#Darksider/Reader

[moodymisty]

Hi! Can I request someting NSFW with Strife and a female reader please? Maybe with body worship involved? Thank you!

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: Hey anon. Sorry for making you wait so long, here's something that's far too long and verbose to not be the musings of a madwoman. I dearly hope this is close enough to what you had in mind, I had to fight it every second of the way.

Summary: Strife will never understand how you can possibly love someone like him, but he’ll greedily eat you up anyways.

Relationships: Strife/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Some light body worship, A bit of praising, This is way longer than I thought it would be please send help but I like writing Strife

Word Count: 5160

Over time you've gotten so used to being the one off-scale in places like the Maker’s Realm, that having your own human sized things in the Tri-Forge seems almost, off-putting.

But with Strife now in your own room in the Tri-Forge, it was easy to see how off scale he was, in a little world meant for a human. The Makers had spent a short while clearing up one of the rubble filled rooms in the back of the Tri-Forge, and had given it to you as a gift after your status got upgraded to ‘semi-permanent’ resident.

It didn't take long to become your own space, filled with little trinkets and doodads that had caught your eye throughout your explorations. Or were given to you; As Karn was particularly fond of giving you small things he thought you’d like that he had found on his various ‘adventures’.

‘It reminded me of ye- I mean, I thought you might like it! Looks ‘bout your size!’

Those things have all been piling up, sitting on what might’ve been part of a flight of stairs at one point, but is now your little display shelf.

“I swear if I didn’t fight them on it every single day, I really do think the Makers would just put me in a little box to keep an eye on me forever.”

Strife doesn’t seem to hesitate even slightest before answering.

“They’ve always been like that. The ‘stuffy, always in your business’ sort. Kind of a mood killer, honestly.”

He’d only just arrived after unleashing a cacophony of clopping hooves onto the weathered stone path of the Tri-Forge, Mayhem snorting as he dismissed the horse and came inside your temporary home. At least, you’d like to think it temporary; As much as you adored the Makers realm and all of it’s inhabitants, Earth was your home. But things were still rubble and chaos down there even as the Makers helped humans pick up the pieces, and on the behest of both Ulthane, Karn, and Strife, you stay here for the time being.

But even if you’d just complained, you still speak up to defend them anyways from Strife's comment.

“Not like I can really blame them, after everything that's happened.” Strife seems to roll his eyes at your defense- you can’t tell with that Nephilim glow- before shaking his hand and speaking again.

“What, am I not a good enough bodyguard for you?”

It’s impossible to let out a nervous laugh at Strife’s response. Especially as it reminds you of an old conversation with Valus; Though it hadn’t been as much of a conversation as it had been a warning. His tone had been firm, the most serious you’d heard from him in the short time you'd known him.

‘Be careful with that one. All the Horsemen bring trouble right with them, but that one? He’s no good. Whatever you see in him, it’s just a trick of the light.’

It was never exactly a secret that the other Horsemen and the Makers are notably not fond of Strife’s attachment to you, though his siblings have somewhat mellowed on the idea somewhat over time. The Makers however, have done anything but. They may be grateful to him for keeping you safe during the moments they can't, but that's as far as their feelings go.

“So would you like an actual response, or an ‘Ohhhh Strife, you’re my hero!’ ?”

You’re kicking off your boots, before you rub a palm across your forehead.

Strife scoffs and watches you pull off the large shawl you have on that the Makers made for you to add to your pile of removed clothing. It completely swamps half your body to protect from the incredibly cold weather, and he finds the almost swaddled appearance adorable. Humans are always so small and delicate, and the Makers aggressive attempts at keeping you warm only make that observation even more obvious. His siblings sometimes remark that it makes Humans innately weaker than the other races; However to Strife, it only serves to highlight that uniquely human ingenuity.

And, he finds it cute. He likes the feeling of looking down on you, seeing you safely in his shadow looking up at him. He'll never admit it to you, however.

“I’ll take the flattery. It always sounds so genuine coming from you.”

Rolling your eyes at he’s so clearly smiling behind the mask, as the tone in his voice easily gives it away.

Strife’s eyes follow your movements as you move to sit upon your bed, and while he has clear interest in the little trinkets you’ve collected like coins and old relics, he ends up focusing on you in the end. Digging through your satchel of clothes to find more comfortable ones you glance to the side to see Strife’s armored shins, while he watches- having taken a spot leaning against the ancient stone wall close to you, arms crossed.

He’s clearly waiting for you to get into the bed, so he can follow shortly behind.

You remember the first time he’d done it; He’d been out of sorts smelling like iron and smoke, and the few words to come out of his mouth were far quieter and more sparse than any other time you'd heard him speak.

You never did figure out what happened, but ever since he always seems to find being close to you one of his only comfortable places. Meanwhile you figure Nephilim were lonely and starved for any non-violent interactions, and everything else only seeks to further that point. Alongside the fact that Strife absolutely melts under any sort of affection, be it verbal or physical. So him being a bit of a cuddlebug seemed like par for the course once he relaxed around you, and especially after that night, you’d never wish him to deal with whatever he’d been consumed by alone; Even if he never tells you what it is.

When this little ritual had morphed into something more than friendship you couldn’t exactly pinpoint, though you never minded.

But it did pose it’s own problems, to a degree. You didn’t have the traditional relationship that you would with another human, keeping you suspended in this weird space. You first kissed Strife awhile ago, known him longer- but this all felt like it was brand new, and nothing new at the same time.

It didn’t help that he’s been gone for a decent while thanks to some troubles; Horsemen business, is the way he likes to describe it when you know he’s uncomfortable saying the real answer.

Strife hates telling you those things and giving glimpses into what he has done, and is doing; As he’s deeply conscientious of you thinking of him the same as the other races think of the Nephilim. Of him.

He’s not a blood-thirsty killer or an old cutthroat for hire when he's around you; He’s just Strife.

“Today was a pain; Alya wouldn’t get off my back about staying inside the Forge because of a snow storm, and neither would Karn.” The scrunched look you have on your face makes him smirk, arms comfortably crossed.

“What, so you don’t like the Makers anymore now?” You shake your head.

“No- I mean, they’re nice enough,” His eyebrows raise beneath the helmet. “But coddling and the ‘oh you’re so small and helpless’ talk, on top of the fact that I have a neck ache from looking up so high all the time… I can’t even walk down a path without Karn being all worried I’m going to trip over a rock.” One hand gets casually thrown out in your direction, armored palm up.

“What you get for being so short, princess.”

You end up throwing him the biggest scowl you can muster, but he only ends up laughing more, finding it endearingly cute. It’s the exact same problem you have with the Makers; Though Strife is a tiny bit more subtle about it. You just wave him off and flop into the bed, face stuffed into the pillow. It feels so nice to be back here, to have the smell of a familiar bed and without a one or more Makers nagging you about getting blown over by a stray breeze.

Even if it isn’t Earth, it’s still become a home.

After you let out a large sigh of relief into the pillow, you manage to grimace and lift up your face; Ignoring the pain in your neck and watching as Strife looks down at you. You know damn well he's smirking by the way his eyes are being pushed upwards by his cheeks.

Not long after Strife strips away plate after plate of heavy armor, it clanking as it falls to the floor before he crams himself into your bed with the same lack of regard he's always had- attempting to nestle against you. The bed frame creaks and groans in a desperate plea for relief under the weight of a Nephilim as he moves to the same position as he always does.

That being curled around you almost completely, an arm laid across your middle keeping your back against his chest and stomach. It feels almost protective; Your much smaller size has always triggered this little feeling in him, wanting to keep you close and away from anything that could possibly hurt you. And for a time before all of this, that had included himself.

But now he has you as a port in the storm; A tiny little bit of sunshine. So he always greedily eats up these rare moments, and often times neglects taking part in such a rare treat as sleep to just admire you.

Though this time he has something else on the mind, seeing the way your clothing is wrapped awkwardly and revealing your shoulder; As you're falling asleep and don't notice how much it's shifted.

You look so soft, the fabric of your clothes laid against your skin. The delicate nature of your features are even more obvious when his left hand moves to even so gently hover just above your shoulder. He doesn't touch you- his hand just stays there his fingers twitching as if wanting to go the rest of the way.

Creator- he doesn’t know how to describe the way he feels when he sees the way his hand can so easily swallow your form like this.

It was a temptation too impossible for him to resist, to lean in closer and press his face into the crook of your neck and feel the warmth of your skin, smelling the faintness of things like pine needles. You always rustled around in the forest far outside the Tri-Forge, snooping where you shouldn’t be. That human curiosity that is the bane of the Makers protective nature.

His as well, however can’t fool himself into thinking that you’re ever completely safe; Not with him.

You’ve almost fallen asleep, incredibly close to fully drifting off until you suddenly felt a surprisingly soft movement on your waist. Strife’s hand had begun to wander back downward, trailing from your waist to your front. His hot breath fans over the crook of your neck, body curled around yours while his arm lays over your stomach. You could feel his hand ghosting over your ribs; Not quite close enough to touch your breast, but only just. It's tantalizingly close to crossing a line you haven't crossed with him before.

