Hello! I am doing Kinktober this year; here is the month's menu. For every year I will make my own and it will be open for anyone to use for a list prompts.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
1 ☆ STUCK | SEVERUS SNAPE
2 ☆ BRUISING | CARLISLE CULLEN
3 ☆ UNDERWATER | GANG ORCA/KUGO SAKAMATA
4 ☆ ORGASM DENIAL | NEGAN SMITH
5 ☆ KNOTTING | EDDIE BROCK & VENOM
6 ☆ WET DREAM | JOHN PRICE
7 ☆ PHONE SEX | HANNIBAL LECTER
8 ☆ HANDCUFFS | SONNY CARISI
9 ☆ HEAT | REMUS LUPIN
10 ☆ DRY HUMPING | RAFAEL BARBA
11 ☆ BLOWJOB | MARCUS VOLTURI
12 ☆ COLLAR | LEASH | LUCIUS MALFOY
13 ☆ AGAINST A WALL | JASON VOORHEES
14 ☆ VIBRATOR: COOPER HOWARD (SEPARATE)
⭑ PRE-WAR
⭑ POST-WAR
15 ☆ THRONE | CAIUS VOLTURI
16 ☆ PHOTO | HANK PALMER
17 ☆ NUDES | LEE RUSSELL
18 ☆ DESK | STANFORD & STANLEY (SEPARATE)
⭑ STANFORD
⭑ STANLEY
19 ☆ CUM PLAY | TONY STARK
20 ☆ GLORY HOLE | ARTHUR MORGAN
21 ☆ PHEROMONE | HEIMDALL
22 ☆ BALCONY | KLAUS MIKAELSON
23 ☆ DRY HUMPING | ALFIE SOLOMONS
24 ☆ LACTATION | ENDEAVOR/EN JI TODOROKI
25 ☆ RUINED ORGASM | VINCENT RENZI
26 ☆ BEGGING | GHOST/ SIMON RILEY
27 ☆ QUIET | JAVIER ESCUELLA
28 ☆ WHIP CREAM | DARYL DIXON
29 ☆ LAP DANCE | HANK ANDERSON
30 ☆ STRETCHING | PROFESSOR HULK
31 ☆ UNIFORM | ALL PAPA EMERITUS (SEPARATE)
⭑ PRIMO
⭑ SECONDO
⭑ TERZO
⭑ COPIA
♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.
I can't stop thinking about that dangling braid and the earring he has in his ear 😣😣 I mean, it's driving me crazy. I've had it on my mind for days, and it's becoming my favorite part of him.🥹🥹💖💖
୨୧ older!atreus x fem!reader ୨୧
In Norse mythology, Idun (also spelled Idunn or Iðunn) is the goddess of spring and rejuvenation. She is known for keeping the golden apples that grant immortality to the gods.
In one myth, Idun and her apples are stolen. Loki, seeing her under duress, eventually rescues Idun, often taking the form of a falcon or transforming Idun into a nut or sparrow.
a/n: (1.4k words) first god of war fanfic. (i'm imagining atreus in his 20's, also no y/n or name mentioned) hope you all enjoy! 🩷
Atreus docked the boat at the pier and tied the rope into a tight knot so it didn't float away. He set foot on the wooden planks of the dock and sighed deeply.
It had been too long since he'd returned to Midgard, to home. He'd explored many foreign lands and had returned home a few times but never like this. Never with someone to bring back. He felt tension on his shoulders ease as he glanced up at the sun and he swore it shone brighter, even the air smelt different here.
He turned back towards the boat and outstretched his hand. Your hand slips into his as he steadies you onto the pier. You look around the new terrain and smile as it fit every description he'd told you about his home country.
You walked to the end of the dock as Atreus slung both your bags over his shoulder easily. Looking around at the tall trees and exotic plants, Atreus watched you with a smile as you wide-eyed took every little thing in.
You both walked down the dirt path through the forest, towards the settlement that had flourished after Ragnarök ended. With every step you make the ground surrounding you bursts to life. It was one of the things Atreus loved about you. Without meaning to you spread bursts of life from cold places in the form of beautiful nature.
As you exited the forest, a set of markets lined the edge of the forest. Midgardians and Asgardians mingled and traded amongst one another. Atreus was glad to see how much Midgard had changed for the better since he'd last been there years prior. Your eyes widened as they searched the colorful busy market.
"Wow" You muttered under your breath and turned towards Atreus with a wide smile. "Atreus" You hummed out.
"Yes?" He encouraged with a soft smirk as he met your eyes.
"Can I borrow some silver pieces? I promise I'll find you something good for it" You practically sang out and he was already reaching for his silver pouch on his hip, handing it over to your waiting hands.
You had already started to walk off when he yelled out over the noise of the crowd "Meet me in the center when you're done!" You turned around, walking backwards and waved at him with a swift nod before being lost in the crowd.
