Maybe with a human he's protecting or helping or something. I don't know darksiders in depth enough to do this myself, pls..... I need himb...... your old war fics are all that keep me going.....
Alternatively, Fury with a human in the maker's tree thing 💖
Thank you no pressure 💖
- Cat
Author's Note: Consolidating two since you both asked for fluffy War and, who am I to refuse such a thing.
Relationships: War/Fem!Reader (one usage of 'her')
Warnings: None really
"This is cruel and unusual punishment, i hope you know."
You cross your arms and stare at War, who only gives you his usual vaguely displeased neutral expression. It doesn't crack in the slightest, not even at your whining. You don't know much of what can crack that angelic visage of his.
"It is not."
The unintelligible noises of discontent that come out of your mouth are met with more unimpressed staring, and perhaps an eyeroll if you saw that right, and it wasn't just a trick of the light. War wasn't always what you'd call mature, even at his uncountable age. The bridge of his nose wrinkles with his brow as he looks at you.
"I am leaving you up there because then you cannot get down and find yourself more trouble."
Legs dangling far above the stirrups, Ruin's back is indeed high enough off the ground that getting down would take considerable effort, and even then still taking a big risk on a twisted ankle. And that's not considering that Ruin has a vested in interest in listening to his rider's instructions, and will at least threaten to bite you if you attempt an escape. Not as if you'd want to get bitten by any horse, but Ruin in particular; You'd be more likely to loose and entire arm, than a few fingers.
War looks away from you and to Ruin instead, pointing in his direction with his gauntlet. He's met with a gentle snort that blows a few embers in his general direction.
"Do not let her down."
The way Ruin eyes you after War speaks and your attempt to shimmy more to one side further reinforces that you are now quite literally stuck, unless you wanted to roll the dice on hurting yourself.
With that War proceeds to wander off, and you're stuck kicking your feet in boredom. Ruin doesn't prove to be the most entertaining babysitter in the slightest, and it feels more like you're stuck on a countertop too high for you than anything else. The only thing that breaks the illusion is the occasional indignant snort you get whenever you mumble to yourself.
You're not sure how much time passes in actuality, the sun never really seems to fully set around here which takes away your only real way of telling the passage of time. Perhaps it's by design, the angels love their light, are you are currently in one of their realms. For you however it really only gives you a bit of a headache. At least Ruin is firmly parked in the shade— not as if you could move him if he wasn't— so you didn't slowly heat up as the sun beat down on you.
When War returns, he makes a straight path towards you and Ruin and moves to grasp the saddle horn. When you don't show excitement at his return like usual— his hood is now down which gives you a full view of his long white hair and young face— he looks at you with a hint of suspicion and gives you an inquisitive 'hmm?'.
"No, I'm mad at you now. You made a horse babysit me."
War sighs. His jaw shifts unconsciously as he thinks on his words. For being usually so aloof, he can have a bit of a heavy tongue, at times. Usually to you; It's easy for him to speak to the other horsemen, it's harder for him to be so gruff and intimidating to someone he likes that height-wise, can barely reach his shoulders.
"Do not get yourself into trouble so often, and I would not need to." You quickly attempt to defend yourself and your voice raises in pitch.
"I do not get into that much trouble! You are," You're momentarily stopped when War grasps the saddle horn tighter and moves to heft himself onto Ruin behind you with a loud grunt, jostling you around enough that it cuts you off for a moment. "You are blowing one incident way out of proportion."
War, in a rare moment of letting his guard down, chuckles ever so slightly, and very knowingly. His chest solidly rests against your back.
"Am I?"
Your silence speaks for itself enough, and the argument ends. Perhaps you've learned a few lessons about touching things that looked very old. And wandering off too far.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
“You haven’t proposed to leave me here among these humans. Forgive me if I find it strange!”
“… Something is… off.”
“Off?”
“Yes. Let’s keep the most crucial part of our travels for ourselves.”
“You mean the apocalypse?”
“That and more…”
Death was always the one that preferred to keep his secrets for himself. And you, by that time, had learned that it was better to not pry too much, because things usually ended up to revealed by themselves without pressure.
Even now you believed that everything, as strange as it was, would end up as always. You and Death helping people around you, him acting all grumpy, and then ending up a little more wiser than before. That was the way of things!