“Strife…”

He instinctively groans as if you’re scolding him, but it trails off into a chuckle. Almost as if he knew exactly what you were going to comment about.

“You’re going to start something, if you keep feeling around like that.”

His head rises slightly way from your neck, breath trailing along your cheek as he leans just enough to catch you eyes when you look up at him.

“Am I?”

The comment makes you lose some of your gusto, his lips against your body feeling as if they were making fire, spreading it all across your skin. Quickly your entire face is warm, and would be noticeably hot if you touched it. But even with only a few candles as light, you were still able to see the smile on his face as you turned to look over your shoulder. It was wide and teasing, those small fangs pressing against his lips.

You might’ve commented on how much of an ass he looked with that smirk, until his head lowered back downward and he began once more nipping at the crook of your neck and the desire to do so melted away. With his body now leaning against you it began taking the breath from your lungs -from his sheer weight and the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin. Hot breath rolls over your flesh as he speaks, lips still against you. You can feel them touch your skin right over the pulse of your neck.

“You're so soft, beautiful.”

He was almost nervous about it- marring your soft skin. He's always felt like he had to be so, so careful.

The weight of his body against yours eventually forces you to roll onto your stomach and he follows, now laying over and easily shadowing you. You turn your head just enough that his lips press against yours, before your neck begins to ache and you have to turn away. You feel one of his hands is trailing along your side, pushing up your top to reveal your back and leaving goosebumps on your skin. You sometimes forgot how tall Strife actually is, until moments like this feeling the way he can so easily cage your entire body underneath him like this.

With only the thin cloth he wears under his armor in the way it’s quite easy to feel him against the back of your thigh, while he lays against you. His hand starts drifting downward, pushing the waist of your pants down along with his wandering fingers. You quite eagerly move to take them off, kicking them down underneath the blanket to get bundled up and lost forever. But now his hand is against the side of your thigh, close enough that it has your cunt tightening whenever he drifts closer.

And closer it does drift, with a firm intention as it slips down between your thighs, fingers grazing against your wet outer lips. They drift and drag along your skin, slipping between and becoming covered in your own wetness.

Once they’re so soaked you can hear it, that it's nearly embarrassing, his fingers slowly push and curl around inside of you just enough that you bite your bottom lip; But even despite that, soft noises still escape anyways. You don’t want them too, but Strife wants nothing more than to hear them.

Slowly his fingers curl inside of you and press against your inner walls, grazing against a spot that causes you to gasp as heat blankets your face. Your thighs almost shake with how tense they quickly become.

“You don’t need to be so quiet princess, no one can hear you but me.”

The hand around your mouth loosens slightly, but you still don’t stop attempting to swallow each and every moan. It’s almost embarrassing how loud they are sometimes, enough so to even startle yourself.

Including the one you let out, particularly loud, as his fingers slowly pull from you. His hand's departure leaves you with the momentary feeling of emptiness, whining and adjusting your torso underneath him. But it is only for a moment, as his cock presses against you with a sudden and almost suffocating heat.

Just as he starts to push into you quickly you realize maybe you bit off more than you could chew, gasping at the feeling that happens just before the start of pain.

“S-Strife, slow down a second.” He could hear the shudder in your voice and quickly panicked, wanting to retreat from you.

“Shit, princess I’m hur-” you quickly raised a hand off the pillow to stop him from leaving. “Wait, just give me a second-"

Ever so slowly did you yourself move, eyes closed tight and brow furrowed. You were so cute, making these tiny little noises of effort and he wanted to just rail you. Strife groaned against his teeth- Creator, you feel good.

Strife hisses, feeling your back arch to press your bottom into his hips. Your body had finally started to relax, softly breathing as that stretch bordering on pain slowly wavered away.

“Strife,”

Strife wasn’t used to this, the way you were unafraid to call out to a horsemen, an unholy creation to warm your bed.

But this was, something else. Your body gripped him like a vice; hot, wet, and smelling so sweet. The way your hair moves, hands grasping the pillows, the cries and whines pleading for him. You were downright begging him, mewling like he was the only being you ever needed. Pulling from you and listening to you whine, before his hips snapped to press against the backs of your thighs.

He feels like he's being too rough, but the way you sing for him makes him forget that worry for a moment. If anything you keep begging him for more, pushing your body back against him each time he drives himself deeper into you.

One of his hands grips your hip and pulls them almost impossibly closer, making your back curve ever so slightly. You feel the way it makes your toes curl and teeth hook on your bottom lip.

"I thought, you were cute before, but Creator-"

Strife never thought in his life something would be able to make him snap like this. He’d kill every Angel and demon in the world for this- for you. The way you writhe underneath him and keep whispering his name, to go faster; He thinks once he hears you say you love him.

“Strife, please,” The way you say his name sets him aflame, it laying on your lips and tasting incredible. You've dreamt of this moment before, to have him finally here with you like this...

Fingertips clawing at the sheets you hear the sounds of your bed struggling and creaking underneath the weight.

The bed might not be able to, but you can handle a Nephilim, and God; Does he feel good.

At least, you think you can handle a Nephilim.

There might be a moment or two where you doubt that as you gasp, him brushing against a million little nerves all at once. The way your stomach is tying itself in knots and your face feels almost hot to the touch says otherwise, along with the shaking moans and whines that manage to slip from your lips. You're not going to last much longer in this state, as you feel the weight of his chest against your shoulders and back. The weight is all most too much, but the feeling of him being there, palpable against your is something you'd never wish to get rid of.

You can’t help but cover your mouth, feet kicking and feeling for any sort of purchase as you finally cum, crying out behind your fingers. It’s hard for him to even move with the way your so tight around him, it forces him to slow down to not hurt you.

It’s better than any sort of thought he’d had about you, any dream any memory, to finally feel you like this. He’s thought about it more, and for longer, than he would ever admit to you.

The noises he makes much quieter, a surprise; You’d thought originally he’d be much more loud than he actually. Though maybe it's like when he'd first been hesitant to even touch you, and he needs to warm to the idea. To know that you want to hear him. But he only lets out a soft groan and a muttering of your name, as he finally finishes inside of you.

Him sounding out of breath almost surprises you, but it’s more so the overwhelming heat that lays in his chest than fatigue that has his breathing slightly labored. Even if only for a few moments. Despite his cocky, skirt chaster attitude, Strife hadn't indulged in something like this in a long, long time. Never had someone like you.

He only moves a little after, before stilling completely and listening to the way your breathes gently slow, your groaning at the feeling of being utterly wiped out. Strife gently pulls himself from you but never once stops touching you, feeling his lips against your skin.

It’s after that high, as your heart rate begins to slow and Strife nuzzles at your cheek that you lift your head enough to look around, and see the state of things.

Not only are your blankets pulled awkwardly, there’s two places-where Strife’s hands no doubt were- that were absolutely torn to shreds.

You’d just, deal with it later. The middle of the night isn't a time to begin doing laundry.

You feel so sleepy but something, maybe a noise ,makes you turn your head, and suddenly you notice light bleeding through cracks in the Tri-Forge’s walls; A soft orange.

How much time had passed? It hadn’t felt that late when Strife had ridden up to the Forge during the night; Granted you no longer had a clock to use as a bearing. It was only the rough location of the moon, though you're sure that there's some sort of device that could be more accurate, you've just never bothered to ask for it.

“Shit, is it- Is it really that late?” Strife of course, ever the source of constant and unnecessary comments, attempts to pull you closer to him and turn you away from looking around.

“I think ‘is it really that early?’ is what you should say instead, princess.”

It was a bit of a struggle to avoid the temptation to smack him, so instead you move to just lay against his arm.

But beyond all of the light-hearted humor, there’s a thought floating in the back of your mind; Reminding you only have hours, minutes, before you lose him to his siblings, or to the faceless entity you only know as the Council from Strife’s lips. And much of it you're going to spend sleeping, as unlike Strife, it's a part of live you have to indulge in. Very much so now, as you feel incredibly tired and ready to almost pass out at any moment.

“I’ll miss this, when you leave again.”

Strife finds himself without words for a moment, feeling the way your hand lays against his skin as you sleepily mumble.

Damnable Death; Damn him and his errands.

He should just toss the idea and hold you for a day longer, but he knows in the end, it benefits the realms and their balance. Which in turn protects you as well.

“You won’t even notice I’ll be gone; I’m that quick.” Your smile comes back, he feels it against his skin as he relaxes at your mood improving.

Just after thinking that he waits for a split second before he dares to close his eyes; As if listening for the ghostly whinny of Despair or the thundering hooves of Ruin to come and destroy his moment before it even begins.

But neither happen; The world isn’t crumbling and the Council isn’t calling so he can just lay back, while you lay asleep against his shoulder.