Atreus huffed amusedly and began walking towards the center. He saw a few wooden tables beside a small creek that ran past the market. He eyed an empty bench and headed over to it.
"Atreus! Is that you?" Skjöldr's voice sounded so different from the last time Atreus had heard it he almost didn't recognize him.
"Skjöldr? Holy shit" Atreus smiled as he walked over to the blonde man. Atreus was slightly taller than him and more muscular but Skjöldr's hair was longer even while being braided back.
"Man, is it good to see you! Did you- did you just get back?" Skjöldr folded his arms in front of him as he asked with a smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes.
"Yeah, I was heading to the cabin. Got distracted" Atreus answered with an easy shrug. "How've you been? It- it's been ages" He questioned his old friend who nodded.
"I'll admit I went out traveling on my own too." Skjöldr taunted with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah?" Atreus inquired and Skjöldr waved him off. "Yeah. Never as far as you though" Skjöldr chuckled and Atreus shook his head.
As Atreus looked up he glanced over Skjöldr's shoulder and saw you, glancing around the center for him. Skjöldr noticed his distracted staring and turned around. His eyes went wide at the sight of you and Atreus couldn't blame him.
You looked otherworldly, standing in your flowing colorful dress amongst the other plain people made you look like a true goddess of beauty.
"Wow-" Atreus cut off his blonde friend.
"My wife" Atreus' eyes never left your figure even as Skjöldr's head whipped around in surprise.
"What? Seriously?" Skjöldr's mouth hung open and he had to mentally remember to close it. Atreus merely nodded, looking lovestruck.
"She's-" Skjöldr was cut off once again.
"Perfect, beautiful, lovely?" Atreus felt as if he could list ways to describe you for days. Skjöldr shook his head amusingly at his friend.
"Totally in love with you" Skjöldr continued his previous statement and Atreus looked at you, seeing you wave at him with bright eyes.
As you made your way over to the pair, Atreus had a giddy smile on his face and heart shaped eyes.
Atreus outstretched his hand to yours as you moved to stand beside him, glancing at Skjöldr with a kind smile. Skjöldr nodded his head at you politely as Atreus introduced you both.
After a while of talking between you and Skjöldr about your home country and travels with Atreus, Skjöldr bid you both goodbye and made Atreus promise to catch up again before leaving for any more traveling.
"Well, he was very nice" You smiled as you watched the blonde man walk off past the last few market stalls.
Atreus hummed and gently brushed a small leaf from your hair. You beamed up at him and remembered your gift you'd gotten him.
"Oh, here!" You pulled out a small gift wrapped in a cloth and handed it to him carefully.
You rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet as he untied the cloth and held up your gift. It was a handcrafted bracelet with runes that spelled 'dearest love' on each bead. Atreus' heart beat faster and he delicately ran his finger over the carved beads.
"Thank you, love" He whispered so only you could hear him. You softly smiled at him and turned his wrist around and comfortably tied the bracelet.
"Looks good, handsome" You smirked and leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw. He dramatically kissed your cheek before placing multiple kisses over your lips before you both began walking away from the markets with lovesick smiles on each of your faces.
Walking through the wildwoods would've taken this long usually but every time you saw a new flower you hadn't seen before you were determined to pick it. Now you held a bundle of different flowers in your hand, your powers kept the flowers alive and thriving without needing roots or water.
You squealed and pointed to another blue flower, rushing over to it and picked one, adding it to your pile. Atreus watched you with a warm smile when he felt a pair of eyes on him. He turned around and saw none other than his father standing at the edge of the protection stave where the gate ended.
"Father" Atreus blurted out and began to walk over.
"Atreus" His father's gruff voice almost startled him, he'd almost forgot just how deep it was. He nodded his head with a smile and he saw something akin to relief in his father's eyes.
His father's eyes flickered over to where you were starting to walk back, rustling branches as you did.
"There's someone I'd like you to meet" Atreus smiled and glanced behind him as his father merely raised an eyebrow.
Once again Atreus outstretched his hand for you to take. You did so with a shy smile as you peered over towards Kratos.
"Hello" You softly introduced yourself, still holding the bundle of flowers. Kratos only grunted and looked between you and his son.
"She's my wife" Atreus explained after a brief silence fell over the group and he'd never thought he'd seen his father look so shocked before.
"Wife?" Kratos questioned and locked eyes with you, as if trying to read your mind for answers. You nodded with a loving smile.
"I-uh, I threw an apple at her" Atreus smiled, recalling the story his father had told him so many years ago.
You furrowed your brows and looked over at him with narrowed eyes.
"You mean you pelted me with it" You huffed without any real anger behind it and Atreus had the decency to look sheepish.
"I wanted to be sure you'd catch it" He blushed and rubbed the back of his head with a slight laugh.
