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that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main · 1 year

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Being Thor's best friend + Týr's Fiance part 2

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Reader: female | Thor x sister-in-law Reader (Platonic)| Týr x reader (romantic eventually)

Notes: you guys liked the last one so heres the second part!, Freyr also comes in! So cool! Also týr heavy, not much thor this time! Sorry

Warnings: bitchy moms bitchy moms oh so bitch moms

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If you fully honest

You didnt remember what happened when you woke up the next day in bed with you sketch book and a few pages spewed on the bed with yourself and a pencil

You felt a large hand, an unfamiliar large hand fall on your shoulder as you stay fake sleeping, a blanket being brought further up your body as your hair was swipped back for comfort and that was all.

You hadnt even been changed out your outfit of last night.

You sat up

"I did not wish to wake you." Týr spoke, Y/n's sketch book in his hand, setting it on the desk.

"Oh...thank you." Y/n spoke softly.

"You are tired still. I would be as well." Týr chuckled, "we had quiet the night."

Y/n was silent looking around, "You take your work very seriously."

Y/n nodded, oh, drilling another project she supposed, picking up one of the left over sketches some quick, other's well consumed on time.

"Ah....I was having trouble with the beard..." Y/n responded looking over the sketch, "I uh. Was never too good at draw braids."

"I had heard of your work prior, I am certainly impressed."

Y/n nodded, "thank you. Its an ever-growing skill."

Y/n looked at the other pages casually, he watching her intently.

"Uh...yes?" Y/n asked nervously.

"Oh. Breakfast?"

"Uh. Sure..." Y/n responded.

He had brought you breakfast in bed

Thats awfully nice

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Yes. Its good." Y/n spoke, "did you make it?"

He made it indeed.

Still you feel akward eating lunch with this man.

Its a rough start, the trying to get to know you part

He figures, once he starts getting you to talk, you wont be able to stop

Its true in a way, you enjoyed talking about your pass time, and he enjoyed listening.

But besides that you didnt open up much.

"You and Thor are good friends."

"Since we were kids."

"It's nice then. To return after your long journey to friends."

Y/n looked down into her bowl, "I was on a journey. Is that what they told?"

"You're own mother-"

"She's just as bad as your father." Y/n complained, "Both compulsive liars."

"Misery is good company they say."

That caused her to chuckle, he wasnt wrong.

He likes your smile, and you enjoy his witty humor.

You could atleast be friends it seemed like, he's kind, and carring. Good sense of humor.

Also he wasnt like your mother so big plus

Deep deep deep down, you know that you could of become friends with Týr on your own if you werent forced to marry him.

You guys kinda are forced to spend the day together

You both do try and see the postive, but the postive would you not having to wear a dress, so you didnt and came out looking like a bad ass bitch.

So you spend your day together, mostly walking, and sitting, and talking.

Until kids run up to you

"You bested Thor!" One cheered, "me and my sister are gonna be Valkyires! We wanna be like you!"

"Yeah you were so cool!"

"The first male Valkyire?" Y/n asked.

"Yeah!" They cheered, "The Valkyire twins!"

Y/n chuckled, "Well. I am no Valkyire. But. I know a few. And Im sure one day you'll both best the best."

"Come on! Lets go tell mom!"

And they ran off together with happy goodbyes.

Cute. Kids are cute, sometimes

"You're good with them."

"Kids?" Y/n asked, "truth me told I still think Im one myself"

He likes that your comfortable

And you both contuine your talking

It doesn't last long, a charge of kids come at you

"Can boys really be Valkyires!?"

"I wanna be a Valkyire!"

"Me too!"

"Lets battle!"

"Yeah! Come on! If we beat you! We're sure to be Valkyires!"

Oh what have you done

Týr's laughing as a group of kids gang up on you

You have no choice but the crumble

They've resorted to tickling you now

But you wont let them win and chase them causing them to laugh and run.