You wake up the next morning sore and limp, muscles almost completely refusing to move. Strife was either still asleep or at least pretending to be, his head tucked tightly into the crook of your neck. His body overtook most of the bed with one leg overflowing off the side, even more so when you ever so slowly moved; Slipping from him and sitting up.

He was still asleep for sure, thankfully. Strife at first had been a very light sleeper, but once he’d gotten used to the idea that you were safe, it’s like all the defenses shut off and he knocks out like a light. With his body weight no longer holding you down, you raise up slightly in the bed and look over you arms and shoulders, noticing the soreness and little marks decorating your skin in the soft light pouring from the cracks in the ceiling. It was like you’d almost been mauled, the way your skin was covered with marks and sore from little bruises. If you could see your neck, you’d imagine it was the worst of it all.

But before you can examine any further, Strife is awake. Raising up on one arm he looms over you, eyes giving a once over. He instantly spots your arms and in the light, notices your disheveled state. “Princess, your…” Strife takes in a breath, and you swear you can almost hear his thoughts in it.

“Shit.”

Even as you look at him his eyes avoid your own, instead focusing on the peppering of hickies on your neck and shoulder. Eventually his hand takes your wrist, and you notice how easily it gets swallowed. He seems to notice as well, if not by the way he’s cradling it as if he’s too nervous to let his hand fully wrap around it. “Sorry ‘bout the battle scars.”

He sounds like he’s joking, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s more than a little bit upset with himself. You attempt to grip him and keep him from falling down that whirlpool of self-loathing before he sinks too deep.

“They don’t hurt, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Strife is still holding on, letting out a breathy laugh.

“That’s what everyone says.” They aren’t deep, not nearly enough even bleed, and so Strife eventually lets your wrist gently fall from his hand. You take it back and look up at him.

“Want something to eat?”

You see a momentary glance of his bright eyes as he looks over his shoulder at you while sliding off the bed. Picking up pieces of armor off the ground he slowly began putting it back on, metal clinking against metal as each piece gets tightened into place.

It’s a rare moment to be able to take it off, and have a rare moment of relaxation, but in the end it’s only a moment.

Being a Horsemen, he wasn’t supposed to have these sorts of indulgences anyways.

“Can’t stay any longer; Hell, I’m not even supposed to be here right now.” That catches your interest.

“And where are you supposed to be?”

He’s buckling the belt that holds his gun holsters as he lets out a breath, sounding more like an exasperated sigh. Apparently it was a loaded question.

“Somethin’ Death wanted me to do. Figured he wouldn’t mind if I took a little detour.” It wasn’t like Death hadn’t been expecting it.

I know where you’ll be going first; Make it fast, will you?

The look you end up giving Strife isn’t the most approving, but it’s a bit too late to tell him not to do that now. Though it wasn’t as if you would’ve really meant it, given that would involve Strife not being here. If he’s going to shrug off his duties, you’ll take the few more moments you get with him without complaint.

“S’on the way, anyways.”

Standing upright you move to step in front of Strife and look up at him; Managing to catch one last glimpse of his face before his helmet is secured back in place.

“Then you best get it done, before Death realizes you shirked out.” Strife lets out a decently loud laugh knowing well that Death already does, and hates that fact more than almost everything else about him.

“Let me at least walk with you out of the Tri-Forge, before you disappear.”

Strife wouldn’t have the heart to refuse you, so he waits until you’re dressed and walks with you, all the way down the long pathway out of the Forge, and into the wide stone path towards the plains outside.

He assumes you aren’t able to feel it, but Strife knows well that the Makers are watching him with you, and distinctly are not pleased.

He’s not surprised; He knows quite well the Makers aren’t fond of him, putting it in the nicest way possible. They especially aren’t now, knowing that he’s within arms distance of you. They’ve become exceedingly protective, over the short time they’ve known you. And a Horsemen is a thing you protect from, not get protected by. At least in their eyes.

But he refuses to let it bother him, getting past where Valus would be had he not been talking to Muria, and outside onto the lush grass. Avoiding an unsavory encounter is good, but sometimes Strife feels that in the end, they have it right to worry about you being so close to him.

It’s here that he finally whistles to summon Mayhem from thin air, the horse appearing from a cloud as if a ghost. He knows well you adore the steed and gives you a minute, smiling behind his helmet at the way you perk up as the horse comes towards you. The minute he’s close enough you pet the amount of hide you can reach in between the seams of plated armor, watching the way the horse’s ears twitch as big eyes stare you down.

You know that Mayhem, much like his rider, is the most fickle of all the Horsemen’s steeds; So you get a little bit of pride knowing the horse lets you touch him.

“Mayhem! How’s Strife been treating my favorite horse?”

The horse whinnies at you, snorting as his massive body shakes at the shoulders and rustles his mane. The chains of his reins and armor clink against each other, the sounds of metal ringing loudly over the peaceful quiet of the realm.

“You know enough horses to play favorites?” Strife crosses his arms and watches the way you look up at him, hands cupped around Mayhem’s snout.

“I've met Ruin once. So technically, I can play favorites with otherworldly horses.” It makes Strife laugh, but, he also can’t help but get the tiniest bit of pride.

But either way, he has to leave you.

Moving to grasp at the saddle-horn he easily throws himself onto the heavily armored horse’s back, sitting himself aloft far higher than you are. You barely reach his knee, on a horse this tall.

To think you used to be petrified of him, of both of them, and now you can easily rub Mayhem’s snoot and coo at a horse meant to symbolize eternal chaos and unrest.

“See you soon, princess. Don’t miss me too much?” He watches you smile up at him.

“I’ll try.”

He gives you a wave and you smile back watching as Mayhem begins kicking up dirt, running off and leaving you alone again.

[imagine-darksiders]

Y/N: I dunno, my standards are pretty high

Strife: How high?

Y/N: Depends, how tall are you?

Strife: Oh I'm- oh... oh

[dailyleonkennedy]

We don’t talk about darkside chronicles Leon enough‼️

HES SUCH A CUTIE😭

[day 4]

[scribbiesan]

“It appears you've fallen asleep sitting up…”

@imagine-darksiders

Click on images for better quality

Holy fuck on a truck I’m done.

Chapter 13 of Cold Hands, Warm Heart always hits my heart in the best way, and I reread it just for the feels most times. I probably missed a few spots here and there but idfc. I’m happy with how it turned out, even with the pain meds making me loopy af.

I hope you enjoy this new piece Ellie!! I’m off to Nap Time™

Toodles~!

[darkside-0f-the-sun]

just bill being a silly boy pt. 10

[eoieopda]

interlude: sundown (myg)

pairing: min yoongi x reader summary: as it turns out, your boyfriend can take as much as he gives. au: darksided (masterlist), established relationship type: drabble | smut + fluff word count: 1.9k rating: 18+ cw: pov switch, min yoongi gets pegged 🙌🏻, afab!reader, needy & subby yoongi, v soft dom!reader, praise kink unlocked!!, anal fingering, sex w/ strap on, k*ss*ng (eek!) a/n 1: you thought i’d get through a(u)gust without a yoongi fic? pleaaaaase. this is part of the darksided series, so i recommend checking out the other installments first, just so you have all the context. this can be read as a stand-alone drabble, though! this one takes place after blindsided, btw. a/n 2: i don’t spend much time talkin’ ‘bout prep due to the word limit, but it is both implied & v important. be safe! 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

You can’t say what came over you. It wasn’t a conscious decision, you know that much. The only explanation you can fall back on is that the feral part of your brain simply took over, and your inner construction worker popped out to say hello — but that’s not entirely accurate.

In reality, it was less of a greeting and more of a “Damn, baby! That ass.”

Mere meters away, your boyfriend is bent over the bookshelf he’s been working hard to assemble — a task you were politely banished from executing, not thirty minutes ago. When he finally registers what you just blurted out, he stands back up to his full height and glances over his shoulder at you. His expression lands somewhere between bewildered and tickled fucking pink.

“Did you just catcall me?”

“I — I think…” You’re more shocked than he is, it seems. Blinking slowly doesn’t help you process your actions any quicker, so you give up and grimace through your admission. “I might have?”

Of the two of you, it’s Yoongi that truly has all the audacity in the world. After setting his screwdriver down onto the coffee table, he crosses his arms loosely over his chest and bites back a smug grin.

“You think you know a person after seven entire years of dating,” he tuts. “Then, they turn around and harass you — in your own home, no less.” Sucking a breath in through his teeth, he shakes his head and sighs, “Life comes at you fast.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him with your incredulous mouth halfway open. It’s the most that anyone should expect from you at a time like this, when he’s looking at you like that — characteristically semi-flustered, and still so unshakably self-assured. With narrowed eyes, you opt to hone in on the former.

“You’re out here smuggling cake in broad daylight — looking downright bite-worthy —”

Peeling yourself off the couch, you cross over to him with your hands raised defensively. When you reach him, you plant those same hands on your hips and heave an exasperated sigh.

“What was I supposed to do? Pretend otherwise?”