You both looked over at Kratos who started to chuckle lightly, with the faintest smile you'd ever seen. He silently opened the wooden gate for you both as he walked towards the cabin shaking his head.
You looked at each other with wide eyes before you finally broke the silence. "Do you think he likes me?" You asked hesitantly and Atreus placed his arm over your shoulders.
"I think he likes you more than me" He smiled down at you and you failed to stifle your laughter.
content warning ; fem!reader, sexual intercourse, heimdall being heimdall
↳ details | quick dabble ; kinda coming back from being inactive for the past while?! can’t believe I’ve been neglecting my work here and on Wattpad—but no worries, your lady has returned! this is basically me slowly crawling back into working again!!! and like always, please enjoy! ♡
. *. ⋆ HEIMDALL ODINSON
➤ degradation ; everyone knows that insults pours from his mouth on an daily basis—and the same could be said in the bedroom. insults upon insults will be thrown at you in the most ‘loving’ way, practically spurring and babbling about how much you're a dirty whore—his dirty whore—the closer he gets to his orgasm. every word he speaks gives him an edge, one that he enjoys making you wither underneath him from.
➤ praise ; while he does undoubtedly relish degrading you until you nothing more than an puddle of a disgusting mess, he can also be quite gentle on rare moments, which does depend on his mood. whispering low and quite words on how pretty you look beneath him, taking every inch of his cock like you were molded for him. perhaps even how utterly gorgeous you looked sinking yourself into his cock, and taking him ever so generously for his pleasure—or regardless of how overly stimulated you were you would still push yourself against his hips for him to continue, he couldn’t help but praise you for it.
➤ dacryphilia ; particularly on his worst days that were filled with sibling or annoyance from bystanders, he will more often than none enjoy taking his frustration out on your poor body. watching the tears streaming down your cheeks from those gentle and soft doe eyes, and pleading out words—begging for him to slow his pace down and give you mercy does something deep down inside him. every tear you shed brings him the most unadulterated euphoric satisfaction he could ever feel.
➤ overstimulation ; being at his mercy and every whim was something he always took absolute pleasure from. at any moment you were so close to cumming on his cock or his slender fingers he would immediately deny you that pleasure, watching you squirm in uncontrollable desire and sadness. he’ll coo soft words of degradation, mocking how much you looked down right pitiful begging for his fingers or cock to be back inside you, and apologizing for being mean—to which he never met. you could only cum when he saw fit that you were deserving of it, which he always give you—he wasn’t that cruel.
➤ size difference ; while he would never admit this, seeing the difference in size between you both causes him to go feral. how small your hands were compared to his, how small and fragile you looked hiding behind him, how he stood above you from such a high difference—or, how his cock could barely fit inside your tight cunt when he thrusted inside you while pushing your head down against the pillows to muffle your sweet moans—the very thought of it nearly makes him cum.
➤ eye contact ; possessing the prowess to read inside someone’s mind, he does and will utterly adore forcing your eyes to gaze into his bifrost ones while he ponders through every little thought that crosses inside that pretty head. his teasing words would reach your ears, saying how disgusting and filthy you were—as if he wasn’t thinking the same way, or savoring the thoughts himself—how ashamed you should be, and would say every venomous word while staring directly into your eyes with every thrust he gives you. he adores watching those eyes of yours rolling in the back of your head from utter bliss or how they dilate the longer he watches you.
➤ breeding / creampie ; perhaps his most significant and shameful secrete that he would never confess to. doesn’t want to confess that cumming inside your tight cunt and watching his cum seeping out makes him feral. doesn’t want to confess how beautiful you look with your stomach full of him stuffed inside you. doesn’t want to confess how he shamelessly will wither from the image of you carrying his child, making it known to all of the realms that you were his. while he won’t confess through words alone, his actions will speak otherwise.
➤ control play ; like before, having you at his whim and mercy is absolutely satisfying and pleasurable for him. knowing how effortlessly he could overpower you in an instant floods him with an uncontrollable urge of corruption and lust. wrapping his hands around your throat so lightly that causes you to gasp on small breathes, gripping your body until his hands bruise that smooth surface of your skin, grasping your hair tightly around his fingers and forcing you to stare into his eyes, his honeyed words whispering out demanding commands that take control over you—it’s relishing to him.
➤ body worship ; to have his absolute attention and focus is astonishing, and while others believe him to be heartless, he’s actually a devoting man if you are deserving of it. behind that tough facade he parades around everyone with his rude and cruel behavior, behind closed doors he’s kissing every inch of your body—speaking in hushed words that only you can barely hear about how godly you looked spread out before him, legs parted from his roughen hands as his tongue worked wonders on your cunt. while he may not expression or speak his love for you enough through mere words, his actions will show.
