#Death/reader

[imagine-darksiders]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart, height difference <3

[moodymisty]

Off The Beaten Path

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: This is technically a reheated meal, but Ao3 seemed to like it and it deserved a revision since it was the first smut I ever posted. I hope at least one person here likes it as well.

Summary: “Death! We’re-” A neutral voice interrupts you, already knowing what you were going to say. “You seemed quite fine with the location when it was just your hand.”

Relationships: Death/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, it's like 20% porn if that, Porn with feeling, No use of y/n, Outdoor sex, Established relationship, Fluff

Word count: 7,392

Ao3 Mirror

Your feet hurt. 

As in really hurt, more than you had ever thought they possibly could. Your boots have been through so much in such a short period of time they're on the verge of truly falling apart, even after numerous small repairs. But those small repairs were like putting a bandage on a gaping wound, largely failing to stop their slow descent into complete disaster. You were partly wondering why Death had still insisted you come with, even if you’d said straight up you were going to slow him down.

And while you did technically slow Death down, as he would never let you forget, apparently you were enough help- or entertainment- that he kept bringing you along. Even if he’d try and act like he was forcing the words out, he never complained beyond the first initial shows of inconvenience.

It also helps that you actually enjoy talking to the denizens of the other realms like the Makers, the undead of the Eternal Throne, even Vulgrim; Whom he had to deal with this time around. Death seemed to have a hatred for loose ends, and with only one Death Tomb left for him to seal up, it entailed having to wretch the final key from Vulgrim's grimy, greedy hands.

All but shoving the bound pages into your hands he forced you to do it, standing a good ten meters back down the path with his arms crossed as if the mere sight of the demon was too appalling for him to go any further.

He was still positioned so that you were clearly in line of sight however, just in case.

You just find it all hilarious, trading Vulgrim for the Tomb key with little fanfare and refusing yet another lowball offer for your soul as he takes the pages from your grubby little mitts, before walking back down the dirt path and tugging on the frayed edges of Death’s scarf. You know he's aware that you've returned, it's just fun to annoy him now that you know that his attitude towards you is mostly bark.

“Finished?” His eyes slowly open, looking down on you and hefting himself off of the hillock he’d been leaning against with his arms crossed.

You dangle the prize off of your index finger in front of your chest, the size and weight of it quite considerable for a key.

“One key; No strings attached.”

Long, pale fingers take the key from you and casually examine it, a jewel of a different color than the others embedded in the handle's side. He tucks it away in a pocket, looking down as you smile and speak:

“Vulgrim says hello, by the way. He told me to give you his greeting and I figured I’d pass on the message. He seemed upset he didn't get to talk to you face to face.”

Death’s prolonged sigh only serves to feed your snicker, as he denies amusing you with a real response. When he turns and starts walking not long after, the sound of your boots stumbling on the dirt as you struggle to catch up pricks his ears.

Something Death has frequently caught himself doing was listening to the sound of said footsteps; The consistent beat of them not too far behind him. When you were bored and kicked rocks, or if you started to jog trying to catch back up with his significantly longer stride. If you started to slow down, or were unable to keep up he would sometimes make as if occupied by something to let you catch his pace again.

Death largely has no need of breaks, apart from very few circumstances. Necromancies require a significant part of his energy, sure, but only a few could manage to make him weary enough for any rest. he can count on his hands the amount of times he's had to do so. Humans however need it constantly, wearing down and tiring after what he considers not much effort at all.

Though even if Death would complain about it, he’ll always keep a keen eye on you for reasons he won't admit.

“I truly wonder how the human race has survived as long as it has, if this is the length of your specie's stamina.” Even if Death plays it off, he isn't immune to the sugar of your satisfied smile, walking beside him and swaying your arms back and forth. “Because we learned how to work smarter, not harder.” You turn to look up more fully at him, still trying to keep pace. “Besides the point; Weren’t you the one who insisted I come along with you anyways? You could’ve just left me with the Makers again.”

Death goes largely unaffected by your attempt at catching him in a corner, keeping his eyes ahead while continuing forward. “Because I don’t trust the Makers as far as I can throw them.” You highly doubt that was the reason, raising your eyebrows. He’d no problem trying to force you with them when he’d gone to fight the Guardian... Or when he attempted to forbid you from following him to the Death Plains.

“You can throw them pretty far, at least last time I checked.” The glaring look in Death’s eyes is more than enough to cover you in an icy heat; But in the end he doesn't verbally chastise you for the snarky comment. “That pup can’t tell his own feet apart- and his teacher has had his head caved far too many times.” You start to raise a hand, but quickly lower it once that icy stare returns to beam down right at you. You speak anyways however, just to poke at him. “What about Alya and Valus?”

The resulting change in energy is enough to dislodge Dust into flight from his perch atop Harvester, who is formed as a single long scythe against the expanse of Death’s back.

“You're not a forge, so I imagine they would have a hard time keeping sight of you for more than a second without trouble.” While you find it amusing he cares so much, even if disguised as irritation, you cross your arms and huff anyways. “You really think I have such bad judgment that I need a babysitter constantly?” Death doesn't miss a beat in responding to you, almost as if he had the response pre-prepared. “You choose to be in the company of a Horsemen. As well as throw yourself at anything that doesn’t immediately attempt to split you in two pieces. Yes, I do doubt your judgment about your own safety. Immensely.”

Ignoring his own self jab, you roll your eyes and keep walking even through the ache of your sore feet. Leave it to Death to find a way to make the mere act of befriending someone sound so haphazard.

Sure befriending Draven hadn't been your smartest idea, but it turned out fine, hadn't it?

But while it hasn't been the first time you've traveled with Death since knowing him, it is the first time since he had returned from the Well of Souls.

Not much has changed in hindsight; apart a generally lighter mood on your part and a tiny bit of an attitude change on Death’s. Unnoticeable, if you hadn't spent so long with him before; Noticing every little tiny tell he has that gives him away. But it was nice now, not having the fate of Earth heavy on your mind. It was nicer to have Death back again however, head held high as he examined the freshly trodden path in front of him.

When spring arrived in the Maker’s realm, it hadn’t much arrived with a graceful and even entrance; More so with a slam, the snow melting and giving way to millions of leaves in what seemed like just overnight. The evenings still get chilly, but you’d much prefer it then the freezing winds and sleet you’d been dealing with not too long ago.

In your effort to keep pace with the Horsemen you notice patches of odd looking flowers along the tree line, and are unable to resist the temptation to pluck one. It’s stem is soft in your grip, covered in a peach fuzz, and smells delightful when you take a whiff. The color is a soft blue, yellow in the middle, reminding you of something you’d find in a valley of rolling hills.

