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 as a prompt list.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
1 ✧ MILKING | CARLISLE CULLEN
2 ✧ SEX TAPE | NEGAN SMITH
3 ✧ GAGGING | SEVERUS SNAPE
4 ✧ WATERSPORTS | DARYL DIXON
5 ✧ APHRODISIACS | RICK C-137
6 ✧ COCK RING | EMMRICH VOLKARIN
7 ✧ EDGING | EDDIE BROCK
8 ✧ MIRROR SEX | LUCIUS MALFOY
9 ✧ FACE-RIDING | SOLAS
10 ✧ PIERCINGS | IANTO JONES
11 ✧ FLASHING | VIKTOR
12 ✧ PUBLIC | JOSIAH TRELAWNY
13 ✧ FOOD PLAY | LUCANIS DELLAMORTE
14 ✧ SEX POLLEN | JACK HARKNESS
15 ✧ EYE CONTACT | HANNIBAL LECTER
16 ✧ BELLY BULGE | COPIA | PAPA EMERITUS IV
17 ✧ BONDAGE | ELIJAH MIKAELSON
18 ✧ PET-PLAY | DUTCH VAN DER LINDE
19 ✧ BODY PAINT | KLAUS MIKAELSON
20 ✧ HEAT | GARRUS VAKARIAN
21 ✧ COCK SMACKING | GHOST | SIMON RILEY
22 ✧ IN-AIR SUSPENSION | TONY STARK
23 ✧ GLORY HOLE | (POST-WAR) COOPER HOWARD | THE GHOUL
24 ✧ OBEDIENCE TRAINING | BROTHER DAY
25 ✧ SCRATCHING | VANDER
26 ✧ ACCIDENTAL STIMULATION | BILLY BLACK
27 ✧ COCK RESTING | LEE RUSSELL
28 ✧ PRAISE | JOHN PRICE
29 ✧ BREEDING | KRATOS
30 ✧ CAUGHT | GAVIN REED
31 ✧ AFTERCARE | FINNICK ODAIR
♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.
Pairing: Kratos x Daughter!Reader
CW: in¢est (father/daughter), dubcon, drunk sex, hurt/comfort, mentions of grief, implied future overstimulation
General Tags: pwp, creampie, bed sex, making out, denial of feelings, fem!reader, reader's appearance is not specified, reader is AN ADULT, post god of war 2018, pre god of war ragnarok
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
When a snowball effect occurs, no one truly knows that its being taken place until they're far too deep into it. Sometimes it blows over in their face.
But for you, you knew before the snowball began to roll bigger than you could handle. And given the…strange circumstances, it would've rolled into a titanous snowball if you weren't so careful.
At least, you thought so.
It all started a season after Faye's death; your stepmother, your brother's mother…his wife. Kratos wasn't dealing with it well, even after the long journey to Jotunheim; becoming great pals with a bottle of mead for most nights.
Now he wasn't abusive, you knew your father would never struck any of his kids, but he sure wasn't positive when intoxicated. Deep in the night — when Atreus would be deep asleep in his bed — you could hear his muffled sobs from your bed, his drunken mutters about her; about the fact that she was gone, that she cannot return home, to her son, to him.
Your heart would always ache for him, for his pain and loss. Sure, you also dealt with the grief of Faye's passing, but she was his wife — the one who helped him see the light, to be better. And now what's left? A broken god, a broken man and a broken father.
How much you wanted to help him, to ease his pain. But with a man like Kratos, you felt like there wasn't much you could do. Perhaps Mimir could help, he's a wise man after all. But at the moment, for now, you decided to step back, to give your father space unless asked otherwise.
Well…he sure asked. But not in the way anyone in their right mind would think.
Your tired mind was so focused on laying in a bed after such a laborious day, you simply just plopped onto the first bed nearby. Snuggling against the furs of the bed, you lay farther on the other side of the bed, facing the wall. It was the most comfortable you've ever felt in a long time…rather that, or your body was just very sore from today's work. Either way, you were very comfortable to the point where you were starting to drift into sleep with heavy eyes.
It probably was about a couple hours at least before your body twitched yourself awake. You see that it's dark now, the dying fire pit being the only source of light inside — save for the moonlight peaking out of the cabin's cracks.
You could hear the gentle breathing of Atreus, right behind you to your left. He's sleeping peacefully, you could tell from how slow and calm he breathed with the occasional light snore.
But something doesn't make any sense. You vividly remember the sound of your brother's slumber usually being behind you to your right. Never your left. The only way you could hear him from your left is if you were sleeping on—
The sound of the cabin door opening could be heard, nearly jolting you in a panic.
Shit.
…Shit! You slept on your dad's bed!
It's one of the many unspoken rules in the house; not to sleep in your father's bed. Dear gods, this is going to be embarrassing. You don't like being scolded by him, not after so much work on being the best daughter he could ask for — a bit over a thousand winters or so of work in fact!
With how much effort, how much obedience, how much training and never faulting you endured…the idea of being scolded for something easily avoidable felt world-ending to you. And as you hear the sound of your father's footsteps approaching the bed, you feel as if the world was going to end.
But much to your surprise, he didn't say anything. You heard him taking off his boots, setting them to the floor before slipping into bed with a heavy huff. The smell of alcohol bled through, invading your nostrils.
You didn't know what to do in this situation, so you resulted in pretending to be asleep; keeping yourself still, breathing slow and calm as possible and keeping at least one eye closed (even when you're just facing the wall).
After what seemed to be minutes — with the sound of Kratos' slow heavy breathing — you assumed that he fell asleep. But before you could register the sound of your father shifting in bed, two large white arms wrapped around and pulled you close to him.
You nearly made a sound out of surprise, thankfully you kept yourself together. Your father wasn't one for physical affection, not often, so experiencing his arms around you felt quite—
Your heart nearly jumps out as you felt his warm mead-filled breath fogging against your shoulder. "Faye…" He mutters softly, sliding the tunic down, making your shoulders more revealed to him.
Faye? Did….did you hear that correctly?
A hitch of breath almost unleashed when you began to feel his surprisingly soft and warm lips pressing against your now bare shoulder, peppering it with kisses that lingered longer than it really should. "Let me touch you…" He breathed, moving onto the back of your neck. "Just one more time, Faye…."
You nearly freeze at the realization. Holy shit…in his drunken haze, he's under the belief that the woman he's holding onto and kissing is his late-wife…and not his own daughter.
The thought of this was a lot, and bewildering. You hardly look anything like Faye, not at all. Was your father that drunk that he can barely tell the obvious differences between you and your stepmother? It seemed to be the case.
His hands snaked under your tunic and began touching your breasts. You nearly gasp from the coldness his hands still possess, causing your nipples to harden from the cold. Assuming the hardening was arousal, he begins fondling them, releasing a soft groan from the feeling of soft warm skin.
"Fuck…" His kisses became more, sucking and biting your neck and shoulders, leaving marks that'll definitely show in the morning. "So soft…."
You could hear the thunderous sound of your heart beating in your ears, shivers running up and down your spine.
With one hand remaining on your breast, he moves the other hand down, slinking down in your pants. His hands immediately found your clit and began running circles against it with his fingers.
You bit your bottom lip, holding back your moans. This shouldn't be happening, it's not right; he's your father for crying out loud! Not only that, but he's clearly too drunk to think clearly! This needs to be stopped.
Yet you didn't stop it.
"So wet for me…" His voice slurred slightly, moving his hand more followed by a chuckle. "Wetter than usual…"
You would pull away, but from the way he was speaking, he sounded…delighted, content. Not that pain-filled, emotionally wreaked man like usual — as in…genuinely happy.
Because of you, he was happy for the first time in a whole season.
Sure, that happiness was under the false belief that he was touching Faye and not his own daughter. But that almost didn't matter to you. He's happy.
And that made this whole situation seem not as bad.
So still making yourself seem asleep, you didn't protest when he starts to remove your pants, sliding them off along with your undergarments. It felt like a second of cold air hitting your wet cunt before Kratos began inserting three of his fingers inside of you, moving with surprising speed despite his drunkenness.
Your mouth open, eyes fluttering and going cross-eyed. Fuck, how does he find your g-spot so quickly? He moved with such swiftness and calculation, like he knows just what he's doing. Maybe with all of the sexual encounters he experienced back in Greece, he does in fact know what he's doing.
It wasn't long before you orgasmed on his fingers and hand, nearly moaning as you did so. You were a panting mess for a bit, legs twitching as you attempt to recollect yourself.
Your body twitches slightly as Kratos takes a scoop of your juices from in-between your legs. He takes his cum-covered fingers and put them in his mouth, letting out a "mmm…" while he tastes you.
"You taste wonderful." He whispers huskily. "Somehow more wonderful than last time."
…You didn't know if you should feel flattered or sad by that.
But you didn't have time to contemplate as you heard him began unbuckling his belt. You didn't look back at him, not only because you were worried that once he sees your face he'll realize it's you, but also because you didn't need to look to figure out what he's doing.
Quickly, you feel him grabbing your ass cheek, thumb caressing it as his fingers were gripping near your thigh. He lifts your leg up, granting him access to your pussy.
A quiet moan leaves you when you felt him rubbing his cock against your folds, moving his hips, thrusting himself against you.
"ιερό σκατά." He grunts, his movements quickening as he breathes against your neck. "You're so wet…so slippery…" His breathing gets heavier by the second. "…I….can't…hold on like this…I need to…."
Yes…please!
You covered your mouth before you could scream as he shoves his cock inside of you, stretching you out. Fuck, he's so big!
He doesn't slow down, far from it. He fucks you hard and fast, with need and purpose. He holds you close as he rams his cock in and out of you with impressive speed. "So tight…."
You were trying not to scream in pleasure, not wanting to wake Atreus up. But fuck, this was just too good.
You now fully understand the women back in Greece, why they would throw themselves at your father — shit, you would've done the same!
Sounds of skin slapping together almost filled the room as his balls slapped against your cunt, thankfully it kept staying a tad bit quiet, not loud enough to wake anyone.
Fuck, you were seeing stars at this point with every thrust. This was a pleasure you haven't felt since…well, ever! In all your centuries of existence, you never really had a chance to experience anything like this — always on the move with your father, no time to meet anyone, not even men.
But now….now, you're experiencing everything. And you can't just get enough of it.
His alcohol-filled breath goes heavy with each pounding as he starts kissing your neck and shoulders sloppily with animalistic need. During this, you eventually look down a bit, seeing the way his dick fucks you fast with such ease, you moan just from the sight.
After what felt like forever yet too soon, you could feel him twitching inside of you, making you tighten up more. He was getting close.
He knew this too as his thrusts became sloppy and filled with wild lust, ramming deep and rough. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna…f…fuck…—"
With one hard thrust he rams in there deep as he shoots his load in you, filling you up with his hot seed. He stays in you for a while, his cock twitching inside as your tight walls milks him dry.
The feeling of his cum is what made you also become undone, body twitching and shaking as you orgasm for a second time, breathing in sputters against your hand until it all rides over.
You could feel his hold on you starting to loosen, panting labored breaths slowing down. "…I love you….so much…." He murmurs before the next sound you hear from him is his snoring.
After a moment, you decided to get out of his bed. Staying there would be a very bad idea; if he wakes up in the morning seeing you next to him, both of you guys pant-less with his cock still buried in you, he would never forgive himself, he wouldn't understand your reasoning for letting him, and the relationship you guys have would be damaged forever. You cannot risk that.
You carefully wiggled your way out of his grasp, biting your bottom lip as you pulled yourself off of his cock, nearly groaning from the feeling of your cunt clenching from his absence and the soft squelching pop that came after removing yourself from him.
Once you were free, you picked up your discarded pants and undergarments, putting them back on as you hopped off the bed. Your father shifted in his drunken slumber, his cock now semi-hard. You swallowed roughly at the sight, but kept your composure as you lifted the blanket over his waist, covering his nakedness.