But now it was… really different.
When you arrived into this… universe, you had learned a few important things: the humans had conquered the galaxy, wich was quite a lot, and they were… far from the futuristic kind of humans you had expected and pictured in your mind.
You also learned that the humans that had found you were part of something bigger. They were a “Legion”, one of many groups that has been casted with the mission of retaking the… lost worlds? Strange, they said they had already conquered the universe…
The one who had found you called themselves the “Death Guard”, armed with a sickened white armor and some over powered scythes, you had to keep your mouth shut.
“Come on! It’s flattering!”
“No, it’s creepy. And almost abnormal, if you ask me.”
“You’re just petty because someone is wearing your own style, D…”
It was already hard to hide your mission and trying to search for the Tree of Life, the only object capable to set you back on your path now, but nothing compared to trying to explain what Death was. These men were tall just as him, not such a novelty for you but here? It was… unusual.
You had to find an excuse for the origin of Death, anything that could be reasonable, yet somehow, they decided for you. They came up with the idea of Death being a poor deformed human from another world. Something that did not help the not-so-good mood.
Then there was the one that not only had discovered you first, but also happened to be the damn leader of this "Legion" thingy. A three meter man, so tall that even Death was forced to lift his gaze upon him, a creature that, no matter how many time you tried to ignore, reminded you of your friend.
“We will find what we need and then go.” The hirdemen explained to the Primarch in that private encounter. The demigod, as other had called him, sat on that chair like he had absolutely no better things that needed to be done. His eyes darted between the Nephilim and yourself, hiding behind your friend.
“I see,” he responded. “and what are you searching for?”
“Nothing important to you.”
“This tone won’t help your case.” Mortarion barked back, clearly not used to that lack of respect from someone like him. To Death it was just another amusement, nothing was more exciting than making people like that Primarch, or like everyone called him, falling off his height. You, on the other hand, did not like the idea of staying stranded in another universe before humanity completed restoration.
“We won’t create any trouble!” You chirped in, the attention of the giant now on you. “We would love to help around too if we can!”
You tried to ignore the flaring glaze of the horseman, he had better things to do than allow that man to order him around. Yet, Mortarion enjoyed the idea and, even under that mask, a grim and satisfied smile morphed his face.
“Well, in that case…”
In a certain way, Death and Mortarion shared more than just a similiar name. First of all, both of them moved around carrying that sense of superiority that made everyone lower their voices. Secondly, that dry and annoying sense of humour that enoyed picking on someone, that was also served with sarcasm and difficultry of stand them.
Just one Death wasn’t enough, huh? Now you had to endure TWO of them!
They also had that same sense of duty, almost like nothing else mattered aside from that, and it was clear that no one liked the idea of being fooled or messing around.
Yet, you were able to see a blatant difference between the two.
Even if he had showed nothing more than his rougher side, the one that no one could scratch, Death has also showed you the part of him that cared.
To help Karn with his missings treasures, or Draven with the Bloodless, or Nathaniel with his message. All of them, things that he could had just passed by or ignored, all of them requests that he had completed, them being bitter knowledge or sparks of hope. Even now, to you, he had showed how deeply he believed how important you were to him, how much this mission was now to you and War than himself.
Because Death had a heart, even if he pretended he didn’t.
Mortarion… well you tried to get closer to him. Of course you would immediately ignore at least one of your companion's rules and try to know this mysterious figure, that looked so much and yet so little like your Death, better.
Like him, he carried a weight that you could not name. He was revered and feared and, sometimes, it seemed like he was trying to hear something else in everyone's words. He looked to everyone like if they were hding a blade behind their back, like if everyone was ready to turn their backs on him.
And… well, you also heard things. People telling that he was nothing but an abrasive and impossible leader.
You were able hear the whispers of the ones around him, the ones that did not refer to him as father. They complained that, out of every Primarch, they had to end up with Lord Mortarion, the petty one, the most despised one between his brothers, one that refused the simple existence of a psyker on his flagship.
“He’s kind of pathetic, isn’t he?”
You didn’t know the reason, but you felt something moving in your chest for this ancient creature. You were curious and, as always, you ended up asking too many questions about this curious man. And you couldn’t be more against the venom that others were spreading, and understanding of his bad temperament. You ended up to doing the thing Death had always reprimanded you for: you got closer to him.
