#darksiders strife x you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkdemeter · 2 months

Note

Tis I again! With more requests for darksiders!

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

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

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

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

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

As always take ur time and thanks in advance!

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

A HEART SO UNCONDITIONAL

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

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

✎7.2k

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DEATH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have I done something wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

STRIFE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have no idea.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WAR

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

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

Never once did he fail you.

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

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

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

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

“It’s not been that long.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And… what are you doing there?”

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

“What— was that for?”

“Because I love you, silly!”

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

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

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

He asks, “You truly mean that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, War, knock knock…”

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

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

“Me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FURY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#headlinesxcomics publishing #happyfic hour #darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders strife #darksiders death #darksiders war #darksiders fury #darksiders x reader #darksiders death x reader #darksiders strife x reader #darksiders war x reader #darksiders fury x reader

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doodlesdreaming · 2 months

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Have you ever thought of Darksiders but in Pokémon mystery dungeon style? I mean I have an idea what the horsemen might be as pokemon

Death-Alolan Marokwack became of the whole skull and ghost motif

Strife- Shiny Zoroark becomes the whole illusions and Zoroark are known to be loyal and protective to who they see as there pack and ofc a little trickster

Fury-It’s between Sneasler or Salazzle, just the whole poison sassy energy they both have just gives me Fury vibes

War- Hisuian Arcanine, Arcanines theme is supposed to be loyal protectors and with the Hisuian version it looks like it’s wearing armor as well as with War having the ability to turn his skin as hard as stone or on fire. Also big fire doggo

That’s all I really have and idk what the general plot a darksiders x mystery dungeon might be but I would think it would be dope

I've only played on mystery dungeon game(the 3DS one), but yes. So much yes.

Yes. To all of this. ☝️☝️

#darksiders #pokemon #pokemon mystery dungeon #headcanons #ask stuff #thanks for the ask!

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lananiscorner · 10 months

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The Leviathan's Tail

Summary:

Strife has lost count of the many, many times he has tried to conquer the obstacle course called "Leviathan's Landing". Dis has not. She decides to provide him with a little hint...

Notes:

Yes, I am still alive. This is the first thing I've written in months, so probably rusty as fuck. Anyway, his was written for Darksiders Week 2023, Day 1: Celebrating Genesis. Can't say I liked Leviathan's Landing--quite the opposite in fact, but bless whoever found that little exploit for the third section of it.

Disclaimer: This work was written for publication on Archive of Our Own and my personal Tumblr (lananiscorner) and is not for profit. Any re-publication on for-profit/monetized sites/apps is not authorized or supported by me. If you come across such a re-publication, please leave a comment in my tumblr ask box. Podfics and translations may be authorized upon request.

Fic text beneath the cut.

The platform collapsed under his feet once more, and so did what little was left of his patience. Strife cursed as he fell through the void, seemingly endlessly, before one of the giant, undead snakes that had made its home in there found him and catapulted him back up to the beginning with an unceremonious flick of its tail.

Leviathan’s Landing, Vulgrim had called it, and now Strife finally understood why.

“Have you been attempting this ridiculous excuse of an obstacle course again, brother?”

“Of course not,” Strife scoffed in response. “I just came here for my daily dose of void diving.”

He wasn’t sure if War had been making fun of him or not. It was hard to tell with the big guy, and the fact that he and Strife had not had much to do with each other before defecting from the nephilim did not help. He had been a part of the Crimson Oath—meaning what you say but never saying what you mean had been second nature to Strife, drilled into his very being from the day he took the crimson. War, on the other hand, had been fighting at the front of Absalom’s forces, a vanguard, a bruiser, as brutally effective as gracelessly blunt, and in many ways his demeanor came to match.

Even now, as War raised an eyebrow ever so slightly before turning back towards the serpent hole, Strife was not entirely sure if he had even noticed the sarcasm in his brother’s reply. Strife was going to give him the benefit of the doubt, though. If even one good thing had come out of their third visit to Eden, it was that Strife had learned his younger brother was a lot smarter than one would assume from a front line fighter who had gotten hit in the head a couple dozen of times.

Unfortunately, Strife thought with a sigh as he looked back on the increasingly narrow pillars shooting up behind him, there was a better chance of snow falling in Hell’s furnaces than War helping him with this. As he trudged back to the serpent hole, frustration slowly turned into anger.

He was supposed to be the one who was good at this sort of stuff. Finesse. Swiftness. Sure-footed work under frantic circumstances. This was his element… and yet here he was, sulking after the Creator only knew how many attempts at tackling the damned third section of this utterly insane obstacle course.

He wanted to shoot something. Or even better, punch it.

Perhaps I should ask War to let me borrow that gauntlet for a minute.