He thinks it's really an eye opener to see how you are

Plus he thinks its really cute you with kids

Though he doesn't feel like its his place to ask your opinion on kids

Luckily you go through most of the walk without intruption

His talks of peace and all, really intrest you, he knows peace can brought on even without war.

You wish nothing but to agree with him, but you know how cruel people can be, he knows but still sees the postivey in them all.

You suppose no one wants to see there parents in that light, even the worst of them.

Changing the subject he ask what you'd like to do.

Your tempted to say drinking contest.

But end up saying drawing.

He'll admit he's not the best artist, but would love to contuine to spend the time with you

He's expecting a table, just drawing whatever you remember.

Not well. The adventure that comes with it

Climbing on the sea side cliffs, a dangerous but exilerating adventure.

Sure your both shuffling along but soon your jump from one cliff to another and he's worried you'll fall.

He soon learns this isnt your first rodeo, nor second. It's like you were born into this.

"Here we are," y/n spoke, hoping down onto the pebbly beach, "our subject matter and dinner."

Its a two in onw for sure, catching fish and drawing, intresting idea but for sure something he wouldnt mind doing again.

So you both sit together throughout the sunset and until the night takes over.

It wasnt so bad spending time with one another

You best be sure ya'll spendt the night on that beach.

The next morning you woke up on the beach, warm, and happily swaddled in large arms.

Tempted to go back to bed and temptation wins

You simply roll over and go back to sleep.

You wake up later in a bed.

How much later on you don't know, but you wake up alone and covered in thick blankets.

Sitting up you get out off bed, you're chlothes have been changed.

Your hair braided back for comfort

"You're up."

"Freya?"

She came over with a pot in hand, setting it on the bedside.

"Týr explained to me you were cold to the touch, he was afraid of any sickness." She explained, "thats what happens when you spend your night on a beach shoeless. Do you feel ill?"

"Oh. Uh. No. Im fine." Y/n told, "thank you."

She nodded, "drink this. For security."

Freya poured Y/n a cup, she thankful and took it.

"How are you two getting along?"

"We're fine....I still dont think of him as..."

"A partner?"

Y/n nodded, "Suppose I am selfish-"

"Its arranged. It's normal to feel such a way. With your conditions especially."

You were quiet as you drank your tea. So Freya knew about what happened to you...

She talks to you a bit more about Týr mostly, and you answer the best you could

Your little "date" with him yesterday didnt go bad after all

"He cares very much about you already. He finds you liberating."

"Whats that suppose to mean?"

"You dont find too many Aesir with hearts tainted that still hold true to there holder."

With that she leaves you, and Thor is walking in.

"I heard a colds the one kick your arse."

"Oh please." Y/n complained, "Come for another ass beatin then?"

"Can't I check on ny friend?"

Y/n shook her head playfully, drinking her tea looking out the nearby window.

"Its good to have you back."

Y/n looked his way, "its nice to be back. Within reason. Cant stand to look at your father or my mothers face for two fuckin seconds."

He laughs at that, and so do you

Its the truth in full honesty.

You cant balme him. Its fucking funny

Yet its all cut short when your mother walks in.

You manage to shoo thor away, as she closes the door behind him.

"Daughter."

She received silence, "Have you slept with him child?"

Y/n sipped her tea.

"Have you fucked thor."

"How the fuck am i suppose to sleep with Thor?" Y/n argued, "He's my friend-"

"What does your husband think about this-"

"He likes my fun." Y/n growled, "and he's not my husband."

"He will be within days time."

"Dont you dare mock me. What are you? Five?"

"Oh please a five year old has more balls and intergerity than you'll ever have." Y/n argued.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, leaving Y/n to her own devices.

Gladly you were by yourself, with your sketch book on the bed side.

You grab it and look through it looking through yesterday sketches.

The pebble beach was the peice of the day, and some pages included small things you found along the way, a small crab, some seaweed, the fire you two had made

And you had even tried sketching Týr a few times, small portraits

Final you decide to get out of bed and get dressed.

You make your way around, finding Týr talking with Sif.

"I'll leave you to it then."

"Sif hey."

