#gow x reader

[defectivevillain]

took an axe and amended things

pairing: kratos x reader

reader’s pronouns: he/him 

[reader with they/them pronouns here!]

warnings: canon typical violence, blood and injury 

You’re venturing out in the forest when you come across a rather unusual sight: a young boy standing across from several Draugr. You initially think that your eyes are deceiving you. Even so, you move closer and realize that the kid seems to be in trouble. His only weapon is a bow and arrow; unfortunately, there are too many Draugr for the distance weapon to be of much use. You contemplate walking away for a long moment. Ultimately, you decide that you can’t leave him.

You take a deep breath and pull out your sword, lunging at the creatures closest to you. You manage to cut through a few of them. You’re preoccupied for a few moments, which causes you to lose focus and forget the boy. This mistake nearly costs you, as the kid lets out a chilling shriek. You immediately race over to him, shoving him aside. The Draugr that had been descending upon him lets out a strangled noise and plunges a clawed hand into your abdomen before you can react. A sharp burst of pain shoots through you and you quickly finish off the creature, before turning back to look at the boy. He looks mostly fine, save for a few scratches and scrapes. The kid stares at you with wide eyes, looking around for more Draugr before walking up to you.

“Thanks,” the boy says breathlessly, sending you a warm smile. The happiness quickly fades from his face when he sees the wound tearing through your abdomen. You try to muster up a calm expression, but it doesn’t seem to work very well. “Oh no…” The kid grimaces for a moment.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, stumbling forward as you try to take a step. Quick as lightning, the boy is standing at your side and steadying you. You can’t help but lean on him, despite knowing he’s a child who probably won’t be able to withstand your weight. Against all odds, though, the boy seems strong enough to support you. Before you can apologize and try to walk away, he slings your arm around his shoulder. The hand you’re pressing to your abdomen is slowly turning a dark crimson. The boy begins to walk forward and you have no choice but to clumsily follow.

“Our house is around here,” he remarks, leading you onwards. Your vision is blurring by the second, but you can make out a structure that looks like a house in the distance. Unfortunately, that distance seems rather large in your current condition. “Just hold on.”

The walk is long and painful. The cold air makes your chest burn and the wound on your abdomen isn’t getting better. You’re losing strength and gradually becoming dead weight for the kid to support. You idly wonder—through the painful haze you’re stuck in—what he’s doing out here by himself. Then again, he said our house, didn’t he? The boy evidently lives with someone else. Even so, should he have been all alone in the forest in the first place? You don’t think so.

Your thought process surrounding the boy only lasts a few moments, before it takes a backseat to the immense pain ripping through your body. Shadows creep across the corners of your vision. You stop in your tracks, grinding your heels into the snow to stop the boy from leading you onwards. Vertigo is hitting you out of nowhere, to the point where the ground seems to be spinning under your feet. You weakly grasp at the boy’s shoulder, but you can’t keep yourself standing. Before long, you’re crumpling to the ground. The kid lets out an exclamation and the world fades to a dizzying black.

You seem to waver between unconsciousness and wakefulness. There’s a loud thunk that breaks you out of your slumber, but you keep your eyes closed in the hopes that you’ll find rest again. Amidst the darkness, you can catch traces of conversation between the boy from earlier and another person.

“Boy, what did I tell you about strangers?” The voice you hear is deep and timbered; it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I know, Father, but—”

“A childish mistake. The moment you let your guard down to someone, they will swiftly destroy you.”

You eventually abandon the notion of rest and open your eyes to find yourself in a dimly lit room. Wooden beams stretch across the ceiling; the torches hanging from them are the only source of light. For several seconds, you remain still and stare up at the ceiling. Your balance feels lopsided, despite the fact that you’re reclined on the floor. Before you can even begin to push yourself up, there’s a quick glint of metal as an axe presses up against your throat. You look up to find a huge man towering over you. He wears a stiff shoulder guard, leather forearm wraps, and a belt across his waist. His eyes are steely and there’s a malicious aura radiating off of him.

“Get out of my home,” the man orders, pressing the axe further against your neck. You can’t stop the hiss that crawls from your throat when the metal digs into your skin. “Now.” There’s nothing but hatred in the man’s brown eyes. You swallow hard and try to push yourself up to a sitting position, while avoiding the axe at your throat. The slight movement hurts far more than you expect and you let out a strangled breath.

“No!” the boy from earlier exclaims. You glance to your side, only to find him sitting next to you. He places a hand on your shoulder and you realize that his grip is surprisingly strong. Now that the boy is closer, you’re able to see that he has clear blue eyes. He’s even smaller up close. Just how old is this boy? You’re not sure you want to know.  “He needs rest.” You raise an eyebrow at the unexpected defense.

The man holding the axe glares at the boy, who stares right back. Admittedly, you’re impressed with the kid’s fearlessness—especially in the face of this brute in front of you, who’s holding a rather dangerous-looking axe. “Atreus.”

“Father, he saved me,” the boy—Atreus—interjects. At this, the man stills. His gaze falls to his son for a fraction of a moment, before he returns to glaring at you menacingly. “I was surrounded,” he continues. Your head is swimming and takes an immense amount of effort to focus on what he’s saying. “I tried to fight, but I was outnumbered… A Draugr got close and was about to strike me. This one was a lot faster than Draugr usually are, and I reacted too late… He pushed me out of the way and took the blow.” 

The massive man is still staring at you with a scrutinizing gaze, evidently trying to find the fault in his son’s story. You grimace, half in pain and half in intense discomfort. For a few moments, there is nothing but silence. Then, the axe at your throat falls to the man’s side. You push yourself up to a sitting position and take a deep breath. Unfortunately, the conversation doesn’t seem to be over, as the man’s axe is still in hand.

“Why did you save him?” The axe isn’t pressed up directly against your skin any longer, but it still hovers menacingly above your neck.

“He’s just a boy,” you murmur, struggling to make sense of your thoughts. “I don’t know; I didn’t really have time to think about it. It just… happened.” The man’s eye contact is intense, so much so that you have to avert your gaze after a few seconds. Whatever this man is looking for, he seems to find it in your expression.

“He can stay until he heals,” the man says, hardly sparing you a glance before turning to his son, “You will supervise him.” Atreus nods and immediately turns back to you. His father glares at you one more time, before turning his back and walking to one of the other rooms. You stare after him in disbelief.

“Sorry about Father,” Atreus sighs, drawing your attention back to him. He seems to be making some sort of ointment to apply to your wound. “He doesn’t like people very much.” You shake your head, trying to reassure the boy that it isn’t his fault and that you don’t mind. You are a stranger in their home, after all. “This is going to hurt.” Atreus presses the ointment to your abdomen and you inhale sharply. It burns for a few seconds, before cooling pleasantly.

Feeling a sudden heat, you look up to find Atreus’s father lurking a short distance away. He looms next to a wall, hiding him from his son’s view. The man crosses his arms over his chest and stares at you with a strange expression—which morphs into a murderous look once he realizes that you’re staring back.

“What’s wrong?” the boy asks from his place at your side. He’s looking at you expectantly and you tear your gaze away from his father, who slinks off into another area of the house and out of sight. You bite your lip. Despite Atreus’s curiosity, you can’t bring yourself to betray his father’s actions.

“Nothing,” you say with a shake of your head. Atreus finishes preparing the bandages and begins to wrap them around your abdomen. The boy’s bandaging seems to be a bit clumsy, but you can’t bear to feel anything but grateful for his help—especially when he stood up to his father for you. “Thanks for healing me.” You decide to voice your gratitude. 

“It’s my fault you got hurt in the first place.” Atreus murmurs, just quietly enough that it takes you a moment to realize you didn’t imagine the remark. You try to argue, but the boy has finished your bandages and he’s already walking away before you can entirely comprehend the statement. As much as you want to go after him, you’re essentially bound to the floor—your injuries are too grave for you to even try moving.

You fall asleep for a bit, until you’re woken by the eerie feeling of someone watching you. You dazedly blink your eyes open, only to have a mini heart attack when you see Atreus’s father looming over you. Is he here to kill you, now that Atreus isn’t present? You don’t get much time to wonder, before the man is speaking.  