Despite the intensity of what happened, he looked so peaceful asleep, a small smile on his lips. You find yourself smiling, leaning close and giving him a gentle kiss on his bald head before turning around.
Mimir's head wasn't on the round table near the door. Now granted, a part of you is in fact glad he wasn't inside to witness what just transpired, but still, it was concerning that he wasn't there.
When it eventually clicked, you rolled your eyes. Not again. With a swift put-on with your boots and your cloak, you carefully opened the door and went outside.
There he was, on a log, left in the middle of this damn snow storm. You grumbled as you made your way to him. "Father left you again." You weren't asking, you knew that's what happened.
As you picked Mimir up, you hear a tired grumble from him. "Drunk bastard…"
"Mimir." You find yourself scolding.
"I know, lass. He's grievin' and all….but still, not right to leave me here."
He has a point. "I know…" You sigh before walking your way back to the cabin. "Maybe I'll keep myself up, to make sure you don't get left out all night and all…"
"I don't know, on one hand you deserve to rest well—" He pauses. "What are you doing up at this hour?"
Shit. "My body jerked me awake." You say with surprising ease. "And I noticed you weren't at your little station."
"Hm, seems like fate was callin' then." He jokes. You laugh.
When you brought him inside quietly, you set him on top of the small sack on the table.
"What's with him?" You heard Mimir whisper, referring to the pant-less Kratos. Despite you covering him, his pants were on the floor.
Not letting your panic get the better of you, you gave a shrug as you walked over to grab a book. "He was dead asleep when I awoke." You whispered back as you walked over to Mimir, opening the book to the first page and setting it onto the easel. "Is this one good for the night?"
"Very good lass." He speaks quietly.
You smile, picking up a wooden spoon and handing it to him…well, more like setting it in-between his teeth, since he's a head and all. Once he bites onto the handle, you give a polite smile. "Goodnight."
"Rest well." He muffled with the spoon in his mouth.
With a nod, you make a turn and head onto bed…your bed to be specific. As you snuggled against the furs and pillows of your own bed, you watch your father's peaceful state with a smile, falling asleep to the sounds of Mimir turning the pages of his book and your family's snoring.
The morning after was peaceful, strangely delightful….for the most part.
You were enjoying your breakfast with the family, chewing on some bread. Your father was taking small bites while Atreus was going full-town on his food, scarfing them down.
Furrowed brows, you flicked at his arm as you scolded him, "Don't eat like an pig, it's impolite."
"But I'm starving!" He argues, muffled with his mouth full of food.
"Your sister is right. Use your manners." Kratos says gruffly.
Your brother grumbles as he chews much slower. You almost found yourself smiling in victory.
After a bit, you find yourself taking glances at your father. For the first time in a while, he seems more…peaceful at the moment, and that made last night's events worth it.
Though there is a bit of a downside; your eyes would occasionally glance at his body, low-key ogling him. His well-built muscles, nicely structured face and cultivated brown eyes….sweet gods, since when did he look so attractive?
The sound of your name being called got you out of the hurricane of your thoughts. You looked at Mimir, letting out a "Hm?"in response.
"What's with those marks on your neck?" He asked with a risen silver brow.
Shit….the hickeys!
You felt yourself freezing as all three of them stare at you. While Atreus seemed unaware of the nature of the marks on your neck at first, Kratos and Mimir looked at you with alarm.
Panic rushed through you. Shit, what do you do? What do you say? You can't say what happened! Come up with something! Quick! Anything!
"Oh my gods…." Atreus gasps, as if realizing something. "You sneaked out, didn't you?!"
…Guess that'll work.
You shriveled in your seat, cheeks warm with embarrassment. "…yes." You muttered, staring down at the ground.
"…What?!" You heard the sound of your father standing up abruptly, he sounded angry.
"Snuck out??" Mimir barked in surprise. "When in the bloody hell did you sneak out???"
"….In the middle of the night, a bit after bringing you back inside." You lied. You can't really say before since the timeline wouldn't make much sense to Mimir.
"A bit—" He pauses. "How did— I didn't even hear you!"
"I've learned how to be stealthy and quiet since I was seven." You looked up. "You'd be surprised with how easy it is to sneak out—"
"You've snuck out before?" Her father spoke, eyes intense with anger.
You nearly mentally shit yourself. Okay, maybe don't go too far with the lie. "…Well no…..not….often…."
You could see your father clutching his fist. Shit, he never been this angry towards you….very scary….and hot? Despite the weird feelings, his anger made you go defensive, even with the lie strangely.
"I-I never go too far from the stave, everything perfectly safe!" You put your hands up in defense.
"That doesn't explain the marks though…." He says coldly.
After a moment of silence, Atreus looks at you with a "…Ewwww….you were with a boy?"
"A BOY?!" Both Mimir and Kratos exclaimed. While Mimir was just genuinely surprised, your father sounded even more pissed…for some reason.
You nearly jolted from your seat at the rise of voices. "…Well, uh—"
"Who is he? What's his name?!" Your father pressed, leaning against the table like he was interrogating you. Though in this case, it sure felt like he was.
Geez, what's his problem? Sure, the guy isn't even real. But still, he has no reason to be so pissed off over this fictional man.
"He's just a Midgardian man, I don't really know his name." You formed your words carefully, making sure your fake story makes even a lick of sense. "It was just a hookup."
Oh that was a poor choice of words, because your father looked like he's fuming. "A…hookup?"
…Okay, so you were grounded for the first time in centuries — you didn't even know that was possible — but hey, it's better than Kratos finding out that he drunkenly had sex with his daughter!
Though the downside with that is now you're struggling with this whole new level of feelings all on your own. You would find yourself staring at your father, watching his muscles move with thunderous grace and strength, how beautifully curved his nose was, even the sound of his voice made the inside of your body rumble with arousal.
There was no doubt about it, you wanted him badly. But given the…nature and circumstance of these feelings, you couldn't really vocalized them to him, or anyone for that matter.
Thankfully, you didn't have to keep it all inside for long. Though while he does it less with you being grounded and all, there are times where it's clear he'll get drunk in the night.
And when those days come, you gleefully head over to your fathers bed when Atreus is deep asleep, waiting for your drunken father to arrive. And he does, he sure does arrive….forgetting Mimir once again (thank goodness ) as he gets in his bed and have his way with you, unaware of the incestuous actions he's committing.
You love every second of it; the way he stretches and pounds into you, holding you close while kissing your neck and shoulders, cumming in you with his hot load. Fuck, you loved it all, and you wanted more.
There was even those odd times where you would get off of the usual routine; moving your hips against him, sucking his fingers while he takes you, hel, you even jerked him off when his cock was thrusting against your folds that one time.
All of it was beyond amazing, consuming your body. Even when he's not drunk, sleeping in bed. You're in your own bed, masturbating with all those filthy thoughts of your father. Sometimes you would wish he could wake up and see how much you really loved him, how good of a daughter you can truly be.
Though, as the days of him getting drunk becomes less and less, the days of him fucking you went away too.
It was bittersweet; on one hand you're glad he's getting better, improving himself….yet on the other hand you'll miss those touches, the way he stretched you out.
And the absence of his fucking sure didn't make those feelings go away, in fact it worsened. Now even the simplest of gestures was a lot — for example, when he went to check on your temperature with the back of his hand, you felt yourself becoming very aroused, undergarments soaked just by a simple touch.
Fuck, you felt so pathetic. But the best you could do was just quietly masturbate away when everyone else is asleep, unleashing your forbidden desires upon your clit while one of your hands covered your mouth, silencing any possible moans that could escape.
Two-thirds of a season had past. And despite behaving well as much as you could, following every order without question….you were still grounded, much to your own frustration.
Dealing with these incestuous feelings towards your father was one thing, not being able to go out and hunt was a whole other kind of punishment. And as you silently sneak out a window with a bow and quiver of arrows, you could not take that punishment anymore.
You wandered your way in the woods, the moonlight being the only source of light. Eventually you catch some deer tracks in the snow, determined, you followed them. After minutes, possibly more, you managed to find it; a red deer munching on a small blade of grass that was peering out of the blankets of snow.
Slowly, with careful breaths, you take out an arrow and draw out your bow. The silence was deadly as you aim your direction to where the heart would be. You let out a deep, slow breath, calming your mind as—
Something grabbed at your wrist, making you yelp in surprise, causing the deer to flee in alarm. You turned to see Kratos, looking at you with fury as his grip tightened a smidge.
"You disobeyed me." He says coldly, his voice frustratingly sending shivers down your spine. "I specifically told you not to go out, and what did you do? You—"
You jerk your hand from his grasp. "It's bullshit!"
His eyebrows rise in surprise. You never raised your voice at him, never had….until now apparently. "…Excuse me?"
"This grounding, this punishment!" You snapped. "Atreus literally shoots you with an arrow, talks back to you countless of times! And all he gets is a scolding!" You crossed your arms. "But when I go out and have a simple hookup, I get stuck in the house all day!" You pressed your finger against his chest. "Two-thirds of a season, father!" Your hands moved as you rant to him. "Two. Thirds!"
You didn't even know why you were still going with the lie at this point. Maybe to not accept the reality, to not fully acknowledge that you're covered with filth, to not acknowledge that you might be a bad daughter after all.
"You had went to bed with multiple women may I add!" You pointed out. "So you can fuck around, but I can't?!"
"That is not the same!" He raises his tone. "You could've gotten yourself pregnant, (Name)!"
"I took precaution, I knew what I was doing." You argued. And you weren't exactly lying, after every fuck you would use every herb you could find to aid you, to make sure you don't get pregnant. And it worked. "And I'm sure as hel you didn't though!"
"This is much more than a hookup, (Name)!" He yells. "You left the stave — alone! You could've been hurt, or killed!" He steps closer, tone becoming a tad softer as he brings his hands out, touching the sides of your face. "Freya is constantly on our tail out there, and if something were to happen, I…." His voice weakened for a moment. "…I wouldn't know what to do with myself."
Your expression soften, every anger you felt seemingly vanished. You touched his hand before leaning against his palm, snuggling it and closing your eyes.
Your heart fluttered when you felt his thumb brushing against your cheek, "I've lost so much already and…" He whispers despite you two being alone in the middle of the woods. "…To even think about the idea of losing you is….is too much for me to handle." He then rests his forehead against yours. "I care about you so much….too much…so please, be careful….for me."
He leans back and presses a kiss on your forehead, your heart nearly fluttered once more when it lingered for longer than necessary.
"Please…" He whispers, lips brushing against your forehead before going for another long soft forehead kiss.
A hitching breath accidentally slipped out when he kissed your forehead again. He stops for a moment, you mentally panic.
After a moment, he kisses your forehead again. But then he trails down, kissing the root of your nose, then the bridge and then the tip of your nose. He moves down and lingers, lips inches from yours, you can feel his breath hitting against you.
Your heart was pounding loudly from the closeness, lips parted as your breathing became heavy. You look at him, his eyes that usual enigmatic look — but there's something deep within that look, something that you yourself have felt.
Everything happened so fast; one moment you're both standing there, the next your lips crashed onto each other, moving together in animalistic passion and need. He presses you against a nearby tree, if it wasn't for the protective layers of fur the bark would've digged at your back.
You could feel his hands exploring your body as he presses himself against you, tongue sliding in your mouth with ease. He groans at the warmth and taste, bringing himself close.
A moan leaves you within the kiss. Was this really happening? Before you could answer that yourself, he abruptly pulls away.
You watch as he backs away, amber eyes widened and filled with emotion. He looked down at his trembling hands, then back at you. "I…." He looks back down in shame, unable to look at you. "…I shouldn't have done that…" The sound of his voice weakened.
As you regain your breath, you reach out to him. "Father…—"
"Let's get home." He says dismissively, bitterly before walking away, to the direction of home. Your heart shattered.
You reluctantly followed, fighting back tears of heartbreak. He doesn't look back at you, or seemingly acknowledge your presence on the way back, and that hurt you even more.
He didn't even say a word to you when you both reached the cabin, just head on inside and went to bed. Mimir notices you two and opens his mouth, saying something. But the both of you were trapped in your own mind to process the words.