"Y/n." She smiled with a quick bow of the head in acknowledgement, "I'll leave you to be."

Y/n watched her leave, "I am glad you are feeling better.

She looked up at Týr and smiled small, "just cold feet it all. You two talking bout smart people stuff?"

"Uh. A book." He responded.

"Which one?"y/n asked trying to make conversation, "Im assuming there is no war in it?"

It went silent, she confused and raised an eyebrow, "you good?"

"I apologize for lying to you." He started.

"Huh?"

"I was rather asking how to woo you. You seem great friends with Thor, I suppose me and Sif are much more alike in that aspect of partner ship."

Y/n laughed it a cute sentiment: "very thoughtful of you. You want...an opinion? I would consider myself an expert."

"Very much I would."

"be yourself." Y/n smiled softly up at him, " but dont be afraid to ak me the hard questions. I can take em."

He chuckled, a smooth lightheared sound, "then may I ask: would we have been lovers on a diffrent path? One that is not arranged."

Y/n hummed, "i suppose blunt honesty is how I woo you?"

"Most certainly," he smiled, his fingeds coming up to tilt her chin up.

Despite his large form he was soft, and careful, and his touch could make anyone melt.

"I don't know." Y/n answered finally, "Truth be told Im surpised we even get along on the path we're currently on."

"And why do you say that?"

"I did beat your brothers ass at the accounment dinner."

Týr chuckled once more, "I believe that is what started our friendship."

You could only smile at him.

Then realized what the fuck was happening: your sharing your feelings, your open, your melting at a simple chin lift.

Your....developing a crush kinda sort off...

Oh fuck no

So you pull away, telling him you should...go...and well do something

You dont exactly know what your doing but your running away basically

To do what? To hide from your feelings

Top ten places to hide is the wheat farms especially when there ready to be harvested and its all tall.

Soon enough who you thought was Freya comes along with a baby dragon.

"Looks like we have a guest. Y/n? Right?"

"Yeah?"

"Im Freyr. Freyas brother."

"Oh. Nice to meet you."

He took a seat without a care, commented on the sky and got to chatting right away, the baby dragon coming into your lap to play

"Ready for the big day?"

"No."

"Eh. No one ever is."

"I dont want to marry him." Y/n complained, "not now."

"Well then dont." Freyr spoke, "its that easy isnt it?"

"Unfortunately not." Y/n responded.

"Well why not?" He asked, she shrugged.

"Just. Isnt..."

"But you do wanna marry him?"

"Well. No."

"You said not now."

"I can see why Freya is the one that does all the talking,"

"Ooo, ouch." He hissed, "Someone got a little defensive."

"Is there a point? To your madness?"

"Theres always a point to madness is there not? Madness is what makes the world move forward."

"You are confusing."

"Thanks." He smiled settling down in the wheat, his body relaxed with the sun casting down on him, "lay back would you? Your blocking the sun."

Y/n sighed and scooted over allowing the sun to hit him, she just stared at him.

"You gonna ask me a question? Or ya gonna sit there and stare? I know Im beautiful."

Y/n sighed, "what happens if I do love him? I do marry him? My mother wins..."

"Ah yes. I hate her just as much as you do."

"You do?"

"Mhm. My sister and her got into it. While back." Freyr explained, "she hurt her is all I can say. Nasty blow out really."

"So I let her win?"

"From what I know of her she likes control, your out here. Sitting in a feild with another man. And a dragon." Freyr explained turning on his side, "has Týr expressed anything he likes about you to you? I know he has to Freya. Its yap yap yap since the moment he saw you. Yap Y/n Yap Y/n. Did you know Y/n draws? Yap yap yap. Just like that."

Y/n chuckled, the baby dragon gumming on her hand: "I suppose he does like that Im me...without my mother."

"Hm." Freyr hummed, "your mothers miserable anyways. Fuck it, do what you want. What makes you happy."

Y/n hummed in thought, "cheese sounds like it, it would make me happy right now."

Freyr looked at her, "that does sound good."

