out to run over the cover of his mask and your eyes filled with that distinct fascination and curiosity humans are known for. 

With a huff, War passes off the artefact to Vulgrim who clasps his greedy hands over it like a cage, gruffly chuckling a darkened note. “Yes, yes. Now go, get her out of here!”

You cannot see the small smile Strife has, but it's there. “We will take you back home, little one. You excited to go for a ride?” 

You gasp with a widening grin. “Yes pwease!”

With that, Strife and War turn back to mount their horses. Vulgrim’s face drops, going blank as you softly whine over Strife’s shoulder, waving your arm madly and your fingers curling into your palm as you wave. “Bye! Bye-bye!”

Strife is careful as can be, for the first time in a while exercising greater caution in handling you into the saddle of Mayham. You eagerly grab hold of the chained reins and the saddle horn, legs swinging back and forth before Strife sits behind you. 

“Where do we even begin?” War asks, looking at Strife who returns his stare. The question poses a bit of a challenge. Just which village are you from, who are your guardians and can they actually get you home as they promised?

“Little one,” War calls and you turn your big, blinking eyes to him. “Where is your village?”

“Uhh… erm…” Your voice has grown small, an uncomfortable sense of uncertainty laced within it. 

Strife takes a moment, thinking hard. It’s not until your head moves back and your eyes look up at him that he answers almost wistfully while he holds you securely. 

“I guess we’ll figure that out on the ride there.”

[pellucid-constellations]

A Promise

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: As war inches closer on the horizon, Azriel reminds you of a promise you made to him—one you aren't sure you can keep.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Angst <3

a/n: Hi I haven't written in a few WEEKS (sorry) 😭 Here's this to get me back in the swing of things

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

“Promise me you’ll run,” Azriel pleaded, his forehead resting against yours. “Anything happens up here and you flee. Promise me.” 

You fought the instinctual shake of your head, always so quick to reassure him—to tell him that nothing would happen. But you couldn’t promise that. Not with a war raging in the distance and you within its throes. 

“I can’t run,” you whispered. “I have an obligation, a duty. I can’t.” 

Azriel’s breath came out as a sharp exhale, the warm air brushing your jaw as he turned his head to your temple. His hands fought for the purchase of your waist, pulling you close until your bodies melded. 

He stayed silent, but you could feel the turmoil heaving down the bond in heavy ropes. Someone called for buckets of water on the opposite side of the camp. Azriel remained pressed against you, eyes screwed shut and brows furrowed. 

“I’m sorry, Azriel.” 

You had told him you wouldn’t be part of this war. But it came on suddenly, unexpectedly, and you couldn’t refuse the High Lord’s request. Your gift was too valuable to stay locked up in Velaris when Autumn and Spring were rebelling against the masses. How could you not aid your mate in this fight?

“We haven’t had enough time,” Azriel croaked.

Something within you fractured and you turned to meet his gaze—to coax his eyes open and capture the full picture of his features. “We will have so much more time, my love. This won’t go the way that you think.”

But you had no gift of clairvoyance, and you’d never fought in a war before. With your hands pressed to Azriel’s cheeks and your head tilted to catch his eyes, you wondered what could have happened in the wars he had fought to cause him so much strife. 

You counted his family members in your head—all alive, none lost to war. 

Nothing to match the tortured expression staring back at you. 

“Me first,” he spoke, so low it was almost lost in the bustle of the camp. “When we die. It’ll be me first.” 

Your brows came together with a sigh. “Azriel—” 

“No,” he countered. He brushed your hands from his face and backed you up until you were behind your tent, a tree meeting your shoulder blades. Azriel’s feet slotted between yours as he bent down. His eyes raced between yours. “I die first. You agreed to that.” 

“There’s no way I could really—” 

“You agreed.” 

You bit into your lip, ignoring the vice-like grip your mate had on the sleeve of your leathers.

You had agreed, but it had seemed like such a small request at the time—something so easy to give him. You had whispered your submission to his worried words if only to ease the distraught way he looked at you. 

Breaking a promise was not something you were keen to do, but thinking on it now—thinking about life without him—it was an unbearable ask. 

“Y/n,” Azriel stressed. Because the camp was getting rowdy and unsettled. It was almost time for him to depart.