Death notices you fawning over it, but doesn’t comment. It's not like he isn't used to you finding entertainment in seemingly menial things.

It was one of the things that actually made you pleasant to be around; He's been so numbed to everything over his long and unforgiving lifetime, seeing someone's eyes light up over something so uninteresting is, nice. Every now and again he wonders what the world looks like through your eyes.

Until you suddenly stumble forward, thankfully catching yourself before your tired feet manage to send you toppling into the dirt.

“Keep looking at the path instead of plants, and you might not fall.”

Holding the plant in your hand, you roll it gently in your fingers to feel the soft fuzz again while scowling at Death. It fades quickly though, taking another whiff of its familiar sweet scent. The soft petals tickle your skin with the softest touch.

“It just reminded me of something,” Your voice trails off, running through the rest of your sentence in your head instead of actually speaking it. It wasn’t until Death calls out to you, that you realize you hadn’t actually spoken aloud.

“Well?” His sharp tone startles you for a moment, seeing his eyes looking down at you.

“Are you going to finish speaking, or leave me in suspense?” Almost having forgotten what you were going to say, you twirl the flower between your fingers again.

“There’s this cute little plant on Earth called a Snap Dragon,” You can't resist the urge to pluck a different flower, smelling that one as well. “Comes in a ton of different colors. When it starts to wither though, the flower looks like a skull.”

Death let out a huff, and a mumbled: 'How charming', but you were unable fully tell if he was being sarcastic, or was just amused by the description of such an odd little plant. The sentence he speaks after however seems to lean towards that he was the ladder.

“Do tell me it doesn’t bite, will you? I’ve had my fill of violent plants.” You shake your head and smile, letting out a soft laugh.

“No, no biting. Just smells nice.”

Not moments after you finish speaking you twist on your ankle again, the uneven and partly detached sole of your boot sending you off balance and almost crashing into the dirt. You manage to save yourself again, but the flowers in your grip get partly crushed at the stems.

One of Death’s hands quickly darts out to catch you, prepared this time, but returns to his side in a flash once you right yourself. Since it's now been the second time you’ve almost fallen, Death decides it might be a good time for you to sit; Before you actually take a real fall.

“Go sit, before you topple over into the mud.”

Confused, you look up at him after tossing the flowers gently down. Death was normally quite the one for punctuality, and to simply sit for awhile wasn’t much his type. At least as far as you've known him.

And while you’d normally be correct, he wasn’t in much of any actual hurry to clear this last Death Tomb. Even if he’d never say it out loud.

A slight clearing between a few of the trees is where you decide to plop for a moment, just enough off the path. Slipping your pack off of your back with one hand, you plop it onto the ground with little effort, given how light it was.

The sack was yet another thing from the Makers- who you were beginning to think were coddling you- pulling a blanket from it and holding it in both hands. Death sighs but continues to watch.

“Do you truly intend on setting up a camp?” You brush out the blanket and sit on it with a huff, looking up at Death. “Well I was just laying down a blanket, but now I’m all self-conscious about it.” Even if his iris isn’t visible with the Nephilim glow of his eyes, you can tell Death was rolling them.

Letting out a soft grunt as you sit, the first thing you do is lean forward and try to re-tie the laces of your boots; Not that it would do much, but at least they’d be snug again. “Don’t get comfortable. We’re not staying for long.” Death notices the frayed and quite honestly sad state of your current footwear, as you tie them unaware.

Of course out of all the things the Makers chose to lavish you with, a pair of good boots wasn’t one of them.

“So, any reason in particular we're not just using Despair right now?”

Death, standing in front of the tree directly to your right, slides down it until he was leaning against the trunk in a sit just off your blanket. His one leg is bent, supporting an elbow.

“If I summoned Despair every time I needed to travel somewhere, I’m quite sure the beast would come to hate me.”

You're sure there's more to it than that, but he just takes the opportunity for more sarcasm; And you won't get much more out of him than that. Unbeknownst to you however Death would struggle not to crook a corner of his mouth upward as you laugh at his joke, moving to lay completely on your back.

It's nice to stare up at the tops of the trees, watching the light poke between them. They were so unbelievably tall compared to you that sometimes it was easy to forget they even had tops. But you continue to watch, spotting Dust circling through the leaves. He hasn’t landed since being disturbed off of Harvester, and must’ve found something at least somewhat entertaining in the skies. At least more entertaining than what was down here with you.

Death has since closed his eyes, opening one for a moment to see you silently looking upward. You have one arm in the air, a finger pointed as you follow where Dust was circling with a relaxed look. Why he had nary a guess, but it seems to keep you quite well occupied. ‘Thank the Creators.’ He doesn't find himself uttering that phrase very often That not only did you actually enjoy his presence, much to his apprehension; But that you actually knew the pleasure of a peaceful silence. You don't fill the air with constant whining or talking, much like a brother of his. It's something beyond rare to him, and he uses the moment to actually rest his eyes for once.

Death has no need for such a thing, but he can’t deny that it was a rare luxury he would like to partake in every once in awhile. Strife probably would’ve called him old, was he around to do so.

With your weight off of your feet for once they finally stop crying out, sighing as your muscles slowly loosen. What you’d give for a nice, soothing massage. That word perks a small part of your brain, wandering off as your eyes blur unfocused on the treetops. They were all starting to blend together, becoming one giant mass and no longer interesting.

Dust is no longer in view either, flown off somewhere far enough away that you can't even hear the distant echo of his caws; But even without it, the forest is just so, peaceful. With the Corruption gone, not a single thing other than the natural predators stalks these woods with ill intent.

Moving to adjust your top into a more comfortable position, which had bunched up into a wrinkled mess, it was the sudden jolt of feeling from the fabric of your bra against your chest that makes your thighs jerk together.

That wasn’t exactly the type of thing you had been thinking about moments ago, but once your mind starts to wander, you find it near impossible to get back on track.

Leaning up to look around there was not a creature in sight, the forest seeming empty. But it still always feels like it's alive; Watching. But if Death is able to sleep, you can say with absolute surety there isn't a soul in the leagues of forest around both of you.

Well, at least Death looked like he was sleeping- it's hard to tell for sure. His eyes are closed as he leans against the base of the tree, head tilted ever so slightly forward. He seems almost a statue, nearly frozen with his arms crossed over his chest. Maybe he's just thinking, but either way, his attention isn't on you.

The shoddy blanket you have laid out muffles the sounds of movement as you roll on your stomach. As long as you were slow, he wouldn’t hear a thing, and you were good at being quiet; When you had to.