Notes On How To Trust (Heimdall x Female!Reader) pt. 1/2
a/n: yeah i didn't expect this one either lol. i've been riding the heimdall trailer since my friends forced me to watch god of war playthroughs (both games are amazing, i have no idea why i've been ignoring them for as long as i did)
Warnings: Good Ol' Dub-Con (just kissing though), Very Inexperienced Reader (don't worry, we're gonna learn soon enough), Usage of Fruit as a Foreplay (im so funny you guys), Cross-Posted on AO3
Summary: It was supposed to be quick and easy. A simple deflowering, another notch on Heimdall's bedpost. But of course, things rarely go as they are planned, and Heimdall is about to learn that in the most complicated way possible.
aka, the man inside the god falls in love, good luck
MASTERLIST
Heimdall's eyes see all.
Past, present, future, and everything in between. He can read people's minds with a simple look, a simple gaze into the eyes of the other. Everything you try to hide in the deepest parts of yourself. He can rip it out, smash it between his teeth, which are as sharp as they are cruel. And oh, he's so very cruel. Driven by hatred and disdain, accumulated in him through millennia of lies and hidden agendas, he had to uncover. Willingly or not.
It's made him a menace to be around, unpleasant and venomous with his comments, that somehow always cut deeper than one would anticipate.
Still, despite all of this, you were determined not to write him off as a plain asshole. Not just yet, at least.
Yes, he did attack you and your brother the second you stepped foot in Asgard. And yes, he was overall unpleasant, to the point where the mere mention of his name brought sour expressions on everyone's faces. But you've always considered yourself to be above judging people without previously understanding them. And besides, since your brother showed no signs of stopping his pursue of knowledge, with the aid of Odin's questionable hand, you decided to at least keep some illusion of civility with the Aesir involved.
"Never shit in your own dinner" is what Brok told you one day, and this time you're more than happy to follow his crude advice.
And truth be told, it was easier than you would've imagined. Of course, there was the question of your bloodline, which almost always brought out the lingering animosity out of the Aesir you've met. Usually though, after some conversation, after you've proved yourself to be, in fact, civilized, the immediate hostility would melt away. As such, you could hold a conversation with Thor, when he wasn't passed out drunk, or in a particularly sour mood. Lady Sif didn't scoff at you anymore, although you were wise not to push her too hard. And her daughter, Thrud, quickly warmed up to you, and by osmosis, to your brother as well.
There's just one, stubborn person, you couldn't quite figure out, no matter how much politeness, how much space you've given him. And worse of all, he's the one that seems to always find you. As if pulled by some invisible thread of the fate's most unfunny joke, he's always there.
Despite your honest attempts, your face still twitches, as you notice Heimdall in the otherwise empty main hall. He sits like he owns the place, which, in a way, is true. His legs are spread, as he lounges, back pressed against the edge of the long table. There is a book you don't recognize in his hand, and for a moment you're grateful he seems to be focused entirely on reading.
You don't mean to stare, you really don't. But as your legs lock into place like two pillars of salt, his mere presence demands your attention. Always so clean and proper, you've never seen Heimdall looking anything but a picture of tidiness. Of course, you yourself always tried to keep as put together appearance, your clothes relatively clean, and your hair neatly tied. But this man was something different entirely.
This is supposed to be a quick in and out mission. Get food, get drink, go back to room. Easy enough.
Subconsciously, you try to make your footsteps as quiet as possible, like you're sneaking by a napping bear. It's not like you're afraid of Heimdall. Or that he makes you uncomfortable with those violently purple eyes, that seem to cut through all your defenses. You, an incurable introvert, who's always found safety within the confines of your own mind, don't find his ability to invade said peace disturbing. Not at all.
You manage to take exactly four steps into the main hall, before Heimdall rolls his eyes with an exasperated sigh.
"If you're trying to sneak past me, you're doing a horrendous job" his voice cuts through the silence of the room, sending a sharp stab of nerves up your spine.
Almost on instinct, you straighten out, quickly growing irritated at your own timidness.
You've fought dragons, and trolls, and gods, alongside your Father and your brother. For crying out loud, you're being ridiculous.
"Heimdall" you address him with a curt nod of your head, polite enough, and hopefully not an invitation to a further conversation.
Dropping the quiet facade, you make your way towards the table. Forcing your hands to remain steady, you grab the nearest plate, moving around the table to grab some fruit. You pick out some ripe peaches, an apple, and a handful of grapes, plating them carefully. Saliva gathering in your mouth at the mere thought, of such sweet feast.
"I see you're taking full advantage of All-father's hospitality" Heimdall quips, and you can nearly feel the hostility oozing out of his words "Quite the nerve for someone who was *not* invited"
Deep breaths, you remind yourself. Only tranquility can save you. And as such, you turn to the Aesir with a blank expression, fighting hard not to cower under his purple gaze.
"Odin told me to make myself at home" you keep your voice level.