The thought had never had more appeal. Unfortunately, the cold, unforgiving universe once more decided to laugh at him.

The serpent hole was where it had always been—or, well, where it had always been since Strife and War had gotten here—for all Strife knew Vulgrim reshuffled and redecorated the place every X number of years—but War was not. Knowing his brother, he hadn’t gone back to Vulgrim and Samael for a chat either, which really left only one sensible option. With a deep sigh, Strife headed towards Dis.

“Brother, I swear by Lilith’s tits, if you went to fight Dagon without me…”

“Then what?” Vulgrim’s ‘associate’ was on him in a hot second, the bauble she had been tinkering with flung carelessly back into the void with a flick of her wrist. The smile on Dis’ face was as unmistakably smug as the tone was tantalizing in her voice. “Will we get to see an epic brawl between two of the last nephilim in existence? I would pay for seats to that show…”

“Aaaaaand you’d be getting ripped off.” Strife smiled underneath his helmet as he brought out his guns. “You wanna see a fight between any number of the four of us? Just ask who should be in charge or claim that one of us is light years ahead of the others, and you’ve got yourself a nice little show.”

Of course, the truth was it probably wouldn’t even take that much. If there were two things that were in a nephilim’s blood, it was to wander… and to fight. In hindsight, perhaps that was why Absalom’s excuse for attacking Eden had always rung so hollow for him.

“A home for our people.”

As if their people were the kind that wanted homes.

As if they would not get bored less than a month into living there and move on to another planet to mess up.

As if any permanent settlement was not only unrealistic and completely out of character for almost all of them, but also an amazing opportunity for one of the many, many, many races who wanted his kind wiped from the universe completely to attack them where it hurt the most.

Except that was us. Strife hated it when the little voice inside his head was right. It was us who wiped them from the universe. Didn’t even need another race for that.

“Hey, Dis, you wouldn’t happen to have seen War, would you?”

There was no point in lingering in the past, no matter how many times its ghosts tried to claw their way back into his mind.

He often wondered how many centuries he was going to have to remind himself of that fact before it finally worked.

“The big guy?” Dis looked up from whatever potion she had been brewing—where had she even been hiding the vials and ingredients?—and nodded towards the serpent hole. “He bought some more trinkets from me before going to the arena. I thought you’d already demolished the place?”

Strife shrugged. “Yeah, pretty sure we did. But then again, War’s the kind that doesn’t mind repetition.”

“But you do?”

“Sure do. It’s boring. And I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

Dis grinned ear to ear. “Like tackling Leviathan’s Landing for the two-hundred and sixty-eighth time?”

Oh you little demon bit— “I have not—”

Suddenly, the temptation to shoot her was almost unbearable. Strife knew the feeling. The itching at the back of his neck. The tingling in his veins. The blood lust that was so common for all of his kind. Too bad all the stuff she sold was useful. And she was kind of cute. For a demon anyways.

“It has not been two-hundred and sixty-eight times.”

“Oh it has.” Dis shook the vial she was holding twice and smiled as it turned from dull gray to vibrant blue. “I counted.” She gave him a quick wink. “Your enthusiasm and tenacity really is quite endearing.”

“I’m gonna shoot you just for that tone in your voice.”

Strife sighed. He wanted to say he couldn’t quite place why it pissed him off so much, but unfortunately he could. That dreadful mixture of cheeky seduction and almost mothering ‘bless your little heart, you tried’ kind of condescension was something every nephilim had known from the day of their creation.

“You know, Dis… if you’ve got nothing helpful to say, maybe say nothing at all.”

“Very well,” Dis scoffed. “Go catch a Leviathan’s tail then, for all I care.”

Whatever warmth had been in her voice had turned into to ice. Strife was hardly surprised. A slighted demon sounded like she wanted to murder him. In other news, fire was hot and Samael could not be trusted. He watched her float back to her books and beakers and whatever else she had stacked up in that makeshift laboratory of hers, took a deep breath and holstered his guns.

There were other demons to kill in the arena. No need to waste his time and ammo on the demon who was supplying him and War with upgrades.

He was just about to enter the arena and find out which section exactly War had run off to, when he caught the glimmer in the distance.

How he had never noticed it before, Strife couldn’t tell. His senses were usually unusually sharp—more so than most other nephilim’s in fact—it had always given him an edge he had sorely needed. Perhaps he had always been to distracted by conversing with War. Perhaps the angle had never been right. Either way, he could see it clearly now—the unmistakable glow of a creature core, and a big one at that. Strife stepped over the serpent hole and headed down the rune-riddled path towards the core instead.