“That boy…” You can hardly let out a protest before his father gets down on one knee and tugs at your bandages. You let out a weak protest, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. He instead pulls off the bandages with an almost mechanical precision.

“I don’t even know your name, yet,” you joke weakly, trying to distract yourself from his proximity and the pain flaring up in your abdomen. As expected, the joke doesn’t register with the man. He looks annoyed at the mere suggestion.

“You have no need for it.” You stare at him. Your disbelief and mild irritation must show on your face, because the man looks back down at the bandages and steadily refuses to meet your eyes. For someone so intimidating, this guy seems to be almost… timid. Perhaps he’s just unaccustomed to social interaction. That would make a lot of sense, actually. His house is in the middle of the woods, deep enough that he likely doesn’t encounter many people. “Kratos.”

You raise an eyebrow and tell him your name, although you suspect that he doesn’t care what your name is. Sure enough, the man doesn’t even acknowledge your remark. His rather large hands are fiddling with the roll of bandages, and you’re almost tempted to help him out. You reach out, only for him to meet your eyes once more.

“If it weren’t for the boy…” The man’s eyes darken. He looks down to wrap the bandages around you. He tightens them a bit too fiercely, causing you to suck in a startled breath. Kratos looks up when he’s finished and levels you with a menacing glare. “I’d kill you where you stand.”

You gulp. His hands brush your skin for the briefest of moments, sending a wave of heat down your spine. It’s hard to focus when Kratos is so close to you. Thankfully, once he’s finished with the bandages, he gets to his feet and stares at you.

“For whatever reason, the boy has developed a liking for you,” Kratos states flatly. There’s an unconvinced look on his face, as if he can’t comprehend why his son even mildly tolerates you. You feel a little offended at that—are you really so insufferable to be around? “I expect you out of here the moment you’re fully healed.”

“Alright, thanks,” you answer, having half-expected a remark along those lines. The two of you are then locked in a pseudo-staring contest—as if you’re sizing each other up—for a few seconds before Kratos turns his back and walks away.

As you rest, your conversation with Kratos dominates your thoughts. Unfortunately, you don’t have much else to think about—your healing isn’t going as fast as you’d like. Time seems to drag on, especially when all you do is sleep or eat small meals. You’re amazed you’ve been given any food at all; although, you then realize that Atreus is likely hunting for you.

“I’m not who Father thinks I am,” Atreus remarks one morning, as he’s changing your bandages. He noticed his father’s adjustments and since then, he’s been fairly high strung. You remain silent and let him continue. “I’m strong, I’m smart. I’m capable.”

“You are,” you agree, happy to see the pink flush on the boy’s cheeks at the acknowledgement. Unfortunately, Atreus’s bashfulness doesn’t last long, as his eyebrows furrow and his lips twist into a scowl.

“Then why doesn’t he see that?” Atreus exclaims. You put a finger to your lips to get him to lower his voice, but the boy doesn’t seem to notice the gesture. “I don’t understand! He always leaves, he never talks to me or teaches me. He doesn’t even want me!” The boy’s voice cracks and your heart breaks just a little more.

“Atreus…” You bite your lip, feeling an overwhelming sympathy overtake you. You feel like you’re listening in on something you shouldn’t, despite Atreus’s voluntary disclosure of information. “I don’t know your father, but I know that you’re wrong. He does want you; he loves you.”

“How can you be so sure?” Atreus whispers. He sounds so unsure that you feel your eyes begin to burn. Is his father’s approval really so foreign to him? It doesn’t take you long to choose what to say next.

“Because I’m still here,” you answer. You hadn’t intended to tell Atreus about his father’s threats, but now, you think they’ll serve as evidence to your claims. “He’s keeping me here because you asked him to. If you hadn’t, I’d be dead right now.”

“That’s not true,” Atreus fires back.

“He told me as much,” you admit. Atreus’s lips part and he stares at you in disbelief. You take a moment to collect your thoughts before speaking again. “Anyway. Your father doesn’t seem like the type to use his words, but… his actions couldn’t be more transparent.” Atreus is silent at that. You frown, wishing there were some way to convince him. An idea passes through your mind and you decide to speak your thoughts. “I know I’m not your father, but—” you break off, “I am proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Atreus huffs, his ears turning red. You give in to the urge to ruffle his hair and he scowls dramatically, turning his attention to your bandages. You allow him to escape the conversation and the two of you soon change topics and talk about innocuous things. Eventually, Atreus leaves to hunt and you’re alone again.

You find yourself alone in the house rather frequently. You can’t bring yourself to be irritated with it—after all, you’re pretty much an uninvited house guest. Furthermore, it appears as if your wound is healing rather well… It should take only a few more days of rest before you’re ready to go home. A small part of you wonders if this cabin could be your home, if this father and son could be your family. You quickly disregard the concept.

Somehow, you manage to heal faster than you expect. Within a few days, you’re up and walking again. Almost the moment that you realize you can walk, you head towards the door. Kratos’s threats from earlier are living in your mind. I expect you out of here the moment you’re fully healed. You press your palm flat against the door and push, only for a voice to interrupt your thoughts.

“Where are you going?” You turn around, dread coiling in your chest as you find Kratos standing in the space you had previously occupied. He’s regarding you with wariness and skepticism. You frown at that, unable to dissuade your own confusion.

“Um… home?” If it weren’t for the boy, I’d kill you where you stand. You gulp. You had hoped to avoid an awkward confrontation—or even a fight— by slipping out of the house undetected. That was wishful thinking, apparently. For the next few moments, you’re frozen in the doorway as Kratos stares at you with a scrutinizing gaze. His arms are crossed over his chest and there’s nothing but frustration written in the lines of his tense shoulders.

“The boy likes you,” Kratos eventually says, breaking through the strained silence. Tension settles in the air. You’re admittedly not fully recovered, and your balance is a bit testy. You place a hand on the wall in a casual gesture, pretending that you don’t need the stability. Kratos seems to recognize what you’re doing regardless, as he reaches out. You resist the urge to flinch. His hand rests on your shoulder and there’s a strange look on his face. “Stay.”

You stay—not that your decision has anything to do with the relieved expression on Kratos’s face when you step away from the front door. That doesn’t run through your mind at all. You make your way past Kratos and sit down on the floor once more.

When Atreus returns home that day, he launches himself at you and hugs you before you can object. You smile and wrap your arms around him in return. The boy doesn’t seem keen to let you go any time soon. You look over Atreus’s shoulder, only to accidentally lock eyes with Kratos. His fists are clenched at his sides and he quickly turns away. Your chest burns as you return your attention to Atreus, pretending not to have noticed his father gazing at the boy with a remorseful expression.

When the two of you break apart, Atreus stares at you expectantly. You turn your head to the side in an attempt to avoid his gaze, but the movement draws a pained hiss from your lips. You grimace as pain flares up your back. You don’t think you’re quite subtle enough, because Atreus’s eyebrows furrow.

“Your back hurts,” the boy realizes aloud. Damn it, why is this boy so observant? You bite your lip and remain silent, not wanting to further incriminate yourself. Atreus seems to have his mind made up, however, as he looks at you. “Haven’t you been sleeping on the floor? That’s probably why. You should tell Father.”

“No thanks,” you say with a shake of your head. Your conversations with Kratos are awkward enough on their own. The last thing you want is to bring up your discomfort, especially when he and his son have been so kind as to let you reside here. “Besides, there isn’t another bed for me to sleep in or anything.”

Atreus stares at you with a rather complex gleam in his eyes. His mischievous expression throws you off, and you get the feeling that you should be nervous. “Father likes you, you know,” the boy remarks. You blink once, twice—convinced that you misheard him. Once you process the statement, you look at him in confusion.

“There’s something about you,” Atreus continues, “He doesn’t hate you as much as he hates everyone else.” You want to laugh, but the sentiment seems to strike true—Kratos clearly dislikes people. The portion of Atreus’s statement concerning his lessened hatred for you is definitely untrue, though. Instead of arguing, you keep quiet and let Atreus continue speaking. “Ever since Mother died, he hasn’t been quite the same. But he’s better, now that you’re around.”