Fair to say, it had been a trait you were forced to learn quite quickly.

Using the arm more obscured from Death’s point of view, you slowly slip a hand between the blanket covered ground and your body. A tight fit it squeezes between your stomach and the ground, slipping past the waist of your trousers. Quickly diving past the fabric of your underwear wetness quickly covers your fingers as they gently move, slow and deliberate as you try to keep your breathing quiet. You can't help but take a wayward glance over to Death, who is still unmoving. Good; Enough that your mind focuses more on your hand as it slides between your folds, teasing at your most sensitive areas that are still begging for more and more. Which you were quite intent to fulfill, as long as fortune continues in your way.

It's been awhile since, and now that you've paid attention to that inkling in the back of your mind, it's hungry; Borderline starving.

A harsh swallow makes your throat tense as you try to stay completely quiet, moving your mouth more against your forearm to muffle the sound of your breathing. It works enough to smooth your anxiety about it, fingers pushing harsher against yourself. It felt like you were making not a peep, surely you could go a little farther... Even the rustle of the trees was drowning out now as your mind focuses in on that tightening in the pit of your stomach, even if it hindsight wouldn’t be the most satisfying. But you were desperate for that little bit of paradise, letting out the tiniest of sighs against your arm, so close yet so far to- “You are far less quiet than you think you are.”

Gasping and almost letting out a shriek Death was suddenly close to you, body leaning partly over yours. When you attempt to wiggle away he pushes his right palm down onto your right shoulder blade, holding you in place. Even with such little effort he has you completely trapped you against the ground, the movement making your shirt rise a bit to show some of your lower back. “Death! I-I though you were-” “Asleep?” Trying to find the words to speak but also the power to pull your hand from your trousers, both were failures as Death holds you firmly in place. “Do you fail to remember the time I told you I have no need of sleep?”

You’d completely forgotten, to be honest. It was an offhand comment you’d made whilst in the middle of the whipping winds aboard the Eternal Throne, saying he had ‘bed head’. Death had said in response he couldn’t possibly, because he doesn’t sleep. Or at least his body didn't require it. That realization that he had heard everything combined with Death's almost scolding tone, sends a shiver down your spine.

No matter how many times you swore you’d snark back at him this time, take the leading role, Death always seemed to know how to completely end that line of thought before it could even begin.

“I-I, sorry I can,” His body weight shifts causing you to gasp for air a tiny bit, looking back as much as you could seeing his silhouette hover over you.

“Death, you’re,” You purse your lips tight together as you try to force the words out. But you only push out a breath of hot air through your tight lips, trying to gather enough of a coherent sentence to tell him off.

It seemed Death was trying to scold you for this, but…. “You’re, not exactly making this any easier.”

He's silent, feeling your thighs press together tightly and the tightness of your breathes, and when you turn your head, he can just barely see the colors of your eyes with how blown out your pupils were. It's always nerve-wracking to look at the Reaper; To stare into bright, unreadable eyes.

Granted, this isn't the first time; Your own personal room in the Tri-Forge, the halls of a now much more friendly Eternal Throne, a cave in the Dead Plains. Each time the Reaper had bared more to you than he probably had anyone else in an uncountable number of years. But Death’s lack of change in personality towards you had left you wondering if it was permanent, or merely a temporary indulgence.

When he’d gotten back from the Well of Souls however he’d said a few choice words that felt odd on his tongue, and you finally didn’t have to read between the lines; At least not as deeply. Death has never and probably will never be the most forthcoming.

Unless he wanted to be, shifting his body weight to better support himself as bony knees on either side of you dig into the dirt underneath your blanket.

It was a movement that seemed almost unintentional, except for the fact that it very much was.

It presses his groin harder against your ass, pulling the fabric of your trousers tighter over your hidden hand. Gasping as your body moves forward ever slightly from his weight, the Reaper’s body follows. You try your best to turn around and face him, but when it didn’t quite work, you look ahead with a sheepish expression. The woods hold nothing but trees for your eyes to focus on, a barren seeming wild.

“Death! We’re-” His deadpan voice interrupts you, already knowing what you're going to say.

“You seemed quite fine with the location moments ago when it was just your hand.” Death doesn't necessarily feel embarrassment- at least not nearly as often as others might. Living as long as he has weathers one down beyond such largely meaningless things. And while he has no issue teasing you- at least what he would consider teasing or as close as he could on the matter, it's only because the possibility of any matter of life seeing you effected by it was absolutely zero. Call Death greedy, but he would sooner slice himself width-wise at the gut than let any other see you even just flushed like this. Though maybe he had a reason to be that greedy when he had originally thought he was too far gone for love- let alone including the physical kind in the definition. “Well, I- that was a little different!”

Even if the forest was well empty, beyond the occasional wildlife, the situation seems to keep your voice barely above a whisper. “Oh really, is it? I fail to find a difference.”

You hate how often he could render you silent, pursing your lips tighter in an almost pout. He can hear, and see, the harsh exhale through your nose, almost shaking under his grasp. It had just been arousal at first, but now he’s succeeded in making you embarrassingly irritated as well. “You just love dangling things in peoples faces and then taking it away, huh?” He’s silent, body barely even fidgeting above you. It almost makes you nervous, your arm starting to fall asleep from where it’s still pinned underneath your torso. Death is always thinking, and not often could you guess what it was about. “Ask nicely.”

Death replays the abashed scoff you let out multiple times, a hot flush on your face. The pins and needles you feel in your arm almost seem to vanish as you get too distracted by the overwhelming heat on your cheeks. “You want me to beg?” Death hummed, faking some sort of contemplation. “That would work as well. Though I would prefer the former.”

Damn this reaper, damn him to hell. “You’re awful.” You’d never dare mean it of course, pursing your lips and trying to hold your knees from shaking. You have no problem with pleading to the Horsemen, but hearing your voice in the open like this, catching in the wind, it almost feels like someone would hear. Even if there wasn’t another living soul for an incredible distance. You take a deep sigh, the flushed heat all over your body only getting hotter, no amount of air able to snuff it.

“Please, Death.” He will never admit it to you, will never saddle you with the emotion that he had only wanted to hear those words; To actually hear someone wanted him. Let alone desired him. Those words bring him closer to your body, a hand of long, thin fingers coming to brush the stray hairs from your face. It was a completely silent gesture, but his uncharacteristic gentleness is more than enough to get it across. His knuckle brushes against your cheek for a moment and feels the inconsolable heat rushing across your face. He is as cold as the grave, and you are the first time in an uncountable number of years he’s felt the flush of heated skin.