It led him back to the big door. As once before, the keys he and War had found throughout Hell’s realms materialized automatically, shooting forth into their locks, no doubt drawn in by some powerful magic. There were not enough of them, of course. There hadn’t been last time either, and both he and War had agreed to leave the door alone until they had found a sufficient number to open the door.

As much as Strife loved a mystery, right now, the idea of what was hiding behind the gate was not nearly as interesting to him as the glow high above it, little more than a glimmer now that his sight line was blocked by the stone wall shooting up above the door. Strife climbed up one of the torches by the side, hoping to get a better look.

Who would put a stone wall above a door in the middle of nowhere? And who would put a core up there? And what kind of co—Oh.

He found the answer as he was balancing on the edge of the torch, flames licking dangerously close to his dangling scarf. From up here, he could see most of this corner of the void. He could see the entrance to the Boatman’s Labyrinth and Dis’ lab just before that. He could see the serpent hole. He could see the entrance to the Gauntlet. He could see the beginning of Leviathan’s Landing.

The beginning with the first pillars.

And the damned pillars.

And the second portal.

And the floating rocks that curved throughout the empty space like a winding snake.

And the third portal.

And a glimpse of the beginning of thrice-damned path he had just wasted hours on, bending gently in his current direction.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

This was it. This was the Leviathan’s tail. The end of the course. He couldn’t see if from where he stood, but he was as sure that there was one last portal up there as he was sure in his aim with his guns.

“Bless you, Dis, I promise I’ll bring you something really neat from the next vault I crack.”

Strife took a deep breath, then jumped towards the door, shadow-dashing mid air to land on one of the tiny outcrops in the rocky facade. If someone had told him to climb up this wall a week ago, he would have told them to get bent. Now, he was determined to scale this jagged piece of floating rock even if it was the last thing he was going to do.

As it turned out, getting above the door was the easy part. Getting up the wall behind it… Strife cursed under his breath as he tried to scale the rocks. Why did Lilith had to have been so incompetent at creating a hybrid between angels and demons? Where were the wings? You’d think that would be the first thing she would have taken from the angels. The wings. But noooooo. All he had was this stupid shadow wing thing he had gotten from Samael.

He had lost count of the many times his fingers had slipped from cracks to small and thin for a firm hold by the time he felt ready to climb back down again. Even though he was on the scrawny side as far as nephilim went, there was no way to get a good grip here. He almost missed the balancing act that was the pillars in the first section of Leviathan’s Landing.

Balance…

The idea that had sprung into his head was frankly crazy and likely to end with him losing parts he would hate to miss, but when had that ever stopped him? Strife shook the tension and soreness out of his limbs, then tackled the wall again.

This time, he planted one of his twin daggers firmly in the deepest horizontal crack he could find and clambered up onto it with as much care as he could muster. The tempered demon steel bent ever so slightly under his weight, but still, his feet remained steady. He had stood on worse. He just needed to put the thought of an arm’s length worth of razor sharp steel out of his mind.

The second dagger went into another split in the rocks, this time blade up. It was risky, but he could do it.

Strife took a deep breath, jumped up onto the hilt and immediately vaulted even higher, to grab the ledge at the top of the cliff. He hung on by the tips of his fingers, but he was going to be damned if he was going to quit now. With one last huff and a curse, Strife pulled himself to the top.

The core was humming quietly in front of him, its magic vibrating in the air, soft as the buzz of a bee on a warm summer’s day. It almost seemed to mock him with how peacefully it sat there, considering the violence this obstacle course had inflicted on him each time he had tried to get here the ‘right’ way.

“You little sucker…” Strife grabbed the core quickly before the universe could pull some new cruel joke on him and catapult it out of his reach by some contrived shenanigans.

I can already hear War’s response, Strife mused as he climbed down carefully, retrieving his daggers along the way. “You have not only cheated the creator of this course—you have cheated yourself.”

War could get bent. At the end of the day, Strife now had three Leviathan cores and War had none. And that’s what really mattered.

His brother was waiting for him by the serpent hole when he returned. Going by the few bits and pieces of demon that still clung to parts of War’s armor, it had been an entertaining run.

“So… how far did you get?”

“I stopped after the hundred and sixty-fifth wave.” War shrugged ever so slightly. “The arena is starting to bore me.” Then, he nodded towards his older brother. “I assume you tried the leviathan’s trail one more time?”

“Actually,” Strife grinned, even though he was fully aware War could not see it, “I grabbed the leviathan by its tail this time.”

War sighed. “You make as little sense as ever, brother.”

“Thankfully.” Strife thumped him on the shoulder quickly. “Now, shall we return to our regularly scheduled hunt for minor demon lords with delusions of grandeur?”

A rare smile graced War’s usually stern face. “Yes. Let’s go and kill Dagon.”