You lay yourself down on your bed, facing the wall. And after a moment, you found yourself quietly cried against your hand, everything spilling out.
He hates you. You almost sobbed harder at that thought, but it was obvious by his reaction; he hates you. Your lips trembled as tears rolled down your face as one thought replayed in your head over and over until you eventually fall asleep;
I'm a bad daughter.
In the morning, you felt emotionally drained, pretty out of it for the most part. You barely ate your breakfast, slowly chewing bread like an ass eating some grass — though in this moment, with your father avoiding you, you felt like an ass.
He knows, clearly he knows of your desires, your filth. And he hates you for it. Everything you two built in the last centuries completely crumbled, destroyed, all because you had to be disgusting.
A part of you felt like throwing yourself off of a cliff, as insane as it sounds. Or perhaps run away, far from here. Everything felt like it was over, like you needed to leave, for the betterment of everyone…especially him.
The sound of Atreus calling your name interrupted your storm of thoughts. "Hm?" You look at him.
"Are you okay?" He asks, face read with concern.
You nodded slowly, pulling a fake smile. "Of course, I just had trouble sleeping last night."
"'Cause your father caught you sneaking out?" Mimir chimed.
You glared at the head.
"You snuck out again?" Atreus gasp.
"I wanted to go hunting." You say dismissively. "I just found it…tiring that he has me grounded for so long."
Mimir speaks up again, "Given that you've repeated on what gotten you grounded in the first place—"
"Please." You find yourself scoffing. "Gods forbid someone doesn't want to be cooped up here forever."
Atreus looked at you with shock. Granted, you never spoken this way before, very out of character. But with everything crashing down upon you, you just can't help but be….angry.
Eventually taking a deep breath, you resume to your breakfast.
"(Name)…" Mimir speaks more softer, more…concern. "He just wants you to be safe, and running off, to a guy no less—"
"I don't know why it matters…." You grumbled. The memory of your father's constant scolding about the whole 'meeting up with a boy' thing made your blood boil, it made you want to go out and actually hook up with a man to spite your father. "….Father's been with multiple women, yet it's a problem when I do practically the same thing?"
"He what???" Atreus squeaked.
"It was way before he met your mother, Atreus." You said as calmly as you can manage.
Mimir goes to open his mouth, you intervened.
"I took precautions, I took the proper herbs to prevent anything from happening." You pointed out.
"That isn't a one hundred percent guarantee."
"Better than father's lack of protection!" You find yourself snapping at him. You were getting tired of this conversation and feeling like you were the problem. Even when it's a lie, it's still extremely frustrating.
"That's quite enough—"
The sound of the door opening interrupted the conversation turned argument. Kratos walked inside, hanging his axe up before sitting himself down on the table. Having enough of this, you stand yourself up, pick up a random book and sat yourself onto your bed.
You eyed the pages, ignoring everyone else for your own mental sake.
That night you decided to run away. As immature as it sounds, you couldn't stand being in the same room with the father that you figured hated you. He's avoided you, avoided talking to you or even acknowledged your existence — to you, it was clear as day; he detested you.
Now you're just getting yourself out of the picture.
With the proper furs on your back and bag full of necessities, you quietly snuck through the window.
You were careful with your movements, dragging your feet, making yourself quiet against the snow as you walked from the side of the cabin and to the front.
The weight of what you were planning on doing made you stop for a moment. You turn to look at the cabin, really look at it for the last time.
With a shaky breath, you turn yourself back and moved your feet to began your journey.
“What are you doing?”
You nearly yelp, jolting before turning yourself around.
Kratos stood outside, only wearing his pants and boots.
The sight of his shirtless body made things more difficult for you. So you struggled to speak, holding onto the strap of the bag and twisting it out of nerves.
After a moment of no response, he walks up to you, eyeing your bag. He looks back at you. “Sneaking out. Again?"
You couldn't even bother to look at him, especially when he takes your bag and starts looking through it.
He eventually spoke after a while. “….(Name)….” His voice sounded softer, almost….hurt. “You're….running away?"
A pang of guilt ran through you, finding yourself slowly nodding before glancing at him.
He looked hurt, very hurt at the realization that you were running away. Which confused you; he hates you, why would he care?
You see his eyebrows knotting suddenly, clutching his fist as he asks. “Are you running away with that boy?”
“What?” You couldn't help but vocalize your bewilderment. He's still on about that boy thing? “Is that seriously what you think?”
“Do you deny it?” He sounded angry.
Now you're clutching your fist.
“Answer me!” He barks. “Are you going to him?! That delinquent?!”
The fuck does he care so much about that? “No! I'm not!”
“Then why? Why are you leaving your home? Leaving me?” Despite his anger, you could hear a ghost of pain in his voice. “Dammit girl, why?!”
When he reaches for your face, you pull away. “Because you hate me!” You snapped, holding back a cry at first, but it leaked as you continued. “Y-You found out how terrible I am, and you now hate me…”
“….(Name)—”
“Don't try to say otherwise, it's obvious from the way you avoid me…not even acknowledge me….” You hate how emotional you're becoming the more you speak, tears running down your cheeks. “S-So I decided to take myself out of the picture…for your sake.”
He says your name again as he reaches for your face again. This time, you let him. Despite the calluses on his hands, his touch was soft as he quietly hushes in a comforting manner, and that made you cried more.
“I-I'm a bad daughter…” You sobbed. “Y-You're avoiding me because I-I'm a bad—”
He pulls you into a hug, caressing the back of your head. “μικρό ζωύφιο…..” He says softly, calling you a nickname you only heard your mother call you centuries ago, back when she was still alive. “μικρό ζωύφιο, no…you're not a bad daughter, far from it.”
He pets your hair softly as he says, “Come….sit…” he brings you over to the flat pile of stones that he would occasionally sit on, where the small burned out campfire was. You rested your head against his arm, mostly out of a need for physical comfort as you watch him relight the campfire with his axe and a nearby.
You two stay like this for a moment, much more than a moment before your father speaks. “…I'm a bad father…that's why I avoided you.”
That brought you out of it. You sit up as you look at him. “What? No you're not, you're not a bad—”
“Yes I am.” He looks at you, eyes full of emotion, emotion you couldn't even begin to decipher. He hesitates for a second before taking a deep breath and continuing. “…When you mentioned about that Midgardian boy, I….started feeling things I shouldn't be feeling…especially towards you.”
You swear you felt your heart nearly leaping out of your chest. “Feelings? Like what?” A part of you knew the answer, you just wanted to hear it from him.
He was quiet for a moment, perhaps contemplating his words before drawing out a breath once more. "The idea of this boy…this….weasel…" he clutches his fist. "Putting his grubby hands on you….touching you like that fills me with such….anger. But not in the way I should be angry…never like that." His voice goes lower, but almost bitter at the end. Not towards anyone, but himself.
The way the light of the fire reflected on his intense brown eyes brought a warmth to your chest…and down below. "You were….jealous?" Your breathing heighten at that revelation.
He looks at you once more before facing the fire in front of the both of you. "…I thought….I could stop them, or suppress them at least. But every time I see you, looking all…." he trails off before shaking his head. "No…no. I shouldn't say that. It's…it's not your fault." He puts his head in his hands. "The fault is mine. I'm the one perverting after you." He stops, frowning in shame at the words coming out of his mouth.
Your soul nearly went out of your body with that confession, but you kept yourself close to him. A part of you wanted to correct him with the word lusting, but you let him continue.
"…I assumed it was my drinking habits that was causing me to feel this way…" He explained further. "But that was proven fruitless….especially with the previous night."
The heat in your body heightened, more so down in-between your legs, the more he speaks on the matter.
"I fear I can't….control myself." He puts his hands away, eyes staring at the flames.
"Can't control yourself?" You blurt out out of bewilderment. "You…are lacking control?" In all of the centuries of Kratos training you to always be in control, you never expected him to be the one struggling control, especially like…this.
He nods, not looking at your direction. "Yes…"
You don't know how you gathered the courage to do this, but you find yourself standing up and getting in front of him before you began removing the furs from you, setting them to the side and making sure it doesn't come in contact with the fire.
His eyes look up at you. "What are you doing?"
"Teaching you control." You say simply. Though, this was more testing his control more than anything. You took off your tunic, exposing your chest to the cold bitter air and your father, nipples hardening from the cold.
You could see his eyes widen at the sight. "(Name)…"
Before he could say anything in protest, you shut that down. "Focus, father." You ordered sternly. "Make sure to keep yourself in control."
"Cover yourself up." He says. "You'll freeze."
"Says the bare-chested man in front of me." You quipped, keeping your hands behind your back, moving yourself from side to side ever so slowly.
"Watch your tone with me, girl." He glares up at you with a scolding stern voice.
For some reason, you found yourself saying "Or what?" with a challenging tone as you removed your pants and undergarments. Was it a bit much? Perhaps. But after his confession, you found yourself not caring.
He keeps his hands to himself, even when his breathing sounded heavier the longer he stared. Fuck, you nearly squirm from the way he looked at you, the way he eyed the shape of your skin ever. so. hungrily.
You didn't know what led you into saying it, but after a moment, you decided to break the silence. "…I don't think you're a bad father."
He looks up at you, opening his mouth to argue otherwise. But stopped when you moved your hand down and touched yourself, rubbing your clit.
“Because if feeling that way towards me makes you a bad father…” You glance down, seeing his erection tenting against his pants. “…Then I'm a bad daughter for wanting it.”
Without another word, you used your free hand to take his and directed it to your hip. You nearly moaned from the feeling of his hand on you, your body ached from how much it missed his touch.
The sound of Kratos' breathing getting heavier made your bones rattle with burning want and need, especially when he presses his thumb against your hip, circling it ever so slowly and intimately.
Your breathing hitches from the sensation, which possibly sent shivers down his spine from the way the tent in his pants twitched slightly.
He moves his hand up close to your breasts, but then paused. “….The kiss…it's—”
You stop him by giving his wrist a squeeze, knowing what he's attempting to say. “I wanted this long before the kiss, father.”
He looks up in shock, caught off guard by your confession.
But you continued. “It started the morning, minutes before you grounded me.” Technically you weren't lying, you did start ogling him that morning. You moved his hand up to your breast. “And looking back, knowing your feelings over the thought of me with this….boy….” You watch as his eyes go intense, a moan escaping your lips as he gave your breast a firm squeeze. “Fuck…it just made you hotter…”
Guess those words made your father snap, because without a second thought, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulls you onto his lap.
Lips crashed against one another, hands exploring each other's bodies. Feelings of the previous kiss returned and amplified — the only difference is that there's no pulling back, no second thoughts, no regrets; just pure animalistic need.
You involuntarily began grinding yourself against his groin, moaning at the friction. He lets out a groan in the kiss, sending shock waves down your spine, making you all-the-more wet for him.
And he knows that too, another groan escaping him as he grabs your hips, stopping you and holding you still as he pulls his face away from you. “Easy…slow yourself down.” He speaks in his stoic tone. “You'll end up making this quicker than we both want it to be….and we'll make a mess.”
Your breathing became very hitched when he caresses your cheek with his hand, “…You know why we can't make a mess?” He questions, clearly testing your knowledge as he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip.
Despite your brain feeling like mush under his touch, you answer. “Messes leads to tracks, and we can't leave tracks if we don't want to be caught.”
“Very good.” He then brings himself closer to you, lips hovering over yours. “I'll fuck you soon enough, just have to prepare you first…”
…Prepare?–
The feeling of Kratos' finger entering you interrupted your mental train of questioning. Your walls swallowed his finger easily, which made him grunt in arousal. “You're taking this easily, aren't you?”
Wordlessly, you nod.
“How about this?” He inserts another finger.
You gasp, hips starting to move against his fingers. Fuck, it almost feels like the size his cock! Especially when he inserts another, fucking you with three of his big fingers, hitting your g-spot over and over with such ease.