Yoongi arches an eyebrow but says nothing, simply aiming his flat-lined smile your way. All it takes is your slow, expectant blinking for him to take the hint. Just like that, you fall into a well-practiced routine: him opening up to pull you into his chest, you lacing your arms around his waist, his chin resting gently against the top of your head.

And even though you haven’t left the house all day, this is the first moment that truly feels like home. It’s quiet, it’s calm, it’s —

“Bite-worthy, huh?” 

You can’t see his smirk, but you can hear it. 

“Surely, this is not the first time this is being brought to your attention.”

“It’s not,” Yoongi concedes. His low chuckle tickles every vertebrae on its way down your spine. The tingling only intensifies when he presses a kiss to the top of your head and murmurs, “I just haven’t heard it from you before. You’re behind the curve, so to speak.”

You pause for two reasons: the subtle genius of his phrasing and the new bit of trivia he seems to be alluding to. Is he — ?

“You’ve pegged?” You ask, glancing curiously up at him. 

The answer wouldn’t surprise you one way or another. More than anything, you’re impressed that the two of you still find things to learn about each other. That you can spend the better part of a decade with someone, side-by-side, and never run out of new conversations to have.

When he tilts his chin to look down at you, his expression is a perfect mirror of yours.

“You haven’t?”

Yoongi’s head crashes back against the pillows before his sigh can slip fully from his mouth. The impact seems to knock it loose; it floats away, above your bowed head. The sound gets lost somewhere underneath that of your open-mouthed kisses trailing so fucking softly across the bare skin of his chest. 

If his heart stops with every flick of your tongue over one of his nipples, you resuscitate him just as quickly with praise.

Apparently, being told he’s beautiful has the same physiological effect on him as a shot of epinephrine.

“Oh, fuck,” Yoongi groans from deep in his chest when your mouth ventures far enough to kiss the tip of his cock. That action is fairly chaste, all things considered, but the way his pre-cum shines like gloss on your lips is beyond obscene. 

You smile with your eyes alone as you take him into your mouth — and you think he’s beautiful? 

He can’t think of a single prettier sight than you and your fluttering lashes, looking up at him like he’s the one that hung the stars in the sky. Ridiculous. It’s him that frays a little further at the edges with every glance down at you.

Pulling away with a lewd pop, you murmur, “You can be more vocal than that, can’t you, baby?”

Oh, god. 

The smile tugging at your mouth makes his heart leap and his cock twitch. Untouched, it jumps and re-settles against his abdomen.

“Yes.” He fires off his response like a bullet at point-blank range, and you chuckle quietly at his eagerness. Breathless already, he amends, “Fuck yes.”

One eyebrow arches just enough to indicate that you expect a more detailed response. He should know better by now, shouldn’t he? He’s teased you this way a thousand times before, and it’s about time that he tastes his own medicine. Acknowledging that fact, he stoops to begging.

“Please. I want you to fuck me open with your fingers.”

Nodding appreciatively, you trace your finger along the underside of his shaft and leave him on the brink of losing his goddamn mind. He’d gladly let you drive him insane this way, but you take that hand away and gesture for him to turn over. As you do, you hum, “And I want to see you on your knees, love.”

Yoongi takes your instructions and runs with them, barely careful enough to avoid knocking you backwards off the bed in the process. He settles on his knees, then looks back over his shoulder just in time to watch you pop the cap off the bottle of lube.

You look nervous, though you try to hide it. He’s no stranger to that worried crease between your eyebrows; and he can’t help the downward curve of his mouth when he sees it.

There’s never been — and will never be — a person he trusts more than you. Careful, perfect, sweet. You couldn’t hurt him even if you tried, and he knows without question that you never would. You, however, seem less sure of that.

Yoongi has to twist back around to do it, but he cradles your jaw in his hands and kisses you deep, with everything he has. 

“I love you,” he whispers before pressing his lips to yours a second time. It carries more meaning than that; he suspects you hear each one.

I trust you.

It’s okay.

Already reassured, you whisper back to him with darkening eyes, “Elbows on the mattress, then, Min Yoongi.”

To say that he collapses against the comforter would be an understatement. He’s certifiably boneless the second your fingertips trace down the length of his spine, though his hunger for your touch starts him shivering.

“Relax, sweet thing,” you tell him. To encourage him, you lean forward and press your lips to the small of his back; instantly, you soothe the tension his body holds as if you’ve flipped a switch. It’s automatic, just like the low groan he emits when you murmur, “Good boy.”

The quiet that follows is ultimately interrupted by the faint slosh of liquid. He has to beg himself not to clench at the mere thought of your slicked fingers, so he instead lets his mouth fall open when he feels them glide over his rim. Needier than he’s ever been in his whole fucking life, Yoongi whimpers. 

It’s a pathetic little sound, but he doesn’t dare to try and swallow it down. He’ll give you everything; every pleading sigh and shuddered moan, all of it.

And — as a courtesy — he’ll refrain from calling you a liar because there is no fucking way that you haven’t done this before.

It’s simply unbelievable with how expertly you navigate the intricacies of his body, applying perfect pressure where he craves it. With the way you translate his incoherent whining to a plea for more, giving him exactly what he wants.

Two fingers deep, you tease, “So greedy, aren’t you baby?” 

But there’s no harshness to your tone, so soft around the edges. In fact, your little snicker suggests that you’re impressed. It takes all he has not to cum at the sound alone.

“Just for you — ” He responds through gritted teeth, blissed-out eyes squeezing shut. “— F-fuck. I can’t get enough of you.”

When you slip away from him, he proves your point, whining petulantly. You soothe him with an affectionate squeeze to his ass cheek, chuckling all the while. “Should we fix that, then?”

Yoongi has no idea what words he slurs in an attempt to answer that question, but he hopes he tells you how badly he craves your cock. He must, he figures, because he hears the telltale glide of the nightstand’s top drawer when you pull it open.

His head lifts from the blankets below to catch a glimpse of you settling the harness over your hips. For a moment, he forgets when, where, and who he is. The only reality he can currently comprehend is the one in which you’re running your fist down black silicone as if it’s a part of you, spreading slick from a bottle. 

But then you disappear from his line of sight, leaving him disoriented. He misses you already.

“I wish you could see how pretty you look on your knees.”

The mattress dips under your weight, signaling to him that you’ve settled behind him once again. You tap the length of the dildo against his skin, prompting him to groan. Still teasing, you ask, “Gonna fuck yourself on my cock, angel?”

Shit, shit, shit. 

Yoongi feels the tip hovering near his hole and he can’t keep his racing heart in check, so desperate that he’s practically vibrating. Your next words pull him further apart; they sound especially filthy in your light, almost reverent tone.

“Show me how well you can take me.”

He plans to do just that.

Slowly pushing back against you, Yoongi sinks down your length until that indescribable fullness leaves him starry-eyed and keening. After a few measured breaths, the ache subsides and gives way to pure pleasure.

Your praise is gentle, though the effect it has on him is earth-shattering. “Just like that, baby. You’re being so good for me.”

Withdrawing, he leans forward onto his elbows just to repeat the motion, losing himself more and more with every pass.

“Shit,” he hiccups, head drooping so that his forehead meets his forearms.

He only grows more eager when your hands claim his hips. You guide his body back to yours every time he leaves; whispering little wishes that he fuck himself the way you swear he deserves. 

You must hear his ragged breaths over the clap of his skin against yours and sense that he’s close because you hum, “Sweet thing. Are you going to make yourself cum?”

Yoongi shakes his head fervently, although not for the reason you might think.

“Want you to,” he begs on an exhale. “Please, make me cum. N-need you deeper.” 

Small hands flatten against his shoulder blades and press him further down against the bed. With fists full of the sheets, Yoongi gives you a desperate nod, signaling you to take over. 

And you do — without the hesitation he saw in you earlier, proving for the millionth time that you know exactly how to make him fall apart.

And he does — with a cry, so delirious and fucked out that he goes boneless underneath you.

When his body eventually stops trembling, Yoongi feels you pull out of him. He hears the quiet click as you unfasten the harness. Shortly after, his senses are overwhelmed with the warmth of your body coming down gently to cover his, warding off the emptiness that started to settle in your absence.

“You’re perfect.” You mumble with lips pressed to his sweat-slicked neck. “So fucking perfect.”

Funnily enough, he was just thinking the same thing about you.

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[darkdemeter]

Hey hey, could i please have a request?

So imagine that the reader is traveling with death to restore the humanity and they get along so well and are kind of flirty and the reader is falling for him. One day they meet Vulgrim and she out of curiosity falls into his serpent hole and is transported to the past to meet the young and unruly death, who we know was a menace when younger. And then they have their interactions the reader goes back to the current version of death. How do you think that would go?

Have a lovely day and thank you for your work!