#Darksiders #Darksiders Week 2023 #Darksiders Week #darksidersweek2023 #Day 1: Celebrating Genesis #my fic #The Leviathan's Tail #Darksiders War #Darksiders Strife #Darksiders Dis

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josnhoes · 2 years

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I promised I'd write something Darksiders related and this is the brain rot I have.

Content warning: violence, end of the world, 'monster'!reader, incorrect lycanthropy lore, poor emotional choices, reader has suffered so much loss, War just steals reader

Background: You are a human..mostly. For generations your family has had a curse that effects the firstborn of every generation. Lycanthropy was something you grew up with, but unlike the previous afflicted you'd learned to accept and work with your wolf; a fortuitous thing since now you had full control of yourself and when you shift. It has also allowed you to grow in strength in and out of wolf form.

---------

When the world had gone to shit you had never been more grateful for your 'curse'. It hardly even felt like a curse and more like you were an x-man; but your family insisted it was a curse even though you were the first to control it.

The additional strength and stamina had made survival somewhat easier, finding clean water and food had become an issue but at least you could defend yourself…mostly. Sure it was clumsy and all about killing the demon before it killed you but you made it work. You were alive and that's what mattered. Until things got better and you had a chance to mourn.

As much as you wanted to mourn you couldn't until you were truly secure even if it wore you down. Logically you knew it was only a matter of time before your mind couldn't take it anymore, but you couldn't take the risk to even try and let it out in bits and pieces.

It was another day of scavenging or it had been when you spotted what you believed to be another human. No wings or horns or even a hint of rot! The figure was hulking but you couldn't fight the traitorous Glimmer of hope that swelled in you.

The man was unaware of you as you began to approach but he seemed to be unaware of the demon coming up on him. "LOOK OUT!" The words left your mouth as you charged forward the metal bat in hand ready to crush the demon's skull.

Your words seemed to spur him into action before you had a chance to attack the demon. The giant sword swung down, slaughtering the demon easier than you'd ever seen done. "A-are you okay?"

The man was much much larger then you had first thought and as he turned to face you a scowl on his face you could have sworn he was ready to rend your flesh from your bones.

"What are you?" The man growled out. War was no fool the council had said that humanity had been wiped out. Yet this…person in front of him looked distinctly human.

"Yeesh… talk about an introduction. I'm human…mostly. It's complicated. Who and what are you? We humans don't come in your size. Like goddamn, what do you eat brick houses?" Was it wise to taunt someone who looked like they could punt you into the sun with their pinky finger? No but you'd never claimed to be wise.

War was utterly unamused and all he could picture when looking at you in this moment was his brother Strife. "I am War."

"War? Like horsemen of the apocalypse War? Oh man you are a huge topic of discussion of angels and demons alike. Hear lots of the rumors when you skulk around trying to survive."

"Yes of the horsemen." He answered you trying to ignore your prattle as he debated what to do to you. You were presumably the last of your kind, if you were human. Your life could help clear his name with the council. So leaving you to fend for yourself was out of the question. If you ended up not being human it would come to light soon enough.

"So this really *is* the end then… I shouldn't be surprised given the state of things but it still feels far more final now." You frowned at the revelation.

"It is not the end. This was not meant to happen yet and I will prove who it was and see to your safety. If you *are* human that is."

"I really don't know how to prove that. Still I'll take my chances elsewhere," you scratched the back of your neck "No offense but I'm pretty sure going with you will be more dangerous then going my own way."

"That was *not* a request." The gruff words from the handsome man only filled you with dread.

#darksiders #darksiders x reader

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darksiderssin · 2 years

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*Pokes into the askbox* Hi, i'm pretty new to the Darksiders fandom! ( Recently got the first game and a figurine of War 👀🙈🥰 ) Anyways, i was wondering if i can request a War X fem!reader?

Maybe some headcanons on him with with a reader who's a big horror movie nerd? ( I'm a huge sucker for slasher movies and giant monsters :D ) or maybe headcanons for his Chaos!form? Can be either SFW or NSFW.

Anyways, hope you have a great day/night! :3

Hey, welcome! I hope you're enjoying the game, it's fun to play as a monster truck on legs. XD Movie nerd s/o headcanons coming up!

Needless to say, you were pretty bummed out when all the cinemas in the area were either destroyed or occupied by the warring forces of Heaven and Hell. Shutter Island was about to drop, too, and you were looking forward to watching it, but now you were straight out of luck. No more movie nights either, just surviving and finding any thriller novels that hadn't been ruined by exposure to the elements.