Your moans were silenced by his lips crashing against yours, tongue invading and exploring your mouth with wonderous passionate need for you. Stars plagued your vision with each friction against your g-spot, making you ride his fingers and suck on his tongue like a whore.
And for him, you'd gladly be one.
You were getting close, you could tell. So did he apparently, because just as you were a second into becoming undone, he pulls out his fingers from you, making you whine from him not making you cum and the feeling of your walls clenching in his absence.
He pulls away. “You're doing well.” You could hear a slither of smug in his tone. He's enjoying this.
“Please…” You found yourself begging, as pathetic as it sounds. “Κάνε με δικό σου….I'll be a good daughter, I'll stay put…” You didn't even notice yourself dry humping against him. “I'll be your good girl, your small bug….just please…fuck me…” You whimpered, bringing your head down and sliding your tongue across his chest, hands touching his abs. “I need you…I need your cock so badly.”
You could feel his cock straining against his pants, begging to be released.
A squeak leaves you when he grabs you by the chin. “Watch yourself, girl.” He ordered sternly bringing you close to his face. “Doesn't matter what we're doing; no daughter of mine is going to talk like a prostitute. Are we clear?”
You feel yourself swallowing, nodding as you stutter out, “Y-Yes sir…”
You could see him rolling his eyes to the back of his head followed by a soft groan. He didn't know why, but you calling him sir just sounded so different, so….tantalizing.
“That's right,” He mutters lowly in your ear as he begins unbuckling his pants open. “Call me sir.”
A gasp leaves your lips from the feeling of his hard cock springing up against your moist cunt. Gods, you missed that dick so much that the feeling of it against you was driving yourself insane.
“P-Please….” You whimpered, moving yourself against his erection. “P-Please sir…”
You didn't have a moment to plead further as you felt him slowly slipping himself into you. You arches your back and moan from that familiar stretch that you haven't had for far too long.
He gives you a second, assuming you needed some time to adjust — unaware that you've had him stretch you out multiple times before — before he starts his thrusts, slow and careful.
Didn't stop you though as you began moving yourself up and down, riding your father's cock like you've wanted for…what felt like ages to be quite frank.
You watched as his face contort in pleasure, watching the way you grip him. “So tight, μικρό ζωύφιο….” He groan while he brings his face close to your neck. “….my tight little bug.”
He starts kissing your neck, sending shivers up and down your spine. It started off with soft tender kisses, but quickly became rough with him sucking and biting your neck, giving you multiple marks. All while thrusting you with his hard cock.
And you loved it.
After a while, he stops his thrusts, quiet for a moment. Before you could question him, he speaks. “There was no Midgardian boy….was there?”
Shit…oh shit! You started to mentally panic, what do you tell him? What should you tell him? Now he knows what you did, you're done for!
With a defeated sigh and head low, you mutter out a, “No.” out of shame. “I wanted to tell you, swear—”
You jolt when he starts to thrust, hard. Then he thrusts again, and again. You didn't have time to process before he begins ramming his cock in and out of you with such aggression and speed. The sounds of skin slapping together and animalistic fucking echoed, his balls hitting against your ass.
“Oh fuck….oh fuck!” You cried out.
“Should've realized why this tight cunt felt so familiar…” He grunts, gripping your hips tighter as he slams himself harder, his cock getting in deep. “How long?”
Your words came out of sputters, “F-From….u….until y-y-you st-stopped d….d-drinking….”
“Gods.” He groans, smacking your ass and grabbing them tight as he fucked you nice and hard.
And when you came, you came hard to the point where you only saw white for the past few minutes as your body shook and twitch.
He didn't stop however, in fact he kept going, seemingly not caring about the messes anymore. “I've been dreaming about this cunt….” he reaches to bite at her ear. “Just to find out I've been actually fucking it night after night….mmm fuck.”
You were speaking in gibberish at this point, brain too mushy to properly process his words, overwhelmed by the sheer power of your father's animalistic need for his daughter's sopping and weeping pussy.
“I'm going to fuck you, over and over…” He says with labored breaths. “Until your hole knows every single detail of my cock, even when I'm not inside you.”
“Oh (Name)…” He presses soft and tender kisses onto your neck and chin. “What did I do to be blessed with such a good daughter?”
Despite the brutal fucking, you found yourself smiling warmly.
PLZ WRITE MORE KRATOS X READER THERE ARENT ENOUGH FICS ABT HIM
𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒
| synopsis; Kratos is sent by Hephaestus to retrieve a weapon from a goddess—you. to complete it, you demand he escort you to the elemental forge. along the journey, your cocky attitude and sharp tongue push Kratos past restraint.
a/n; you didn’t specify so i assumed any Kratos x reader fic. i had this in my notes for a while now, finally.. ima post it. if the smut is bad, then.. idk fight Zeus about it. also i agree, more Kratos fics from me coming soon.
wc; 4.4k
ꫂ❁| sexual content, rough sex, degradation, dumbification, foreplay (i think), choking (light breath play), spit kink (i think i lost my mind half way with this one), God of War III au, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mild impact (spanking, hair pulling), goddess!reader, younger!Kratos (GOW3), power imbalance, emotionally detached dom!Kratos. 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓! 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅𝐅!
the forge was silent, save for the hissing of molten iron that never truly cooled.
hephaestus’s voice had been rough, worn from centuries of exile. when he told kratos where to go next—to find the goddess of elemental crafting who possessed a key piece to the weapon he needed—his eyes didn’t meet the spartan’s. perhaps it was shame. perhaps it was fear. he knew what kratos did to gods.
still, he sent him to you.
you stood at the edge of your chambers, forged into the hollowed heart of an obsidian mountain, hands stained with soot and starlight. your domain thrived where fire could speak. he found you there, unmoved by his presence.
you had heard of him, of course. the ghost of sparta. the god-slayer. the mortal with olympus under his heel.
you met his glare with your own.
“hephaestus sent you,” you said, voice honey-thick but firm. “and i assume you’re here for the blade.”
he gave no answer. just a grunt. jaw tense, lips slightly parted with restraint. red war paint still fresh against the raw heat of your forge.
your gaze dropped briefly to the blood smudged along his chest. then rose again to his eyes. unflinching.
you didn’t like him.
you didn’t hate him, either.
but he was loud in silence. he was violence made flesh. and he was standing in your territory like he had already won.
“you won’t get it here,” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “i forged the base long ago, but to finish it, i need to bring it to the source. and that’s not something i’m doing alone.”
his brow twitched.
“escort me,” you said. “keep the beasts at bay. i’ll complete what hephaestus started. simple.”
another long stare. another breath laced with judgment. he clearly didn’t want to play courier for a goddess.
“you have no choice, kratos.”
the name fell from your lips sharper than a blade, and it curled the corners of his mouth downward, as if your voice itself offended him.
“then move quickly.”
you didn’t thank him. and he didn’t wait for you. he turned, jaw set, and began walking the path back out of your chambers.
the journey should have been short. but the land between you and the forge-source was cursed with broken terrain, lingering titan blood, and creatures crawling from the ashes of cronos’s fall. it had been days since he’d climbed the chain that pierced the sky. and you had no sympathy for the exhaustion in his limbs.
still, he protected you.
more out of necessity than care.
you took your time.
on purpose.
because it annoyed him.
and gods, it was so easy to irritate him.
you questioned him, challenged him, even walked ahead of him on purpose. called him “champion” instead of “kratos,” just to see that tight flicker of annoyance cross his features. sometimes you’d pause to adjust your clothing—tighter fitting than necessary—and make no effort to hide how you enjoyed his gaze dropping for the briefest second.
“i didn’t know the spartan could blush.”
he didn’t respond. just tightened his grip on the blades chained to his arms.
still, he followed.
he killed for you.
and when your path brought you to a broken cliff, the only way across being a chain-walk over lava-burnt rocks, you stood near the edge and looked back at him.
“afraid of heights?” you asked, teasing.
his silence answered. and he stepped forward, taking the lead.
you smirked.
but the ground shook before either of you crossed.
another beast—twisted, skin pulled back over bone like melted wax—slammed through the rocks behind you. before you could summon a defense, it was kratos that moved. fast. brutal. he slammed his shoulder into you, not gently, and sent you skidding behind him just in time for the claws to rake air where your throat had been.
you rose to your feet, spitting stone dust, and shouted, “watch it!”
but he didn’t respond.
he was already moving.
already ripping the beast in half.
you stared as blood painted his skin and the air stilled.
“you could’ve warned me.”
“you were too slow.”
he finally spoke.
it was gravel. tight. low. not just annoyance. it was seething.
“maybe i would’ve been faster if i didn’t have to deal with your barking all day.”
you stiffened.
he turned to face you. chest heaving. eyes like smoke. his teeth clenched as he breathed through his nose, sharp and loud.
you took a step forward.
“what?” you hissed. “you don’t like a woman who talks back?”
his stare burned.
you wanted him angry. but you didn’t expect the heat behind his eyes to pin you so fast.
“you are loud,” he growled. “and reckless.”
“and you are quiet. and blind.”
his brow twitched.
you didn’t stop.
“you came here like you owned the forge. like your name alone would open every gate. you think strength is enough? there’s power in control, spartan. something you don’t have.”
his jaw clenched. he stepped forward once, twice, until your back hit the cliff wall. you refused to flinch. even with his broad chest nearly brushing yours, even when his breath was warm and angry against your cheek.
“you will speak,” he said low, “only when necessary.”
your heart pounded. but you didn’t look away.
“then shut me up.”
he didn’t move.
but the air between you had already ignited.
his eyes didn’t move from yours.
you tried to hold the line, to keep that familiar sharpness in your mouth, but the heat in his stare made your knees pulse. you hated how easily he read you. how easily he could command without saying a word.
and when he moved—
he didn’t ask.
his hand came up and gripped your jaw, not cruel, but firm—thumb dragging over your lower lip before pushing inside. your breath caught. not in fear. but from how hard you clenched at the dominance in that motion alone.
his body was against yours. towering. thick. unyielding muscle flush to your front. you’d taunted him for days. you deserved this. and he was going to make sure you remembered it.
“open.”
he didn’t say it loud.
but you obeyed.
his thumb pressed down on your tongue, slow, and the sound that left his throat was almost a growl—not satisfaction. warning. you’d crossed something. and now he would return it.
you were pulled away from the cliff wall and turned. fast.
your back hit the stone again, chest pressed tight against it. his hand on the back of your neck, large enough to wrap your throat without effort.
you let out a low, cocky breath—“you’re finally showing some fire—”
but your voice broke when you felt his mouth at the base of your neck. not kissing. biting.
you gasped, but he didn’t let go. instead, his free hand grabbed your hips, pulling them harshly into his front. you felt all of him. all of him. thick, heavy, fully hard—pinned right against your ass through his gear.
you rolled your hips once. smug.
“this because i talk too much?” you murmured, voice defiant.
he didn’t answer.
instead, his mouth trailed lower—lips hot against your spine, down the curve of your back, teeth dragging along the ridges of your skin like he meant to mark every part of you.
then he dropped to his knees behind you.
you opened your mouth to speak.
but then he pulled your hips back.
and his mouth met your cunt like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
you choked on a moan. hands flattening against the stone wall.
his tongue worked you open in slow, punishing strokes—wet and warm and deep, his nose pressed to the crease of you as he devoured without mercy. one arm wrapped under your thigh, lifting it slightly to open you more, while his mouth moved with disgusting, feral hunger.
no gentleness.
no praise.
just heat and purpose.
he grunted against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and your back arched hard enough that your cheek scraped the rock.
you tried to steady your breath, to keep your voice from breaking.
“fuck—kratos, you—”
he slapped your ass.
hard.
you yelped.
then his teeth grazed your clit, not biting—but warning. again.
you were already dripping, thighs trembling.
he licked once more—long and slow and mean—then stood.
your legs nearly gave.