Your lips remained sealed, any ease of your expression lost to harsh lines and sharp movements. You had promised. You had agreed. But what if this was a bargain you actually had to do good on? What if you were faced with death, with a choice, and you ran from it? What if that choice left you alone? 

You hadn’t had enough time together. Azriel’s truth bounced around in your head as the shadowsinger beseeched you with his eyes. Barely mated a year, this war had not been kind to your plans. Perhaps that was why you had been so ready to allow your mate to die before you. 

Because you hadn’t had enough time to consider just what that meant. 

“I can’t live without you,” you admitted as if it were a revelation and not a fact ingrained in your being. “I can’t live when you aren’t here.” Your gaze, which had been locked on Azriel’s shoulder—empty, pondering, lost—raced up in search of your mate’s. “I didn’t mean to promise that to you. I can’t… I can’t, Azriel.” 

Panic had begun to drown you. Breathing was difficult. Your hands began to shake. 

This was becoming too real, too much. A figurative imagining materializing in the form of wrinkled tents and pleading eyes. 

You could lose Azriel. 

This was a war, and it was gruesome and cruel and unfair. 

No one cared that you’d only had a year with your mate, and there was certainly no pity from the enemy that you’d never experienced this insurmountable fear. 

You lost the image of your mate to blurry vision and stinging eyes. You pressed harder into the tree at your back, running through the possibilities—all the ways you could lose. It was no longer about not running, but what would happen if you did. 

Azriel’s gentle hush fought for dominance over your labored breathing. His fingers abandoned their grip on your clothes and traced your face instead, brushing back your hair and swiping the tears that had unknowingly begun running down your jaw. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he comforted. “I didn’t mean to make you panic. My love, look at me. Please.” 

You gasped. “No, no, I can’t. You wouldn't be saying this if you thought—you think we won’t win. You think you’re going to leave me. That you’re going to—”

Another choking gasp. 

But you still met Azriel’s eye. 

No tears there—only a grief you couldn't fathom. “We h-haven’t had enough time,” you said, speaking it out into the world again. 

Azriel’s responding breath was achingly broken. It seemed to hurt his chest as it left him. “Oh, my love.” He kissed your forehead, his next words spoken into your hairline. “You forget what I said, alright? I won’t leave and neither will you. We will meet right back here.” 

“Right back here,” you agreed. 

And it was true that you made a promise—two, to be exact. But promises were often only placeholders for fear.

[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.

[darksiders-junkie]

I've been.. deceased for too long and it's time to rise from my coffin and continue on with writing about my favorite boys and gal, among others. Anywho! I was hoping people would send in prompts for the holidays coming up! I'm in such a festive mood, even if you'd like to message it to me rather than put in an official request! And while it's Christmas prompts I'm seeking, new years wouldn't be a bad idea either! Of course other request will always be accepted, and while I wait I'll be sure to work on the few requests I have reveived since my temporary death! I hope to hear some ideas from all of you! If you need a reminder of how to request you can always follow the link through my masterlist! Or search for it! Don't be shy, and don't worry about bombarding me! Love you all dearies! And I hope the best holidays for you all!

[randomdarksidersblog27]

ASHES OF EDEN SONGFIC

(Will the faithful be rewarded? When we come to the end. )

       You looked over at your fellow survivors,hearing the incoming danger ahead. They had no where left to turn,no where to run. They were doomed.

(Will I miss the final warning,in this lie that I have lived?)

      Many dropped to their knees and began to pray,hoping by some miracle, they would be saved. You didn't bother,you knew the chances of it happening were slim to none. No one was coming to save you all.

( Is there anybody calling,

I can see the soul within.

And I am not worthy,

I am not worthy of this.)

          You had to do something! Death did not bring humanity back JUST for you all to be slaughtered like livestock by demons! But what could you do? You had little experience fighting these creatures,only knowing the minimal to survive on your own. There was no way in the Nine Hells you could fend them all off while the humans ran for safety. The Maker Tree was a few miles away. Could you even fend off the enemies for that long? You had to try. For their sake.

( Are you with me after all?

Why can't I feel you?)

      Gripping the blade War had given you,you stood between the praying humans and the incoming hoarde.

   "Go. I'll fend them off long enough for you all to reach the tree. Hurry!" You called to them. Scrambling to their feet,the humans bowed their heads in thanks as they took off.