War, for his part, hasn't spent as much time on Earth compared to Strife, who would probably know more about human culture than he would, and he's curious as to why humans scare themselves for entertainment. Don't the dustborn usually avoid things that scare them? He's happy to hear you go on and on about your favourite horror movie plots, your favourite slashers and monsters. Turns out he's fought a few of those monsters before, or at least something similar to what you're describing. Yes, demons will possess humans or mess with them for fun. Yes, vengeful ghosts exist, though they're usually more his eldest brother's area of expertise. Despite the whole "scaring yourself for fun" thing, War comes to see that the fear is half the fun, the other half being the interesting plots of these tales. He's not much of a reader himself, but he's happy if it makes you happy.

His Chaos form was a treat for you, too. You've seen Kaiju movies, and while War isn't as big as say, Godzilla, he's just as impressive to see in action, even as you're scrambling out of the way of the conflict. He's like a big dog in this form, and he'll gladly curl around you to keep you warm or just for a snuggle, or let you ride on his back. He very much enjoys your excited babbling about how cool he is, even if he snorts and calls it ridiculous. He is very cool. He's not sure what Godzilla is, but he wants to fight it now to prove to you that he's far more impressive than a lightning-breathing iguana.

#ask #answered #silkekruse #not sin #darksiders #war

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demon64 · 10 months

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Had another crossover idea! Another Darksiders crossover idea! This time with some Marvel stuff. Had this idea of Death carrying a young X-23/Laura Kinney, helping her escape from the people that used and abused her as a living weapon. And just wrote a short story based on that idea.

If there was one thing very little known to the people of Earth, it was the last four Nephilim in existence, known to most others in Creation as the true Four Horsemen. Taking the names of Fury, Strife, War and Death they have hid on Earth for centuries, if not millennia. The Four have seen extraterrestrials visit, Pantheons appear and seek worship, even seen Humanity evolve.

Death has been noted to be a cold man, taking life without remorse, but this was only half the truth. He is kind, he will comfort. And no one he had met before deserved that kindness and comfort now than this human, this child. She sat before him, guarded, brandishing her claws, a look of anger and fear directed at the strange man before.

While not one for interacting much with Humanity, a scared man had appeared at the Nephilim's front door, rambling in fear about a monster chasing him. Deciding to see this monster for himself, Death would get a couple knicks and cuts from a fast assailant. But the assailant was not fast enough to not be caught when he pretended to look another direction. You would not believe his shock when this supposed monster turned out to be just a young girl, even if she is a dangerous young girl.

When questioned initially, she would not speak. Taking her inside his home, the man from before would run back out, still scared for his life. Knowing that some people will not speak until offered something in turn, Death offered the girl food. She looked like she would turn it down, but her stomach said otherwise with a growl.

After a bowl of soup and some gentle prodding, the child would explain that she is X-23, a living weapon. Created by a place just called The Facility. That she has killed people, and will likely be ordered to kill more. That she had been forced to kill her own mother. She then asked if he was like her.

A child used as a weapon? Ordered to kill people? Forced to kill her own mother? No, that would not do. He half-lied, saying that he was like her. Saying that he would like to meet the people at The Facility.

Once they had made it to The Facility, she led Death to the front door. He would ask her to wait outside, for his business with The Facility was private. Not many there would survive that day, for the Grim Reaper had come for them. It would be a bloody massacre. Death walk out with the girl in his arms. X-23 asked why he had killed them. He would not lie to her about that.

She was free, but had no idea to what to do now. Death would give her a trinket, meant to help her find relatives of her, kind relatives that would treat her like a person, not a weapon.

Death would meet her once again years later. She was doing much better since he had last seen her, she had even taken the name that her mother would have given her. Laura Kinney.

Death was cold, Death was kind. He was many things, and that day he was a girl's hero.

#darksiders series #darksiders #marvel comics #marvel #four horsemen of the apocalypse #death #pale rider #x-men #laura kinney #x-23 #all-new wolverine #crossover idea #fanfiction

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firebrandthestubborn · 2 years

Text

Asking the Horsemen their ✨pronouns✨..

(Horsemen x gender neutral reader!)

*clings my pots and pans together* WAKE UP DARKSIDERS FANDOMMMMM WAKE UP

Also no mention of the word human for all those nonhuman ocs <3

Please know that these are all HEADCANNONS AHGGGH

Death <3

“Hey, Death, so what are your pronouns?”

Death would slowly turn to look at you with a deadpanned look at the fire between the two of you crackled. You cocked your head to the side and stared back at him. Despite the mask you’ve been traveling with him long enough to be able to read him. He was.. confused.

“He, I guess. I don’t see why something like this matters anymore.”

You snorted lightly and shook your head at him.

War <3

“War, what are your pronouns?”

War and you were walking around a now decrepit office building trying to figure out where to go now. You sprouted the question on him suddenly. He stopped for a few second to process the question.

“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” He said looking down/up at you slightly puzzled.