He lifts off you enough that you could roll just enough and pull your hand from underneath you, moving to lay it in front of your chest.

Moving his own hand away from your face, it was a jolt to suddenly feel cool skin through your shirt. It was deliberately slow, trailing down the knocks of your spine and succeeding to send multiple shivers down with it. Slipping down the back of your trousers, he uses his wrist to push them downward until they, along with your underwear, lay like a cinch around your thighs. You won’t be able to get them off without much more effort, and it wasn’t something that you- nor Death it seemed- wanted to do.

You wouldn't have had the time anyways, as cold fingers quickly pressed against your folds and cause your thighs to tighten in surprise. Never would you say you hated the deathly chill to his skin, his body, but it always sent shivers up each time he’d surprise you with his touch.

They slide between your outer lips, back and forth pooling and drawing forth more slick wetness against your groin and thighs. It was a merciless tease, groaning from the horribly empty feeling you were now overtaken by as he kept just barely avoiding what you wanted.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t been indulging yourself not minutes ago on your own, but it felt different when it was Death. Leagues different.

“You’re being impatient.” 

The angered groan you let out couldn’t have done less to motivate Death; If anything, it only served as kindling for him to toy with you more. He scolded you only to then finally press ever so slightly, two fingers gently but consistently making their way inside. It was barely moments before they were deep enough that you were gritting your teeth, gasping as they curled and you tightened around them in response.

“And you’re the one being a tease.”

Death didn’t respond, having no need to, as your sentence had absolutely none of the bite you had clearly intended it to. Your voice wavers too much, affected by the feeling of cold, deft fingers being driven deep in the heat of your cunt.

Death had once made a largely passed over comment about how his skin felt like the dead- and while you couldn’t disagree, you’d never get over how intoxicating it felt against your own.

Especially in this context, his other fingers grazing over your other lips and collecting the myriad of wetness glistening against against you. It was the source of multiple egregious noises, only beaten by the sound of moans you were attempting to muffle. But Death never once falters, dragging each movement out with an infuriating level of patience. Infuriating for you at least, as you can just feel the smugness dripping off of him.

The silent kind, knowing with an absolute surety you were crumbling underneath him. He was always confident when the tables were like this, focused away from him. The times you had tried to turn those tables, he could so deftly change them right back before you had the chance to do a single thing.

You’ll still continue to try though, pushing your body against him as much as possible feeling his weight against your back. Stubbornness will win out eventually.

With the inner parts of your thighs slick as well as what seemed like a good portion of Death’s hand, you move to lay your forehead against your forearms, feeling the heat of your face against them. It was almost as hot as when you stood next to one of the forges for too long, just on the edge of beginning to sweat. The motion as well helped to cover the sound of your whines, thighs shaking as your cunt tightens around his moving fingers.

A pocket of hot air forms in the area around your face and arms, thick against your face. But you dare not leave it’s comfort, as Death’s stare would easily render an even tighter feeling in your chest.

“I would find it quite insulting, if you’ve fallen asleep.”

In about a day from now you’ll probably have a million different comebacks that would perfectly fit this exact scenario, to bite back at his snarky little comment. But at this moment, the most you can muster was a light throw of your body and spit a single insult:

“Jerk.”

You’d bet your soul right now he was smirking behind that mask, even if you can’t see it.

Fingers slipping from you they trailed upwards, over your thighs and leaving a sticky trail. You can just barely feel the back of his hand and wrist ghosting over your skin, removing whatever clothing was impeding himself. Only just enough it seemed, as you can still feel cloth against your lower legs.

It was obvious, but even as you suddenly feel him press against you, your thighs still tighten and hips jerked in shock.

It was something you’ll ever dare say aloud, but it wasn’t the first time you realized just how much larger of a person Death was compared to you- in multiple regards.

Your eyes were too big for your mouth, latching onto a Horsemen.

The same hand moving upwards, he grasps just under your ass, pulling outward and leaving yourself exposed enough that he can press against you; Ever so slowly slipping between your outer lips. Methodical, Death was what you'd assume to be the slowest he could possibly be; Pushing inward slowly, slowly, until his hips pressed against your ass.

Three, four, five, six.

Soft and deliberate Death was until he was dragging soft moans from you, your body unwound and no longer tense. It was only then he sped up, the slightest bit, your own hips attempting to reach up to meet him with what tiny amount of force you could muster. It wasn’t much, he had you caged so close to the ground it felt like you’d go through it- the forest but a backdrop to him surrounding you almost entirety.

It almost instills a sense of vertigo, surrounded by his shadow as Death’s body weight was overwhelming against your back, forcing you into the ground as he fucked you. It's all so overwhelming; Grasping at the dirt, the grass, your blanket. Your toes curl as moans turned into cut little gasps. “Breathe, girl.”

It's nigh impossible to, almost feeling like the Reaper was taking the air right from your lungs. If you raise your head any little bit you’d be able to feel his mask against the back of your head, looming just over top.

Deep down you’ve always wanted him to take it off; To see his face. Even if it was more so to kiss him, hold his face smoothly in your hands. But you know he won't- not now, and probably never. You’d never have the heart to demand it, either way. It doesn't matter that much to you.

Caged by both of his arms parallel to your shoulders, you can only keep your head upright for a moment before moving to lay your head against your forearms again. His body weight against yours was almost impossibly heavy, far more than any human. But it wasn’t uncomfortable, keeping off of you just enough. Death is always meticulous, the perfect amounts of everything. Especially with you.

But even if he tried to hide it infinitely deep within him, you knew he always held back. You're the most fragile thing he's been around in an uncountable number of years. “Death…” You say his name wrapped in a breathless whisper it trails off as if a question, pricking his ears. “Harder.”

Death always is as gentle as he could possibly be, as your human frame would often bruise or cut from things that wouldn’t be even noticeable on him. But you beckoning him to teeter you closer to edge of pain however, is tempting. His body becomes faster, rougher, heavier, hips pressing against your with an aggressive abandon. It would’ve kept sliding you forward along the blanketed ground, had Death not yanked your left arm from under your head- pressing his hand around your forearm to hold you steady underneath him.

Fingers stretching out struggling to find anything to grip, to keep yourself stable, the only thing was still just the ground underneath. But Death doesn’t buckle even a little; Almost stoic. It was frustrating how unaffected he always seems, compared to you being almost always a near total mess. Managing to lift your head up enough to turn it and look back at him, you can see his hair falling over his shoulders and around his mask, shadowing it.