EVEN DEATH WAS ONCE YOUNG

◤✘DARKSIDERS COLUMN | Death x Female Reader

NOTES: ↳ OH. MY. GOSH. ANON! Writing this was the bomb!! Interesting concept, a wonderful opportunity to explore pre-horseman "younger" Death. I tried to keep a balance between his more mature personality while also having some fun with giving him a bit of spunk -- I couldn't stop giggling! WARNINGS! ↳ Just death being a bit of a young menace, but he kinda cute doing it sooo.... but like there's also fluff/hurt stuff?

✎5.4k ────────────────

When people used to say: “I wish I could meet the younger version of you.” They don’t actually know what they’re asking for. Because who in their right mind would want to meet Death in the prime of his bloodlust? 

The thought struck a fancy with you after your encounter with the demoness, Lilith. Her presence exotic and threatening without explicitly doing anything remotely violent. It was the sensual octave that carried her words like a lullaby you had found forbidding to hear, yet you fall prey to the temptation to hear just one more word.

That didn’t stop you from hiding behind Death, his back rigid to the point the knocks of his spine straightened slightly when her hand lingered a little too close to brush a stray framing of hair out from your face. 

But it was what she recounted that piqued your curiosity. Her children. Enriching lore of a species most loathed from long ago, a bloody crusade where they met their end by Death’s hands. From her retelling and the mystical pulse of life that beats in the embedded shards in his chest, even speaking of them appeared to pain him both physically and mentally. A burden you could never carry for him nor tell him to abandon. 

For a human, whose patience often wanes at the smallest of inconvenience, you show a lot of compassion and understanding for the weight on his shoulders. And never would you know exactly how thankful Death has become for your company. At times almost yearning for it whenever you are but a few feet away, or the thought crosses his mind to take you back to the Tri-Forge and leave you in the Maker’s care. Your fragility means more to him now than it has before, sometimes just looking at you eases just a fraction of that guilt he pushes deeper down. 

You’d both formed far too much of a bond so unnatural to the opinion of others, yet it fell into some assortment of right for you. 

You can’t possibly imagine being left behind, not now. Not after how far you have come all this way together. 

But yes, that saying. Did people ever realise what it was they were saying? 

“Meeting the mother-in-law already, baby albums and all.” Your voice crackles on the hot, muggy wind that travels through this slice of inferno, sky a spiral of darkness and hellfire smog. “Dare I say it, I wish I could meet the younger—”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” he warns with a low and thorough rasp that rattled in his chest. 

You cannot help but spare him a teasing wrinkle of your nose and puckering your tongue out between your teeth, body twisting from side to side innocently.

You can’t help but chuckle with a slight bounce in your step. “Sounds like you were quite the bad boy.”

You merely roll your eyes as he gruffly replies with a huff, “Your perception cannot possibly begin to fathom the prime of my youth… or handle it.”

Despite his attempt of coming off cool and collected, you could hear the bitter coil of something else underline his words. 

Oh, how mystical and dark and brooding he always was and portrayed himself to be. You’re sure that there is something a little less grim beneath that rough exterior. Hell — and that saying excludes your current locale — you have witnessed it before in the engagements of fun conversation that go back and forth to the point that a victor who gets the last say is indeterminable sometimes. So he’s not completely a lost cause of being impenetrable, he’s entertained you before with quite a few situations that you classified as flirting. Who knew that Death himself could make you blush bright and red?

He was close to claiming that title of victory this time, until you pad along to stop right in the middle of his tracks, his chest barely able to stop from bumping into you and causing your balance off kilter for a moment. 

“Come on, Death, at this point of travelling together, I can handle anything.”

He looks past your nonchalant grin and over your shoulder, seeming to cock a brow beneath the greying bone of his mask.

“Really now?” he hums, “Duck.”

“Wh—” you dare not finish to question him as you immediately take to assuming position, ducking low to the ground in preparation of an oncoming ambush unseen by you.

But it never comes. You hear a gravelly rumble of a chuckle emit from the reaper before you, his shoulders jostling a little with the motion. Your lips purse together and you scowl at him with everything you can muster to no avail of affecting him.

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny,” you snark back, walking alongside him as he continues to set your traversing pace. 

Noticing that he was heading back the way you came, you jutt a thumb to point behind you “Aren’t we meant to be going that way?” 

“Your sense of direction has improved astonishingly, girl,” Death snickers dryly, the slur of flirty endearment almost lost in his words. He continues, “We’re paying a visit to Vulgrim.” 

Ugh, even saying that name brings a ghoulish, slimy chill to climb your spine uncomfortably. 

“Horseman,” The greenish bulbs of his eyes shrink behind a wrinkling brow of pale, craggily skin. Then his eyes see you and the form in which they almost bulge from their sockets sickens you. “And your little human companion! Your scent is just as… lovely as ever, my dear.” 

The gaping maw of his lipless mouth twists into a creeping grin so unnerving it causes knots of fear to tie in your gut. 

“Uh, no,” you say with an adamant shake of your head. No way in this life or the next would you trade your soul to Vulgrim of all fiends. Death had warned you to just keep your soul to yourself in general if offered to sell it for a little something in return. 

“Your dealings are with me, Vulgrim.” Death is clear and quick to establish your presence before the serpent hole. The demon trader, sighing grimly with a black, slimy tongue ringing over his cracked and deformed fangs, addresses Death. 

“Very well. Let us see what I have to offer… and what you can afford.”

Vulgrim usually dances about his serpent hole but never ventured too far if he can help it, usually to usher you away from it with a warning, “If you know what is best for your longevity, stay away from there.” 

And most of the time, Death kept a watchful eye on you to keep you from falling face first into the next trap of trouble. However, this time around, the pool of green mist is left surprisingly unguarded. With a curious tilt of your head and scrunch of your nose, your boots pad on over as you walk towards it. 

You can’t make out a bottom through the wafting cloud of mist that rises from the hole. Still you arch your body to peer over the edge and down into it as though you’d find something soon enough if you just inch that little bit—

“Human!” Death bellows as he rushes to you, only just seeing your form stumble and fall forward. A yelp of surprise turns into a blood-curdling scream as you sink into the smoggy abyss. The green haze around you fades into a darker shade until all around you is black nothingness. Your voice throws over into a thousand echoes that follow you. You’re still falling. At least it feels that way and for a moment you think you’ve closed your eyes; it’s hard to tell with the inky black around you.

A bright tone paints onto the surface of your closed eyes and you fall onto ground, dusty and hard, small rocks jab and scrape as you land. The brunt of the fall knocks the wind from you and you take a moment to recover your bearings, soon to rise to your feet and brush off the smears of dirt on your clothes.

“Okay. Duly noted: do not go anywhere near serpent holes,” you affirm strongly with newfound belief, only to be met by silence.

No scolding words that apprehend your actions. Not the familiar grasp of a cold, large hand that strangely warms you and causes your heart rate to pick up a little faster. No, you turn and shift on your heel to scan all directions about you. 

“Uhm… Death? Vulgrim?” You’ve spun yourself into a circle a million times over by now. “Anyone? Hello?”

For certain this is not the same slice of hell you had accompanied Death to and no serpent hole was in sight. Instead, you're in some cavernous valley of dust land and patches of grass and foliage, in the distance stands the mounds of high reaching cliff sides. 

Where exactly are you? 

As a human evidently from earth, you had never once had the ability to traverse any realm unfamiliar. In fact, you never knew of the possible existence of them. And after meeting Death, you were strictly told to stay close. Realms harboured dangers of their own, a breed of some civilisation that undoubtedly hurt you if you ran off by yourself. 

And now you’re beginning to feel that seeping dread of despair dawn within you. That sulking hopelessness that you have cast yourself to some unknown corner of the cosmos, and Death has no idea where you dropped off to. 

“Death?” You ask aloud again. Were you lost forever? 

You begin to head off in a direction, putting the sun to your left as you look around for ideally any serpent holes that can hopefully drop you back where you belong. With Death. Without him here, you feel like a newborn fawn stumbling on its legs. He always made you feel safe, always ensured he was between you and whatever threat that tried to get you, even if he got hurt because of it. 

You continue to call out to the wind that sweeps over you, the sun beating down hard. You brush aside a flurry of hair from your face, your pace slowing exponentially as you practically stumble through this unknown territory.

That’s when that sixth sense kicks in. You’re not sure if you had been ignoring the signs before or if the feeling just came, but all the same you feel that you’re being watched.

You’ve barely dived out of the way before something large crashes behind you, the scraping of claws digging into the crusty soil and the shifting balance of weight kicks up a cloud of dust behind the force of the leaping attack. Turning to face whatever it was, you grimace at the sight of a mangy looking hound that dwarfs you. Its skin is a burnt hue of reddish pink like it suffered constant exposure to the sun, what matted fur that lined its spine and cuffed around its ribs was a dark, sandy brown with dark, faded stripes. Its ears twitch as a high pitched wheeze passes through its open jaw that pries open like a snake. Rows of black teeth are coated in an oily surface of dripping saliva. 

You see another grapple down the cliff face to join the first, this one notably smaller, but not by much. Then another of the same size joins the second, each one stalking closer to corner you in. 