“… you really don’t know the meaning of personal space, do you?”
“Live the way I do and you realize how much you can crave it.”
He sighed, moving the books away and looking at you with the kind of eyes that could set fire to water.
“Don’t you have your D to pester around?”
You just shrugged your shoulders, not giving him the satisfation of feeling hurt by his venomous voice.
“Can’t let him get used to it. So I’m boring you, big guy.”
“It’s Mortarion to you, baseline girl…”
“Alright, Morty…”
You snickered when his hand met his scarred face, an exasperated sign of how much he was controlling himself. Despite it all, he was keeping his promise to helping you and your friend to bring you along.
A long pause was set, one that allowed you to look around the room. To be the a general, his private quarters were quite sparse, almost empty. No photos, no books besides a few chemistry ones, not one thing about him. It was… kinda sad.
“I still need to understand how you work, little one…” He broke the silence with that unmoved tone. “Why would a warrior like that one should bring along such a small and almost defensless being like you?”
“Well, we share one main goal of course! He has to help his brother and I have to… well, fix things.”
He noticed how evasive you became, must be one of those secrets that Death told you to keep. He also noticed how nervously you were playing with the hem of the tunic that the serfs gifted you after you two had decided to help in some way.
… it wasn’t even the first time he heard something like that. It came like news, that you and that Death had been helping the member of the Endurance from the day you arrived, obtaining their trust and respect. That earned you an inch of envy from the Primarch.
“I had… something bad happened to my place… many people I care about need help and… well he’s not forced to bring me along but… I just wanted to help and now I know I cannot leave him, not now at least.”
“… what makes you think he will succeed? That he will help you out after he has finished with his own quarrel?”
“… because I know he will never back down from a promise.” You said with that confidence in your tone, looking at the Primarch directly into his yellowish eyes. “Because I know that he may sound all grumpy and annoyed by everyone, but I know he has a heart bigger than the sun!”
… how annoying, how small and so naive to believe that. A human following that… thing, which he absolutely knew couldn’t be anything like they had described, trusting someone so blindly because of a promise. You were like a child, unaware of the harshness of the universe, that took for granted whatever your problem was that man would had helped you fixed. He bet that, as soon has he got what he wanted, he would surely leave you and-
“As you are of course!”
The quill almost flew away from his grip. A new look appeared on his face, shocked, almost afraid for what his ears had heard.
“… what?”
“.. I said you have a big heart! I mean… from what I learned you did quite the impossible on your home planet and… well you’re allowing me and Death to stay here untill we find our way back… you are a nice person!”
From that day something shifted in the Primarch's chest.
He had realized that you were searching for him, asking him to think about himself, with the care of an old friend, with the attention of someone that genuinely wanted it. You did not just learn of him, of his past, you did not shriek away or judged him, you saw something that was above everyone expectations. You saw a man that had tried, that had the best intention and that even now was trying to reach for the better future of your race.
You weren't seeing the failure, you saw the dreamer.
He realized, to his horror, that he liked when you decided to spend some time with him. He liked when you were asking him things and enjoyed responding to them, removing the rough exterior piece by piece. He liked when you used that silly nickname, clearly overstepping the boundary that he had put up.
He loved when you laughed and he liked to hear your stupid little stories about all those adventures. He couldn’t grasp them, but he liked to know these parts of you. He wanted to be in one of those stories. He also realized how much your shoulders were carrying, how much you doubted yourself without realizing how big that little heart of yours was.
He realized that he cared.
And while time passed, a fear started to settle in, the fear that, one way or another, Death would eventually find the way to send you away… away from him…
“She could stay.” he spoke, using a more calming tone, hoping to appeal to the horseman. “She could stay while you… do whatever you do.”
Death stared at the mountain of a man, that now reminded him more like a corpse, unmoved by those words. He had told those words to himself many many times before.
“She doesn’t want that. She’ll follow me, I learned that the hard way.”
“This… mission of yours may kill her one day. She may die.”
“Are you saying I cannot take care of her?” Death's voice was now a low rumbling.
“I'm saying she need to stay with her own race you… thing.” Mortarion responded with a venomous tone, showing that he may have had suspected of the true nature of Death from the beginning. Of course he couldn’t know what he was, but he was clearly not entirely a man either.