“already weak?” he murmured, voice dark and low against your ear. “and i haven’t even put it in you.”
your heart slammed against your ribs.
you turned your face slightly, daring enough to speak through breathless lips—“maybe you’re just too slow.”
his growl was low. dangerous.
you smiled.
then gasped as his hand wrapped around your throat and bent you against the wall. the force not cruel, but claiming. his other hand yanked down what little armor you wore from behind, and you didn’t get a second to breathe before the blunt, massive head of his cock dragged between your folds.
you whimpered.
and he hadn’t even pushed in yet.
you tried to mouth something—maybe a warning, maybe defiance—
but then he thrust.
deep. thick. brutal.
you screamed.
the stretch was insane—hot, splitting, your hands clawing at the wall for any grip. he held you still by your throat and his other hand splayed across your stomach, pulling you onto him even deeper.
he didn’t wait.
he set a brutal rhythm instantly—hips snapping into you hard, over and over, the slap of skin against skin echoing off the cavern walls. you tried to speak but nothing came out, just moans choked by his hand and your own shaking breath.
“look at you now.”
his voice curled against your ear, low and smug and feral.
“couldn’t shut up for a day.”
slap.
his hips drove into you again, deeper than before.
“now all you do is moan.”
you cried out, body folding under each thrust.
he fucked you like punishment. like payback. like he’d been holding this back for hours. days.
and he didn’t let up.
his hand left your neck only to grab your hair—pulling your head back, making you arch, forcing your body to take every inch of him.
you tried to say his name.
tried to taunt again.
but you couldn’t even think.
all you could do was tremble as he pounded into you, deep and rough, each thrust punching breath from your lungs.
you felt him spit—hot against your back—and his palm spread it down your spine, pressing hard between your shoulder blades to bend you deeper.
your knees nearly buckled.
“dumb thing,” he hissed, teeth close again. “thought you were in control.”
you moaned loud at that. too loud.
he grunted.
“you like this. you like being ruined.”
you nodded.
barely.
you couldn’t help it.
and he didn’t stop.
his pace didn’t slow.
not when you clenched, not when you gasped his name through broken sounds, not even when you started to fall forward, arms trembling too hard to hold you against the wall anymore.
he held you up. he made you stay there—bent, stretched open, every thrust carving a new place in you.
he finished.
with a grunt so deep it vibrated through your bones, he slammed in deep, the heat of his release coating your insides. thick. so much. it spilled the second he pulled back—and he watched it drip.
but he didn’t stop.
you whimpered as he pushed back in, his cock already half-hard again—but growing fast. filling. stretching. your legs kicked weakly, and he grabbed your hips and dragged you back onto him again.
“kratos—”
you tried to form a thought. anything.
he didn’t let you.
“shut up.”
his hand found your throat again.
your eyes rolled.
he thrust harder. deeper. slick now from his cum and yours, making the sound between your bodies filthy—wet, obscene, echoing louder than your gasps.
you had no rhythm left. no breath. your mouth hung open, drool sliding down your chin as he pounded into you with no mercy.
“you feel that?” his voice was low, dark, a growl dragging against your spine. “how full you are? how easy it is now?”
you moaned, almost sobbed.
“you’ll take it again.”
he slammed forward.
“and again.”
another. brutal.
“until that smart little mouth forgets how to speak.”
you couldn’t even nod.
you were gone.
mind numb. thoughts scattered. dumb.
his spit hit the side of your cheek. hot. it dripped down the edge of your jaw. you didn’t even flinch.
he grabbed your hair, yanked your head back so your mouth opened again, and he leaned close—tongue brushing your ear.
“say thank you.”
you gasped.
he thrust.
you screamed.
“thank you,” you moaned, “thank you, thank you—”
he laughed once.
once.
then he flipped you.
your back hit the stone, knees barely holding under you. he dragged your legs up, hiked one over his shoulder, and drove in again.
you clawed at the ground. body convulsing. already overstimulated. already soaked. the stretch burned, but your cunt fluttered around him with every motion.
you tried to twist your hips.
you tried to sass.
to speak.
but your voice was only moans now. high. shattered.
his thrusts went deeper.
he looked down at you—smug, controlled. still silent except for the way he breathed.
those eyes stayed on yours.
that heat. that domination without words.
you came again.
and again.
you don’t remember how many times. your body shook, core pulsing around him. your mind blank. lips parted and drooling as he filled you again, the thick mess of him leaking from your hole down your thighs.
you choked, nearly sobbing.
he never stopped.
just kept you open. kept you taking him.
“look at you now.”
his hand gripped your jaw. forcing your eyes to stay on his.
“nothing but a hole to fuck.”
you moaned at that.
you weren’t even ashamed.
his thrusts slowed.
deep now. dragging inside you, twisting.
your thighs trembled around his hips.
his cock was soaked. drenched. swollen from how much he’d used you already.
you tried to speak.
nothing came out.
his hand gripped your face. smearing spit across your lips.
“say something,” he said, low. mocking.
you barely swallowed.
“please.”
his brow raised.
“please what?”
“please… more.”
he smirked.
he gripped your hips again.
you felt your own slick, his cum, everything soaking between your legs, sliding down the backs of your thighs in thick, warm trails. and still—still—he was inside you. pulsing. hard.
your muscles twitched with every shallow thrust. overstimulated. trembling.
your body couldn’t even tense anymore. it just took it.
“you begged,” he said low. “but you didn’t mean it.”
his hand came around your throat again—not squeezing this time. just holding. just owning.
“you wanted more. and now you have it.”
he fucked you deeper.
not faster. deeper.
cruel in how slow he went. drawing out the stretch, letting you feel every inch of him as if he wanted to brand the shape of his cock into your body forever.
you made a soft, broken noise.
it wasn’t a moan.
it wasn’t even a word.
just air.
and he groaned at the sound of it.
your mind had gone numb hours ago. your body jerked with each thrust, but there was no resistance anymore. your hands were limp above your head. your eyes rolled back as your mouth hung open, lips raw from biting them.
you didn’t talk.
you couldn’t.
you were all feeling now. nothing else. no pride. no sharp tongue. just kratos—between your legs, over your body, inside you, claiming what he wanted again and again and again.
and he didn’t kiss you.
he didn’t whisper anything sweet.
he grunted as he thrust hard—deep—and finished inside you again.
you gasped as the heat flooded you.
you twitched. legs kicked slightly. your cunt spasmed so tight around him it pulled another noise from his throat.
he stayed there.
buried deep.
you weren’t sure how long.
your eyes fluttered. half-closed.
you didn’t feel like a goddess.
you felt like a vessel. one he’d used up. like your power had poured out with each thrust and now all that was left was this: aching. wet. breathless.
he didn’t pull out right away.
his eyes met yours.
you looked up at him, mouth parted, cheeks streaked with tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen.
you blinked once.
his thumb brushed your chin. not gentle. not soft.
just steady.
a mark of control.
his eyes flicked down your body—slick, red from friction, bruises blooming where his hands had held too tight. your chest rose in shallow, near-panic breaths, the edges of you still clenching like you thought he might start again.
he didn’t.
not yet.
his hand moved to your stomach.
pressed flat.
he watched your twitching thighs.
he leaned down close, mouth barely grazing your ear.
“if you speak again,” he murmured, “it’ll be with my cock still inside you.”
you shivered.
you didn’t respond.
smart girl.
he finally pulled out. slow. the sound obscene.
your breath stuttered.
his cum poured out of you—thick, endless, leaking down onto the stone.
you whimpered.
but he said nothing more.
he stood over you. towering. body still flushed with blood and heat and muscle tensed, battle-ready.
but he didn’t touch you again.
he didn’t help you up.
he left you there. sprawled on the stone, legs spread, mouth open, soaked through and used, as he turned and began gathering the armor he’d cast off somewhere during the second round.
your body ached.
your brain was silent.
no more wit.
no more teeth.
you stared at the ceiling of the cavernous tunnel, chest rising slow.
Hello! Idk if your requests are open but if they are could I request a Kratos x fem!reader where R is very soft hearted?? I had such a shitty day today bc i keep letting people get to my head and always end up crying about it omg, I’d love to see Kratos w someone like that, like just gentle and soft spoken.
Happy new year!! Much love to you
✿Dry Your Eyes✿
✿ Word Count: 7942 Read Time: 25-30Min
✿ Summary: Kratos loves his lady and hates to see her cry.
✿ Warnings: Fem Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Post Ragnarök, Fluffy, Kratos is Protective, Established Marriage
✿ Rating: PG-13
✿ Notes: Not Proofread
The cabin was quiet without him. Too quiet. The crackle of the hearth filled the silence, but even that felt thin, fragile, as if it too might snap under the weight pressing on her chest. She sat at the wooden table with the kettle in her lap, its jagged crack running deep across the side. Her fingers fumbled with twine, pitch, anything she could find, trying to piece it together like a wound she could stitch shut.
It was pointless. She knew it. But still, she tried.
The kettle had slipped from her hands that morning, shattering against the floor. It had been nothing, really, kettles break, things can be replaced. But it was the last straw in a day that had been determined to unravel her. The chores had fought her every step of the way: the wash-basin leaked, the goats scattered, the wood pile collapsed twice before she could stack it. Small troubles, one on top of another, until her patience wore thin and her chest was heavy.
So she had gone to the village. She told herself she’d find a new kettle, perhaps even take comfort in seeing faces other than her own reflected in the dishes she’d scrubbed spotless earlier. Instead, she had found only whispers and stares. Words that cut without meaning to, or worse, words meant to cut.
Her throat tightened at the memory. She had walked away quickly, head down, clutching her basket though it was empty. She had made it home before the tears came, hiding them in the hollow safety of the cabin walls. He wouldn’t be home until nightfall, she had thought. She had time to compose herself, to swallow this weakness down and bury it.
But still the tears had come.
Now, she sat with damp lashes and a trembling lip, scolding herself in whispers as she tried to mend the kettle.
“Big baby,” she muttered, voice thick. “Crying over a broken dish, tch, pathetic.”
Her hands shook as she pressed the pieces together, as though her own will might force them to hold. The kettle wobbled, the twine slipped, and it fell apart again in her lap. The sharp clatter of shards against the floor echoed through the cabin, louder than thunder.
She flinched, pressing her sleeve to her eyes before the tears could spill over again. “Stop it. Stop. It’s nothing.”
She pushed back from the table so quickly that the chair scraped harshly against the floor. The sound pierced the silence, but it didn’t matter. Her chest burned too hot, too tight to sit still. She began to pace the length of the cabin, arms wrapping around herself as if she could hold the pieces of her heart together the way she tried with the broken kettle.
Her breath hitched in her throat. She forced herself to breathe slowly, deep, like Kratos always told her when panic clawed its way too close, but the air came sharp and stuttering anyway.
The villagers’ words echoed louder in her mind than they ever had in the square. Their narrowed eyes. She hated herself for letting them matter. For letting strangers peel back her confidence like it was nothing more than paper. She had survived so much, endured so much, how could a handful of careless words cut deeper than any blade?
Her throat thickened again, tears prickling. She pressed her palms to her eyes, furious with herself. “Enough,” she hissed into the hollow of her hands. “You’re pathetic. Crying over nothing. Over strangers. He would hate if he saw you like this.”
She shook her head, pacing faster, trying to outrun the weight pressing down on her ribs. Shame coiled in her gut until she could hardly stand upright. She told herself she was undeserving of his love, of his protection, of the life they’d built. That he deserved someone stronger, someone unshaken by whispers in a marketplace.
And in that moment, she didn’t hear the heavy tread of boots in the snow. She didn’t hear the steady creak of the cabin door opening.
The door creaked open, and the cold breath of the evening swept into the cabin ahead of him. She startled, spinning toward the sound, her sleeve swiping hurriedly across her damp cheeks.
“Kratos!” Her voice rose too brightly, too quickly, forcing a cheerfulness that sounded brittle in the quiet. She turned from the hearth, smoothing her skirts as though nothing had happened. “You’re home earlier than I thought.”
