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athena-the-writer · 3 months ago

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hello I am new to asking this, but I red in a headcanon that kratos would probably threesome lol, so i remembered that imagine a threesome with kratos and Deimos, yk when he was alive?, Like in between god of war 2 and 3, where the reader is a goddess of peace, that helped kratos heal and finds his brother?, And the aftermath of saving Deimos they go to the reader, and both kratos and Deimos fall in love with her, this can be fluff to smut,. And maybe long fic 👀

-🖤

A/N: First and foremost, I am so sorry it seemed like I ignored this inbox. I hope you can forgive my absence with this story, please enjoy.

Warnings: Kinda long, rough sex Threesome, some voyeurism, dirty talk, descriptions, MMF, multiple rounds, young Kratos so he's got his old character, Deimos! cameo and involvement, i tried to have dialog like the original game (yes, I had to watch some playthrough to remember)

Kratos stood over the broken body of the god who had imprisoned Deimos, blood still dripping from his Blades of Athena. His breath came in ragged gasps, and for a moment, the Ghost of Sparta could not move — not because of pain, but because of the unfamiliar ache of hope.

Deimos was alive.

Bruised, bloodied, but breathing. His brother....the one he let go all those years ago...the brother he failed to keep safe.

And you — the Goddess of Peace — stood by his side, your hands glowing with soft, golden light as you pressed them to Deimos’s battered chest. Wounds closed beneath your touch. Cracked ribs knitted themselves whole. The rage in Deimos’s eyes dulled to confusion, then to something even rarer: trust.

Kratos watched in silence, his fists clenching and unclenching. He had seen your powers before — the way your gentle magic soothed his own broken body, how your voice calmed the war drums that beat inside his mind. But seeing you now, healing his brother, mending a part of himself he thought lost forever — it stirred something deeper. Something dangerous. Something.... possessive...

"Rest, Deimos," you murmured, your hand lingering against his heart. "You are safe now."

Deimos’s sharp blue eyes flicked from you to Kratos. "Brother," he rasped, voice raw, "You .....came for me."

Kratos only nodded once, but in his eyes he made a vow. He would never lose his brother again. Not like he did all those years ago...

never again.

The journey back to your temple was not an easy one, but when you did cross the grand entrance Deimos nearly bring dragged by his brother. You bring him into your healing chambers made for treatment and rest.

The fire crackled low as night fell over your sanctuary. The candles and flames casting a warm glow along with the slivers of moonlight that had come in.

Kratos had departed some hours prior, his words terse: "I shall not be long. Tend to him."

You obeyed, as much out of duty as out of something deeper that stirred within you. Of course anyone and every woman had known Kratos for two things. His history of killing and his history of sleeping with women. Whether it be mortal or goddess, everyone knew what he led, and it was sure to be unforgettable.

The brother he fought so hard to reclaim — Deimos — lay resting before your fire, the light painting him in golds and reds. You pressed a cloth to his ribs, wiping away the last of the dried blood. Your magic hummed quietly beneath your skin, knitting flesh, easing pain. Still, you could feel Deimos's gaze — unwavering, searing — upon you.

"You bear a gentle hand, goddess," he said at last, voice roughened by both exhaustion and something heavier.

"You have endured enough cruelty....it is the least I can do...." you replied, your fingers lingering a moment too long against his skin.

Deimos's lips curved into a wry smile. "Cruelty is the way of the world. Yet you..." His hand caught your wrist with surprising gentleness.

"You would teach a warrior mercy....to lay your hand in healing and mercy...." You met his eyes — fierce and bright like his brother's, yet tempered with mischief, with longing.

A heartbeat passed. Two. You could feel your skin tingle, and your stomach warm from the way he looked at you.

Then Deimos rose slightly, despite the protest of his wounds, and his other hand found your waist.

"Permit me," he murmured, voice low and thick, "to show my gratitude." His lips met yours in a soft but hungry kiss. A soldier deprived of everything in life, now had it at his fingertips and would take full advantage of it. His mouth slanted over yours, hungry and reverent, his hands pulling you into the hard planes of his battle-worn body.