Death stood, despite the difference in height, which Mortarion won without a doubt, in front of the Primarch. His fiery eyes fixed into the ones in front of him, with the same determination of his own, and his hand caressed the handle of his scythes.
He knew what he was doing, what had happened. You were always too kind, too amicable with everyone… and now someone was getting too close.
“She will decide… and I will support her. ” He spoke, trying to keep what he was really thinking hidden behind his mask. “But I will never leave her behind just to accomodate your needs, Mortarion.”
The Primarch wanted to bark back, grab his own scythe and fight this creature before he could do or say anything else but-
“Death! You need to see this!” your laughing voice and the small scream of dust echoed in the room. You must have not seen anything, for you they were just chatting…
“Yeah yeah, I’m coming…” he faked annoyance, sharing one last shoulder barge against the Primarch while passing by.
“This isn’t over…” hissed Mortarion, his knuckles white from his hold on his weapon.
“We’ll see about that.” the horseman spat back, allowing himself to reach you and posing one hand on your shoulder, shielding you against everyone and everything.
He wasn't planning to leave you in that place, not with the sense of the unstable balance risking your life. And now? He just had another good reason.
You and Death have been travelling together, enduring the perils of his unsanctioned quest. From stone golems to swarming undead, from the worst situations where things looked to be at their darkest hour to the more colourful of the rolling valleys, stone covered in mossy coverage and carven patterns that felt so whimsical like fairytales scribed into rock.
You and Death somehow wound up travelling to Earth and there on a playground so desolate you could hardly remember the swing set, nor the yellow slide because it had rusted over so much... you were caught in a trance.
A memory.
You're taken back to that playground. That childhood that is just... lost to you now. You hear the distant, fading laughter and voices of children who hadn't a care in the world of what doom would fall them in the future. Neither did you. That day had been a bit tough on you. Kids at school picking on you, your unfinished juice had spilled out, drenching your bag in a gross patch and stained your sketchbook, ruining your colourful, bright drawings.
Your dad said with a gentle flick up of your chin, "Cheer up, kiddo. It's not the end of the world. Say, how about... we get you some ice cream?"
"Okay daddy," you sobbed, curled hand rubbing away the tears in your eyes.
Your dad, with the biggest grin on his face, beckoned you to take his hand. A feeling that in all the world... felt like the most secure lifeline you could ever feel in an ocean that wanted to drown you. How you walked a pace twice his normal walking speed to keep in toe, how your eyes marvelled at the whispering leaves above, crinkling and catching on each other, a decoration of greens and paling, Autumn ambers. The sun dancing between their patterning gaps. The occasional tripping scuffle of your shoe scratching against the pavement many have walked before you, a road you were still newly navigating.
Your world is so full of wonder then. What happened? Where did it all go?
You passed the video renting store where you would pick one of your three favourite movies every time. And your parents never argued, never told you to pick something else. They always got that movie you chose without question.
At the ice cream store you stood there in front of the once polished glass now stained by small hand prints like your own, your childish eyes raking over your many options.
Options you don't have today.
"Mmm... that one."
"Okay, kiddo," your dad chuckled and handed over the money and the clerk scooped your pickings into a cone so fresh and full of crunch. Of life.
At the playground you sat off to the side on the bench, licking at your ice cream bit by bit, a little bit absent that the afternoon sun was still capable of melting away that delicious goodness, your dad having to remind you with a kind smile to not let your treat drop onto the ground.
Your eyes focused on the playground ahead and you watched as the children ran around, shrieking and calling out in the midst of their games. Mothers who sat with a book minding their prams, fathers pushing their kids higher and higher on the swings.
"What're you thinking about?" your dad's voice asks from your side and you turn your head to look up at him but... he's not here.
Instead your eyes meet a fearsome yet tempered glow of sharp amber and the placid face of old bone, dotted and dirtied from centuries you cannot begin to comprehend. You can't even begin to fathom how long Earth has been like this...
You first take in a deep breath that quickly turns into a stifled shudder and you realise quickly that the Reaper turns blurry and clear. Something in his gaze becomes fixed on you.