A piercing sharpness fills your chest and your hand grasps at the handle of your dagger. A simple form of defence, highly unlikely to fend off the predators easily, but better than nothing. 

Right about now, that favourable reaper of yours would be excellent company. There were so many things you wished you had said, times you procrastinated moving that bit closer to his side by the evening campfire meant for your safety and sanity. You fear that this is your end. For your quest in restoring humanity, one more human will be lost today, and Death will have to bear that burden. It saddens you in a way. That the guilt would eat away at him. 

One of the smaller hounds takes no more than a few steps forward, just about ready to pounce at you before a humming force sings through the air and with a meaty crunch of bone and mushed brain, an all familiar scythe fatally sheathed in its skull. 

You fall back on your arse, a relieved grin digs deep into your cheeks as you think Death has somehow found you. 

You look around, eager to see him, barely catching something fast cut through the corner of your vision. The next thing you know, the head of the second smaller hound rolls over, its tongue hanging loosely between its jaws, the decapitated appendage just resting at the heel of your boots. The sight makes you grumble in dull disgust.

However, you are brought into the shadow of the larger creature that now towers above you, caught with a gulp in your throat. By your lucky stars, its attention diverts from you and to your rescuer and dives forward. 

You only just turn your head when a pained shriek howls through the air and a severed limb flies some distance away. Followed by another and then a third limb, leaving the defeated creature to begin crawling away with a distorted whine. 

His silhouette bathed in the scorching sun is a sight of relief, though his attire had changed. Not the draping tabard of violet tied about his waist or the deep purple scarf hung over his shoulders. Mostly an assortment of bandages wrapped and woven around his arms, clad in iron fittings. He steps after the beast, following along the weeping trail of blood smeared into the dirt, scythes coming together as the long staff of Harvester and placed to his back. 

Your face contorts in response to the sheer brutality before you, visage twitching in your frazzled comprehension. Yes, Death had a very violent tendency to be dangerously savage, but he was well versed in being precise, but never at this level. Seeing him utilise naught but his inhuman strength at his disposal and his hands, he rips the hound’s upper jaw clean off until sheets of sinew and muscle were reduced to hair-thin threads. 

He drops the unhinged part to his feet with a wet, clumpy thump. Even you have to internally argue that Death may have lost himself a little there. When his head turns over his shoulder, the flicker of an amber glow catching you in his sights, you cannot help the reaction to freeze as you roll onto your belly. 

Something unfamiliar resides in his gaze like he’s seeing you for the first time. But rather than the confusion of an older entity seeing one of the many souls still alive, there is a frenzy of anger – adrenaline running a high river through him, driving him bloodmad. 

His upper body then begins to turn only to halt when you utter his name, form rigid in his study of you. Again, you try, “Death? Hey, it’s me.”

Immediately you’re met by the unsheathed blade of Harvester aimed against you and you skitter back with a hiss as the massive blade knicks your cheek. 

“Hey! Careful with that— what’s gotten into you?”

“Who are you?” 

Your face scrunches, a morphed complaint of your confusion. He only attempts to raise his scythe to your neck with a threat to render you headless at his whim. 

“I-it’s me, hello!” you laugh with bitter nervousness, “you know me. Y/N, the human you’ve been travelling with.”

He gives no form of recollection. Not that he’s easy to read with that mask of his, hiding all but the expression in his eyes. Or the way he narrows them upon hearing one word: Human. Call it intuition, a gut feeling, a divine touch; you feel that that word held some powerful trigger to the Horseman before you. And none that you had seen in him before. Almost a zeal of intense excitement flourishes in the furnace heart of his eyes. 

“A human?” Harvester balances in his grasp to lean against his shoulder, a curious tilt of his head somehow influences you to mimic the action with an affirmative hum.

“Uh-huh. We were on our way to restore humanity. We went extinct, remember?” 

“Really now?” 

When he begins to stalk closer and inching the gap between you shorter, you find yourself taking a few steps back. Something was… off. Death isn’t like his usual self. The concept of humans didn’t really phase him in such a way before. He just thought of humanity and their restoration as a mere key to gaining his brother’s freedom. Somehow integral to the balance but never once serving importance to him. But now, before your very eyes, he appears with a dark excitement as he looks you over. Like your very existence piques him. 

Was he flirting with his leash ten yards behind him? 

Now that’s very unlike your old reaper—

There’s a thought: he is not… that old. Sure, old by some standard in the scheme of time, but compared to when you were travelling together, you come to realise how noticeably younger he is. And still, he advances towards you until his shadow overthrows you, drowning you in it. 

Even if you wanted to chalk up your thoughts to some conspiracy, you also notice that there is a sore lack of soul-cursed shards embedded into the taut muscle of his chest. 

Alright. Now you’re beginning to put the pieces of this puzzle together. You have somehow landed in the great, great past.

It’s like your wish became a manifested reality. 

Bathed in the sunless dark of his shadow, your feet intend to shuffle back, only for his arm that handles his massive scythe extends forth, the pole of it acting as some guard that keeps you from moving any further away. 

You mumble to yourself then, resigning in your compliance to remain where you stand. He may not be trying to directly hurt you now, but if given the motivation, you could yet stand corrected. 

He continues to stare at you, long and hard pressing, you feel like an ant under the heated blink of a glass scope that is threatened to burn. A matter of curiosity is all you can surmise it to the way his neck extends forward, bending down until the bone form of his masked nose hovers over you, near deathly silent but still largely inhaling your scent.

The act is enough for that heated flush to deep into your skin. 

“Hey—hey, easy there, big guy,” you warn, voice wavering from the way he merely tilts his head before leaning in again. “No, I said n-no! Stop that—no, that tickles!” 

Upon you practically beating him away with the ferocity of your mitten gloves, he then circles you like a predatory beast. 

“How is this possible? Humanity’s creation has not yet come,” he inquisitively says. 

You give a shrug, choosing to be a little more careful of your words. Would anything you do or say alter time itself and affect your supposed present? 

Just with you being here would be enough to do just that if Death’s claim that humans weren’t born yet is true. 

“Uh, well… it’s not so simple to explain. You see, I er—”

Shit this was getting more and more difficult to explain with the growing anxiety dangerously lurking over you like a foreboding cloud. 

“I’m not from here.”

You can almost see his brow curve upward under the mask. “Evidently,” he drawls deeply in response. 

With a roll of your eyes you try again. 

“All I know is that I somehow fell through some serpent hole and got transported back in time. Now, I gotta find a way back.” 

“You mean to leave?” 

Already turning your back on him – unaware of such a grave mistake – you only nod in response, your eyes last to leave him. Who knows how much longer you will have to endure here before Death finds and rescues you from his younger self. 

But that just isn’t in your stack of cards. Again you’re almost blown to the four winds and land on the cushion of your arse, grumbling in pain as you stare up at him, standing right in the way of your path.

Your lips purse tightly together, you hiss, “Death!” 

He crouches in front of you, ignoring the way you attempt to pry him and push him away as he moves a hand forward. He holds your wrist at bay before you can land a firm push to his mask to shove him away, his amber eyes dance with a certain level of intrigue and his head tilting to the side leaves his raven hair to saddle alongside the motion. 

He peels the grubby article off your hand to reveal the bareness of your skin and you find yourself holding your own breath. 

His own hand measures yours, palm to palm and you feel the roughened contour of his skin. His body radiates with an off-centred heat, not entirely cold as he is in the present with you but the morph of warmth isn’t so smothering unlike some infernal realm you know. You almost see the softness that crosses his features beneath the boney helm of his mask, like the cracks of emotion are being revealed without your exact know-how. 

But you’ve known Death for some time now. You’ve been in his company. If this is some revelation of a breakthrough, then you see it before your very eyes. 

Each finger lines to one another. A curtain of silence falls over the both of you until your eyes meet. A smile creeps over your lips then. 

“Must you truly go?” he’s sudden to ask beneath the gravel baritone of his chords. With a sigh, you only nod your head. 

His eyes harden at this, something distraught lines his concealed face only to be betrayed by the levelled glow of his eyes, but nevertheless he stands, no longer keeping you from running off. As you make your way to stand on your own two feet, brushing off the particles of dirt off your clothes, you notice Death’s prolonged stare. 

“What is it?” 

He only shakes his head, a gruff response of, “Nothing.” 

Though his reply is suspiciously vague, you both venture off into the great unknown, however much you believe that Death is more accustomed to the land than you. 

Hours pass as the sun begins to ride your backs and no sight of any serpent holes, leaving you with a feeling of exhausted anguish. As the night creeps in as a shadowy blanket over the sky and turns the humid air colder, you pull your shawl over your body as a chill licks your spine. 

Death — no not your Death, the younger one — takes notice, eying you from the side of his vision. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You jerk your head in his direction with eyes wide in your perked alertness. “Hm? Oh, I’m just cold is all. Usually I’d have a fire set up by now to rest…”

Would it be wise to add that it was him — older him — beside you and ensuring you settle into your makeshift camp? Unsure, you keep that to yourself. 