“You think so?”

Atreus nods silently. You don’t know what to say; Atreus seems similarly lost for words. “It’s healing nicely,” he says, nodding at your wound. You look down at the warped scar tearing through your skin. That scar is probably going to be permanent, you realize with resignation. Atreus doesn’t elaborate on his previous remark and you spend the rest of the day thinking about it.

The next day, the strange interaction with Atreus falls to the back of your mind, as you begin to busy yourself with attempts at full recovery. You slowly begin to start walking around again, and before long, you’re able to walk around the house with relative ease. One day, you even walk outside to get some fresh air. You don’t realize how much you needed the sunshine, until you feel a smile breaking out on your face. The midmorning rendezvous gives you a bit more energy.

For a few days after your attempt at departure, you don’t see Kratos at all. You almost want to think that he’s avoiding you, but you recognize that notion to be rather self-centered. He’s probably just busy. You decide to remain patient. Your patience does eventually pay off, because Kratos ambles into the room you’re occupying and stops to stand next to you. You send him a small smile, which he doesn’t return. Silence dominates the air for a few more moments, before Kratos speaks.

“The boy says—”

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to call him by his name once in a while,” you interject. Kratos glares at you and you glare right back for a few moments, until you eventually get sick of the charade. The man raises an eyebrow, as if to ask: Are you done? You roll your eyes in response.

“The boy says your back has been hurting,” Kratos finishes, a note of something unreadable in his voice. You don’t dare to analyze the emotion beneath that remark.

“He’s too observant, sometimes,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. You quickly feel the need to defend yourself. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Kratos snaps. He looks askance and it almost feels as if he’s trying to pretend you aren’t in front of him. Despite the rather harsh statement, though, his eyebrows are furrowed and he seems more irritated than usual. “You’ll sleep in my room tonight.” A million thoughts run through your head all at once. What does that statement mean, exactly? Surely, he means you’ll sleep on the floor of his room. Perhaps there’s a plush carpet. Honestly, you’ll take anything over the hardwood flooring of the main cabin area.

“Okay,” you murmur, once you realize that Kratos is waiting for a response. His lips are pulled taut and he stares at you for a moment longer before walking away. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Thankfully, it’s only midmorning. You have the rest of the day to put the thought off. 

Unfortunately, the day passes unusually fast. Before long, it’s beginning to get dark. Kratos doesn’t seem to be around, but his words from earlier still echo in your ears. For a moment, you contemplate sleeping on the floor in the main room again. You quickly dismiss the notion when you see Atreus pouting at you. Rolling your eyes, you allow him to tug you by the arm until you’re standing in Kratos’s room.

There’s only one bed. Thankfully, Atreus leaves and doesn’t insist on anything stupid—like sharing the bed with his father. You’re sure that you’d wake up to an axe pointed at your throat, and you’d rather not have a repeat of your first meeting. There is a fluffy carpet in the corner of the room and you shrug, before lowering yourself down to the ground and curling up on your side. It’s far from comfortable, but you’re so tired that you can’t find the energy to care. Before you can muse about your unconventional sleeping arrangements any longer, you’re drifting off into sleep.

Your sleep is rough for a little while. You hear bits and pieces of noise, but you’re never fully torn from slumber. Then, out of nowhere, you’re jostled and you slip into a weird void between slumber and wakefulness. You vaguely register an arm under your knees and another supporting your upper back. Suddenly, there’s plush material beneath you and you can’t stop the miniscule exhale that leaves your lips at the feeling. You swear you hear a huff of amusement, but you’re far too exhausted to ponder it.

You wake hours later feeling remarkably refreshed. It’s the first time since you resided here that you were actually able to rest. You push yourself up slowly, taking a moment to survey your surroundings. It appears that you’re in Kratos’s room. Wait. You’re not on the floor… You’re on his bed. You quickly throw the blanket off of you and try not to panic. He can’t kill you if he doesn’t notice—

“You were on the floor.” Fuck. You look up, only to find Kratos hovering in the doorway. He stares down at you expectantly.

“Well, yeah,” you frown, pushing yourself off the bed to stand across from him. “Where else was I supposed to go?” Kratos has a rather disbelieving expression on his face as he regards you. His lips part and he’s about to say something when there’s a loud rapping sound. The man whips around and stalks out into the main room. You follow at his heels, secretly grateful for the interruption. You weren’t quite looking forward to the awkward conversation surrounding how you ended up sleeping in his bed last night.

“What was that?” Atreus asks, emerging from one of the other rooms. You put a finger over your lips and then turn to Kratos, who is glaring at the front door hard enough to set it aflame with his gaze alone. The three of you are entirely silent as you wait to hear the sound again. About a minute passes and you’re about to relax when there’s another harsh noise; it sounds like someone is knocking on the door. Kratos turns around and stares at you determinedly.

“Watch the boy,”e demands. h

“But—” you try to say, beginning to sense what is going on. Evidently, this visitor isn’t coming for a housewarming party.  Whoever it is, they must be an enemy—if the vicious expression on Kratos’s face is anything to go by.

“Go,” Kratos snarls. Your heart is racing but you decide to obey him. Atreus seems like he wants to fight, but you place a hand on his shoulder. He sighs and walks a few steps until he’s standing in front of a pile of cushions and blankets. Atreus pushes them to the side, which reveals a sort of trapdoor mechanism. The boy tugs at it before lowering himself down into it. You take one final glance at Kratos, before following Atreus into the makeshift cellar. The moment you’re with Atreus, Kratos closes the trapdoor and Atreus and you are left in pitch-black darkness.

“Will he be okay?” Atreus voices. Within a few seconds of that question, you both hear a rumbling sound and raised voices. You can’t quite see Atreus, but you can hear his leg bouncing restlessly.

“Of course,” you murmur quietly. You’re sure he’ll be fine and you try to bring that conviction into your voice to combat Atreus’s nerves. The boy stares at you for a moment, before practically throwing himself into your arms. You embrace him hesitantly at first. As the two of you continue to wait with bated breath, you bring your hand up to the back of the boy’s head and cradle him close. He’s far too young to be going through all of this, you think to yourself.

You hear a loud crash and hastily put your hands over Atreus’s ears. He whimpers and you close your eyes, trying not to flinch as you hear inexplicable noises from above. A part of you wants to peek out from the trapdoor and see what’s going on, but you promised Kratos that you’d protect Atreus. Knowing that, you hold him close to your chest and try to wait for the end of the crashing noises.

Ironically, after all of that ruckus, there is… nothing. You have no idea how much time passes after those sounds. Your ears are buzzing and you anxiously await any sort of noise. After an immeasurable amount of time, you hear footsteps from above. Atreus clenches your shirt in a tight grip and you pull him closer. The trapdoor creaks open ominously, and you instinctively turn your back to protect Atreus. A few seconds pass, and nothing happens. You warily turn your head, only to find Kratos looming over the trapdoor. You let out a sigh of relief and relax your hold on Atreus, who peeks out from your shoulder and looks up at him.

“Father!” Atreus exclaims, relief evident in his voice. He steps up on the chest nearby and Kratos hoists him up.

“Atreus,” Kratos responds, staring down at his son. The boy launches himself into Kratos’s arms, murmuring things that you pretend not to hear. You smile at the sight, despite feeling a bit out of place; you vaguely feel as if you’re not supposed to be witnessing this rather intimate and private moment. After a few moments, Atreus releases his hold on his father and you accidentally lock eyes with Kratos over the boy’s head. There’s blood splattered all over the man’s face but he appears to be fine.  Atreus moves away and Kratos extends his arm to you. You don’t hesitate to take his proffered hand, allowing him to loftily pull you up from the cellar. His grip remains, even as Atreus pulls the cushions and blankets over the cellar. In fact, Kratos’s hand rises from your hand to grasp your forearm.