Because it's true. Whether it was to appease your brother, or some extravagant show of kindness, Odin has not only welcomed you into his home, but also, in a way, taken you under his wing. Of course, you knew, in some way, he saw you as a tool to be used for later. There's no need to delude yourself otherwise. But for now, he offered you tutorship regarding Aesir magic, and you'd be a fool not to accept. You're not about the bite the hand that feeds you, even if the food is a distraction.
Heimdall scoffs, throwing you a look from above his book, his eyes gliding over your face, dipping down towards your body, the plate in your hands, then back up. You don't remember, when was the last time you've been so thoroughly looked at, if indeed such a thing ever took place. It makes an onslaught of shivers run up your spine, something he notices without a doubt.
Purple, purple, so much purple you could almost drown in it. You have to leave, you have to go back to your room, and bury yourself in the mountains of books, in the safety of your mind. Without his scrutiny threatening to fall onto your neck like an executioner's axe.
"No you don't" he says, as if bored, crashing your dreams of escape into million pieces of broken glass
"Come here"
Father didn't raise you to be a coward, so you force your legs to start working once more, taking a step, after a torturous step towards Heimdall. And you don't even flinch, when he snaps his book shut, discarding it somewhere behind him, like some unwanted garbage.
Soon, you stand before him, and he hums in, what could be considered appreciation at your compliance. But you know better, there's no satisfying that man.
Once again, his eyes glide over you, raising an eyebrow at the sight of your plate, as if he's judging the choice of the fruit. Which you wouldn't put past him. But then he focuses back on your face, drills his gaze into your eyes, and something deceptively close to a smile graces his features. Not fully, of course, it's always smirks with him.
Sometimes, when you get too closed off in your own mind to control yourself, you wonder what he would look like, if he'd actually smile. If his features would soften, instead of carving themselves into the all too familiar sneer. Sometimes you wonder, if he can read those unwelcome thoughts in your brain. If he can, then it's an act on mercy on his part, choosing not to tease you about them.
Who could blame you, in all honesty?
You've been raised in a secluded corner of a forest, and the first man you've talked to, outside of your Father and your Brother, was a damned blue dwarf. Since then, your familiarity with the other sex hasn't improved much, expanding to a skittish brother of said dwarf, and a talking severed head. Oh, and Tyr of course. But Tyr was more of an unattainable figure of wisdom, that lingered around the safehouse like an ancient tree.
It never worried you before. Truth be told you haven't had the time to think of such things, but as time goes on you're starting to wonder if finding someone for yourself just isn't in the stars for you. Especially with Ragnarok rapidly approaching, your dreams of a quiet, homely life are shifting into the realms of impossible with every day.
Not that you consider Heimdall an option. No way in Hel. He might be annoyingly mesmerizing in his beauty, but he's mean. Through and through. And you don't find intrigue in meanness.
It's silent for a longer moment, and you start to feel a steel rod of unease digging itself into your back. But then, as if sensing you're at your limit, Heimdall speaks, voice so quiet, and so much softer than anything you've heard from him, since your arrival in Asgard.
"Your intentions have changed" he states simply, but with a note of wonder, that by some unknown magic, makes you feel even less comfortable.
"Meaning what exactly?"
You try to be tough. Try to emulate even a fraction of your Father's sternness. But as always, Heimdall sees through it, like he sees through all. His back bends, as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his spread knees. Purple eyes flicker up, looking at you from under his curved eyebrows. Light dances on his golden eyelashes, and once again, you feel ridiculous.
"You told me, a while back, that you're here to aid your nuisance of a Brother" he continues, grimacing slightly at the mere mention of Atreus, or Loki, it's hard to tell these days.
"That's not true anymore"
Now to that, you take offense. Eyebrows furrowing, mouth twisting, your fingers curl around the plate, until you feel the smoothness of the polished wood under your fingernails.
"I am here to help my Brother, nothing's changed" you grit out.
And you sound so sure of it too. Because what else is there? You're not important in this story, your name doesn't appear in any prophecies. An older sister, yes, but always cursed to play second fiddle. A loyal supporter, never to be mentioned, never to be recognized in the grand scheme of things.
You don't mind. Not anymore.
The good thing about being too insignificant to be held in the Fate's eyes, is that you can do what you wish. When you wish. There's freedom in being overlooked, in which you partake with wide open arms.
"Lying to yourself is such a pitiful distraction" Heimdall has the gall to roll his eyes at you, and the blood of your Father begins to boil in your veins.
You take a sharp step back, when he suddenly rises from the bench, reminding you of your rather lackluster height, especially compared to him. Confusion and alarm mix within the pit of your stomach, because this sudden closeness feels too much like a fight. Or like a beginning to one, even though, technically, there's no anger on Heimdall's face.. His hand shoots out before you can stop it, palm pressing into the skin on your throat, as if he's handling a wild animal.