When he places an overly large hand to your shoulder, you stumble on your heel and pause, watching Death’s head scan the horizon and the upper cliff faces until he stops. You turn your head and notice just in the crevice of shadow and fading sunlight the blackened mouth of a cave. 

Your eyes light up at the thought of rest despite your circumstances and you already begin your trek towards the rocky climb, though you now see the rather steep slope it resides to reach the haven. With a grumble, your determination steers you to climb anyways, your feet stumbling and causing small pebbles to scatter down the face. 

Hands then grab hold of you and before you’re able to fight or protest, Death scuttles up in a matter of seconds with you hanging on for dear life. After he sets you down, you huff out, “Thanks.” 

He gives a gruff sound in response with a curt nod, then turns to scour the new site of camp. It wasn’t so much as a cave as you thought, moreso of a sheltered crop in the rocks, providing enough area to protect you from the elements but also invites the cool winds to breeze on past. 

Making a fire was a challenge than it usually was, making due with what you had on hand, and Death sets Harvester to his side, leaning it against the wall. He doesn’t think you pose that much of a threat to warrant its persistent sheath. 

He however finds some interest in how you kindle the birth of flames, crafting it from almost nothing. 

Looking up at him from your position, you laugh softly to yourself. “Yeah, I know. Humans are so weak and strange. But it’s what we do. How we were made, I guess.”

“I didn’t say anything like that,” Death says with a clearly risen brow. His answer does bring you surprise. After all, Death had many times sighed and chuffed about how humans did the most silly of things – things that were key to your survival, keeping that in mind. 

“Well… you will. Someday.”

“How is it that you know me?” he asks, crouching on the fire’s opposite side, facing you. As much as you think it unwise to share anymore knowledge, you cannot deny that you feel almost safe around him, no matter the fact that he’s younger. In the prime of his bloodlust. 

But he hasn’t killed me yet. Tried to, but hasn’t. 

“It’s going to sound strange but… I’m from the future. And in that future, we are travelling together.”

“Because you said something of Humanity’s demise.” 

He’s Death alright. A keen observant to detail. You nod in reply before continuing, “and as I said, I fell through some sort of timeline and landed here in the past. The way, way past. So far that humans aren’t even created yet, as you’ve said.”

To this, he nods in turn and it brings you to smile. You feel as though he silently applauds your own recollection for detail. 

“Death, how old are you?” 

Yes, it is indeed perhaps a very stupid decision to ask his age, but the nature of curiosity humans are notoriously known for gets the better of you. His eyes flicker with momentary stutter, taken aback by such a question, but one he doesn’t ultimately deny in answering. 

“Today is my day of creation… I’m a thousand-and-one—”

Your eyes go wide and you shoot up to your feet with a cheer. “What? Happy Birthday!” 

Your voice is a loud noise to the shell of his hearing and it spurns him to the defence, beckoning Harvester to fly to his hand within an instant. You’re quickly covering your mouth, uttering your apologies at spooking him. 

Settling back down, this time to his side, you flash him a shy, toothy grin. “But that’s exciting!”

“What is a ‘birthday’?”

You gasp at the shocking revelation. “It’s a celebration. When humans are born on a certain day, it’s a tradition to celebrate it every year.”

Then it pops into your mind, again sending the nephilim beside you to flinch at your motion, you stir up a fuss of plucking a twig from the flames before it’s entirely devoured. Holding it, single flame slow to eat away the kindle, you beam as you stare at Death with large, doe-like eyes. 

“Make a wish!”

“A what?” He scoffs, only to see you dramatically roll your eyes until they’re nearly rolling out of their sockets. “A wish. You make a wish, something you really want, and then blow out the flame. Another tradition on your birthday.”

His eyes narrow to thin points, sceptical that perhaps you were using something to your advantage. When he sees that you don’t have any ill intent to deceive him, he shuffles in his spot slightly to face you, body arching ever so over yours; his height even at this level towers over you. 

You whisper softly, “Like this.” 

Making the motion of blowing out the makeshift candle with your mouth, the campfire casting an orange hue to your skin paints you in a fine detail that the nephilim cannot help but study closely until a there’s a skip in his chest.

His hand raises to his mask but stops and you see the hesitance to continue any further. Understanding that it very well could be because of your presence, you tilt your chin down and squeeze your eyes shut. 

A gust beats across your face, skirting the wisps of hair away and then just as promptly as he’d lifted his mask, he’d lowered it just in time for you to peel your eyes open. Again, you smile. 

He’s the first to crack through the veil of tension between you both, standing on his feet. 

“Get some rest, girl.”

The next day, you finally see in the distance the familiar halo of green and sick looking mists, but it is your ticket home nonetheless. You skip ahead and towards it, laughing at the thought of reuniting with Death and telling him of your adventure.

But then you stop. Not another skip in your step. You turn around to see Death, body rigid but his chin is aimed down and his eyes don’t exactly meet yours. Approaching him cautiously, you halt a few feet before him, hands pinned behind you. 

“I guess this is goodbye…”

You don’t very much like the eternal sound to your farewell. Like you’re losing him forever. 

He drawls out, low and lessened of any sort of emotion, but you swear you note a hint of sadness in his tone. “My wish didn’t come true.”

“What was your wish?”

His eyes rise to meet yours and you feel your heart splinter. Why did it feel so wrong to want to go back to Death in the future? Why did everything that wasn’t with him feel so, so wrong?

“I wish that you would stay here.”

“I can’t stay. I’m not from this time.” Your words do little to ease that which internally troubles him. Your hands coax his jaw to lift upwards until he stands, prouder and much taller over you that you have to balance on the toes of your feet. Then, you sweep your arms around him. His body is stiff to meet your hug but you care little in that regard. He’s always been one less evident of his affections, a tendency you’re completely fine with. 

“But I promise that we will meet again in the future. After all, that’s who I’m going back to through the serpent hole. To you.”

There it is, that flicker in his eyes that reveals in them a shiny glow of fire that you feel warms your heart in many ways. Pressing a chaste kiss to the toughened chin of his mask, you offer one last smile and bid your farewells with a wave, promising that you will see each other again before you jump into the serpent hole, disappearing into the green mists. 

You yelp as the void sends you crashing yet again and you fear that you have stumbled into yet another realm in another time. But for the first time, you find yourself relieved to hear Vulgrim’s slimy voice announce your arrival. 

“Ah! And there she is, the curious little mouse who doesn’t keep away from serpent holes,” he snides with a raspy coil like a snake getting ready to strike. 

“Vulgrim,” you poke your tongue out, brushing your hair from your face and you look to see Death charging his way to you. 

“There you are,” he says almost wistfully, hands pressed to your shoulders. A tender action even with the glare clear in his gaze. “What were you thinking? What happened to you?”

You know that beneath the roughness of his callous tone, he means well. He was worried and the look upon his younger self’s face as you left, you find yourself pulling yourself into him and embracing him. 

“I promised you that we’d meet again.”

His arms weave themselves around your waist, holding you to bear you closer in his embrace. “Yes, you did.”

[sketch-guardian]

I finally finished the New exchange students' true celestial forms sketches😭it was a nightmare and now I need to get some sleep😞I apologize if they are disappointing, but here they are🙈:

"NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS' TRUE CELESTIAL FORMS"

REMIEL X MC

NATHANIEL X MC

URIEL X MC

plus some close-ups to show their faces better:

REMIEL

NATHANIEL

URIEL

[functionaldisaster]

The dragon and his treasure

I was very much going to colour this, but then I realized I have no idea how to keep the human character neutral.

Very much inspired by "Human Influence" written by @imagine-darksiders

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Just imagining Death brutally killing a demon that injured the reader. And as he’s tending to their injury, he’s lost in his thoughts, conjuring up what if scenarios, how they should’ve stayed with the Makers where it’s relatively more safe, how it’s his fault they’re hurt. Only when the reader touches him gently, telling him that they’re okay and that they don’t blame him, leans they’re forehead against his, that Death eventually comes back from his thoughts and relaxes, basking in their touch and close contact (this just leads to him falling for them harder cause this is before their relationship actually takes off)

"You must be a really brave human or a really stupid one, following me around without a second guess."

"Well, it's not like you put up a good fight to stop me!"

Your laugh echoed through the dark, and the fire of what the old goat said was called the Black Stone, the stronghold of Samael. Even here, in the depths of hell, your loyalty to your protector never faltered, not even for a second, despite the dangers and the possibility of your demise.

That didn't scare you; to you, it was a nice view. From the view of your world, destroyed by the hands of some dark forces, that was frightening enough.

"That wouldn't stop you even. I should put you on a leash in the future."

"I promise to follow your order...in the future."

A small chuckle escaped from him. absolutely audible from you and everyone else. 

"It seems calm! That is new."

"Um, yeah, it's quite quiet either here."

You still watched your surroundings, unaware of the stance that the horseman had taken, looking around you two, looking at the shadows that passed through the rocks.