“You alright?” you ask. Kratos answers with a huff that you’ve grown to associate with amusement. There’s something lingering on his shoulder and you move to brush it off. Kratos stiffens and freezes, a guarded expression rising on his face. Despite his evident wariness, he doesn’t push you away. You brush the debris off his shoulder and quickly explain. “Sorry. You had, um, some dirt.”

“You looked after the boy,” Kratos says, apropos of nothing. You blink at him for a second.

“Of course,” you respond. You glance over at Atreus, who appears to be doing something in one of the other rooms. He’s too far away to hear your conversation, but your voice comes out like a whisper anyway. “I care about him. And… you asked me to.”

There’s a vulnerability in Kratos’s expression—a sentiment you’ve never seen from him. His eyes are wide and shining with emotion. You’re almost convinced that you’re seeing things. Despite the uncharacteristically expressive look on his face, he doesn’t speak for a few minutes. “You were prepared to die for him.” Kratos’s eyes fall to the pile of cushions over the trapdoor, evidently referencing how he found the two of you. You had instinctually shielded Atreus.

“I mean, don’t give me too much credit; it’s what anyone would have done,” you ramble, feeling strangely off-kilter with Kratos standing so close to you. His eyes have yet to leave your face and his gaze demands your attention. You stare at him and he stares at you. Kratos reaches out and cradles your jaw. He swipes at your cheek with his thumb and you freeze in surprise. 

“When you were about to leave,” Kratos begins, his hand falling from your face and down to the crook of your neck. His lips part as if to continue speaking, but no words come out.

“You don’t have to explain,” you say, noticing that his shoulders are tight and his posture has recovered some tension. Kratos has an utterly tortured expression on his face and you feel immensely guilty for provoking that feeling in him. “Seriously, it’s fine—” you try to say, only for the words to fall flat on your tongue.

“You knew how to handle the boy,” the man continues. “I was envious at first. I… never had that kind of relationship with my father, and it affected my own relationship with the boy. When you appeared, I thought you would take him from me.” It appears as if speaking so much is actively harming Kratos, as he winces and stiffens with every word. He looks profoundly uncomfortable and determined at the same time. You remain silent, despite the conflicting feelings roaring in your heart.

“You understand the boy, in a way I have never been able to. I couldn’t bear to hate you, not when you gave Atreus his joy back. He hadn’t smiled since his mother died.” That, you hadn’t known. Suddenly, your throat burns as you remember the smiles Atreus has given you. “I have failed Atreus again and again, yet I tried to rob him of the one person that truly understood him… because that person was not me. What kind of father am I, for envying what you have with him?”

“A normal one, I think,” you answer honestly. “Kratos,” you break off, reaching out to him. Kratos grabs your wrist before you can reach him, a resigned expression on his face. He’s beginning to bury his emotions again. The light is slowly draining from his eyes. It feels as if he’s slowly slipping away from you.  

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Kratos says quietly. Your eyes catch on the bloodstains on his face and you begin to realize what he’s alluding to. Everything begins to make an absurd amount of sense: the giant axe, the ease with which he handled the unknown intruder, the entirely unaffected expression on his face as he ordered Atreus and you to hide.

“I don’t,” you acquiesce. Kratos’s hand is still on your wrist, but you manage to move your arm and clasp his forearm in return. “But that doesn’t matter—none of that matters. What matters is that you’re trying.” You take a deep breath. “Atreus needs you… and I do, too.”

Your eyes lock again and you realize that Kratos’s eyes are rather glassy. Is he crying? No, you must be seeing things. There’s an apology on the tip of your tongue but before you can speak, Kratos is tugging you towards him. You go along with the sudden momentum and, in the blink of an eye, he’s kissing you.

The gesture feels far too short, as a voice grounds you back to reality. “Finally.” You freeze and regretfully break away from Kratos, only to find Atreus staring at the two of you from his position in the far doorway. You feel extremely mortified and you try to salvage the situation by removing your hands from Kratos’s shoulders, but you fear it’s already too late.

“Boy…” Kratos trails off, evidently lost for words. Despite the fact that you’ve been found out, the man still hasn’t removed his hands from your waist.

“What?” Atreus asks innocently, a rather mischievous smile on his face. You sigh fondly at him, before beckoning him closer. The boy runs over and throws an arm around you, before doing the same with his father. Kratos looks startled for a moment, before he brings Atreus closer with his free hand. You smile to yourself as you’re surrounded by Kratos and Atreus—your newfound family.

[call-me-kermit]

Oh I got a good one, How the God of War characters would react to reader kissing them for the first time eather on the cheek or the lips or both. Please definitely add Atreus. Please

Smooches

Warnings: Cuties being cute.

Genre: Headcanons

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

Kratos

It was a total shock to Kratos when he felt your lips against his temple.

You would never guess he was dumbfounded and awestruck by the sudden affection.

He didn't respond with words or even look at you, just kept on with his task.

He wracked his brain trying to think of what the kiss had been for.

What made you think to do it?

All he had done before was take the flint and start the fire you were having trouble starting.

After all, he needed that fire going so he could cook the fresh game.

He didn't quite understand until Mimir, the smartest man alive, told him after you'd excused yourself from the room.

“You've been married before, brother! How do you not realize that women relish being taken care of?”

So you kissed him because he helped you?

That's it?!

That's ridiculous.

He totally started helping you out more often though.

Not because he yearned for you to kiss I'm more often.

No.

Definitely not.

He only wanted to show you how to do the things you should know how to do already.

Smooches were just a bonus.

Atreus

He'd liked you for so long that by the time you'd kissed him it was like a damn breaking open and river water finally resuming the course it was meant to flow.

Even if it was just a sweet peck on the cheek while sitting beside each other at the campfire.

A peck that lasted a second.

But to him, it felt like everything was finally the way things should be.

He smiled and shuddered and tried to find words or the courage you had to reciprocate.

He stumbled under himself for a few long moments hating how stupid he must have looked.

He was afraid his awkward response ruined the mood.

He almost had the heart to blame you, you did this to him after all.

But that embarrassment only lasted a little bit before he was reassured this a longer kiss on the other cheek.

He settled for comfortable silence enjoying the moment.

Not before kissing your hands of course.

Such a gentleman.

Mimir

He really enjoyed the moments you stole him away and walked with him, sat with him, talked for hours about nothing and everything.

You'd find a log, or field and lay him in you lap, laugh and talk sweet to him.

It was one of these moments, were you stopped him mid story, lifted him up close and kissed him sweetly on the lips.

He was saddened at first, insecurities about being just a head filled him.

He cares for you, absolutely, there was no doubt he'd be happy to spend the rest of his days with you.

But he felt you deserved better than an old man with not body to hold you with.

You didn't seaem to mind, and since he didn't really have the guts (metaphorically and literally) to voice these concerns you just kept coming back for more smooches.

“You deserve better, love.” He finally spoke. “A man who could hold you.”

He didn't believe you when you said none of that matters to you.

He argued his point for a few minutes.

“Well, you have no legs to run away from me. So your fate is sealed, my love.”

He almost laughed until you kissed him again.

Indeed it was.

Sindri

The first kiss between you wasn't necessarily a real kiss.

But it made his heart swell up more than anything he'd felt, ever.

It was a long-fought battle, some nearly died.

He'd not been there with you Kratos and the rest.

But when they all returned without you, and told him of the struggle he was a second from demanding where you were.

He was scared.

Only for you to walk in, wound wrapped up, armor rinsed of blood and grub.

You'd taken time outside to clean yourself before entering his home.

The relief of seeing you alive and well was enough to make him smile so purely.

Then, as you approached, scars of near death in your eyes, you smiles back and blew him a kiss.

It made him stubble over his feet as he met you halfway, a gesture he'd never thought of anyone doing for him.

He considered for a moment kissing you for real, but his stomach twisted and he settled for returning the hand gesture.

He revealed it the way it wiped the pain in your eyes and made them glow with beautiful life again.

It wasn't anything extravagant or overly romantic, but it was something sweet and simple.

Perfect for both of you.

Heimdal

All he'd done was throw an insult in the direction of some hag who was too invasive of yours and his business for his liking.