You gasped, and Deimos groaned against your lips, as if your very breath was wine he had been long denied.

"You are soft..." he rasped, nipping lightly at your lower lip. "So soft....so supple..." he pulls you to straddle his lap

"Deimos—" you whispered, half a plea, half a prayer.

He silenced you with another kiss, rougher, more demanding. His hands slid over your back, your hips, grounding you to him. You could feel the heat of his skin, the tremble in his muscles, the sheer need radiating from him like fire. Something hard and needy grew and throbbed under his clothing.

And then — the heavy door creaked open.

Kratos stood there, his frame rigid, his golden gaze cutting through the shadows like a blade.

You stilled — heart hammering in your chest — but Deimos did not falter. Instead, he held you tighter, a challenge gleaming in his eyes as he met his brother's stare.

Kratos's jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides. The silence was a palpable thing, heavy with unspoken desires and darker hungers. You would have said something to the god that stood before you, but Daimos turned your gaze back to him.

Deimos's mouth found yours again, greedy and coaxing, hands roaming your waist, your hips. You gasped softly, your body alight with sensation — so caught in him you almost forgot the other presence in the room.

Almost.

Kratos stood a mere pace away, silent and seething, golden eyes burning brighter than the fires that burned in the sanctuary.

His hand shot out, seizing Deimos by the shoulder and ripping him from you with a growl. You stumbled, caught only by Kratos’s other hand — large, calloused — curling possessively around your arm.

"You are too bold, brother," Kratos snarled, his voice like stone grinding against stone. Deimos chuckled low in his throat, undeterred.

"Would you have her all to yourself, then?" he taunted, licking a stray bead of your taste from his lip. Kratos's glare could have split the earth in that very moment.

"She is not yours to toy with," he said, and the low rumble of it set your heart hammering against your ribs. His gaze fell on you — searing, claiming.

"She is mine." something in your stomach flipped and boiled at the statement.

Deimos leaned lazily against the pillar near the fireplace, still smiling, watching as Kratos pulled you against the hard planes of his body — his mouth descending to claim yours in a kiss far rougher, far more desperate than Deimos’s had been. There was no question in it — only command, like the general he was... Your knees went weak, clutching at the folds of Kratos’s scarred leather as he devoured you.

His hands roamed with greedy need — one cradling the back of your skull, tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip so tightly you knew you would bear his mark. He kissed you as if trying to stamp his soul onto yours. When he finally tore his mouth from you, his breathing was ragged, chest heaving.

"You belong to me," Kratos growled against your lips.

And though Deimos only chuckled low, amused, even he did not dare argue. Kratos lifted you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you toward the furs near the fire, laying you down like an offering he meant to claim completely.

He shed his weapons and armor with brutal efficiency, golden gaze never leaving you — never blinking, never softening. Only once, as he knelt above you, did Kratos cast a look over his shoulder at Deimos — a warning, a threat, and a promise all in one.

"Touch her again without my leave..." his eyes said, clear as speech, "...and you will answer to me."

Deimos raised his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk remained.

Kratos turned back to you — all the violence of war coiled in his touch — and you knew,

Tonight, you would be taken, thoroughly and utterly — but not gently. You would be his. He tosses you over his shoulder and exits the healing chamber to find yours. Walking down the hall and finding and grand chamber with a large bed at the end of the hall, he lets you fall onto the bed.

Kratos loomed above you, his shadow cast long and powerful by the firelight.

"You will take none but me," he growled, voice thick with hunger, the words rumbling low in his chest. his rough hands rip the fabric of your garments. Leaving you bare for him, his hands roamed possessively, calloused palms sliding along your hips, your thighs, spreading you open beneath his heavy frame. Unbeknownst to him, Deimos leans against the doorway watching intently, a wolfish grin playing at his lips, arms crossed lazily over his broad chest.