But it was the expression behind the mask that surprised you; You hear him let out the smallest shaking breath of air while turning his head away from your gaze. Death is a very quiet, indomitable being. To hear him let out even the smallest reaction, showing the slightest chip in his armor- meant he was crushed under such emotion that even he couldn’t hold it back.

But it had faded just as quickly as you’d heard it, going back to silence other than the most quiet noises of movement from him. It had been a delight, and you’d love nothing more than to hear it again.

It could easily be said you were making enough noise for the both of you, your stomach in wonderful knots, about to snap. You were so, so close, trying to arch your back to push your hips against him more.

You’ve never felt anything to this degree before Death- an almost overwhelming about of pleasure that could send your mind reeling. Seeing stars wasn’t that far off an expression, gasping loud enough that you instantly try to cover your mouth as Death laid almost completely down on you; Hips grinding enough you swore they’d leave marks. But he is just as silent as ever, listening to the sounds of you coming undone beneath him.

He struggles to think of anything that could compare- to hear someone cry out for your everything pleading for more. It makes his chest tighten with a feeling he can’t quite place.

Your thighs press tight against each other as you cum, almost too tight for Death to even move. He slows to a crawl, you tight like a vice around him as you feel a delightful shiver run through your body. It almost overwhelms your entirety, hand clapped over your mouth to muffle what would’ve probably been quite a loud gasp, if you hadn’t stopped it. Had you been anywhere else, Death would’ve peeled your hand away to hear it.

Still grinding against you with an amount you’d say was almost too much, you had to peel your hand away from your mouth to support yourself. You try to wrap around and reach for him; Desperate for touch. But you can barely grab anything other than his scarf, feeling his cool skin just barely against your fingertips. Your hand falls back to the ground with a thump, grasping at almost nothing.

His hand on your bicep tightens, the skin underneath surely bruising, as he finally slows to a halt against your own still tense body. A breath of air pushed through his teeth as a soft hiss, being almost completely muffled by the mask to where even you didn’t hear it. You might’ve thought he’d be short of breath as well, as you had been after you came, but how could one be short of something they didn’t even technically need? Death always had an odd relationship with natural functions like breathing.

It also seems now he realized how tight of a grip he had on your arm in his distraction, fingers loosening around the soft skin. But red marks still remained, and would continue to do so.

It wasn’t like you minded, in all honesty.

Breath finally leveling out you still lay limp, only moving slightly to adjust into a more comfortable position as Death pulls away. You can feel movement, presumably him adjusting his trousers and gaining what minute fraction of decorum he’d lost. When finished, you've barely begun to try and tug at your own clothing to right it.

It takes you a few seconds to do so, before managing to wrangle back full control of your arms which had both at one point been asleep due to the unnatural positions, now tugging down your shirt to fix it. “Ahh, there you are. I thought you dead.”

Pulling your bottoms upward, you had loosened your belt to help lessen the pain as they brushed against areas that would surely soon, if not already, become sore. A nice warm shower to clean up and relax would surely be nice, but a bit of out reach at the moment. “So now of all times is when you finally decide to crack a joke?”

Death doesn’t hesitate to respond, voice sounding absolutely coated in mirth. The Reaper moves to sit in the same position he had before everything, only this time actually joining you on the blanket he’d originally found pointless. He still did, but humans and their constant pursuit of comforts was in a weird way also amusing; At least when he was watching you. “Oh, so now you disapprove? I thought you were the one who wished I would ‘lighten up’. ”

You attempt to roll over and sit on your bottom to join him, but the sudden ache makes it a slower, gradual transition to a sitting position. If you had intended on this whole break being to lessen the amount of general discomfort you were feeling, it seems to have been a complete failure. A lovely, incredible failure. “There’s a time and a place, Death.” “I could’ve said the same to you not long ago.”

You’d be more tempted to come up with some sort of snappy comeback, If his two note chuckle at your embarrassment hadn’t caught you so off guard.

You just smack his chest instead, before looking away and trying to avoid any sort of eye contact. Moments later and his teasing comment well past gone, you sigh and lean against his arm in an over-dramatic motion adding to what you were about to say. Your lips just barely graze against the skin of his shoulder in an almost-kiss; something you’ve gotten used to doing.

“I think I need a little bit more rest though.” Death turns and even with the mask, you can tell he had a decently mirthful expression; By his standards. He’d spotted the way you’d looked up at the sky and noticed a familiar bird, fingers flexing as if you waited to lovingly squeeze the carrion eating pest. “Are you actually going to rest, or use the time to coddle Dust?” Almost as if he heard his name called the crow descends through the treetops, and plops into the lap of his preferred affection giver. Which is you, of course. Death watches the bird puff up, a nearly shapeless mass of feathers as you scratch to rid him of any dirt and douse him with, at least what you thought was, deserved affections. “The blasted bird already never listens, the last thing he needs is your wily affections making him any lazier.”

Death then suddenly notices the way you’ve been leaning against his arm, laughing and smiling, fingers toying with a torn bit of his armor. Your face was still slightly flush, hair and clothing a bit of a mess, and he couldn’t help the hand that darted out to fix a stray piece of hair without you noticing. It all feels, nice. Like he isn’t Creation’s most reviled being. “Summon Despair, I’ll win him over too. Horsemen without a horse.”

Death wouldn’t comment on how you more than likely already had, with how much you scratched behind his ears and call him ‘A good boy, The smartest boy,' and 'The best undead horse in the universe.'  To think, Death could remember a time you’d been utterly scared out of your wits by the horse, and him by extension.

How you had changed tune about them so drastically in such a short amount of time continues to baffle him. He wonders sometimes if other humans would be as similarly forgiving.

“The realms surely tremble with excitement from the mere thought.”

The scowl that is being sent at Dust from his owner would’ve surely melted any other bird; But Dust is of a different breed, and simply sits content and continues preening.

“Quite the shame they don’t know then.” If Death had tried to contain his feeling of complete exasperation with you and all your antics, it didn’t work, letting out a sigh.

“Take it to the grave then, will you?”

You can only chuckle, extremely pleased at his exasperation. Dust joins in only in timing with a soft warble, overjoyed that you were scratching the puff of feathers behind one of his ears. How lucky Death thought he was, to have not one aggravating travel companion, but two.

Not that he would ever complain out loud. If anything, half of the reason he was out here was because you’d found the last Death Tomb so fascinating, even if for him it was just another monotonous journey.

You had been wide eyed looking at vases and murals, spinning around to see every little thing. So easily entertained humans were, as Death had watched you eye a variable mound of golden coins. It was part of the reason he insisted you accompany him, beyond an admittedly selfish desire to have you alone; And away from hovering Makers.