You were for the few people he tolerated and it irritated him that someone would sully your name out of petty spite.

The next thing he knew, you were on him. 

He was more surprised he didn't see it coming.

He had no time to even process what you were thinking before you laid one him.

Then he realized you didn't even think about what you were doing until you were doing it.

Kissing the life out of him.

He enjoyed the fact your instinctual reaction to him “defending your honor” was to rob the air from his lungs.

It was such a little thing that got suck a big reaction.

He didn't mind at all, even after you pulled away and apologized.

He just smirked and pulled you back in.

Baldur

He’d been angry, throwing things, breaking furniture, seething, and cursing his mother’s name.

Another dead end, false lead, trying to find someway to break his curse.

You just stood there watching sorrowfully until he called enough to know he would hurt you if you approached.

You’d been by his side since the start, trying to help.

Watching him go mad.

When he did calm, and sat, panting and gritting his teeth, you took a seat beside him.

He could not feel the way you hand gently touched his shoulder.

He could not feel, the hand you placed over his chest and stroked to try and smooth him.

That made him angry all over again.

He wanted to feel your touch more than anything.

He never had the chance of being close to you like this before his curse.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched you lean in and place a soft kiss on his jawline.

His anger slipped into despair, as he wished more than anything to feel the warmth of your embrace.

The softness of your skin.

The taste of your lips.

At least he could still feel you in his heart, but it wasn't enough.

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[gilded-fern]

Braids (Kratos x Reader)

A/N: i am so incredibly down bad for this man I wish he was real.

Reader uses she/her

Word Count: 839

It was a rare occasion where you managed to get Kratos to just relax and Atreus took Mimir out to go hunting. The two of you were resting in bed, your back leaned against the spartan’s chest. The two of you were laying in bed, the soft crackling of the fire filling the silence. Your hands were occupied with a knife and a wooden bead you were carving. You had created several of these beads already, an idea forming in your head. You put your knife back in its sheath and off the bead before turning around, your chest pressed against Kratos.

“Is something the matter?” your lover asked his expression stoic as always. His hand gently rested itself on the small of your back gently moving up and down.

“I’m going to braid your beard my love” you declared, setting the perfectly crafted bead on one of his pectorals and making yourself comfortable raising your hands to his face.

“Are you now?” The man asked a rare smile forming onto his face, his hand gently squeezing your waist. “And what makes you think I will let you?”

“You love me too much not let me” you gleefully proclaimed pressing a soft kiss to the man’s nose. Before starting your little task, your hands gently grasped the facial hair and began to work. You furrowed your brows as you worked with the hair right under his lips. “You should continue to grow your beard” you grumbled struggling with the shorter hair, a soft rumble of laughter from underneath you.

You continued to work attempting multiple times to braid his beard and secure the bead, but you failed multiple times. The facial hair is long enough to braid but not really long enough to hold the bead without looking a bit silly. Letting out a large groan you planted your head on Kratos’ chest, your fingers letting go of the small braid you had struggled with.

“Are you finished?” Kratos asked with a hint of mirth in his voice, his hand moving to pick up the bead forgotten on his chest. He awaited your response examining the small object, it was a simple small wooden bead. “Have you been making these with the intention of braiding them into my beard?” His gaze moved back down to you shaking his head with silent laughter when he saw your face still pressed into his chest.

“I was… didn’t realize how annoying your beard was though… and these beads aren’t really made to go in beards.” You grumbled lifting your head and gazing back into Kratos’ eyes. Your annoyed expression softened as you began to gently rub your thumb against his cheek. The two of you sat like that for a moment, Kratos seemingly frozen by your gentle touch and the love in your eyes. It was you who broke the trance scooting off of your lover and up and out of bed your back to the man as you searched the house “I have an idea, do we have any twine?”.

“Perhaps” The spartan answered back watching you search the home. You quickly found the object you were looking for as well as the other wooden beads you had crafted. You sat back down, Kratos sitting up as you made yourself comfortable in his lap again. “What are you doing?” the man behind you questioned his frame leaning over you to catch a glimpse. You were focused quickly braiding the twine together, when suddenly you reached over and pulled Kratos arm into your lap. You gently opened his fist where the wooden bead that had started this all was held. You slid it onto the braided twine, along with the other beads you had carved. You gently wrapped the bracelet around your lover’s wrist, frowning when you realized it was too small and continuing to braid.

“And… done!” you exclaimed, tightening the sliding knot onto Kratos’ wrist. The bracelet was rather crude and in all honesty not very pretty. But to Kratos, you had made it which made it extremely precious. He gave a soft nod of approval, a rare smile gracing his face.

You were more than satisfied with that response, feeling no need to push your typically stoic lover. Reclining fully against Kratos you gave a quick peck to one of his pectorals. Kratos laid down on his back, bringing you onto his chest with him. The two of you laid like that in silence, the soft crackling of the fire filling the air. Kratos had a loose hold on you, one of his hands on the small of your back and the other playing with the ends of your hair. Soon enough you began to drift off in the comfortable hold of your lover.

[wrr000]

God of War characters carrying you around

Silly idea of how our favs would carry us. It could be romantic or platonic!

--

Carry you around like a sack of potatoes: Kratos, Baldur, Brok

Give you a piggyback ride: Modi, Baldur

Carry you in a bridal style: Freya, Tyr, Sindri, Freyr

Let you sit on their shoulder: Modi, Magni, Tyr

Lift you up and cross one arm under your booty: Magni, Thor

"Don't you have legs?": Sindri, Brok, Heimdall, Kratos

You have to carry them: Sif, Heimdall, Freyr

[hereforreadandwrite]

Yandere Kratos x Female reader

Masterlist

Your breathing was irregular, your body was shaking and refusing to obey you. A devastating storm had invaded Greece, the Sun had died, plunging the world into darkness, the seas had swallowed the lands. Everyone in Greece and Olympus was dead. The corpses of Gods and slaves surrounded you, the room reeked of blood and death. You sobbed as you stared at your legs that refused to obey you. A voice in your head was screaming at you to run away, but your legs had decided otherwise. Your head felt like it was underwater, the screams of the other slaves screaming were barely in sight. A woman you barely knew was dead right in front of you. Cut in two. You were in shock.

How could all this have happened?

How could things have gotten so bad?

The place was silent now. Everyone living on Olympus was now dead. You were the only one still alive with the executioner.

"You… You killed everyone," you said with a tight throat. "You killed all the Gods, all the slaves, all the inhabitants of Greece… Why haven't you killed me yet?"

Kratos didn't answer you, he just moved closer to you. He put away his blood-soaked blades, his body was covered in the blood of his victims. You didn't dare look at him, you couldn't. You were too afraid to face him.

"Why am I the only one still alive?"

Kratos moved the corpse so he could kneel in front of you, in the pool of blood. You jumped in fear as you felt the rough fingers of the God of War grab your chin to lift your face. Your gaze met Kratos's. He was crazy. He had gone mad after all his years of loyally serving the Gods of Olympus, killing all those people, the murder of his family.

"Oh (Y/N). Why would I kill you?" he asked, smiling at you. "You're everything to me."

"No," you said, shaking your head and lowering your head as you sobbed. "No, no, no, no, no, no… No…"

Kratos let go of your chin to caress your cheek. He wiped away your tears, whispered reassuring words to console you. He tried to make you believe that everything was going to be okay.

"We're finally going to be able to be together," he said, grabbing your hair and violently lifting your head. "No one's going to separate us anymore."

You looked at Kratos terrified, a squeak escaping your lips because of the pain. He had torn your hair out. Kratos quickly let go of your hair when he heard you squeak in pain. He ran his hand over your sore scalp, soothing the pain.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I just bothered," he said, placing his lips on your forehead. "It's not against you. It's not going to happen again."

"Why?" you asked in a breath before starting to scream at him. "Why don't you kill me?! Why me?! Kill me so we can end this!"

Kratos stared at you with a perfectly neutral expression. Tears rolled down your blood-stained cheeks, like the rest of your body. The Spartan simply reached out to wipe away your tears.