"I-..." Your lips part and a breath stutters in your chest. With your tattered sleeve you wipe at the corner of your eye. Before you know it your voice gives out with a lurching sob and your hands cradle your face. "It's lost... It- it's all gone, Death... where did it all go?"
Death is silent and you think for a moment that he, like your childhood - your livelihood - is gone too. Then he answers, "I don't know..."
"The colours gone... my world is gone... all if it-... is gone."
The ocean is drowning you but you then feel the cradle of a lifeline reaching around your form, holding you close to a chest that lacks that secure warmth and yet... a heart that beats. A semblance if life that is the closest mockery of normalcy you fear you will ever experience again.
You close your blurry vision on a playground that echoes the brightness of a world stolen, a place where a child can play, and imagine... and escape. The childish shrieks and yells on the playground fade into a dreaded, phenomenal silence, one that breaks your heart. Your body quivers in violent shudders against Death as he holds you, keeps you above those waves a little longer.
"I'm scared, Death. I'm lost, I- I'm... I'm without a home."
The wall of Death's chest rises with a deep breath and that heart you hear beat grows a little louder. But something in you calms suddenly at his words.
|| I love pairing people who are not the most skilled socially with people who are not social in the slightest but somehow make it work. Makes for some silly interactions if you ask me. I also feel like we collectively enjoy whenever Death laughs. Enjoy!! ||
🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞
It's late in the day with the sun having only set maybe an hour or two before, but it's hardly late enough for anyone to be sleeping. The icy winter wind howls to be let inside, using branches from the dead tree outside your kitchen window to scratch and plead for warmth. It makes the orange-yellow light from the bulb above your stove all the cozier as compared to the blue evening light that reflects off the snow in the backyard.
The kettle sings its one-note tune, and you make your way from putting up the dishes to turn off the burner. Death, slouched like some tired ghost, sits in a chair that almost looks too small for him just outside of the light in the shadowed corner of the small room at your flimsy kitchen table. You can just barely hear its legs creak under his weight when he shifts to better examine his wraps as he busies himself with re-tighten his wrist bandages.
"I have some new linens in the bathroom closet upstairs, you know? You don't have to keep using those ones. They're getting kind of ratty, so won't they just fall apart anyway?"
Death slows only minutely.
"These old things are sturdier than you think."
"But wouldn't it be nice still to have fresh ones?"
"If you're offering them, then I won't say no, but if you're expecting something in return, I'll stick with what I have, thank you."
You move about grabbing down a cup and something to put in it. Still at the stove leaned against the ugly white appliance, its surface needing a good wipe down you note, you pour the hot water over the drink mix.
"I mean, first of all you saved my life, so giving you some fresh wraps is the least I can do, and second of all, I'm offering it to you to be nice, Death. Doesn't anyone do anything nice for you?"
At that, the nephilim lets out a scoff, light like the wind over a graveyard and easily confused for a laugh. Maybe the only time he really does laugh if you had to guess by how out of place it sounded compared to his rasping voice.
"And what makes you think anyone would do anything nice for me?"
Without pause, you reply plain as day, "well, maybe it's because they like you?"
And then he really does laugh. More of a bark and sounding like a breath of fresh air cutting through stale atmosphere before tapering into a gravelly chuckle, Death doesn't even hide the amusement in his voice that you'd ever have that thought.
"Only a fool would like something such as myself. I've spilled more blood over every world I've ever roamed than could ever be measured, and all who know me know that they should be afraid, or at the very least are too stupid not to be. No one is meant to like me."
"I like you."
Just like that a hush blankets the room, and the sound of the wind outside dances with the clinking of metal on ceramic as you stir your drink.
There's a chill that runs over your spine that you make an active effort to ignore. You can tell he's looking at you, but maybe if you keep making your drink, he'll get bored and look somewhere else. You hope that's the case because his stare feels like the lead barrels of a shotgun pointed right at the back of your head. This is not how you wanted him to react at all. All you were doing was trying to be nice, for crying out loud. Is that so wrong?
Death's mind is swarmed by assumptions of what you could possibly be trying to accomplish in saying that. Did you really think you could wring more favors out of him by pretending to be nice? That he would be so easy to manipulate if you just offered him kindness? Ridiculous. You hardly know him and what he's done. You had to belong to the second category of people.
Eventually the tension dies down and he does go back to adjusting his wraps, finally leaving you be.