He stood framed in the doorway, the great bulk of him filling it. A fresh-killed doe hung heavy over his shoulder, but he let it drop just outside before closing the door behind him. His eyes, sharp and dark, swept the room once. The broken kettle on the table. The uneven breath she tried to swallow. The false smile clinging to her lips.
He moved to her in three great strides, and her heart leapt into her throat.
“Show me,” he rumbled, voice low but commanding.
She blinked, forcing a laugh that trembled at the edges. “Show you? There’s nothing-”
“Do not lie.” His eyes narrowed, scanning her hands, her arms, the folds of her dress. He caught her wrists gently but firmly in his calloused hands and turned them over, as though expecting blood or glass buried in her skin.
“Kratos, I-”
“You broke the kettle.” His voice carried no accusation, only the heavy certainty of a man stating what he already knew. “I heard you. You have hurt yourself trying to repair it.” His thumb brushed across her palm, rough but careful. “Where?”
The scolding edge in his tone made her chest ache more than any wound could. He was not angry; he was afraid. She had seen that fear before, masked behind his sternness.
“I-I’m not hurt.” Her voice cracked despite herself. She lifted her chin, blinking back the last of the tears, hoping he couldn’t see how red her eyes were.
But of course, he could.
His towering frame bent closer, his shadow falling over her as his face drew level with hers. Even softened by worry, his features were carved from stone, but his eyes betrayed him, dark with an anxious gleam that pierced straight through her defenses.
“You must be more careful,” he said quietly, though the weight of his words felt like an embrace. “Do not take risks over such things. I would not have you harmed.”
Her lips trembled, and this time, she couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked down at their hands, small and trembling in his, his were broad and unyielding, yet gentle. Her throat tightened, not from shame now, but from the sheer force of love swelling in her chest.
He worried for her. Even when she tried to hide, even when she told herself she wasn’t worth worrying over, he always saw her.
She swallowed, willing her voice to steady. “The kettle, I dropped it this morning,” she admitted softly, unable to meet his eyes. “I didn’t expect it to be so heavy, even empty. It slipped, and-” she gestured helplessly toward the shards still resting on the table, “-it was my mistake.”
Kratos’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing, letting her speak.
“I thought I could replace it,” she continued quickly, hoping to push past the quiver in her voice. “I went to the village, but they had none. So I came back with nothing.” She forced a small laugh, brittle around the edges. “I suppose I let my frustration get the better of me. That’s all.”
Her fingers twisted in the hem of her sleeve, desperate to keep her composure. “I just feel bad. It was the only way we could brew proper stews, and now-now we’ll have to find some other way to cook what you’ve brought home.”
At that, she dared to glance up at him, only to find his gaze fixed on her, steady and unreadable. She knew that look; it meant he was weighing her words, sifting through what she said and what she left unsaid.
His silence stretched for a long moment before he finally shook his head. “We have cooked without it before,” he said simply, his voice a low rumble that carried no judgment.
Her chest tightened. She wanted to believe the conversation would end there, that he would take her excuse and let it rest. But his eyes lingered on her damp lashes, on the faint tremble in her voice, and she knew he didn’t believe her. Not entirely.
Kratos’s hand lifted, large and warm, brushing briefly over her cheek. The calloused pad of his thumb caught the faint trace of a tear she had missed. His jaw tightened, though his voice stayed calm.
“This is not cause for such sorrow.”
Her lips parted, a protest rising, but no words came. She only looked at him, towering over her, whose stern voice disguised a heart too tender where she was concerned. He had seen through her once again.
Her silence stretched too long. She opened her mouth, closed it again. Her eyes darted toward the broken pot, then back to the floor.
Kratos’s jaw hardened. “You are holding something back.”
She shook her head quickly. “I told you, it was only the pot-”
“No.” His voice cut through hers, low and firm. “I know when you lie to me.”
Her heart lurched. “I’m not lying,” she insisted, though the words tasted weak even as they left her lips. “I just- Kratos, it isn’t worth bothering you with. I’ve already wasted enough of your time today-”
He leaned closer, his massive frame eclipsing hers, his voice tightening with quiet authority. “You are my wife. Nothing you carry is a burden I will not share.”
She flinched at the tenderness hidden in his words. But still she turned away, pressing her sleeve against her eyes again. “It’s childish. I’ll sound foolish. I don’t want to make this your problem-”
His hand closed gently but firmly around her wrist, pulling it from her face so she had to meet his gaze. His eyes burned steadily into hers. “Your problem is our problem.”
Her chest hitched, shame rising in her throat. “You’ll think I’m weak.”
“I have fought gods, monsters, kings.” His voice rumbled, steady and sure. “And yet you think I could be troubled by your tears?”
She bit her lip hard, fighting the wobble in her voice. “You don’t understand. It’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassed. I can’t- I can’t tell you without feeling pathetic.”
His brows drew together, a frown heavy with both frustration and worry. “You think I would ever see you so?”
She didn’t answer. The silence hung between them like a blade.
Kratos let out a slow, restrained growl of exasperation. “Enough of this. Speak the truth. Do not deny me again.”
The command in his voice clashed against the gentleness in his eyes, and she trembled in the middle, torn between her shame and the unshakable certainty of his love.
She sighed, her shoulders sinking as the fight drained out of her. Her eyes slipped away from his, settling somewhere near his chest where she could feel his warmth without enduring the weight of his stare.
“Something did trouble me,” she admitted quietly. “While I was in the village.”
Kratos’s brow furrowed, but he stayed silent, waiting.
She shook her head quickly before he could press. “I don’t want to speak of it. Not now. It’s nothing, truly. I’m sure I’m just overreacting.” Her mouth twisted into a humorless little smile, brittle and aching. “You know how I get. Tears over little things. I’m a hopeless case.”
Kratos’s eyes narrowed, a deep rumble in his chest betraying his displeasure at her jest. “Do not mock yourself.”
But she forced the weak smile anyway, shaking her head. “It isn’t something I want to drag you into. Please, just understand that I’m fine. I only need time to calm myself before I can speak of it.” She finally dared to look up, eyes shining, though her smile trembled. “Tonight, I don’t want to think about it. Let’s have a peaceful meal instead, hm? Talk of lighter things.”
The silence stretched, his gaze weighing her words. She could almost hear the storm turning behind his dark eyes, the battle between his demand for truth and his respect for her will.
At last, he exhaled, a long, reluctant rumble. “Hmph.”
His hand slid from her wrist, but not before his thumb brushed once more over the back of her hand, a silent tether, a reminder that he was not letting go, not really.
“You may keep your silence for tonight,” he said, his voice low and stern. “But hear me, woman: I would shield you from all things that would harm you. All things.” His gaze bore into hers, fierce and unyielding. “Do not forget this.”
Her chest ached, but this time, not with shame. She nodded, the smallest of smiles breaking through as her hand lingered in his. “I know,” she whispered. “And that is why I love you.”
She cleared her throat, eager to catch the thread of a different subject. “And you? How was your hunt?” she asked, turning to gather the knives and board he would need to dress the deer. The change in her tone was deliberate, too bright, like sunlight forcing its way through clouds.
But she hadn’t taken more than two steps when his hand caught her arm, not harshly, but with the quiet strength that always rooted her in place. She looked back at him in surprise, only to find his face softened in a way that words could never capture.
Wordlessly, he pulled her to him.
Her breath hitched as she melted into his embrace. His arms, broad and unyielding, wrapped around her with the kind of safety no walls could provide. She pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart, and for the first time all day, she felt her own heartbeat slow, steadying to his rhythm.
Her hands fisted in the fabric of his leather shoulder guard as she let herself lean into him fully, surrendering her weight into his. His chin lowered just enough that his beard brushed her hairline, rough yet tender in the way only he could be.
When she tilted her face up, he was already looking down at her, eyes dark but softened at the edges. The kiss that followed was unhurried, slow, deliberate, filled with the same gravity as the first they had ever shared. His lips pressed against hers as though the whole world had narrowed to just this moment.
She sighed into him, her smile blooming against his mouth. Her first real smile of the day.
Kratos’s expression barely changed when they parted, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed his satisfaction. He had succeeded in what he set out to do: to lift the shadow from her heart, even if just for now.
Kratos did not let go. His arms remained locked around her, the weight of his presence steady and immovable. For a long moment, he simply held her, his silence heavier than words.
When he finally moved, it wasn’t to release her, but to thread his hand through her hair, thick fingers combing gently from crown to nape. The motion was awkward, almost uncertain, as though he feared mishandling something so delicate, but it was steady, careful, and achingly tender.
A low grumble rumbled in his chest. “I do not like it,” he muttered. “Seeing you unhappy.”
She smiled against his chest, the sound of his voice vibrating through her cheek. “You’re sulking,” she teased softly. “Like a bear denied his supper.”
His only reply was another grumble, deeper this time, which made her laugh, a small, bright sound that pushed back the heaviness in her chest. She tipped her head back to look up at him, mischief sparking faintly in her eyes despite the redness around them.
“You’re a big, scary softy,” she whispered, her smile widening.
Kratos’s brow arched slightly, the closest he came to a glare when he wasn’t truly angry. “Soft,” he echoed, testing the word like it was a weapon unfit for his hand.
“Yes,” she answered, her grin playful, though her voice was warm. “Soft. And mine.”
His jaw worked, his expression unreadable, but the faintest flicker at the corner of his mouth betrayed him, a ghost of a smile hidden beneath his stoic mask. He huffed through his nose and tightened his embrace, pressing her closer against him. “Hmph. Then I am yours.”
And though he would not say it aloud, the truth sat heavy and certain in his heart: if being hers meant being soft, then so be it.
Once, in another life, he might have welcomed an audience. A younger Kratos had been proud, violent, and all too willing to prove his strength to anyone who dared watch. But those days were long gone. Now, in the quiet of the Wildwoods, he had no appetite for eyes upon him.
He was silently grateful for it tonight.
Atreus was far away, exploring the realms, chasing his own path. Mimir was not perched by the table in front of his book, running his mouth with endless commentary. Sigrún had spirited him away just yesterday, and though neither Kratos nor his wife would dare ask outright, both suspected the pair was off on some romantic venture of their own.
It left only the two of them here. Alone.
And with no one around to tease him for his softness, save, of course, for the woman in his arms, Kratos let himself indulge.
His head dipped lower, his beard brushing against her cheek as his mouth found hers again. The kiss was firm, insistent, and when she giggled against his lips, he chased the sound with another. And another. Until the laughter turned breathless, until her teasing dissolved into nothing but the warmth of his mouth and the steady strength of his embrace.
“Kratos!” she laughed, trying half-heartedly to push against his chest. “You’ll smother me.”
He grunted, unimpressed, and kissed her again, slow this time, deliberate, savoring the sweetness he would never admit aloud he craved every waking second.
Her hands curled against his shoulders, her smile blooming wide even as she pretended to scold him. “You are hopeless,” she murmured, eyes shining now not from tears but from joy.
“Mm,” he rumbled against her lips, the faintest curl of satisfaction ghosting across his face. “Perhaps.”
For a long moment, they simply held one another, breathing in the quiet that belonged only to them. Her fingers traced the edges of his tattoo, his hand rested broad against her back, and in the glow of the hearth, their eyes lingered, unhurried.
At last, Kratos broke the silence, his voice low and rough, as though he had to force the words through stone. “Earlier, you said you love me.” Her smile softened, patient. He dipped his head slightly, his dark eyes never leaving hers. “I love you very much, as well.”
The words came slowly, deliberately, heavy with all the weight of a man who was still learning the power of saying them aloud. Once, he had believed actions alone were enough, the protection of his sword, the roof over their heads, the game brought home to the hearth. But she had taught him otherwise. She, Atreus, even the friends who had come into his life despite his gruff exterior, they had shown him that words mattered too. That sometimes, a heart needed to hear what hands alone could not say.
She swooned at once, her smile breaking into something radiant as her hands lifted to cradle his face. “Oh, Kratos,” she whispered, before kissing him sweetly, tenderly, like she was sealing his words to her heart.