"(Y/N). You are my world. Everything is everything I need. And there is no way I'm losing what is mine again," he said, caressing your cheek. "We're finally going to be able to be together, have a family. You'll have everything you've ever dreamed of."

You couldn't do anything against Kratos. You couldn't run away from him. How could you? He would be capable of destroying the world if he wanted to. What he did to Olympus was proof of that. You didn't have time to understand that you felt a pressure behind your neck and your world became darkness.

(o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o)

You felt good. You felt like you could feel the sun's rays caressing your skin. It was strange. Helios was dead, how could there be a sun? And all his dead. The image of the many dead came back to you and Kratos. This simple thought woke you up. You looked around you perplexed. You were lying in a bed, you found yourself in a strange place. There was greenery everywhere, butterflies, there was even a clearing with a waterfall.

"What is this place?"

You got out of bed. You realized that someone had changed your clothes and cleaned the blood you had on you. You were wearing a semi-transparent white dress with a slit skirt and a gold belt that tightened your waist. You searched the place, looking for an exit. Without finding anything.

Where were you?

What are you doing here?

"Do you like this place?"

You jumped, turning to face none other than Kratos. Where had he come from? You hadn't heard him arrive.

[cantstoptheimagines]

Their Reaction to You Losing an Eye

Summary — Preferences for Atreus, Kratos, and Thor from God of War!

Requested by @nickeverdeen — Hey there! Can I please ask for hcs with either God Of War or Horizon Zero Dawn characters with a reader who lost their eye and is insecure about it? If for God Of War then pls hcs with: Kratos, Atreus (older or young is up to you) If Horizon Zero Dawn then pls hcs with: Aloy, Talanah (you don’t have to do Talanah if you don’t wanna) Also pls let me know if you’re uncomfortable with the request Take time and care about yourself ❤️

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Depictions, discussions, and mentions of severe injuries (losing an eye, fainting as a result of pain); canon-typical violence; envisioned Ragnarök!Atreus for this work; I tossed Thor into this request because he’s my husband.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 433. ➳ Reader is gender neutral (they/them). ➳ I recently met T.C. Carson, who was the original voice for Kratos in the God of War series, after which I ran to write this request (even though it’s intended for Christopher Judge’s version)!

FAQ | Masterlist | Fandoms | Requests | Coming Soon | Schedule 

atreus

in all honesty, he wouldn’t quite know how to act. his emotions would be all over the place, tears streaming down his face as his father and freya tried to help you. the coverings on your face are soaked in your own blood. “don’t leave,” muttered atreus. he finds himself kneeling by your side as he pleads with you, one of your weak hands held tightly in both of his, “please don’t go.” but his newly discovered godly abilities are still out of sorts. his sadness quickly shifts to anger at those who caused you harm. his wrath is unlike anything the world has ever seen. he won’t stop until you, his dearest companion, is properly avenged, so don’t be surprised if he returns with your attacker’s head.

kratos

this man does not hesitate. in mere seconds, kratos is lifting you into his arms and calling out for someone, anyone, who can help. he avoids looking at the blood that decorates the place where your eye should be. “i lost faye,” he mutters. “i won’t let you go as well. stay awake!” everything is a blur. whatever vision you have left is slowly turning to gray as a sudden wave of tiredness overtakes your body. the pain of it all is settling deep into your bones. as kratos’s muffled voice calls out for you in a panicked tone, you allow unconsciousness to take over, and the world finally fades into darkness.

thor

he breathes heavily, staring down at heimdall with such rage that the golden-eyed god realized he was experiencing fear for possibly the first time in his life. a gentle touch on his arm, however, tears thor’s focus away from his father’s devotee. his eyes drop to the deep scar on your face — a new habit he’d developed recently — before they drifted to meet your lone eye. heimdall scurries away at the same time thor’s fingertips graze your cheek.  “why do you keep me from tearing him apart?” whispered thor. “he needs to be punished for what he’s done to you.” a sharp inhale came from him when your touch caressed his strong chest, exactly where his heart lay beneath his skin. he was quick to let his rough palm overlap your gentle hand. “heimdall is a fool,” you replied in the same quiet tone he had been using. “why waste your days threatening him when you could be with me instead? his punishment will come when the time is right.” he was only convinced when you pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. perhaps, for now, he could set revenge aside.

[athena-the-writer]

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....

[marz-barzz]

I made a non character specific fanfic for the sillies

No tws for this

~~~~~~~~~✨🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑✨~~~~~~~~~

"I missed you." He rasped, eyes heavy and swirling with a sort of desperate look that pleaded for you to hold him, begging to remedy all the sorrows, all the pain, all the tears shed in a horrible past long to be forgotten.

"I missed you too.." You murmured, his strong palms cupped your cheeks with such tender affection and sweet care, his crooked and misshapen nose brushing against yours. Bringing his palm to your lips, loving and gentle hands cupping the back of his large and firm ones. 

He felt perfect, you made him feel so perfect, so appreciated, so wanted, so... loved. In his eyes, you were the deity that loved him and him alone, no one earned your attention like him, no one worshiped you like him, no one laid down their devotion, their affection, and adoration for you like him. You made him feel like a human, and he wanted to thank you for that in the only way he could, the only words he knew how to convey his gratitude.

"I missed you so much..." an exasperated whisper left his chapped lips like it was a horrible secret that only you were allowed to know, kissing your lips so sweetly, so carefully, and downright lovingly, so gentle and sweet.

His love could've given you cavities, like a candied apple covered in sticky caramel and or a rich chocolate candy in a heart-shaped valentine's box.

He Pulled away with a small smack of puckered lips, eyes fluttering open to meet yours with the same love and adoration as you did, like a love-sick puppy, all for you and you alone. 

"Welcome back home." You smile, pulling him in for another kiss “I missed you.”

~~~~~~~~~✨🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑✨~~~~~~~~~

[multi-fandom-imagine]

I'm just thinking of you and Thor from GoW spending time together. You make him feel seen as himself and not a weapon. He treats you as an equal even if he outmatches you as a warrior.

A/n: 👏👏

He doesn't feel like a burden when he is with you, a drunken mess. He actually feels loved by you and that's something that Thor would always be grateful for.

The god had thought he would be alone and miserable after he and his wife separated, that he and his daughter's relationship would always be strained until you stumbled into his life. You were soften spoken when he first met you. He did not think much of you, just some weakling that he didn't have to think twice off.

Until you slipped into the hall where he was drinking alone one night. You were kind, you didn't treat him less. Nor did you talk down on him like he was some drunken asshole. After that night you two started to see each other more and more. It amazed him by how well you two had gotten long, how much you two had in common.

You might have not been much of a warrior or fighter but you were kind, gentle. He was happy that you got along with his daughter so well, not to mention you and Sif.

Placing his hand on your head, you glanced up at him as you straightened your arms above your head biting back a yawn. "Ready for bed?"

Tipping his head to you, he let his hand caress your cheek as he nodded his head. "I am"

He was enough in your eyes and for that, he will forever be happy to have you in his life.

[theartofsimpatry]

Yandere Heimdall Headcanons

-Comes off as a tsundere yandere, its kinda scary when he likes you and pretending like he doesn’t

-Bullies the shit out of you

-Makes fun of you all the time :(

-Will especially make fun of your body

-if you’re skinny: he’ll call you boyish and asks if you’re really a woman and how maybe he should “check”

-if you’re chubby: he’ll call you a cow, *his* cow and will make disgusting inhumane comments about your tits

-No one else is allowed to make fun of you though (besides Odin, sorry)

-He caught some helmet-head talking about your body in a derogatory way (probably to impress Heimdall), Heimdall proceeded to beat the shit out of them and make them get on their hands and knees and apologize to you

-Will want to brand you, originally wanted to do it with an iron but other Aesir started to judge him and Odin told him to chill out… so Odin gave him a magical seal that can act like a brand (inspo pics at the end of what that brand would look like)

-His favorite thing is to watch you, both when you know and don’t know that he’s watching you

-Heimdall likes to surprise you while you’re busy and you least expect it, when you just used the bathroom and are leaving? You open the door to his purple eyes calling you disgusting.