Grapes slip from your plate, rolling to the floor, and your feet move on their own accord, trying to escape the pressure on your windpipe, yet finding no reprieve. Heimdall pushes you, almost all the way across the hall, until your back lands with a soft thud against the wooden pillar.
It's only the misplaced worry about wasting food, that keeps you from pushing the plate into his ridiculously clean clothes. You've lived off of the land too long, and some habits are far too deep-seated to root out. And you've simply missed the taste of fruit, the Fiddlewinter robbing the world of sweetness you so desperately crave. That's the only reason, why you struggle just a bit, putting up enough fight to let him know you don't appreciate being handled in such a way. The only reason, yes. And to suggest otherwise would be as ridiculous as this entire situation.
"I see ambition in you, girl" Heimdall muses, baring his golden teeth in a snarl, mirroring your own expression "Dangerous ambition, something that wasn't here before"
"You don't know anything about me" you snap, grabbing the plate tighter, and imagining it's his neck instead.
It's a weak defense, and Heimdall knows it. Because he knows enough about you, enough to present a pretty clear image. An older sister, so devoted to helping her brother, yet so easily swayed by the mere introduction of something greater. You watch his eyebrows tilt into a condescending expression, and that, you can't abide. With a snarl of your own, you realize, he thinks you're weak. You're weak for never wanting, and now suddenly wanting so much. You're weak for changing, for taking more than you're allowed to.
Except you don't.
"Tell me" he muses, his hand sliding from your throat, to the underside of your jaw, forcing your head up "Am I wrong? You wished for a peaceful life once, but you've realized there's more to learn. There's knowledge presented at your fingertips, and you just can't help yourself, can you?"
Somewhere down, out of your sight, his other hand moves. Your eyes can only focus on his. On the suffocating, pulsating purple flowing from his eyesockets. It feels strange, being held captive like this. Pinned against a pillar, forced to withstand whatever fresh torture, the meanness in Heimdall has concocted. For the first time, since you've walked into the hall, you find yourself wishing, someone would help you. In your mind, you're begging for anyone, a saving grace from this strangely intimate threat.
That's what a weak person would think, you reprimand yourself, your gaze turning into steel. And you're not weak. Not with your Father's blood in your veins, his words in your heart.
"Go to hell Heimda- Mmmf!!"
It's a split second movement. As soon as your mouth opens, Heimdall's other hand shoots out, pushing a peach from your plate right into your mouth. Your teeth scrape the delicate skin of the fruit, and you cough at the sweet juice flowing down your throat. He has the gall to laugh, a sharp, cruel sound, that turns into a patronizing groan of fake sympathy, as he pushes the fruit tighter against your teeth. The juices flow past the corners of your lips, leaving sticky residue on your chin and down the length of your throat.
"Oh come now, Snowflake" you never understood why he chose this particular nickname for you "I though you missed the sweetness so much"
He drinks in your frustrated glare with deep satisfaction, keeping a tight hold on your jaw, his body pressing yours into the pillar, and blocking all means of escape. There's victory in his eyes. Like he's finally caught some prize he's been hunting since the dawn of time. And the mere notion of being looked at, in this way, by him... It pushes a wave of shivers up your back, although confusingly, not the unpleasant ones.
Maybe you can mutter an incantation around the peach stuck between your teeth. It's not the words that count, but the intent. At least that's what Frigga has told you, while sharing her Vanir secrets with you.
"Come on" Heimdall murmurs, voice much too soft for your liking "You know there's only one way out."
The hand holding your head up starts to move, squeezing gently. So gently, in fact, that it starts to feel less like an oppressive grip, and much more like some meticulous massage.
"Bite."
There's a not-so-subtle command in his voice, and suddenly you're crudely reminded, what he said about taming Gulltopr, when you and your brother first arrived in Asgard. He out-thinks them. Dominates them fair and square. You can't stop yourself from wondering, if this is that famed domination. His thumb runs a slow line from the very tip of your chin, to the underside of your jaw, as if trying to coax your muscles to move.
"Bite, Snowflake. Free yourself." he goads, and finally you play right into his hand.
Your teeth sink into the meat of the peach, until they scrape over the pit. There's fire of anger in your eyes, one he drinks up with satisfaction. Slowly, he pulls the fruit free from your mouth, purple following the juice flowing from your mouth, as you struggle to chew.
"There you go" Heimdall coos, taking a bite of the peach himself and downright moaning at the taste "You won't find sweeter fruits, than the ones in Asgard.
Swallowing thickly, you make a point of not agreeing, trying to recall the Indunn Apples you've found on your travels with your Father and your Brother. They're better. They have to be better.
"It's too sweet" you say, voice hoarse and trembling, and Heimdall frowns, clearly not appreciating your continuous denial.
"Tastes almost rotten"
There's malice in your words. Days upon days of frustration finally tipping over, and spilling into that one sentence. You've grown tired. Plain and simple. All the effort you've put into appearing pleasant, into stomping down the temper, that threatened to rise with his every mocking word, every scathing remark.