"You handle her like a prize, brother," he taunted, voice thick with amusement. "Yet she is no gold nor sword — she will not break."

Kratos did not answer and simply focused on you. The way your pussy was wet and ready to receive him. The way your skin shivered, how your eyes were half lidded as they stared at him. Instead, he gripped your jaw firmly, forcing you to meet his burning gaze.

"You will cry for me," Kratos rumbled, low and unrelenting, his thumb sweeping across your parted lips. "You will remember whose touch brings you ruin."

You whimpered under him, the heat of his words making your blood sing. Slowly, deliberately, Kratos aligned himself, thick and heavy against you, pressing forward with a slow, claiming force. You gasped, your back arching, nails clawing at the furs beneath you. He filled you completely — a brutal stretch that left no part of you untouched. Every rumor, every story was right; this truly was a pleasure you had never known.

Kratos groaned low in his throat, forehead dropping to rest against yours.

"You take me well," he breathed, hips beginning a slow, relentless rhythm. "You were made for this — for me."

Each thrust drove the breath from your lungs, every movement fueled by the seething need to stamp his claim onto your body, your soul. You clung to him, whimpering his name, and when you did, his pace grew even harsher, teeth gritting with possessive satisfaction. From the corner of your blurred vision, Deimos leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching intently.

"Is there room for another, brother?" he drawled, voice low and teasing. You've had other lovers and affairs in the past, even men who begged to even touch you, but never two at a time. Let alone two powerful men who had you at their mercy. Yet you let them, you let them worship and use your body.

Kratos growled — not in refusal, but warning.

"You will wait," he snarled without looking back, thrusting into you harder, forcing another sharp cry from your lips.

"You will watch." And Deimos, perhaps wisely, obeyed.

Kratos fucked you like he intended to carve his name into your very bones. He spoke against your skin, dark, reverent words that made you shudder.

"You are mine... my spoil, my prize..."

"None shall touch you and live..."

"You will bear my mark deep within."

You could feel the raw power in every movement — the brutal claim of a man who had lost everything before and refused to lose again. At last, after leaving you trembling, broken open beneath him, Kratos slowed, only then lifting his head to meet Deimos's gaze across your heaving body.

"Now," he said, voice a rough command, "you may touch." Deimos rose with the easy grace of a predator, a gleam of hunger flashing in his amber eyes. He approached, hands sliding along your sides, mouth finding the hollow of your throat, but Kratos never fully relinquished his grip. Even as Deimos joined, Kratos kept a hand possessively on your hip, anchoring you to him — a constant, silent reminder: You are his.

Deimos's touch was lighter, more coaxing — kissing along your collarbone, sucking at your breast — but Kratos watched his every move, muscles taut as a bowstring. And when Deimos made you moan, a soft, helpless sound, Kratos seized your jaw again, forcing you to face him.

"You will cry for me again," he rasped, his thrusts resuming — harder, deeper — as if daring Deimos to try and match him. Deimos only chuckled, tracing your ribs with lazy fingers.

"Greed and jealousy will get you nowhere, brother," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your fluttering pulse. "He has not changed, even in pleasure," Kratos growled a low, dangerous sound — and slammed into you with such force that your gasp broke into a keening cry.

"Say it," Kratos demanded, his breath hot against your lips. "Say who fills you."

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming sensation, but you obeyed, voice broken and desperate:

"You... Kratos...!"

Only then did he allow the faintest smirk to curl the edge of his mouth, a rare glimpse of satisfaction. Before bending to claim your mouth again, devouring your cries as he took you harder, rougher, deeper than before. Beside you, Deimos laughed softly — but even he did not dare challenge the victor. AS promised the God had taken you and claimed you as his. With sheer lust, passion, and dominance. Your body was spent and still shaken from the wonderful orgasm he had given you. Your body is covered by a sheer layer of sweat.

You sagged against Kratos, spent and shuddering, the heat of his seed still burning inside you. Kratos’s hand curved around your middle, holding you steady against him, but his chest heaved with the effort of restraint. Deimos rose slowly from his crouch beside the bed, the firelight catching the gleam of sweat along his scarred skin.