-Why does he treat you like so? It’s because you’re a temptress.. purposely doing what you do to seduce him. How does it feel? Do you feel good knowing you have the Harold of Ragnarök wanting you? You’re disgusting for dressing like a whore but *fine* he’ll treat you like one

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Deicide - Kratos Love Story (God of War) ~ On Going

Summary:

The Sisters of Fate are wrong. Eros is wrong. Anteros is wrong. The Pantheon is wrong. The whole world is wrong. She was not to be taken lightly, nor forgotten, for the quietest ones always prevail, in the end, and all her gambles will pay off, some day - Even if that means waiting for three whole eternities - Only the skies knew, Gods had more time at hand than they needed. Life was to be cherished, happiness, to be embraced, and love, to be treasured. If only those damned Muses would stop singing her songs of tragedy, loss and heartbreak. She will find him, one day - Mayhaps, he wasn't even born yet, or maybe, he has yet to be reincarnated... But her soulmate will step foot into this world, and this Goddess was going to welcome him with an open heart, and a long-awaited embrace. Until then... May the hymn of the forest ring far and wide amongst the leaves and petals dancing in the lonely breeze.

Chapter 1 -  The Marked Warrior Chapter 2 - Call Out My Name Chapter 3 - The Final Task  Chapter 4 - Kinslayer  Chapter 5 - The Truth Revealed Chapter 6 - Death To All Who Oppose Us Chapter 7 - Patricide Chapter 8 - Frozen Heart Chapter 9 - Witch's House Chapter 10 - Tormenting Reminiscences Chapter 11 - Purple Haze

[call-me-kermit]

Confessing Your Love

Genre: Headconons

Warnings: Cursing(Brok..)

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

Kratos

“Hmm,” followed by a slow nod.

He wouldn't say anything immediately.

He will just kind of look at you, studying your eyes.

He doesn't want to take chances.

Man has trust issues!

Telling him you love him will make him so happy yet so scared.

You wouldn't be able to tell.

Eventually you'd hear, “I love you, as well.”

He'd immediately ask you to move your things to his home if you haven't already.

He loves you, so you need to stay close so he can protect and provide for you!

He'd start to find more excuses to touch you and you'd laugh telling him he doesn't need them.

Eventually, he will be comfortable enough to walk up to you just for an embrace or smooch.

Mimir

Before his head got..you know.. His first instinct you be to turn to you completely.

“Really, Las? An old man like me?” He'd laugh but he'd offer to do something romantic.

Smartest man alive, but he never saw that coming.

Either way he’d swear his loyalty and heart to you.

Anything you want, he's on it.

After his head…

He'd probably hesitate to return the sentiment, no matter how genuine it is.

“I- I can't offer you much, Las.” He’d frown.

He'd feel inadequate, and undeserving- he's just a head after all!

What could he give you in terms of love and affection?

After telling him his company is all you desire then he'd probably think you've gone mad.

But after a while of talking about it he'd smile and say it back.

You'd carry his head on your belt during travels throughout the realms after.

Giving him kisses on his cheeks and forehead.

It's simple and innocent devotion and its loves that he's enough for you.

Atreus

Telling Arteus you've got a crush on him would probably make him completely freeze and go red.

I'm talking his fathers tattoo red!

Lots of stuttering and blushing while you guys talked about it.

He wouldn't really know what to do or say afterwards.

But no doubt he'd eventually be able to get it out that he likes you too.

He's never done any of this before, so he'd probably go to Mimir or Freya for advice.

If and when you ever hold his hand or hug him his palms get sweaty and he gets nervous.

But he's happy to oblige!

He thinks your so cute.

Talks to his dad about it.

He's shy, but after a while of spending more time hanging out with you he’d get cocky and try to show off and impress you more.

Half of the time he’ll be trying so hard he just ends up looking silly or just straight up stupid.

But you laugh it off and tell him how cute and sweet he is.

He's whipped.

Freya

No matter how comfortable she is around you, no matter how safe you make her feel, she'll hesitate.

As soon as you tell her you're in love with her, she'll need room away from you.

In every relationship so far, she's been to much or not enough.

The woman is hurt and healing.

She's scared its not the truth, like with Odin.

Or if it is, and you truly love her, then what if she messes it up?

What is her love is to much for you and you leave her?

Or what if, out of fear of being too much, she’s not enough- and you leave her? 

Freya can't take another heartbreak.

But after seeing how understanding you are of her past, and reassuring her worries that you're not going anywhere she's willing to listen.

You'd tell her that it doesn't matter if she loves you the same way, or another, as long as your with her its enough for you.

And hearing that would be enough for her.

You'd have to take things slowand steady with her.

But she is so very much in love with you.

She will make sure you both set boundaries to keep her from going to far and pushing you away.

She doesn't wanna lose you too.

Brok

“Well it's about fucking time!”

He's so cool and sure of himself on the outside, so he'll play it off like he know you loved him.

But really he's surprised.

He's not the most romantic man, but he'll give it an honest try for your sake.

He’ll get flowers and sweets for his lady.

Most definitely start bringing about you to everyone he meets every chance he gets.

He's very standoffish when it comes to affection.

So any time you give it to him he'll stutter just slightly and awkwardly reciprocate it while he gets used to someone being infatuated with him.

Very defensive and protective is anyone makes comments about you two.

“Mind your business, you unfuckable drauger-looking bastard!” 

Very confident on the outside, very unsure on the inside.

He's worried he's not doing it right but all he needs is you smiling at him the way you do and he'll be just fine. 

Sindri

Congratulations, you broke him.

His initial reaction is giving O.O

Wide eyes, red cheeks, mouth open.

He'd stutter for a response and get frustrated with himself for losing his voice for a moment.

Give him some time and words will just start spilling out.

He loves you, that was no secret to anyone!

He’ll tell you all about it when the air come back into his lungs.

He’ll go on and on about how pretty you are, and amazing, and how much he likes your smile.

Lots of nervous chuckles and shy grins from this man.

He hates when people touch him, sorry to say you're no exception.

But you figured you wouldnt be; at least for now.

However he is willing to hook his pink finger to yours every now and then as a very small step in the direction of hugging you.

Having you love him really makes him frustrated with his thing with germs and dirt.

He’s never had a problem with it before.

But now he wants to hold you and be held by you and the thought of it makes him shiver in disgust.

It's a fear he's willing to conquer if it means one day he'll get to see the smile on your face when he holds you with out gagging for the first time.

You know better then to take offense; it's nothing personal.

He gags at everyone. 

Tyr

He didn't see it coming.

But he had hoped..

It was a happy surprise when you blurted it out while spending time with him while reading.

He gave you a soft smile after the shock settled and returned the sentiment .

Not much had to be said between you two after that.

The only thing that really changed in the relationship were beginning to sit closer together and a lot more gentle touches.

He'd rest against you while you braid his hair, and he'll braid yours.

His eyes have always laid on you softly, but there's something more in them when he looks at you now.

Contentment.

He’s happy to share any moment a with you that he can. 

Heimdal

He knew.

He knew you loved him for a while.

He knew you wanted to say it.

The cooky little shit just waited and waited until you did.

He wanted to hear it.

But when you approached him and said you loved him it felt different then he imagined it would.

He knew you, and he saw in your head that you truly meant it.

He knew you loved the good, the bad, and the ugly in him.

He knew that unlike the other people who have claimed to love him, you didn't think ‘i can change him.’

He saw the unsure insecurities in your head and body language that he wouldn't feel the same way.

After all, he reads minds, and he knew what you felt all this time and never addressed it so clearly he wasn't interested, right?

To be honest, up until that point he hadn't really considered your feelings despite knowing them.

You had told him you loved him, but you had only said it so he would tell you what you believed he would- that he doesn't care.

You had only said it so he could break your heart, and you could get closure, and hopefully move on.

It twisted his gut that you were walking into this fully believing you would be turned away.

He saw in your head that you had already been crying over it.

But that's not what he wanted, so instead being sarcastic or rude like he would be with literally anyone else he smiled at you.