"Maybe this Samael guy is not such a bad person! Maybe we can handle things easily!"

"....Y/n..."

"Even better, maybe we can avoid that mess with that angel! Surely, I don't want to be thrown from another to-"

"Y/N, behind me now!"

Oh, oh, you hated your big mouth.

A screeching growl emitted from the black walls of the fort, flames erupted from its origin, and a smoke that burned your nostrils engulfed you.

Merfires were never a real struggle for your companion, but they were for you when their eyes usually landed on you, something that Death was ready to avoid.

Just like when the wicked started attacking, the horsemen didn't lose any seconds in charging into battle. His scythes were swinging in the air, taking distance from the attacks of the beast. The sooner he gets rid of that thing, the sooner you both can move away!

The sound of the creature dying was the signal of the future detonation. He could have handled it; he had the worst, but his blood frozen, seeing that the monster decided to make one last charge against you.

"Y/M! MOVE!"

You tried to bolt, until what you felt was pain.

///////////

"It's not...that bad!"

"It leaves a scar."

"Scars are cool! You got scars, and I don't see you complaining!"

He couldn't care about responding to your remark; he was busy putching you up after that monster exploded a few steps away from you and, worst of all, thinking.

He had taken you—no, rushed you—to the Forge Lands, once you mentioned how similar to heart that place looks like and how nice it would have been to live there. You said that, and yet you kept following him around, into danger. Why did you have to do that? You were so fragile compared to him...

No, you weren't fragile; you always showed skills that even Death himself never believed a human could possess.

You kept talking; you called him, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. He just stared at your injury, contemplating his last failure—one more to the list. 

But you were different; you started to carve something in the horseman's chest. He couldn't grasp it, but it was there—the thing that makes him more reluctant to take you with him and yet so desperate to never lose his eyes on you. But he didn't protect you; you could have lost an arm or something; he couldn't help you! Why do you have to be on the other end of his mistake, the one that pays the price?! It wasn't fair. Why-

"Death!"

Your voice called him back, and this time you were able to catch him before drowsing.

"Something wrong?"

"You should have stayed here."

"Eh?!

He dropped, almost throwing away, the herbs and the medical supplies that you were able to get around.

"You should have stayed here in the Forge Lands! Not running around with me! See?! This happens when you get cocky."

He started to rumble—more than usual, to your own knowledge. Despite watching him rumble, complain, and keep throwing staff around, you wondered if everything was really about the attack of the demon. Despite your question, you started to worry more about him than your actual injury. He wasn't angry because you got hurt or because he needed to stop his mission to bring you somewhere safe; he was scared for your own life.

He kept mumbling, so absorbed in his own mind that he didn't hear the voice that was calling him. Only the warmer sensation of your hand on his pale arm finally brought his attention back to you.

He was out of breath, and you were just looking at him with those eyes, so full of life.

"Death...I'm fine..."

"You're not fine, you're-"

"I am. We're fine. Please..."

Were you? Were you really fine? Not with your body, but with everything? He seemed so fragile when you used a tender pull to bring him to your own level. Your hand rose to his mask, never daring to pull it away from him—something that you were respectful of, but he trusted you enough to let your smaller forehead touch the bone of it.

"Please stay here. I can't. I can't imagine what I could do if you get killed."

"I won't. I know you'll never let anything happen to me. Let me be by your side."

He never dared to imagine more than he needed to, but he wasn't as strong as he wanted to be, not with you at least. You were a sun ray in his darkest hour, and you decided to shine for him despite the agony of your own soul. You wanted to be strong for him just as much as he wanted to be for you.

He felt something in his chest, and he prayed to the Creator to just let him have these beautiful moments with you before the last hour.

[yourfavoritehorseman]

How War gets back into your good graces after an argument:

"Will you help me with my hair?"

*Let's you brush and then braid his hair like the warriors of old. Treats it like it's a favor for you, but he actually enjoys the light contact.*

---

*He doesn't necessarily apologize, especially if the fight was petty, but he will use checking on you as an excuse to speak again.*

"Are you cold/hungry/etc?"

"Do you need any...human things?"

"Should we stop for a while?" or "Is the saddle bothering you?"

---

"You can't not talk to me forever! You'll break this silence eventually!"

Y/n: "The hell I will!"

"You just did!"

Y/n: "That doesn't count, you bastard!"

"You can't resist speaking to me because you enjoy arguing too much!"

Y/n: "Dammit!"

[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?"

[imagine-darksiders]

To Hell with it. Big humpback whale Ulthane for Mermay.

Y/n is the survivor of a shipwreck and Ulthane, a mer who's lost his entire pod, finds them clinging to a large piece of driftwood, barely staying afloat in the open ocean.

Understanding that humans are predominantly a land-dwelling species, he brings them to a deserted island within his territory, pleased to at last have some company to stave off his isolation.

Y/n is just trying to get off the island, perplexed as to why this gruff, enormous mer keeps leaving them beautiful but functionless seashells, catching fish for them to eat, and otherwise thwarting any attempts they make to swim out into deeper waters.

[bearw-me]

I read both your lute x friend reader hcs and adored themmm!!

Could I request a follow up of their first time together (I'm interested to see if previously being friends would ease some possible tension or maybe make it even more nerve wracking lol)

orrr if you don't write smut (sorry I couldn't find any rules) could I request their first date together?

it occurs to me that i should make a rules thingy, but just your luck bc i love your request + lute! so i will be doing both scenarios!

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞 & 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐮𝐭𝐞!

𐐒 includes : lute x gender neutral! reader 𐐒 cw : fluff, smut, nsfw 𐐒 summary : first date hcs first up + the smuts at the end under the cut 𐐒 note : we are now a lute blog, sorry, not sorry + never tried to write smut, lmk how it went!

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐞

assuming here that lute sets up the date by herself:

she'd like to do something really romantic, and personal on one hand

she's only known romance for herself through heavens versions of it, the classic pure kind of love she's been exposed to

so a date would be sort of traditional by her standards

maybe take you out to a nice, lowkey restaurant and then find a nice cloud up in heaven to sit with you afterwards

just really wants to talk and be physically close with you

(if Lute asks you on a date its her obligation to pay for you btw, just enjoy yourself)

even if you were friends first, Lute still stresses about messing up your shared relationship, both romantically and platonically (like you haven't already seen her 'flaws')

but being the strong angel that heaven demands of her, she tries not to let her nerves show

gets frustrated at herself for not being able to express her emotions for you correctly

like she commands one of heavens armies for crying out loud, how can she not articulate that she loves spending time with you properly!

So, I think her words may be a bit jumbled and come out a little rude or completely-not what she means

but her actions seem to speak louder

like the way she sits hip to hip with you, or the way her wings hover around your body, or even the way she can firmly hold your hand. proudly, confidently

and previously being friends allows her to be more comfortable around you (enough to tease and bully you still at least)

doesn't know shit about being in a relationship for sure, but with you she's comfortable enough to want to try

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

for your first time, she'd have to be super trusting of you

and lets be real, every time she thinks about it or you bring up intimate things with her: her face is beat red

but she doesn't mind feeling wanted in that way. . . in fact it would turn her on

of course its Lute's FIRST first time, so there's some nerves to be had, but mostly in embarrassing herself. . . frankly she's not totally sure what she should be doing. . . ?

Where- Where should she put her hands?

listen, i didn't know where to put this so im putting this hc here: Lute's upper back, where her wings start are super ticklish and super sensitive. being an angel, with her wings and back being 'a weak spot' for battle. . . its an area she'd be hesitant about. . . but she trusts you

she lets go of all her anxieties though once she realizes this is exactly what she wants

unintentionally gives you a ton of praise when you do something that makes her feel good

probably swears (a fuck ton) under her breath + unintentional love bombs

Lute would definitely let you take the reins at first, just so she can get a sense of things and to start building up her confidence a bit

and its nice to let her hands run up and down your body like she's dreamed of (on that note, she's very attentive to little noises or sighs you make)

she wants to make you feel good too, in fact, this little devil in disguise has probably been waiting for this moment

definitely wouldn't mind being the dominant one (in fact i think she'd love it)

Lute rolling the two of you over in order to sit on your lap and straddle you. . .

rolling her hips while she rides you

Fucking adores your little faces and how good she's making you feel

(last one i promise) she wouldn't be opposed to leaving at least one little bite mark on your neck

i lowkey think there was a ton i could've said but i kept the ones i could think about right now, thanks for loving lute + my hcs for her!

[scribbiesan]

@imagine-darksiders

Darksiders update! Gonna work on some shading shortly.

This would have been done sooner but I did a dumb thing and broke my fucking FOOT. Like an IDIOT.

Anyway, I had fun with the coloring process and rendering his eyes. Did have to tweak a few colors tho, but ah well.

Hope y’all enjoy!

Toodles~!

[darkside-0f-the-sun]

just bill being a silly boy pt. 12 i think????

i like haven’t been posting at all but life’s been a bitch so yk