When was the last time something had caught Death’s interest so tightly? Besides you, he can’t quite remember.

“I could take it to the grave with me…” Death can feel the ‘but’ hanging just off the end of your sentence, waiting for whatever chaos you were going to concoct in the same way he prepared for the brunt of battle.

“Or you could introduce me to Strife, and I could joke about it with him.” You’ve said many a stupid thing before, both to and in earshot of Death, but none had gotten such a lightning quick response of:

“Absolutely not.”

[darkdemeter]

WATCH IN SILENCE

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

To the eldest as your charge, Death remained a permanently perplexing sort. This, from the wit of his banter and blunted sass, often leaves you fixated on the nature of his estranged and cold personality, however much you see the confliction of his inner turmoil within. But that is a personal affair you dare not intrude upon.

Most curious for a Watcher, Death often scowls in the closeted nest of his deepest thoughts. More so than not, Watchers tend to make a grand show of their power over the Horsemens’ leash, whichever sibling they hold to, it is but a taming of a trophy. A display, that in comparison to the feared Horsemen, the Watchers are the ones in power.

Darkened, boastful entities. Infectious, shadowy wisps that are bound and loyal to the Charred Council. Yet compared to the likes of your other wrist-shackled counterparts, you remain out of the way of his carnage-paved path. You don’t conduct yourself as a mouthpiece of sarcasm and venomous snark. Death already covers that trait and far more fittingly if you’re forced to confess. But no, you allow him his way without the threat of restraint, and maybe because he is the eldest of his siblings, he is granted that right.

But for you… well, the reason is not like that at all. At least, not entirely. You revere his strength and might, but in fact, you are also rather ‘young’. By this, you have very little experience amassed when chosen to govern a Horsemen; moreso that this is your first venture in doing so. You could also say you’re an admirer of Death. How precise he is in the midst of his outward battles, the radiance of his exuded power, it’s of little use to convince yourself otherwise by accompanying him as his so-called Watcher that you feel safe in his company.

And that is why you remain to that of a voiceless shadow. Quite literally. Upon first bindings to the one known as Kin-slayer, he has not so much as heard you utter a single word. And he knows not if he should be grateful or reserved. A Watcher that is silent?

He tries to not let it overcome his mind. But it's hard when he takes time of momentary rest such as this, to contemplate the path he treads and his next course of action, and then to lift his burning amber eyes to find you. Either staring at him or providing a level of cared attendance to Dust, adoring the crow’s purring chirps as his dark, crisp feathers quiver and fluff out.

When involving the former, all he can do is glare in return but that does little to deter you, gaze almost dream-like, as if you marvel at the sight of him in your muted presence. Though you may harbour a surmised amount of fear for Death, the dangers of other creatures scare you, and that fear only drives you closer to his side. Nights like this there crawls something sinister in the dark. It lingers there like a beast on the prowl. The wispy form of your blackened silhouette dances in hunched uncertainty, perhaps cowardly to the likes of his perspective, before a simple clutter of rubble ignites the last of your incited panic and you huddle to his side. Who better to protect you than Death? His scythes ring the song of victory without so much as a breath, the task of delivering those unto their demise one he is born and created to do.

Has been for many aeons. But he is still and undisturbed by the shifting of pebbles. He scowls, that much you can tell by the thinning of his amber eyes that burn with a thousand blazes of molten and fire.

“It’s nothing, little Watcher.” His voice is strung by the hoarseness of his remark, reprimanding you and your swiftness to scare easily. How often he’s marked you with such belittlement but you find yourself yearning for it. You interpret it as his term of endearment beneath that coarse exterior of his. Head fluttering in the direction of any miniscule note that sounds in the distance around you, you finally come from your hiding place, tucked close to his ribcage with a curious tilt of your head. Glancing from him to where you’d heard the noise, the trail of black at the end of your torso dances over his lap, stirring him with a chill that leaves a disgruntled noise to rise from his chest.

As ever the curious thing you were and that he’d come to know, your arms raise to bend at the elbows, nervously your tinged fingers ring together within your silent inquiry, Death takes an unseemly approach this time around; that of thoughtful gentleness.

“Nothing will come and harm you.”

This answer calms you. He tells by the fall of your shoulders that ease at his promise, and the way your head turns to view him with your eyes, glowing brightly as if you share with him a kind, thankful smile.

“So long as you don’t draw attention,” he quickly snips and that crinkle of your eyes wears away, that once illuminated smile within your gaze dims.

He’s not entirely sure if that was a necessity to add. By what logic would you draw attention to them? Half the time, your presence is invisible to the masked Horseman. Only made known in times where you guide him through his journey, a suggestive wave or push of his body to indicate a point of interest that may be of some use in his quest.

But other than quick outings to help him, watch over him, you don’t exactly serenade him with a chorus of banter he can combat with his own, and thus, enemies don’t take notice of your being there until you show yourself.

But nevertheless, he watches you hover towards him before coming to curl against him. Though he means to protest and brush you aside, you make yourself comfortable at his side and he’s forced to concede that this is where you plan to stay until you both are on the move again.

You sigh, the sound quiet and echoes faintly in the chamber of your enclosed, unmade mouth. Yet your jaw grows down in length as if to copy the motion to yawn and you rest your head against his shoulder.

“You know, you’re a very odd sort of Watcher,” he says to you, yet your eyes dwindle, slowly closing as you remain untainted by his words. They are not new to you. He’s commented a few times about your oddities. And you’re inclined to agree with a sluggish nod.

Still, he watches you, eyes cast upon you with a glare meant to intimidate you. But seeing the serenity of your peace when pressed to him, it comes to soften his gaze. Unexpectedly, something in his heart… beats. Blooms. A strange force threatens to dominate.

The blackened outline of your form fits to the line of his body, the fading tail at the end of your torso rests over in his lap.

Once certain that you’ve somehow drifted into some realm of slumber, his hand comes to rest along the ridge of your spine, he feels the pulse of energy within your shadowed, ethereal body.

The framing curtain of blackness that shrouds your head moves timidly like hair taken softly to the breeze. Much like a human, it is another quality that sets you far apart from the other watchers to relish in their power below the Charred Council’s will.

What Death finds himself now evermore torn and confused by, is the utterance of one word as you drift off into the sleeping abyss.

The quietness disturbed by a tune harmonic - angelic - that it fits not the occupation you find yourself in servitude under.

It is a word he often claims is in the interest of the balance only. That nothing else restrains him to such an esteemed and honourable title.