You stand still faced away from him at the stove. The drink in your hand still cooling, you let the weight of it ground you, and the heat soothes you from the anxious bees racing around your brain. Talking to someone shouldn't be so difficult. You did it at work all the time. Just treat him like you would anyone, maybe give him a compliment. That usually does the trick.
"So… anyone ever tell you you have a great laugh?"
You can't hear the creak of the table or chair, and you feel those eyes heavy on you again. There's suddenly stones lodged in your throat with the urge to scream surging right behind them, but swallowing all of that would take too much effort. Opting to perform some form of self-punishment for being so awkward, you take a swig of the too hot liquid, scalding the tip of your tongue and roof of your mouth and unceremoniously make a break for the doorway leading out of the kitchen.
"I think I'll go get you those bandages now."
It takes something truly special to stun the reaper, and this certainly does the trick.
Death remains seated and barely follows your figure disappearing into the dark of the rest of the house. Yes, you're definitely belong in the latter category of people because only a fool would speak so plainly. You clearly don't know who you're dealing with. Nonetheless, after a moment, he's reluctant to admit feeling the corner of his mouth twitch as something almost unperceivable flickers in his hollow chest.
|| I only did two drafts of this, so go easy lol ||
Once again we go into the hyperfixation. This time, with style
✦War is destruction on the horizon. Devastation wrought by hand and weapon, bearer of coming death-so he understands his strength better than anyone else. He may be able to crush boulders in his hands, but he won't ever hurt you. At least not willingly.
✦Regardless to all his self control, sometimes he loses patience badly. It's rare, for him to turn that rage to you, but he'd rather die than have you fear him. When or if his anger ever gets that bad he'll find ways to exert it anywhere but you.
✦As the horseman of War, he has the strongest understanding of anger and violence even outside of his own emotions. He knows what you may be angry for and why-better than even you may understand.
✦Because of that you won't ever get a real fight out of him. You can get angry all you want, he'll stifle his reaction best he can. He understands when he's made a mistake that upsets you, he'll admit to his faults plainly. He'll watch you throw your fit before speaking his peace.
✦Despite that he struggles with saying how much you mean to him. He's not the talkative type, as action is better suited to his needs. So he tries his best to make you feel wanted or at least welcome to his side whenever you please.
✦Not very keen on leaving you alone. Maybe it's the demon side of him wanting to keep you to himself that makes him follow you everywhere he can-unless you tell him no.
✦That armor stays on. Yes it's bulky, yes it gets in the way-its as much a part of him as Chaoseater, and there is little that can part him from it.
✦He won't ever admit that he worries about leaving you with the other humans. They may be your people but, he knows their worst sins come from sheer aggression-some deep part of him fears you'll get involved somehow and get hurt.
✦May not be one for banter but enjoys your voice. Hearing you speak out of complete trust in him makes his already scorching body somehow feel warmer.
✦Hesitated touching you with his gauntlet once he realized his attachment to you. It's not that he can't control his strength, so much as he's concerned it may make you feel oppressed in his grip.
✦Sleeps rarely but deeply. He's like a living furnace as he keeps one hand over your back, preferring you sleep either on top of him or next to him. You're not waking him up unless you break something next to him, then be prepared to have a moody somewhat panicking War when he finds you.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Yeah you know I'm not done.
+NSFW extra+
✦The armor will come off when he's in the mood. Or, better yet, you can coax it off of him to convince him that you are.
✦Not so much slow as he is steady, but powerful. Every thrust will feel like he's going into your stomach no matter how slow he is. There's a lot of strength in those hips.
✦Many scars but not a lot that are more than a silver thread on his skin. His angel side helps keep them to a lesser degree so they don't inhibit his abilities.
✦Not super patient, but bites his tongue for you. He'll make himself wait until you are ready.
✦You can goad him into losing that patience. However, if you do, be warned you're not getting up until he's done. And you won't be walking until at least tomorrow.
✦Sensitive around his neck and ears as it;s always covered in that cowl. You'll get a surprise flush and gasp if you get bold enough to bite him there.
✦Large of course, hefty with girth and length. It's intimidating to look at and you kind of worry it might not fit at first. War might not be the most experienced in bed but he does well in learning to loosen you up to make it fit.