"Is it my turn, brother?" Deimos asked, voice low, mocking.

Kratos’s jaw tightened — the muscles in his arms flexed — but after a moment, he loosened his hold on you.

"Do as you will," Kratos rumbled, though the words sounded torn from his throat. Deimos smiled, slow and wicked, and reached for you. You whimpered as he pulled you forward, Kratos's cock sliding free of your abused entrance with a wet, sinful sound.

Deimos gathered you into his arms — strong and sure — and laid you out beneath him on the bed as though presenting an offering.

"You are a sight most rare," Deimos murmured, gazing down at you, trailing his fingers lightly over your slick, trembling thighs, "Ravished and radiant."

You tried to reach for him, but Deimos caught your wrists easily, pinning them above your head with one hand.

"Ah, ah," he chided. "You shall not rush me, little goddess. I mean to savor you." Kratos shifted behind him, the bed creaking under his weight as he watched, his dark eyes burning into your skin. Deimos leaned in slowly, deliberately, and pressed his mouth to your breast, suckling, biting just enough to make you gasp.

You writhed beneath him, your body already too sensitive, too raw — but Deimos was relentless. He kissed lower, over your ribs, your belly, his free hand spreading your legs wide.

"You are still open for us," he murmured against your skin, voice rough with reverence. "Still wet with my brother’s seed."

Kratos let out a low growl from behind — not in protest, but in approval. Deimos grinned against your skin, then rose to his knees, stripping the last of his armor free with swift, brutal movements. You caught sight of him — thick, heavy, flushed with need — and whimpered softly, your thighs trembling. Deimos caught the sound and laughed low in his throat.

"You fear I shall break you?" he teased, crawling over you, aligning himself at your slick entrance. "Be not afraid, little one. I shall only bring you past the peak of pleasure again...and again..."

And then he drove into you, slow but deep, splitting you anew on his cock. You moan, a broken, keening sound, your body arching against the bed. Deimos groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, as he sank into the hilt.

"Gods," he muttered. "You are tighter than the Fates’ own knots."

Kratos’s hand came to rest on your ankle, gripping, possessive, as he watched Deimos claim you. Deimos began to move — a slow, grinding rhythm his eyes locked on your face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every sobbed gasp.

"You take us well," he rasped. "As though you were made for us." He thrust harder, faster, making the bed slam against the stone walls with every brutal drive.

"You will shatter again," Deimos growled against your throat. "You shall cry for me, as you did for him." Kratos’s hand slid higher — caressing the inside of your thigh — but he did not interfere.

He watched. Watched as your eyes rolled back, watched as your jaw went slack, watched as your back arched off the bed. Deimos shifted his angle, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision see stars, and your cries grew high and desperate.

"Ah~ Oh Gods!~"

"You hear her, brother?" Deimos taunted through gritted teeth. "She begs for me now." Kratos’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing, his dark gaze heavy on where Deimos’s cock disappeared inside you.

You were helpless — undone — as Deimos took you to pieces, your body pliant and yielding beneath his brutal worship.

"Come," Deimos commanded, his voice a low, savage growl. "Come and mark me as you did him." You broke with a sob, your body convulsing, your inner walls clamping down around Deimos with a desperate, choking grip. Deimos snarled, thrusting deep once, twice, before spilling inside you with a guttural, broken sound.

You lay boneless beneath him, gasping for breath, your body trembling violently. Deimos collapsed beside you, panting, dragging you into his arms possessively. Kratos loomed at the edge of the bed, his jaw tight, his fists clenched, the hunger in his gaze undiminished.

"You think yourself victorious," Kratos rumbled darkly. "But the night is not yet ended."

Deimos laughed — low and wicked — as he stroked your trembling body.

"Then come, brother," Deimos taunted, voice thick with triumph. "Let us see which of us she favors, when the dawn breaks."

Morning breaks....