“Protector…”

[kingkaisen]

SUKUNA WOULD KILL FOR HIS SWEET WIFE, and he has done so before. Quite a few bullets were buried in the skulls of many terrible individuals who made a frown appear upon your face, or worse, made a tear fall.

A vulgar man making comments about you. A crappy mechanic who scammed you and refused to issue a refund. The careless, distracted driver who rear-ended you last week.

What a day that was. You had called your dear husband — holding back tears as you spoke — because you needed transportation after the car accident.

While Sukuna was on the phone with you, he could hear the careless, distracted driver in the background shouting bewildering nonsense about how the accident was somehow your fault.

Did someone really have the nerve to shout at his wife? His wife?

The chaos made you cry harder. The driver would barely let you get a word in, but when he did pause to catch his breath, you mumbled, “You don’t know my husband, sir. If I were you, I wouldn’t speak to me that way.”

The driver didn’t care. He continued to shout. To berate you. Sukuna stayed quiet throughout the phone call as he made his way to your location.

And that shouting man? That careless, distracted driver? He went weak at the knees when he saw Ryomen Sukuna arrive at the scene.

“Did I . . . Did I really rear-end Sukuna’s wife? I’m gonna die. He’s gonna fucking kill me,” the driver thought.

Tears fell from his eyes seeing the huge man, the one person everyone — everyone — in town knew not to mess with, emerging from his vehicle.

To make matters worse, there was a bruise on your forehead.

The man was rambling on and on. It was some sort of pathetic apology. Sukuna didn’t know. Sukuna didn’t care.

He simply killed him, gathered your belongings out of your car, and carried you to his — there was no way he’d let your favorite shoes get ruined with blood stains.

“I’ve got you, pretty girl,” he said as he carried you. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Sukuna took you home. Only after stopping to pick up food from your favorite takeout restaurant first, of course.

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @preciousamethyst @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @koikohib

[dr4k0ns]

“azazel” light yagami 🐐

[specshroom]

⋆˚🐾˖°

Wolf hybrid who is sooooo excited to experience his bunny hybrid partners first heat. So excited that he vastly underestimates just how horny bunnies are in heat.

He's expecting his cute little bunny partner (you) to cry and beg for his knot. Which you do and he knots and cums inside you twice but then right after his knot deflates you look up at him and go "Again?"

He's a little tired but he can't say no to you...

Until it's the sixth fucking round and you're still bouncing on his very overstimulated cock. He knows it's very bad to interrupt a bunny while they're so deep in heat but he might just pass out and you're so lost in the sauce you might just keep going if he does.

He needs to think of a way to satisfy you that won't literally kill him. He gets an idea and reaches for his phone. It's really embarrassing but the best thing he can think of at that moment is to open the group chat, aptly named "The Boys", and hastily text:

[Hey guys can u come over]

[I need sum help with something]

⋆˚🐾˖°

[quarterlifekitty]

So. Highly inspired by this series

Imagine dying next to Ghost. Alongside him. In bed, asleep together, and it’s no one’s fault. It wasn’t a targeted attack. A gas leak. There was no pain, no panic, nothing. Tragic, before your time, and wrought with the impotent agony that can only come about when there’s no target for revenge.

There are worse things, than being a trapped spirit with the man you loved in the house where you loved him. Despite how all of the world has gone quiet, you can still feel him, and he can feel you.

You can still make love.

But every so often, when he takes you from behind, you feel this sharp, burning pain in your back. You know it’s his doing, but something about him has been so… hard to read, since you both died. Even though you don’t have anything left to lose, he holds you tighter than he ever did before. Won’t leave you alone for a moment. There’s terror in his eyes. You don’t understand it— he died in peace. None of the things that haunted him in life can follow him here. But you don’t have the courage to ask him.

He’ll die a thousand times over before he tells you that he’s ripping the feathers from your back because god is trying to take you somewhere he can’t follow.

[killuintense]

i always liked the older versions of Leon, but this is another level omgf if i had him in front of me i would suck him until my knees bleed 🙏

cr: anglehands on x ‹𝟹

[sukunasweetheart]

Ever think about trueform sukuna becoming a father unintentionally, and when he sees his child for the first time, he is taken aback by how normal it is? No extra appendages, not a single deformed bone in its body. Just a normal child, cradled by its loving, doting mother. Do you ever think about how relieved he would feel? Maybe envious? Do you ever think about how it could possibly make him rethink his whole identity? A curse couldn't possibly be capable of creating a child so normal and healthy.

Do you ever think he reminisces to his own mother when he sees you? Your face glowing with pride and happiness, the way his mother's never did. Would you have loved your child if it was burdened with a curse, the same as him? With the way he's seen you kiss the right side of his face, he thinks you would.

Do you ever think about how he'd feel when his child holds onto his massive index finger with its tiny hand? To think that such a small, fragile thing contains half of his blood in it. His genes. His features. How small. How helpless...

To think that something so innocent was birthed as a result of his seed. Do you think his soul would quiver? Change its shape? Could he give his child the love it needs from him?

I think he could...

It wouldn't be perfect. But there's no such thing as a perfect parent in this world.

[leonsrailway]

hey quick question are you KIDDING ME

[imagine-darksiders]

Y/n: Don't worry Death! Any demon who wants to hurt you will have to get through me first!

Death: You're a noble friend. I'll treasure those three extra seconds.

[moodymisty]

Hi hi! I have a request if that’s ok! Death is such a grimy and grumpy old man. Could we maybe have a soft moment with him? Maybe a rare cuddling moment where he opens up a little or maybe even a soft moment the human/reader brushing his rats nest called hair or just taking care of him? Thank you!

Author's note: While I love all the Horsemen Strife I absolutely love writing Death. I especially love writing cute prompts like this for the Horsemen. Anyhoo, this idea popped into my head when I read 'soft moment', and thought it'd be cute. Enjoy :3

Summary: It's pouring down outside; And with Death taking a rare rest, you decide to ask him about a few of his old wounds.

Relationships: Death/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not really any, just some cuddles and looking at Death's scars

The storm outside cracks the sky with a large boom of thunder, shortly after lighting up the room. It’s one of the most intense storms you’ve seen in quite awhile, and it doesn’t seem to have plans for letting up anytime soon.

Not as if it matters however, as you sit snug safely in bed.

“If you prod anymore of them, I’d well believe you’ll reopen one.”

Death comments on your curiosity over his scars but doesn’t make any sort of actual effort stop you, feeling the soft skin of your fingertips ever so gently graze over his marred skin. He can barely feel your touch at times it’s so soft, as if you think merely brushing them will somehow hurt him. While the gesture is pointless, Death surprises himself by being pleasantly buzzed at the idea that you would care about such a thing.