When she pulled back, her lips still brushed against his as she whispered, “I love you too.” Then, with a sly grin, she added, “More than you love me.”
Kratos’s brow arched, his only reply a grumble from deep in his chest, the kind that sounded like displeasure but hid the truth too poorly.
She giggled, knowing she’d struck him true, and kissed him again.
And though his face betrayed only mock annoyance, inside he was undone, swooning, though he would never dare call it that. She could tell, though, by the glimmer in his eyes.
Their quiet was broken by a sudden chorus of growls, yips, and excited scrabbling claws just outside the door. Both of them turned toward the sound.
She gasped. “The wolves!”
Kratos grunted, already knowing what had happened. He had dropped the doe just outside the cabin, and his loyal sled dogs- wolves, though she stubbornly insisted on calling them her “sweet pups”- had wasted no time in finding it.
She pressed her hands to her mouth, eyes wide with dismay. “Oh, Kratos, if they drag it to pieces right there, we’ll never get the front step clean again!” Her voice was full of flustered worry, though her smile betrayed her affection. “And there’ll be hardly anything left for us.”
“Hmph.” Kratos let out a low, reluctant sound and finally eased his arms from around her. “Stay.”
She chuckled softly at the command, but didn’t argue as he stepped outside.
The wolves yipped louder when he appeared, dancing around the deer with wagging tails and eager teeth. They had once pulled his sled through the endless snow of Fimbulwinter, but since Ragnarök had come and gone, and the deep ice receded, they had remained here as companions. Loyal. Fierce. His family, in their way.
Still, they were gluttons.
Kratos drove them back with a sharp command, then bent to drag the carcass around the cabin toward the wolf pen. The animals bounded after him, circling and whining with excitement. Inside the pen, he dropped the deer and, with practiced ease, drew his knife. The blade cut swiftly through flesh, and with a single fluid motion, he separated enough meat for two hearty meals. The rest he left for the wolves, who leapt upon the gift with unrestrained joy.
By the time he returned to the cabin, hands full with his portion, their chorus had shifted to happy growls and the messy sounds of a feast.
Inside, she had cleared the counter, laying out knives and bowls for him to work with. The fire in the hearth crackled, and the air already smelled faintly of herbs she had fetched to season their supper. She turned when he entered, smiling now with no trace of tears left in her eyes.
“Well,” she said brightly, brushing her hands together. “I suppose everyone will eat well tonight.”
Kratos set the venison on the counter with a solid thump. “Hmph. Everyone.”
His tone was gruff, but the corner of his mouth softened as she stepped closer, brushing her hand along his arm in quiet thanks.
She stepped close as he set to work, slipping her arms briefly around his middle and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. The brush of her lips left him still for half a breath, though his hands never faltered as he drew the knife through the hide with practiced ease.
“Thank you,” she murmured softly, her words brushing warm against his ear. “For always providing for us.”
His brow furrowed, but he did not turn. He only gave a low hum in his chest, the sound deep and quiet, accepting her gratitude in the way he always did when she always insisted on thanking him for what he felt was the bare minimum. He did not need words; the weight of his presence, the steady rhythm of his work, was answer enough.
Still, her smile lingered as she turned to the hearth, retrieved the iron spit that sat across the fire, and brought it back to the counter beside him. She took a bowl and prepared herbs and seasonings, crushing them together to later rub over the meat before roasting it. The smell of herbs soon filled the air, mingling with the rich scent of venison as Kratos worked behind her, the scrape of his knife on bone a steady, grounding sound.
For a while, neither spoke. It was a silence that had once been uncomfortable, but now, after years of learning each other, it was a silence full of peace. A silence that said more than words could.
She hummed softly under her breath as she skewered the ready meat beside her, her voice light again at last. The fire crackled, the wolves outside still gorged themselves happily, and within the little cabin, there was only warmth.
Kratos glanced at her then, just once, his stoic face betraying nothing to the world, yet in the dark of his eyes there was satisfaction. She had smiled, laughed, kissed him, teased him, and now she hummed while preparing their meal. Whatever shadows had touched her earlier, he had driven them back.
And that, to him, was victory enough.
Once the venison was skewered, she dusted it with the herbs she’d prepared earlier, salt, thyme, and a pinch of something sweet she’d dried from the summer past. Her hands moved tenderly, rubbing the seasonings deep into the meat until her fingertips carried the scent of it.
When she finished, Kratos took the spit from her hands with ease and lowered it into place over the fire. The iron creaked as it settled into the grooves, and the flames licked eagerly at the fresh offering.
She dragged a chair closer, the legs scraping across the wooden floor, and patted the seat with a little smile. “Sit,” she said warmly, echoing the same tone he often used with her.
He gave her a look, one brow raising ever so slightly, but did as she asked. The chair groaned beneath his weight, and he leaned forward, massive hands gripping the spit as he turned it with slow, practiced movements.
The firelight glowed across his face, softening the sharpness of his scarred features. The scent of roasting venison began to fill the cabin, rich and mouthwatering.
She settled beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushed against his arm as she leaned forward on the table, her cheek resting in her hand. Her eyes softened, watching him spin the spit with the same care he gave to wielding a blade.
For a long while, the only sounds were the fire’s crackle, the hiss of fat dripping into the flames, and the steady rhythm of his hand turning the meat so it would not burn. And in that quiet, with the wolves content outside and the storm in her heart long passed, the cabin felt like the safest place in all the realms.
By the time the venison was cooked through, the cabin was filled with its rich, savory scent. Kratos lifted the spit from the fire, setting it across the board she had readied. Together they carved thick slices of meat, steam curling up into the rafters, and laid them onto wooden plates. She fetched the bread she had baked that morning, still soft within, and a small jar of preserved berries to sweeten the meal.
They sat side by side at the table, firelight flickering across the wood. For a while, they ate in companionable quiet, the kind of silence that had grown familiar and comforting between them.
It was she who broke it, as she always did. “You’ve a smudge of ash on your cheek,” she teased gently, pointing with her fork.
Kratos grunted without looking up. “It does not matter.”
She reached across the table to brush her thumb against his cheek, smudging away the ash. “There,” she said softly. “Perfect.” He hummed, gruff but satisfied, and returned to his food.
The conversation turned lighter as she told him a story about a squirrel that had nearly stolen their drying herbs, waving her hands in animated gestures, while he listened with a faint shake of his head. When she imitated the squirrel’s chattering, he gave a sound that might have been a chuckle, though he masked it with another bite of venison.
She gasped dramatically. “Was that a laugh, Kratos?”
“No.”
“It was,” she said triumphantly, her grin widening. “I heard it. Admit it!”
He only grumbled into his plate, but she laughed harder, leaning against his arm as though she had won some great battle.
And so the evening passed, soft talk, small smiles, the fire’s warmth and the comfort of full bellies. Her tears were forgotten, her heart light again. And though Kratos’s face betrayed little, he carried a quiet, fierce contentment. For he had brought her back from sorrow, and in her laughter, he had found peace of his own.
The sun had barely crested the treeline when the steady thunk of an axe echoed through the small clearing that was their front yard. Kratos stood before the woodpile, bare-armed in the chill air, the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing with each swing. The axe bit deep into the logs, splitting them clean with the force of his strike. He bent, gathered the halves, and stacked them neatly bark side up, before setting another upon the block.
From the doorway, she leaned against the frame, wrapped in her shawl. Her eyes softened as she watched him work, steam curling faintly from her mug of morning tea.
For a moment, she only admired him in silence—the towering figure of her husband, the God of Hope, now simply a man at peace in the Wildwoods. The memory of yesterday’s tears felt far away, dulled by the safety she felt now.
He paused mid-swing when he sensed her gaze, head turning just enough to catch her in the corner of his eye.
“You should be warm,” he rumbled, lowering the axe and planting it in the block.
She smiled gently into her cup. “And you should rest once in a while. But I don’t see that happening either.”
He gave a low huff, somewhere between amusement and disapproval, and turned back to the wood. She stepped down from the doorway, crossing the dew-dusted earth until she reached him. Without a word, she set her tea aside, plucked one of the smaller pieces of wood from the pile, and set it on the block.
Kratos raised a brow at her in silent question.
She lifted her chin stubbornly. “You split. I’ll stack. Teamwork.”
His lips pressed into a line, but the faintest spark glinted in his eyes before he lifted the axe once more.
The next swing split the log neatly in two, and she scooped up the pieces with a smile, setting them on the stack. Side by side, in the crisp morning light, they worked together, quiet, steady, content.
They worked together in quiet rhythm. The pile grew, neat and orderly, each piece settled in its place with care. The air was crisp, the ground still damp with morning dew, but the labor kept them warm.
Yet Kratos’s thoughts were elsewhere.
Every swing of the axe carried with it the memory of her tear-streaked face, the tremble in her voice, the shame in her eyes as she tried to laugh it away. She had smiled for him since, teased him, kissed him, laughed at his grumbling, but it nagged at him. It was too deliberate, too much like she was burying what had cut her so deeply, pretending it had never happened, so that he would not press.
And though she thought it kindness to spare him her burdens, it troubled him more than any wound of his own ever could. He wanted, needed, to know. So that he might guard her from it. So that whatever shadow had found her yesterday could never again bring her to tears.
She bent to stack the last pieces onto the pile, brushing the wood dust from her hands with a satisfied sigh. “There. That should last us a good while.”
Kratos stood beside her, the axe resting against the block. His gaze lingered on her profile, softened in the morning light. After a long moment, he rumbled, “You are calm.”
She looked up at him, blinking, then tilted her head slightly. “Calm?”
“You said,” he continued, his voice low, steady, “that you wished to calm yourself. To have a quiet night. Before you told me what troubled you.” His eyes darkened, searching hers. “The night is past. You are calm.”
The air stilled between them, heavy with his meaning.
She stumbled over her breath, caught off guard by his words. “It was nothing,” she said quickly, too quickly. Her hands brushed invisible dust from her skirts, her eyes darting away. “Truly, Kratos. Not worth your worry.”
But as she spoke, the voices of the villagers crept back into her mind, sharper now in the silence of the morning. Their narrowed eyes. Their whispers. The way the words had clung to her, heavy as chains. She had almost forgotten, no, pushed it aside, under the weight of his embrace the night before, under the kisses that had chased her sorrow away. But now, called forth by his reminder, it all pressed back against her ribs, raw and bruising.
Her throat tightened. She tried to swallow it down. “I don’t want to think on it anymore. Please.”
Kratos set the axe aside, his broad shoulders squaring as he turned fully toward her. The morning light caught in his scar, in the hard set of his brow, but his voice when he spoke was low, gruff, almost pleading.
“You gave your word.”
She froze.
“You said you would tell me, when you were calm.” His gaze bore into hers, unyielding but not unkind. “Do not break your word with me.”
Her lips parted, but no excuse came. He stepped closer, towering, yet his eyes softened with something almost fragile.
“Let me share it,” he urged, the roughness of his tone carrying a weight more intimate than gentleness. “Whatever burden has made its home in your heart, it is mine, as well. Let me carry it.”
The plea hung heavy between them, spoken by a man who rarely begged for anything.
She sighed, shoulders slumping as though the fight had been pulled from her. “It’s nothing,” she whispered again, though even she knew how hollow it sounded. Her lips trembled into a rueful smile. “But, if you insist.”
Her eyes lifted to his, catching that steady, piercing gaze that always seemed to strip away her defenses. And though his mouth was set in its usual stern line, there was something soft in it, too. Something she teasingly called his puppy-dog eyes. He denied it, of course, but she could never resist them.
“Fine,” she breathed. “I’ll tell you. I suppose I can’t say no to that face of yours.”
Kratos said nothing, only waited, his hand settling warm and firm against hers, a silent vow that whatever words came would not break her.
She took a deep breath. “It was my first time in the village in so long. . . alone. Without you.” Her voice wavered, but his thumb pressed reassuringly against her knuckles, grounding her. “And the people, they looked at me. Not kindly. Not like they look at you.”