✦The entire time he wears an expression of intense focus to the point he almost looks angry. Hes not but is doing his best not to crush you.
✦Can be convinced to use his gauntlet to haul you up and use you like a fleshlight who said that-
✦Covers your whole body with his own to hide you away. This is his to see, his to make writhe and scream his name-no one will get even a glimpse so long as he lives.
✦Snarls at even the slightest noises when he's close to climax. He knows he'll be at his weakest for a few moments when he reaches it and refuses to let anything near you-nor will he stop.
✦Interruptions don't matter. You are his, whoever or whatever just came in can wait it's turn. He will keep fucking you full even if a demon walks in, his hand on Chaoseater while the other holds your hip to keep you from squirming away.
✦Cums hard, cums a lot. It will seep out of you like a tide. Hides his face in your neck to bask in your scent and warmth-if nobody is there to deal with.
✦Will later admit he should have stopped if someone had come in, as it's unbecoming of him to act like a beast over you.
✦If not, be prepared to have the full weight of a nephilim on you for a while-or at least a large sum of it. Even with him bracing himself up with his gauntlet you still feel like you're being crushed underneath Ruin's gait. He makes it up to you by letting the soft rumbling in his throat fill your ears.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Some short period comfort fluff with the horsemen x reader. I gave each one a different typical symptom that comes with the monthly menstrual torment. Hope you enjoy if your uterus is also currently trying to kill you.
✦•················•✦•··················•✦
Death: Hot flush
"I can't sleep like this… I'm melting." You pant with agitation, using your legs to push away the overly warm covers that had previously been neatly tucked in by your sides. Your insides felt hot, far too hot for comfort and your skin grossly clammy. If you weren't already miserable enough, it didn't help that nephillim beside you refused to let you sleep with an open window for fear of 'something undesirable slipping inside.'
As if anything could possibly even attempt getting inside with him here.
"So I can see." Death hums from beside you, chuckling faintly at the sight of your tousled hair spilled out around your head like a puddle. Placing down the book he had been reading flat in his lap, he turns his attention towards you. A pleasantly cold palm lays to rest atop your forehead.
"How's that?" He asks softly, sweeping his thumb back and forth.
"Oh my gosh. You're so cold. You're perfect!" You gasp in relief and delight, unhesitatly shuffling closer to him. Taking ahold of his arm, you use it to pull yourself closer to him. He moves with you, swiftly moving the book from his lap to your nightstand. Taking a gentle hold of your waist, he slides you into his lap. He settles his hand back onto your forehead, the other on your abdomen. Finally, you no longer feel like your being cooked from the inside out.
"Hmm.. I don't know about perfect, but I'm glad to provide some alleviation from your persistent sweating." He teases, sweeping back the strands of hair sticking to your head. You peel your eyes back up to pout up at him with an unimpressed look over his comment on your current state, though you can’t exactly disagree with him.
"Sleep now. You need it." He hushes.
At last, you could finally get said sleep. Who knew the cold embrace of death could be so soothing.
War: Cramps
Arm clamped around your lower abdomen like a vice, you let out a pained groan, the sound muffled by your pillow but not unheard by the red behemoth in your home. All afternoon he's been trudging around, trying to make himself useful in his self-set task of eradicating your pain.
Perhaps 'the Red Rider approaches' could be a new euphemism for that time of the month, you think to yourself, the amused smile on your lips melting into a tight frown as another cramp ripples through your lower half.
"Why are you trying to kill me?" You whine painfully down at your own uterus, clamping your legs together and biting the inside of your cheek.
Catching the word 'kill', War seems fumble with whatever he's doing, the sound of him grunting in frustration and what sound like packets falling out of somewhere (and onto War) faintly hitting your ears.
Guess he found the pain killers.
Only a few moments later does he return to your bedroom, a glass of water pitched in between the thumb and forefinger of his prosthetic gauntleted hand and two ibuprofen carefully cradled in his other, smaller palm.
"Thanks, War." You smile gratefully, pushing yourself to sit up and accept the glass from him.
Large, sharp-tipped fingers peeling back, he opens his palm for you to take the two little pills, watching expectantly as you swallow them down with a large gulp of water.
"Are you…feeling better now?" He asks hopefully.