“I know.” He said softly.

Thor

“Good for you.”

He's not really interested.

Plus he's still married.

So piss off.

Not proof read.

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[peiskos-and-apricity]

"Did anyone ever give anything back?"

Tw: blood and sadness

[heimlar]

Cuddle Session

♡ Word Count; 688

♡ Genre; Fluff, Established relationship.

♡ Warnings; Cursing

♡ A/N; This one is for @engardeitsme may you enjoy the much needed Heimdall cuddles :3)

Yesterday was forgotten, its bloody memory ebbing away into the strings of the past leaving in it's wake something new and warm. Heimdall lay one hand stroking lazy circles upon your flesh, the other draped over your shoulder to hold you close. Chest to chest, you both chose to forsake the new day, perhaps that is why an old crow croaked outside curious and perhaps furious. Both chose to stay ignorant to it, hoping instead to bask in the warmth of your entwined bodies, a day like this passed by little in your lives. "Good Morning" you speak, "Finally awake?" Heimdall answers earning him a huff in return "Mhm, or, I'm actually still asleep and you are hearing voices my lord" your words earned you a glare from your husband "perhaps I need to teach you how to respect a god again?" Heimdall drawled. When the birds started to wake, nature's orchestra always woke him up too, it was then he looked so neutral, so human with his mossy eyes and tossled and tangled hair, he looked unkempt in the most groggy of ways, it only made you love him more.

A sound of displeasure rumbled in your throat as you move one of your arms up to wipe away at his face "you look absolutely beautiful this morning my god" he smiled at this, body somehow finding a space to between you to occupy "that's more like it" he whispered next to your ears which he kissed sending shivers down your neck "Stop it Heimie" Heimdall pulled back to stare you in the eyes, his head now hovering over the bed "What in the title 'God of Forsight' made you think, Oh, I can tell him what to do?" He mocked, you, quicker then lightning, place your lips on his for moments before falling back to the comfort of your bed "I actually think it was the title 'husband' that gave me that impression" a wide smile etched itself on his handsome face "Well then, I guess, I can do this" you found yourself suddenly uncovered, the warm hides you used to cover yourself was held in his hands then, disgustingly the monster threw them on the floor "Hemie!" you whined "why did you do that I was so comfortable you asshole" now cold you turned to glare at Heimdall, his head was propped on his hand, he watched you like a smug child "I think it was because my spouse decided to forget their place as a pathetic mortal, I just had to remind them of their spot that's all", silence followed with you both staring into each others eyes 

"Fine, guess you can sleep on your own then"

Surprised he reached out the moment he saw you get off the bed. And, like iron, he dragged you back "Oh no you don't". Once more you found yourself warm within his hold, his naked chest offering you a kind of heat no hide or blanket can give. Heimdall had your back to him with an arm snaked around your chest and the other your stomach, you wiggled trying to leave his grasp but to no avail, he had gotten you where he wanted you, sadly, your mortal bones were no match to your husband's immortal body. "Sometimes." You quip "I-" finishing the sentence proved difficult especially when you didn't mean it "tsk, I was going to say hate you but unfortunately for me I love you", the god pressed flush against you laughed leaving you to feel rumbling emit from his body, he scarcely laughed if you weren't involved, laughter suddenly stopping he spoke with a fake seriousness, although sounding very true, "Of course you do, and luckily for you I decided to grace you with the love of a god, be thankful you get to experience what little mortals did".

Words drifted to a halt as you both continued to lay, the crow still croaked outside to no avail, and you both still laid within each other's arms bodies tangled to one mess where one couldn't see when one began or ended, warm and complete.

[viharbinger]

Sweet Beloved

tags: all fluff no foul , short one shot

pairing: Heimdall (gowr) x gn! reader

Just as always you were behind the prince of Asgard's back, sitting criss-crossed on the soft bed you both shared, looping his hair into one another to braid. The only thing you'd hear are your soft breathing and birds that were waking up from the morning. The yellow beam of light from the sun shines on you both, giving you a perfect view of his hair to work on efficiently.

He loves having you do his hair as you work on it so delicately, like as if tugging his hair even a bit hard would kill him. Of course, you had to fill the silence with your thoughts. By saying it out loud.

He didn't even have to look at you and just knew you were about to say something nobody thinks of.

"Is it just me, or do clouds move really fast? You'd think they move slow, but then you don't even realise the cloud you saw a second ago just moved out of our sights!" You gasped like as if you made a new discovery, to which Heimdall just chuckles at.

"Your mortal brain just fascinates me everytime." He laughs, the motion vibrating his head and disrupting your hair braiding. "Well— Hey! You messed up my braid." You grumbled, quickly combing his hair to braid it once again, forgetting about being gentle just as he likes. I gets he stands corrected that you're not always delicate with your handiwork.

"Don't worry, take your time. Not like there's anything to fight on the walls today." He lifts his hands up in defense, as it's usually just a boring hot day.

Finally. You're done. His hair was beautifully done and'll last hours. "Done!" You grinned, moving to place a soft kiss on his cheek, while still sitting behind him. "You'd think the watchman of the Aesir, the most ill-mannered man in Asgard, wouldn't have such a sweet beloved, huh?" You teased, resting your head on his shoulder, tracing your fingers along his back.

"I always wonder how you ever, ever got your way with me." He tsks, looking at you with his bright purple eyes on his shoulder— your faces so close, nose just touching.

"I'm just a miracle worker, am I?" You scrunched up your nose in smiling, leaning in to press a gentle kiss on his lips, to which he returns. Maybe the scion of the Aesir can be fixed after all.

[ravenloop]

I LOVE the piece you did with god of war freyr! could I request headcanons on how he'd try woo the reader? especially if they keep accidentally friend zoning him!

>Oblivious reader is officially one of my favourite things to write lol

>Pairings: Freyr x reader

>WARNINGS!: None

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Headcannons: Freyr trying to win your affection

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— Freyr is absolutely the biggest player known and you cannot tell me otherwise. He's definitely been with countless of partners, and who could blame them?! He's Freyr.

— That being said, despite him being a player, he definitely falls for you. And he falls hard. I don't mean that metaphorically either, when he first met you he stared so hard he tripped face-first into the mud.

— You're the most beautiful being he's ever laid his eyes on, perfect in every way, like you were made from the very roots of Yggdrasil. And he's not shy, he tells you that straight to your face with the stupidest expression ever—he thinks he looks handsome.

— But that stupid smirk is wiped right off his face when, instead of flirting back like you were obviously supposed to do, you just tell him "Thank you!" with that gorgeous smile and walk away.

— Really? He just called you one of the most poetic things he could think of and you're going to just say thank you?! Whatever, he brushes it off and decides that he wasn't trying hard enough.

— He continues with using sweet words and compliments, buttering you up nicely with "You're looking extra radiant today" or "I love your voice", simple things. When you once again just thank him before walking away, he can feel his eye twitching. Nevermind. Perhaps it's time to take things a step further.

— If he had Ingrid at the time, he'd definitely try and gift it to you, only to be ultimately halted by Freya with a smack. He's definitely tried it with other woman in the past (and Odin).

— He starts bringing you things back from when he goes on missions every so often. They'd range from beaded necklaces to flowers he placed in your hair to jewels he found in some hidden chest. It buffs up his ego when he sees you wearing it most of the time.

— You're also the first person he talks to when he returns to camp, first person to hear the details about what he saw while out. Majority of his time in camp he spends with you. If you're ever sent out on missions, he'd try to come with you, and if he can't then he'll just send someone trusted with you.

— By now it's painfully obvious he's fawning over you like a young mortal man. Everyone in the camp can see it, everyone but the one person he wants to see it: you. As dreadful as it was to witness, everyone in camp found it too funny to really step in and help either side out.

— Up to this point he really tried to make his hints obvious, and he's sure there's no way they could be more out in the open than they already are. Eventually he gets fed up when you turned down another advance of his and just straight out yells his feelings.

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"I LOVE YOU, DAMMIT!" "Oh. As a friend or...?"