It makes his mouth twist into an ugly sneer, far worse than anything you've seen on his face before. But then, as soon as it appears, it shifts before your very eyes. The corners of his mouth curl upwards, dangerously so.
"Are you finally beginning to melt, Snowflake?" he almost sounds, like he's teasing you.
As if this isn't some confusing battle of wits and perseverance, but a conversation between friends. He's deceptive, in the way his purple eyes flicker to the traces of juice clinging to your skin. He must be, you don't allow yourself any other explanation. And the way his tongue laps at his bottom lip, surely, is also a lie.
Heimdall drags his hands upwards, palms pressing right under your jaw, like you've suddenly became a chalice, he just can't wait to drink from. Once again, his eyes flicker, from your widened eyes, to your mouth, and somewhere lower.
"You Jotnar can't even eat a fucking peach without making a mess" he scoffs, and dives down.
Your entire body jerks in his hold, as he licks at the drying juice on your chin. Automatically, your hands fly to his wrists, a strange mix of disgust, excitement, and overwhelming confusion stirring in your heart. He doesn't budge, even when you bite your nails into the spotless skin of his arms. Instead, he sucks the remnants of the peach from the corners of your mouth.
"What the hell are you-"
Once again you're interrupted, your words dying in your throat with a gasp, as Heimdall takes the opportunity to sneak his tongue between your open lips. The world's most diligent cleaning service, he licks around the inside of your mouth, making sure to map out every nook and cranny.
He tilts your head so far up, your neck starts to strain, and you stand there, frozen. Unable to do anything but watch, as his eyes roll back at the feeling, light eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks, speckled with freckles you've never noticed until now.
And then, as quickly as it happens, a frustrated groan slips out of him, and he retracts, licking the remnants of you from his own, glistening lips. Frustration creeps over his features, and you can feel his fingers dig into the skin of your throat. He barely takes a look at your utter shock, before leaning back in, stopping just short of your face.
You can't seem to free yourself from his gaze, so intense, it's almost burning with violet flames.
"Kiss me back"
It's neither a demand, nor a plea, but something stuck between the two. As if shocked by the sound of his own voice, he attaches himself to your mouth again. This time, after the initial confusion passes, you try. You really try to kiss him back, moving your mouth in such a clumsy way, he'd be a fool not to notice, you have completely no idea, what you're doing.
Instead of mocking you once more, his hands shift on your face, taking hold of your jaw instead. Fingers pull and push, massaging until you understand what he's doing. A sigh tears out of him, something a bit too close to relief, when you finally let him guide you. And under his careful ministrations, your movements grow bolder. Understanding the basics is the key, that's the unshakable rule of every learning process.
After a few seconds, his hands move again, leaving your face in favor of grabbing onto your hips and waist, tugging you closer, and closer, until only your back touches the wooden pillar behind you.
Heimdall swallows another gasp straight out of your throat, when his hands shift lower, grabbing onto your behind, and squeezing hard enough for you to feel him through the complicated layers of your dress.
Just as you're about to start suffocating from the ever present feeling of him, Heimdall, mercifully, detaches himself from your lips. Saliva carries the remainder of sweetness from your tongue to his, and in an obscene gesture, he licks it lean, as if addicted to the taste of you. You can barely breathe, blood rushing through your ears, every intake of air feeling much too little to feed your brain. It's all a haze, and heat so unbearably hot, it's making the layers of your dress stick to your body.
All you can see is that devilish, flaring purple. The way it shifts and shimmers behind his fluttering eyelids, casting a slight glow on the flawless skin of his high cheeks. You can't even see your reflection in them, all being swallowed by that greedy tint. It hurts your head, staring into his eyes for too long, but you simply cannot stop. Can't will yourself to look away, not when he's letting out breaths of heated air. Not when his lips are open, and ready to taste more, until he knows you inside and out.
You wonder if this is just another way of greedily soaking up information, once again. Is this a kiss, or another interrogation? How can anyone be sure, when dealing with someone of his nature?
Heimdall flashes a smile at the small crease forming between your eyebrows, and while it's definitely sharp, it lacks the usual bite to it. The curl of his lips just short of genuine. Another kiss, soft and coaxing lands itself onto your lips. This time you open up without any hesitation, and he hums in pleased satisfaction. It's slower this time, less like an agressor, and more like a lover, and something within you melts. Some unknown warmth floods you inside and out. You moan into his mouth so sweetly, the sensual drag of his tongue against yours opening a door to the strangest of feelings.
Want.
Your arms find their place around his neck, pulling him closer into your body, and he drinks from this cup of opportunity to the fullest. One of his hands smoothes over your side, from the delicate swell of your hips, to the sensitive skin, stretched over your ribs. And then, it moves further up, palming at your breast through the thick material of your dress. His thumb swipes over your nipple, teasing it through the fabric, until he feels it pebble, pressing into the cotton, begging him to touch it further.