"War. They take a little time to kick in, remember?" You sigh. Not just because you now have to actually wait for the painkillers to work, but as you know he won't stop hovering until he can visibly see that your pain has been good and properly killed.
"Come on." You pat the empty space next you, beckoning him to sit with you and be still. Your bed sinks with his weight, and there's a soft 'thunk' as something metal drops to the ground. You glance back at him, smiling as his bare palm comes to rest on your abdomen. He's warm and comforting, and you know he won't leave your side until he sees you back to your normal self.
If your period was good for one thing, that thing would certainly be making the red, battle-hardened horseman dote the way he does with you now.
Strife: Nausea
"Okay, easy now - there you go. Let it out." Strife soothes, running his hand up and down your back in an attempt to subdue your discomfort as you retch into the toilet.
Breathing out shakily, you rest your forhead against your folded arms. "Oh god, this is awful - I'm sorry you have to see.." You pause, pressing your lips into a thin line as your stomach churns discomfortingly.
"…This." You give a vague gesture to yourself and the toilet.
Scoffing, Strife shakes his head at your apology, tucking your hair behind your ear and continuing to rub at your back in slow circles.
"Come on, what have you to apologise for? This ain't your fault." He snickers, before continuing, "Besides, you think I haven't seen worse?"
"Oh no, I know you've seen worse. Never doubted it." You give a tired little huff of laughter, a weak smile tugging at your lips as you notice the way he instantly perks at the sound of your laughter. Albeit tired and weak.
"Still. Pretty gross."
With the little enegry left in your body, you pull yourself backwards and into his chest. Strife's arms are quick to encage you, one hand on your hip keeping you stead and the other moving to your tummy.
"Nah. Not when it comes to you. You could stink of puke and I'd still find you pretty damn hot." He reassures, golden eyes squinting from behind his helm in that famaliar way that you now recognise as him smiling beneath the metal.
You tsk, rolling your eyes at him and giggling at his attempt to make you feel better. Though it doesn't last long. Face paling again, you scrunch it up as your stomach groans. "Oh, too much laughing." You grimace.
"Okay, sorry. Sorry. I don't wanna be the cause of another gut-spilling session." He surrenders, deciding to leave trying to make you laugh until you're not nauseous anymore.
Returning to your former postion hunched over the toilet, you sigh as you feel Strife's fingers through your hair, pulling it back for you before your stomach contents come back up again.
Welp, at least you have him here to make you feel a tiny bit less disgusting.
Fury: Body pain
"My hips are on fire." You complain from your resting position in Fury's lap, pressing your forehead against the cold exterior of armour covering her inner thigh. Your hips burn, your back aches, and the rest of feels like you've been hit by a truck.
"Your remedy hasn't worked then, has it?" She tuts, grazing her nails along your scalp. She had tried to convice you to simply drink the health potion she had offered, knowing it would provide much faster and effective relief than your 'vile aillment of liquid chalk.' Alas, you insisted on saving the green potion for an emergency. Not that she couldn't argue with your reasoning, though she much rather not continue to see you in such discomfort.
"No, the dissolvable asprin hasn't helped." You sigh in defeat, pushing yourself to sit up and accept your fate of having to just tough out the pain. Oh well. It could be worse, you suppose.
"Easy now, my precious one." She haults, taking a gentle grasp of your shoulders and settling you back down between her legs.
"If you insist on refusing the health potion I offered," She leans back against your headboard, sliding you a pillow to hold onto. "then you shall at least stay put and allow me to help another way."
With that, slides her hands down from your shoulders to your waist, pressing her thumbs into your hips with light pressure, easing out the ache with circular motions. Quite suddenly, the tension they had been holding begins to fade out into nothingness as her fingers work you into a content puddle of bliss.
"Mhhm, Fury, that feels…" You slur, unaware of just how much you've visibly slumped beneath her touch.
"Hush…don't distract me. Just relax." She scolds, though it more like a purr. Putty in her hands, you quite yourself and sit obediently for her, try to stifle the little sighs of pleasure that threaten to push past your lips.
One of which is for a friend who helped me, my twin and our roomie/bro out recently with some groceries. Had to pay em back ‘handsomely’ if you get me! 😂❣️❣️ good ol Strife charming her for being a bold, badass heart of gold! 💛