“Like your pronouns? He/him she/her? What do you use..?” You ask staring at him starting to wonder if pronouns ar even an important thing now.

“Oh uhm he..him I guess?”

Strife <3

“Strife. What are your pronouns..?”

“Male ones????”

He said confused at you unsure of how to respond to your question. He’s knew what pronouns are but wasn’t sure on exactly what they were if you catch my drift.

The gunslinger just kinda stared at you before perking up and jokingly nudging you.

“You think I’m hot enough to be a woman.. awww” You respond with a head sake and light chuckle.

Fury <3

“Hey Fury, do you mind if I ask you what your pronouns are?” You asked and she huffed turning to you

“I’m a woman.. so she/her I guess?”

You give her a nod pressing her further with question might easily trigger the already lit bomb that is Fury. At least she knew the right answer!

—————-

I had no idea what to write for Fury and Strife <<33

#darksiders death #darksiders war #darksiders strife #darksiders fury #Darksiders #darksiders genesis #darksiders 2 #darksiders3

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granddaughterogg · 5 years

Text

imagines to kickstart your day

Imagine:

Fury’s knowing fingers caressing the curve of your neck, your clavicles. Going down, down, so relentlessly down. You get goosebumps and she giggles quietly, pressing her soft mouth to your ear.

War passing you by in a narrow hallway, he always takes up all the space available, but this time it’s very conscious on his part. Your smaller frame gets pressed to his wide torso, your breath hitches, his lightning blue eyes brighten momentarily. You say “Hey...” because your head is kinda in a swirl and it’s hard to come up with anything else. “Hey”, answers War with a lovable little smirk.

Strife in an impossible pose on a sofa, he’s quite upside down, all those long limbs splayed, eyes closed, a smile gracing his bold features. You think that he’s asleep and proceed to trot by - only to hear him enunciate very clearly in a throaty, lazy tone of voice: “I can smell you from here, ya know.”

Death‘s large fingers suddenly weaved into your hair. When did this even happen? He doesn’t quite yank your head backwards, but almost. His lips next to your ear, so close that you can’t help but shiver. “Get over here.”

*Went and edited that one sentence Hours after publishing because hey, this is how I roll*

#darksiders #darksiders lemon #i suppose #fury x reader #war x reader #strife x reader #death x reader #better than coffee if you ask me

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moodymisty · 1 year

Note

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.

#strife x reader #darksiders strife x reader #Darksider/Reader #darksiders strife x you #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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imagine-darksiders · 1 year

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Hello Strife Nation

[me waking up this morning] Hmm, perhaps an Eden's Heir shitpost for the lovelies?R

#darksiders #darksiders genesis #War's like 'Brother you are embarrassing me'#Strife #Reader #Strife x reader #Doodles #Sketch #Eden's Heir #Strife is Juicy you can't change my mind #Remember Dagon's fight?#Cos I do

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darkdemeter · 2 months

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

GUIDE HER WAY HOME

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

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

✎ 1.9k ────────────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, what of their task?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seconded,” growls Strife with a slivered glare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#headlinesxcomics publishing #happyfic hour #darksiders #darksiders genesis #darksiders war #darksiders strife #platonic darksiders war x reader #platonic darksiders strife x reader #darksiders x reader #darksiders fluff

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oven-thermometer · 2 years

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Request: “ Hello I have a request!!! How about a story with Strife x reader. Strife and reader spend the day together with reader making Strife an amazing human meal. It starts to get late as the two get ready for bed, reader says it’s alright for Strife to stay the night. He gets his own room, but he can’t sleep. He already has a huge crush on reader (reader has a crush on him too). He makes the decision to wander into their room to snuggle in reader’s bed. THEY SHARE A FIRST KISS!!! …I love me some pining and first loves!!! Sorry about the lack of new Darksiders games, that sucks, I was hoping for something new too. ”

A/N: THQ did announce that they’re working on some other unnamed games, hopefully Darksiders 4 is in there somewhere lol. Tysm for the request, I’ve been struggling with ideas – hope you like it <3

Word count: 2.1k

Warning: literally just a vague kissing scene

Another day well spent. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence: spending your off days with Strife that is. Hours of banter, games and simply spending time in each other’s company was an easy way to wind down. Your friendship with Strife had always been one filled with cherished memories – and today was certainly no different.

The sun had set about an hour ago, laying a crisp feeling of cool over your home. It was a nice contrast to the stuffy spring day. Not that you were complaining, getting to spend the day under the protection of the AC meant you could both continue your shenanigans. Shenanigans which included board games, movies, reality TV binging and your personal favourite – teaching Strife to cook.