Her eyes dropped, shame prickling hot behind them. “After Ragnarök, you became something to them. The God of Hope. The one who gave them peace, who rebuilt what was broken with Freya and Mimir. You are worshipped now, beloved.” Her throat caught, and she forced the words through. “But me? They saw only weakness. Softness. They gossiped, whispered cruel things. That a god who saved the realms had settled for a mortal, for someone like me. That I wasn’t worthy.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
“I shouldn’t have listened. Nobody said it to my face, but I heard enough. And hurt me deeper than I expected.” She shook her head, tears blurring her vision. “I know it’s foolish, Kratos. I know I’m overreacting. But in that moment, I believed them. I felt so small, unfit to be at your side.”
Her confession spilled into the morning air, fragile and raw. She bit her lip, bracing for his silence, her heart pounding as though he might agree with the villagers’ cruel whispers.
“Come.” The single word rumbled from his chest like a command to the earth itself. Before she could respond, Kratos slid the axe into the holster across his back and turned toward the path that led down to the village.
Her brows shot up. “Kratos-!”
He did not answer. Instead, he reached for her gathering basket, the same one she used to fetch herbs or carry the few things they could not make or harvest themselves at shops. He held it out to her, his face set, his jaw tight.
Her cheeks flushed hot. “You can’t mean to-no, Kratos, you can’t just march me down there-” She hurried after him as his long strides carried him toward the edge of the clearing, the basket pressed into her hands whether she wanted it or not.
The very thought made her stomach knot. The last thing she wanted was to look like a foolish girl who had run home crying to her husband about the meanies in the marketplace. She imagined him storming into the square, demanding names, shaming them into silence with the sheer weight of his presence. The image was mortifying.
“Please,” she begged, catching his arm as they walked. “Don’t be angry. Don’t- don’t do anything rash.”
Kratos slowed only enough to glance down at her, his face carved in stoic lines. “We require a new kettle for the hearth.”
She blinked at him, caught off guard. “That’s all?”
His silence was answer enough.
But as they continued down the path, his broad hand brushed briefly against hers, a quiet tether, reminding her that whatever else this errand became, he would not allow her to face it alone.
The market was alive with chatter and color when they entered, stalls crowded with goods, the air thick with the scents of bread, smoked fish fresh from the Lake of Nine, and wool dyed in bright hues. Yet as soon as Kratos’s heavy tread touched the cobblestones, the mood shifted.
Heads turned. Conversations hushed. Then, as if a tide had shifted, people began to approach.
“God of Hope,” a farmer greeted, bowing slightly as he offered a carved wooden charm.
“Your strength keeps us safe,” another murmured, holding out a bundle of furs.
Kratos shook his head at each, refusing every gift. Not with sharpness, not with disdain, but with the blunt weight of truth. “I need none of this,” he said, his voice deep and even.
When a mother stepped forward, three children huddled close at her side, she extended a warm loaf of bread, wrapped in cloth. “Please,” she said softly, her eyes bright with gratitude. “It is fresh, baked this morning.”
Kratos glanced at the loaf, then at the small faces peeking out from behind her skirts. His voice softened just enough for her to hear. “Feed your children. I require nothing from your earnings.”
The woman’s eyes brimmed with tears, her hand pressed over her heart. She bowed, and her children, giggling shyly, did the same.
And so it went, every offer turned away, every rejection somehow met with brighter smiles. Whispers of admiration rippled through the square. They saw in him what they had begun to believe in: a god not greedy, not cruel, but steadfast.
Beside him, she walked quietly, keeping pace with his stride. Kratos noted the silence, unlike her usual warmth and chatter, and the way her gaze darted away from those around them. The villagers hardly spared her a glance, their focus fixed solely on him. She shrank inward, her hands tightening around the basket, her shoulders bent against the weight of being invisible.
Kratos’s brow furrowed. He said nothing, but his eyes flicked toward her once, then again, the muscle in his jaw tightening.
This silence of hers troubled him more than any words could.
Kratos’s steps slowed before a stall lined with cast-iron pans and kettles, their blackened surfaces gleaming faintly in the sun. He stopped, towering before the modest shop, and spoke in his steady way:
“We require a replacement for our broken hearth kettle.”
The shopkeeper, a stout man with a ruddy face, nearly stumbled over himself as he hurried forward. “Of course, my lord! Of course, anything you wish.” His hands swept wide over the display. “Dutch ovens, stew pots, kettles of every size, take whichever suits you best.”
Kratos did not move. Instead, he turned, his gaze settling on her. “You will choose.”
Her eyes widened faintly, but when she looked up at him, she found no hint of jest. Only quiet certainty, as though the decision had always belonged to her.
She stepped closer, fingertips brushing the heavy handles as she inspected them one by one. She mumbled softly to herself, about the weight, the depth, the balance of each, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kratos watched. Not just with patience, but with a steady, unshaken admiration. The kind that made it clear he would stand there all day if she needed. The kind that spoke more loudly than any declaration.
The shopkeeper, eager to please, tried to interject now and then, only to falter when he noticed where Kratos’s attention lay. The God of Hope wasn’t watching the goods. He was watching her.
One by one, bystanders began to notice too. Curious glances turned, then lingered. Whispers hushed as they followed Kratos’s gaze to the woman at his side. The mortal wife they had overlooked only moments ago.
Graceful in her concentration, she finally settled on a kettle, lifting it by its handle to test the weight. She turned to the shopkeeper, her tone polite but sure. “This one. How much do you ask for it?”
The man’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. He seemed dazed, as though the question itself had startled him. “For you, my lady,” He bowed deeply. “There is no cost. Please, accept it.”
The crowd stirred with approving murmurs, but Kratos’s eyes never left her. He said nothing, but the weight of his presence at her side, the calm certainty of his choice to let her voice be heard, had already reshaped the air around them.
She smiled, warm and gracious, but her heart tightened all the same. The kindness shown her now, it was only because Kratos stood beside her. Yesterday, alone, there had been none.
Still, she would not let that truth sour the moment.
Shaking her head gently, she cradled the kettle against her side. “No,” she said softly. “You must take payment. Your work is worth more than nothing, and your family must eat. Besides, Kratos is spoiled enough as is.”
The shopkeeper blinked, his mouth parting in surprise. “My lady-”
She was already digging through her coin purse, slender fingers finding the worn leather pouch at her belt. She counted quickly, then pressed several silver coins into the man’s palm, more than the kettle’s worth. “For the kettle,” she said, her smile kind but firm. “And for your kindness.”
The shopkeeper stared, wide-eyed, his hand closing slowly around the coins. His lips trembled into a grateful bow. “You honor me.”
Around them, the crowd stirred again, but this time, the whispers were not about the God of Hope. They were about her. About the mortal woman who had insisted on fairness, who had spoken not with power but with gentleness, and given more than was asked.
Kratos’s dark eyes never left her as she tucked her purse away, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting across her face. His jaw tightened, but not with anger, with something else. Pride.
And though he said nothing, the weight of his silence was as loud as any declaration: This is my wife. This is the woman I chose. And she is worth more than any of you dare whisper otherwise.
Kratos lifted the heavy kettle as though it were nothing more than a feather, tucking it against his side before turning from the stall. His wife fell into step beside him, her basket swaying lightly from her arm.
“Is there anything else we require?” he asked, his voice low, practical.
She tapped her chin in thought, then smiled. “Atreus’s paints. The last time he was home, I noticed his supply was running low. If the village has any, I’d like to surprise him with more. He’ll be pleased to have them waiting.”
Kratos stilled for a heartbeat. Her words, simple as they were, warmed his chest like a fire catching in dry wood. His son, her dearest friend save for himself, he thought, was never far from his mind, but hearing her speak with such kindness toward the boy stirred something deep in him.
A hum rose from his chest, low and approving. He nodded once. “Good.”
But before they moved on, he paused. His hand shifted from the kettle to her arm, steady and sure, guiding her gently to face him. Without a word, he bent, lowering his broad frame until his lips brushed hers in a deliberate kiss.
It was not hurried, nor hidden in the safety of their cabin walls. It was unshaken, deliberate, and undeniable.
Gasps rippled softly through the onlookers. For Kratos, who preferred privacy above all things, to show such affection here, openly, was no small gesture.
Half the reason was as plain as the fire in his chest: he adored her. Always.
The other half was quieter, sharpened with intent. A modest act of dominance. A reminder to the watching eyes that this woman was his choice. That their whispered doubts had no ground, their scorn no weight. That the God of Hope cherished her, without shame, without hesitation.
When he pulled back, her smile was radiant, her cheeks warmed pink. She blinked up at him with stars in her eyes, and for all the crowd around them, she looked as though she stood alone with him in the world.
Kratos straightened, the kettle still cradled in one arm as though it were nothing, and turned once more to the market path.
“Come,” he rumbled, as though nothing had happened. “We will find the paints.”
But inside, his heart burned with quiet triumph. Pride swelled in Kratos’s chest, unbidden and undeniable, as he looked upon her now. That radiant light in her eyes, the shine that had first undone him, that still left him unsteady even now, had returned.
He had been uncomfortable, yes. To kiss her before strangers, to bare his tenderness where others could see, such things were not for him. Not anymore. But the sight of her crystal-clear gaze, the joy brimming in her expression, was reward enough. More than enough.
The memory of her red, glossy eyes, her cheeks wet with tears, tried to surface. The way she had trembled in his arms only the night before, weighed down by whispers and shadows. The image stung, sharp and unwelcome. But it paled against the face before him now, her smile warm, her eyes bright as sunlight on fresh snow.
The contrast was stark. Yesterday’s sorrow, today’s glow. And it warmed him more deeply than the fire of battle, more fiercely than any victory in war.
This laughter, her peace, her light, was the triumph he held dearest.
He shifted the kettle in his arm, towering and impassive once more to any onlooker. But within, his heart burned quietly with something greater than pride.
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.
I loved the headcanons so much! Kratos is deeply underrated (in my opinion) but I noticed you mentioned nsfw👀 could I perchance see those? (if you don't have to many requests)
You can’t just say perchance!
Lol yes of course!
Kratos NSFW HCs
He's always in control and will not give it up for anyone. He's very dominant. Doesn't mean he won't let you on top ;)
He's a very generous lover. Every move he makes is extremely calculated, deliberate, overwhelming and absolutely meant to make you go just a little dumb. So, if you ask for more, he'll give it to you... with a warning.
When he fucks you, he's not fast. He's relentless. Slow, punishing thrusts that hit just right. He'll fuck you in a mating press, holding your thighs as he watches your expressions. Grinding deep into you until you're nothing but whines and whimpers.
Size kink. 100%. Like he's massive. ;) The sheer bulk of his body makes everything feel more intense. His hands span your waist. He loves when you hold his hand as he stretches you open, seeing the way your eyes roll back when he's only halfway in.
Quietly possessive. He'll let you be who you are out in the realms. The second you two are alone? He's marking you with his hands, mouth, and cock. You're his. Just as much as he's yours.
Very into restraint but not using anything except his hands. He loves how he can edge you for hours, making you beg for release. "You will stay still. Or I will make you."
Not a big talker, but sometimes he'll say things like: "You feel this? Inside you. That is me. You will take all of me." And: "You tremble. Are you afraid of what you asked for?"
Oral: Him Giving=worship. When he goes down on you, he's focused. No teasing. Just intense pressure right where you need him until your legs are shaking around his head, thighs desperate to close around him.
Oral: Him Receiving=a reward. He'll let you take your time, but eventually he'll thrust ever so slowly into your mouth. Groaning out soft praises.
He always stays inside you. Even after. Especially after. You're overstimulated, whimpering, twitching- and he's still deep inside you, murmuring your name, kissing your jaw, holding you down gently, "I am not finished with you. Not yet."
Aftercare is powerfully silent. He won't fuss. He will just carry you so he can help bathe you. The way his large hands cradle you speaks on the softness he rarely shows, "Rest now. I am here."
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The way i forgot this was in my drafts. I'm so sorrrrryyyyyyy!
Hope you enjoy :)