The sun had risen, casting pale light across the chamber, the soft glow illuminating the disheveled sheets and the quiet aftermath of the night. You lay still for a moment, the weight of what had happened pressing on your chest, a heavy mixture of soreness and lingering emotions that refused to be easily shaken off. Deimos was still beside you, his body warm and relaxed, the rise and fall of his chest steady with sleep. He seemed more at ease than usual, his features softer in the morning light. But even in his rest, you could see the edge of intensity that always clung to him, the sharpness in his expression even as he lay still.

On the opposite side of the bed, Kratos was already awake. You could tell by the tension in the air—the way his body was perfectly still, poised, as though bracing for something. He had his back to you, his massive frame still, yet there was a strange stillness to him. You couldn’t tell if he was lost in thought or simply keeping his distance.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of soft breathing and the occasional shift of the bed. The fire crackled quietly in the corner, the flames still alive, though their warmth seemed distant compared to the heat of the night before.

After a long moment, you couldn’t bear the silence anymore. You shifted slightly, your muscles aching in protest, and broke the stillness. "How long have you been awake?" you asked, your voice hoarse from sleep, though the words felt too heavy in the quiet room.

Kratos didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, the weight of his presence in the room still as imposing as ever. Slowly, he turned to face you, and when his eyes met yours, they were unreadable, but not without an undercurrent of something deeper. Something unspoken.

"I’ve been awake for some time," he said gruffly, his voice as heavy as the silence had been. His gaze shifted to Deimos briefly, but it was only for a moment before he returned to you, as if trying to decipher something in your expression.

Deimos stirred next to you, blinking groggily and stretching as if the night had been nothing more than a fleeting moment. He let out a low groan, his voice thick with sleep.

"The dawn breaks," he muttered, glancing up at you with a lazy smile. "Still alive, little goddess?" His grin was teasing, but it held a hint of concern beneath it, a softness that contrasted with his usual bravado.

You nodded slowly, unsure how to feel. You weren’t sure whether you should feel relief or something more complicated.

"I’m… alright," you said quietly, though the words felt hollow, as though they weren’t entirely true. Your body was sore in ways you didn’t want to acknowledge, and the emotional weight of the night was too much to fully process just yet.

Kratos’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he said nothing more. He stood slowly, his movement deliberate, as though he was putting distance between himself and the moment. His large hand gripped the edge of the bed as he rose, and you could feel the tension in his movements—the unsaid words that hung in the air like a storm that hadn’t yet broken.

"I’ll gather my things," Kratos rumbled, his tone low, strained. "There are duties that must be dealt with."

Deimos watched him leave, his expression softening, though the glint of mischief in his eyes didn’t fade entirely. He shifted closer to you, propping himself up on one arm, his eyes watching you carefully.

"You’ll be alright," he said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Last night was… intense, yes, but we’re still standing. We’ll make sure you’re not alone in this."

His words were oddly comforting, though you couldn’t fully shake the feeling that there were things left unsaid between all of you—tensions that hadn’t yet resolved. You glanced at Kratos, his broad back disappearing through the door, and a part of you wondered if he would ever let down the walls he so carefully built around himself.

"Will he be alright?" you asked, almost without thinking. You were referring to Kratos, of course, but you weren’t sure if Deimos would understand.

Deimos’s expression softened, his eyes reflecting a deeper understanding. "He’s not one for comfort," he said quietly, his tone more thoughtful than you expected. "But he’ll handle things in his own way. He always does."

You nodded slowly, your thoughts swirling with the confusion and complexity of it all. Deimos leaned forward, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. "Take your time, little goddess. Let yourself heal. We’ll figure out what comes next."

You stayed in the quiet of the room for a while, Deimos’s presence a strange, comforting weight at your side, and Kratos’s departure leaving behind a silence that felt just as loud as any spoken word. The aftermath of everything felt uncertain, but for now, you were left to try and make sense of it, with both brothers looming in the background, each carrying their own burden.

Hoping to see them both one day.

Alive and at peace....

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