(Are you with me through it all?

Why can't I hear you?)

        Here they come. Ugly bastards too. Each snarling and dribbling drool everywhere,egear to taste human flesh. Getting into stance,you readied yourself for the oncoming onslaught.

(Stay with me,don't let me go.

Cause there's nothing left at all.)

         You did your best,hack8ng away at the beasts and keeping a good number of them at bay. But you were one person,not much you can do against such a force. But again,you tried your best. You just hoped it was good enough.

(Stay with me,don't let me go.

Until the ashes of Eden fall.)

          "WE HAVE TO GO NOW! Y/N IS IN TROUBLE!" A deep voice bellowed over the rush of wind as four steeds ran as fast as inhumanly possible as they could. The one who spoke,Death,was unlike himself. Usually the calm,collected,level headed of the Four,he was now in a frenzy,eyes ablaze with anger and fear. It was the first time the other three had ever seen their brother like this. 

    "How do you know they're in trouble?" Strife called over the wind to his brother,doing his best to keep Mayhem's pace with Despair's.

    "I sent Dust ahead to keep an eye out for them! Through our link,I see what he sees and I see Y/N in trouble! They're fending off an onslaught of demons while the pack of humans makes a break for the Tree! They're going to perish if we don't hurry!" Death yelled back,willing his steed to go faster. He hoped,prayed,WILLED them to get there in time. He couldn't bear it if anything happened to you........

(Will the darkness fall upon me

When the air is growing thin

Will the light begin to pull me

To its everlasting will)

You were growing weak and tired. These demons seemed to be endless,but you did your best to keep them all at bay. So far,you had injured and killed quite a few of them,none getting past you to the humans you HOPED had made it to the tree by now. But you were slowing,injured as well. You tried to keep up. You tried to stay alert,but darkness was creeping I to your vision. You ached all over,and you had lost quite a lot of blood. This would be ending soon,and you knew,you would not be the victor in this.

(I can hear the voices haunting

There is nothing left to fear

And I am still calling

I am still calling to you)

Footsteps. You heard more and more of them,where were these demons COMING FROM? This was almost IMPOSSIBLE.HOW were there so many? Wait......those werent footsteps. They were hoofsteps! Belonging to whole else but your riders? All four of them in their blazing glory stood behind the hoarde.

(Are you with me after all?

Why can't I feel you?)

You would smile,but you were so tired and achy. The demons turned to their new opponents,forgetting all about you.

(Are you with me through it all?

Why can't I hear you?)

Death raised his scythe and in one large swoop,separated six heads from their shoulders. War followed suit and soon,it was an all out massacre. The demons never stood a chance.

(Stay with me,don't let me go.

Cause there's nothing left at all.)

Sighing,you let your knees hit the dirt. The darkness finally took over your vision,head making contact with the dirt as well. Exhaustion overwhelmed your bones and being.

(Stay with me,don't let me go.

Until the ashes of Eden fall.)

You barely registered the arms picking you up,trying to shake you awake. But your eyes were so heavy,you just COULDNT open them. You were so tired,bones so heavy.........

(Don't let go,don't let go,don't let go,don't let go,don't let go)

Why can't I feel you?

Stay with me,don't let me go

Cause there's nothing left at all.)

"Y/N! Y/N PLEASE WAKE UP!" Strife called helplessly to you,dismounting his horse and rushing towards you. You were in a Maker's arms,unresponsive.

(Stay with me don't let me go.

Until the ashes of Eden fall.)

The other three followed their brother,calling your name and shaking you. But to no avail. You had gone still in the Maker's arms,growing cold to the touch. Your wounds had proved too much. You were gone.

(Stay with me(Heaven above me,take my hand)(Shine until there's nothing left but you)

Ugly sobs wracked through Strife. How could you be gone? They had gotten there! They had killed the demons! So wake,please! Death sat by your lifeless body,using his necromancies to grasp to the tiniest part of your soul that remained,and pulled you back. It took a mimute,but you woke,gasping for breath and groaning in pain. Strife let out a wail and enveloped you in a bone crushing hug,in which the other three joined. You were back,you were safe. That's all that mattered.

(Heaven above me,take my hand)

(Shine until there's nothing left but you)

And if Death she'd a few tears behind his mask,well,keep that to yourself.