Teaching Strife small little skills made him feel normal, and you didn’t particularly mind either. It meant you got to stare as the glint in his eyes showed the curiosity etched onto his face. The sheer joy he experienced from learning how to bake cookies, or how to make a good cheese sauce meant he could prove to himself that maybe he wasn’t such a monster. The monster the council and the entire of creation had plastered him as. He could choose who he was.

Setting the spoon down, you looked to Strife. That same glorious smile crept it’s way onto his face, igniting an odd feeling in your chest. The way his eyes met yours for a second made you both laugh quietly. You grinned as you poked his chest playfully, “You told me you’d never made mac and cheese before – quite the quick learner.”

He chuckled, his warm laughter pouring out into your kitchen. He took the spoon from the counter and began stirring the pot once more, “I have some tricks up my sleeve.”

You leaned over the stovetop next to Strife, the smile never leaving your face, “You know, if you’re already this good at cooking, some would say you’re just trying to spend time with me.”

He scoffed, “You wish. I really am just using you for your cooking skills and then I plan on leaving as soon as possible. Never know when a demon out there might need some killer dinner.”

Your laughter rang clearly through the space. You buried your face in your hands, attempting to stifle the giggling. “I hate you.” You joked, the words muffled behind your fingers.

“Oh c’mon dollface,” he leaned closer to your face, “you know you love me. It’s undeniable.”

“In your dreams loverboy,” you scoffed, turning away to hide the blush dusting your cheeks, “the food should be ready now anyways.”

Dinner was full of the usual teasing and banter. Being friends with Strife also meant constant harmless bickering and playful jabs. Snarky comments about the current situation or about each other took their comfortable spot between you two. It meant you could get under each other’s skin. And as far as you were both aware, the harmless flirting meant absolutely nothing. Yes, the pet-names and compliments definitely had no effect whatsoever. The quick head turns and quicker glances at each other did not mean anything odd – and the yearning for each other’s attention meant nothing. You hoped it did at least.

You sat across from each other at your dinner table. As you ate, you felt those yellow eyes on you again. A sarcastic comment was made about how he couldn’t stop staring, which was returned with silence. Strife was many things, but silent was not one of them. Your brows quirked in curiosity as his eyes continued to bore into yours.

“What? Do I have something in my teeth?” you joked, but still, he wouldn’t say anything. You studied his features. He didn’t look upset or angry. He looked lost, like he was in a daze. You actually felt yourself being pulled into one of your own. His dead stare captured your focus – mac and cheese was forgotten. You had admired Strife’s handsomeness before, who couldn’t? But now, with the light above you shining down on both of you and dipping into the curves of his face, it only accentuated it. The sharp angles of his jaw flowed with the warm glow of the light. His neon gold eyes seemed to strengthen the height of his cheekbones set against his face. You knew Strife was handsome, but you had never really known how pretty he was – only the word awe-inspiring came to mind.

A crack of lightning startled you awake. Your head snapped to the window. As quick as it had appeared, the electricity filling the sky was gone. And so was your own daze. You shook your head. Strife had come to as well, coughing before promptly returning to his abandoned meal. You couldn’t bring your gaze near him again for the rest of dinner. Even as more lightning shook the sky and rain thundered down onto your roof. You did not once look at him or share another glance.

The dishes were done in silence as well. It would occasionally be broken by a single word or the clashing of dishes, but nothing was said. A quiet agreement was made with the both of you to not speak about what had happened. Denial filled both of your minds. What was the harm in it? You both just happened to stare into space at the same time. While facing at each other. While admiring each other. While evidently not getting lost in thought but getting lost in each other’s eyes.

Oh.

“You can’t go home with the weather like this! It’s pouring outside.” You pleaded.

“I appreciate the concern, dollface, but I’ve been through worse,” he patted your shoulder reassuringly, “thanks for dinner – it was great.”

You grabbed Strife’s hand as it was lifted from your shoulder, the words muddling in your throat as they ran to get out. After a few tries you managed to sputter the right words out. You tried to laugh before saying it, to play it cool, “I don’t think um, I don’t think Mayhem would uh, would really agree.”

“Uh-huh,” he tilted his head and smirked in a teasing manner, “sure you don’t just want me around, lovebug?”

You scoffed, “New nickname? Aren’t I special.” You said in a mocking tone.

Strife quickly freed his hand and poked your cheek, “Yep.”

You huffed, crossed your arms and promptly began walking towards your room with an unamused look on your face, “Take the couch or use the spare bedroom. There’s linen in the hall closet.” Is all you said before closing your bedroom door and shutting him out.

You paid no attention to any noises beyond your door. You simply lay on your bed with your face buried in the pillows, a raging blush burning your cheeks. You groaned as you turned over. The memories from the day ran past your eyes as you kept landing on dinner. Everything had just bottled up till you couldn’t take it anymore. Why did he have to be like that? You just asked him to stay over. Nothing else. Damn him.