He complies, strangely generous. His lips leave yours, smearing saliva down your throat. Then, lower, where he sucks a small bruise into your collarbone. A quiet keening sound leaves you, when his open, hot mouth lands on your clothed breast, licking and sucking, leaving a darkened spot of wetness. Your other breast doesn't stay lonely for long, as he repeats the treatment with the same, gentle focus, that has heat pooling between your legs. A sensation so foreign, yet so pleasant, your thighs slide against each other, as if they're trying to find the answer to the world's most pressing questions in the thickening pressure.
"So sweet" Heimdall murmurs against your nipple, his eyes flicking up to yours "Look at you, Snowflake. You're quite beautiful like this."
He sounds surprised himself, as if he didn't expect this trun of events, when he made you eat out of his own hand.
And then, it stops.
Your back thuds softly against the wooden pillar, as he leaves you with a sharp step backwards. Something dark and almost too serious for the intimacy of your encounter floods his features, as despite burning like the brightest of fires, a shiver twists itself around your spine. He looks so composed, so utterly unshaken. The only thing betraying him is a small curl of light hair, slipping out of place and dangling over his frowning forehead. That, and the obvious erection, straining against his linen breeches.
You want to push that curl back into its place. His eyebrows twitch.
"Leave your door open tonight" he says, so quiet, you can barely hear him.
Heimdall doesn't wait for your confirmation. He doesn't linger. Instead, he turns on his heel and leaves the hall, footsteps echoing within your brain like a pair of thundering bells.
And thus, you're left alone, chest wetted and growing uncomfortably cold. Lips swollen, still sticky from the fruit, and his tongue. And a need left unsatisfied, turning into a shivering stab of panic, at the prostect of rapidly aproaching nighttime.
This is an old post that didn't have tags and was a reply, I thought it would be best to repost it with the correct tags and as a stand alone, I hope you enjoy.
Here are some headcanons I thought up and usually use myself. There is an NSFW section that contains more suggestive things!
Heimdall is a clean man. He really likes clean things although he isn't afraid of getting dirty.
Heimdall likes to read because book people aren't predictable and boring to him
Heimdall's eyes will change from pink to slightly darker shades when he's angry or having other intense emotions
Heimdall washes his horn and cleans it every day. It's his pride and joy and he treats it as such, as if it's his own child.
Heimdall can sing very well he just hates doing it. Unlike his brother Baldr, who loves singing but can't, he absolutely hates singing. It's too vulnerable, too "weak" for him, he likes to show off but something about singing makes him unhappy.
Heimdall twitches his eyes whenever overwhelmed. It's an involuntary action, he gets too stressed or too angry his left eye starts twitching.
Heimdall rides on Gulltoppr every morning and every night before bed because it calms her down. Otherwise, she will not rest.
Gulltoppr is a girl, and he treats her like a princess. Though it may seem that she's treated badly, especially with the kick during his boss fight — Heimdall does love her, more on the kick in the next headcanon.
Heimdall is extremely impulsive when it comes to appearing cruel. This is not because he wants to be, he is cruel because he forces himself to be to impress and uphold his father. As such, his body will move before he thinks and does any action to solidify to himself that he is who he acts as.
Heimdall loves food but he also doesn't like eating much. Textures, squishiness, and issues with eating for appearance purposes (which is an issue he deals with every day) all stop him from enjoying the act of chewing and swallowing. He does love tasting things though.
Heimdall loves using his hands. Gesturing, grabbing, drumming. It's his favourite tool, it makes him feel in control.
Heimdall sighs a lot while rolling his eyes. It's due to him finding everyone around him either completely useless or is exasperated by the situation.
Heimdall likes doing everything himself and doesn't use maids or helpers. This way, he can make sure everything is done correctly, on time, and that he has a way to actually have a hobby outside of watching — he does not consciously think this, though.
Heimdall knows how to use bows, but because Odin called it "weak" or alluded to it he immediately stopped.
Heimdall braids his hair himself. He is too particular about it to actually let anyone else do it.
NSFW SECTION MDNI
Heimdall likes to grab necks. Not necessarily chocking, just softly gripping. He likes the heartbeat he feels and the control it gives.
Heimdall doesn't take his clothes off, its too vulnerable. It makes him feel like he is losing his only mode of control, his eyes and ability to prevent touch.
Heimdall doesn't like being touched at first. That takes time, in the beginning it's a huge turn off, but, after a while he let's himself relax and feel comfortable with his partner. Then, he turns into one touchy man.
Heimdall does after care extremely in depth. He will not leave his partners side until they are well. If he doesn't know them he wouldn't bother.
Heimdall himself requires after care since he is really sensitive and vulnerable afterwards he just never admits it.