It’s an intoxicating feeling; Death finds himself greedy and feeling pleased your interest in his healed wounds hasn't faded yet. You sit behind him, legs tucked to one side while you look over his back.

“They all look so different.” Death sits facing away from you, taking in an extremely rare moment of genuine relaxation. Had you been anyone else, he’d never allow himself the luxury.

Meanwhile Dust lets out a content little warble; He's been perched on the headboard of your bed this entire time, fluffed up as he sits almost as round as a crow can get. The bird is content as can be, and if you were within reach, the temptation to pet him would be too hard to ignore.

“Rarely do I meet the same weapon twice.” One could take that as a cocky declaration of skill, but he is more than likely referencing the sheer amount of beings he’s fought, over the years.

“How did you get this one?”

Death sighs. He can feel your fingers under his left shoulder blade, jolting slightly when a large crack of thunder startles you; Dust as well, the bird abruptly stands and lets out a squawk at the sudden noise. The rain is battering down on your window with such force that he's glad he botched your efforts to play around in it. He doesn't understand why you would even want to to begin with.

“Do you truly think I remember each any every one?”

When you mumble something snide about his age under your breath, he grabs a firm grip of your ankle and you let out a small squeal as he tugs you closer.

“Keep talking like that girl, and you’ll get in trouble.”

He lets go of your ankle and you adjust your legs so that you're crossing them instead, and resume your mapping of his skin in silence. He can feel the curl of your lip as you glare at the back of his head; But you're not genuinely displeased. He enjoys irritating you, though if he's good at hiding that fact. At least most of the time, there's been a few instances where you can tell he goading you, as you can see the bottoms of his eyes push upward as he smirks behind his mask.

Your curiosity still hasn't been sated, feeling your index finger against what he assumes is an old burn. The feeling is dulled, but still soft against the bottom of his ribcage. When you lose interest in that one your fingers brush against the middle near his spine, over a long, wide scar.

He remembers that one.

“That is from Chaoseater.”

You halt for a moment, partly from the fact he actually is indulging you; The other being the realization that you very much so recognize that title. You furrow your brow and stare at the back of his head while you speak up.

“Wait, War’s greatsword? When did he stab you?” Death shifts his body, toying with the wraps around his wrists as his black hair parts over his neck.

“War was not always able to control his temper.”

You hesitate to say 'temper' is an adequate term to use when someone decides to nearly gut you, but since Death is fundamentally immortal, perhaps he has a looser definition of the word.

"Geez. I hope he at least apologized for nearly putting you in two pieces." Death lets out a short, harsh laugh. His shoulders move when doing so.

"I would be more surprised by him apologizing, than attempting to gut me."

You would be too, if what little you've seen of the red rider has anything to say for it.

A hard burst of rain batters down on the window for a moment, the wind shaking the trees outside. You're glad Despair can vanish like he can, you'd feel awful if he was stuck out in this dreadful weather. At least Dust can come inside and preen himself.

Rising up onto your knees you wrap your arms around Death's shoulders, leaning forward enough to sick your head around and see part of his masked face.

He has to push down a feeling that tenses his shoulders, at the act of someone suddenly coming up on him from behind so close to his head. A deeply ingrained habit of defense; He doesn't need it when it's just his little human climbing on him.

"Too bad none of my scars are interesting," You say, showing him a tiny little white scar of your own. Death gently grasps you close to it, before you can tell his brow is furrowing behind his mask. His hand tightens a bit as he speaks, though his grip is still incredibly gentle.

"I hope you aren't implying you want to rush into battle." You laugh, and lean your chin in the crook between his shoulder and his neck. Death's tone was incredibly warning, not even going to entertain the thought of you getting hurt. His lazy crow lets out a little warble at the stern tone of his master, but doesn't make any real effort to move away. He's gotten too comfortable again, laying on his legs and puffed up like a little black orb of feathers. A few are scattered on the pillow; After he's preened and plucked them.

"No, but saying 'I got stabbed by a living sword that feeds off of bloodlust' is far more interesting than 'I cut myself with a kitchen knife' or something like that."

His hand is still on your bare skin, feeling the warmth radiating from it. He hesitates to pull his hand away, just because he wants to enjoy it. He does so silently for a moment, before looking away from you. His fingers tap on your skin in succession as he thinks, feeling the way your body lays against him.

"If it will keep your mind off of those sorts of ideas, I will sate your curiosity one more time."

It takes a second to realize what he means, before he feels you tense against his back as you exclaim: "Really?!"

Death quite visibly rolls his eyes at how oddly seriously you're taking this, but he doesn't actually say anything. Not often does he get to see someone happy, let alone because of him. He shakes his head and you feel his hair brush against your arm, before he sighs.

"Yes. But do choose wisely."

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Yandere!Dragon Hybrid that protects his pregnant mate with violence, ready to tear apart anyone that comes close to where they’re nesting.

He’s keeping you on his bulging cock to keep both of you warm as the snow rages on outside.

Soft purrs leave his throat, his claws running over your swollen belly as his scarlet eyes stare down at you with utter adoration. Cumming inside is the only option for him! You have to be claimed after all!

The decorations in the cave are a bit unsettling, but you get used to the human skulls and bones of unknown origin eventually.

Besides that, it’s quite beautiful, with jewels and gold glittering all around, he’s quite proud when you take notice of his hoard, and adores to ravish you when you’re wearing some of the treasure he’s collected!

Only the finest silk and softest blankets are used to build your nest, along with fabrics he’s cum all over! After all, his scent should soothe you, he’s your mate!

Defending you and keeping you safe are his top priorities. He’ll bring home his kills like a house cat bringing you a mouse, confused on why you cry and scream when he drops a mauled human in front of you.

He worked so hard to protect you, don’t you love him? Aren’t you proud? It hurts his feelings a little… but he once heard from a human that happy wife equals a happy life, so he spoils you to make up for it.

Pampering you comes at a close second on his list of priorities.

Your belly is so swollen with his child that eventually, walking becomes hard! He does everything for you. Hunting, cooking, bathing you, it’s all to show his love and utter devotion to you, his everything.

[smutbutoutofnowhere]

shoutout to all my fellow smut enjoyers

[multifandominfj]

[kitkat13001]

⤷ KENMA KOZUME, L LAWLIET, MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, iguro obanai, shoto todoroki, TOMURA SHIGARAKI, GIYUU TOMIOKA, xiao, MATT JEEVAS, choso kamo, genya shinazugawa, SHUN KAIDO