The idea that maybe your friendship with Strife had turned into a crush made you scared. Scared? Nervous. For so long you two had been comfortable and content just with how things were. You loved Strife’s friendship. You wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Maybe anything. Maybe you also wouldn’t be apposed to being something else.

You stopped your thoughts right there. The rose tint on your cheeks seared across your face and spread to your neck and ears. You sighed, smothering the pillow on your face. Just then, a knock at your door alerted you.

A few minutes before, Strife sat in the guest room of your home and was having the exact same predicament. He sat on the bed, hugging the pillow, trying to sort through his racing thoughts. All he could think about were the days you two had spent together. This burning feeling in his chest tore through him, settling on his skin, making it burn unpleasantly. He was pretty sure he had romantic conquests before in his life, trouble was he couldn’t remember many of them. He was at an utter loss for what to do. Strife had accepted his feelings for you long ago, but that didn’t make it any easier. If anything it made it worse. He wanted to protect you. To hold you. To love you.

For so long he had blocked off his emotions and held them back with a broken string of jokes and denial. But now his feelings for you had made a crack in that dam, and the dam was beginning to break. He was terrified of what might come loose if everything broke free, so he had kept everything to himself. He tried on many occasions to leave you, to abandon your friendship – so that he could keep you safe. He wasn’t only concerned about what might happen to him with the dam breaking, he was scared for you. Creation told him he was a monster, an abomination, and that is what he was. No abomination could ever love something as gorgeous as you. Your presence basked his life in warmth, and so every time he tried to turn away from you he could never bring himself to fully cut you off. This was just another thing he hated himself for.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He had to tell you. And if that meant losing you forever, so be it. His life could no longer be riddled with this aching pain of self-loathing.

The gentle knock at your door was so soft it could have been easily mistaken for the wind. You swiftly threw the pillow from your head and made your way to the door. You opened it slowly, seeing Strife’s tired eyes glued to the floor.

A sheepish smile spread over his lips, “Would you believe me if I said I was afraid of the lightning?”

You smiled, “Not really,” the tired look strewn across his face still concerning you, “what’s up?”

Strife shrugged, still obviously avoiding eye contact, “I was…” –‘spit it out’- “You know if you’re ok with it!” –‘say it’- “Uh, I mean-“

You leaned on the door, visibly confused. Strife struggled to let the words out. Eventually you caught on, your eyes widening with realization.

“Oh!” you gasped, “You wanna sleep in here?”

The boldness of your statement struck you the moment it left your mouth. You laughed quietly, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly.

Although he seemed relieved. An invisible weight lifted from his shoulders as he let go of a breath he didn’t know was there.

He nodded quickly before you could take it back, “I’d like that a lot.”

Neither of you questioned it. And both of you were thankful for that.

Silence dawned over the two of you as you sat in your bed. You both sat upright against the headboard, with you leaning your head comfortably on his shoulder. A content sigh left you as you snuggled further into Strife’s arm. He chuckled and lay his head atop yours in response. The vibrations of his laugh ran through you, infecting you with your own outburst of smiles. Only the sounds of breathing and airy laughs could be heard, with even the dull sound of rain on your roof rushing away. The fury of the lightning no longer concerned either of you. Your shared comfort seeped into your surroundings. Strife slowly inched his hand closer to yours and wormed his fingers in-between yours. You squeezed his large, calloused hands with yours and intertwined your fingers further. He brought your clasped hands to his lips and lightly peppered kisses over your knuckles. A smile danced over your face as you cupped his face within your palms and placed a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. You both got lost in each other’s eyes, but this time neither of you shied away.

At this distance you were finally able to study his features closely. The speckles of scars littering his face and the tiny wrinkles around his eyes as he smiled entranced you. Your noses brushed together as you subconsciously leaned closer. Strife could feel the dam breaking, as well as his resolve. He surged forward, the final crack in his wall bursting with emotion. He could no longer deny himself or you. His mouth ghosted across yours in an attempt to silently ask for permission. Your eyes fluttered closed. You moved forward to close the gap. Rough lips met your soft ones in a tender kiss.

Sparks of pure happiness danced across the world. Everything seemed to melt away. The rain was a distant echo, the lightning a forgotten memory, the storm getting farther away the longer Strife’s lips moved against your own. You two were the only ones in the world at that moment. Joy shook you to your bones. The glow of unaltered and honest feeling spread through both of you, replacing the aches in your chests. A warm embrace was shared in silence.

Maybe the universe had told him he was a monster, but he was your monster.

#darksiders #darksiders strife #strife #fanfiction #darksiders fanfiction #strife x reader #darksiders strife x reader

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