And thats how you became friends with Freyer, eating cheese outside the meed hall.

Your laughing with him, talking about things: life

Hes talking about his home realm, the beauty of it even inviting you to come

"Hey maybe you'll come on Honeymoon"

"Oh please."

You guys talk until night has long ago fallen.

So late that you hand over the dragon to him because it fell asleep when you part diffrent ways.

You return back to your room being quiet as possible, your sure everyones asleep at this hour.

Týr had fallen asleep with a book in your shared bed

You were quick to change into your bedware, quietly at that too, doesnt help you tripped over your own shoes

You grabbed the book from the bed and marked it for him putting it off to the side as he had many times for her.

Then carefully climbed over him, to find yourself a spot beside him before falling asleep.

#x reader #gow:ragnarok x reader #gow: ragnarok #gow tyr #gow thor #gow x reader #gow headcanons #týr #týr x reader #god of war: ragnarok #god of war: ragnarok x reader #god of war: ragnarok headcanons #platonic thor

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peiskos-and-apricity · 2 months

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My Oath to You

Týr x (GN)Reader

Summary - Týr has returned to you after more than a century of absence. Completely overwhelmed by his sudden appearance you can't bring yourself to believe that your long lost lover has finally come home.

Word count - 1.7k

Masterlist

Years. Years you had spent apart. Without him your days bled together, your nights full of restless heartache. By the second decade you had believed him truly gone; his comforting care ripped from your hands. You had mourned him, had buried him in the permanent scar he left behind. He had become an old melancholy memory.

And yet now, impossibly, you stand before him. His soft features are as still as your own, his warm eyes staring into your very being. You would have thought him a ghost, a mere apparition had he not held the arrow that had missed the mark of his chest by a nails edge. An arrow that left your fingers out of rage at the being who claimed to be your long-lost love. At an imposter.

The only thing that had cut through your rage long enough to stop your assault was the shining ring on his hand. A vow you had given, a promise, a shining beacon of what was supposed to be forever. You held your bow strong, but you were simply too blinded by that small binding sheen of what you had lost so long ago.

Silence, a painful, heart-wrenching silence. One that, through a tightened throat and weary hope, you spoke through.

"Do not..." You start, your voice shaking at just the sight of someone who would dare tell you that he wasn't gone.

"Do not lie to me" your anger bleeds into every word, but the slight shake of your hands shows your fragile state. Your face contorts into an ugly mix of fury-filled pain.

"My word is truth. I vowed no man nor God, no cage nor world would keep me from you. I would sooner have my spirit broken than that promise" his voice is soft, so memorably soft, his eyes showing a care you missed oh so dearly. When you didn't move he approached again, this time slowly, carefully, as if each step were a promise of its own.

And yet still you held strong. Even as tears well in your eyes and your breathing becomes shallow you do not dare let down your guard. You didn't turn from him, not for a second. You simply felt your chest tighten further, your mind screaming to let go, to kill the being who would do something as cruel as speaking the promises he knew naught of.

"My guiding star, I cannot bear any more distance. I have spent countless cold nights aching for the warmth of you" his sweet words are a lull against the grating yell of your own mind. Despite how much you try to block out the sound it effortlessly digs into you, plucking at the dusted strings of your heart in a melody only he ever knew. You knew you should pull away, that you should question this impossible situation further, but you can't seem to find the will to move from him.

Once he is in an arm's reach he slowly pushes the bow down, moving its arrow away from him like there was never a threat to his life. You didn't protest the movement, you couldn't bear to. Instead you turned away, your eyes shutting as tears fell from them, unable to look at this torturous apparition any further. Your grip finally loosened on the string.

"Please, don't turn from me" he pleaded as the warmth of his hand met your own, the bow falling to the ground. You tense at the touch, still unable to believe such a thing. But it isn't long before the warmth of him is far too tempting. Your hand grips his tighter, half expecting nothing to be there but feeling a surge of emotion when there is.

"You're...You're a liar" you spit through grated teeth and choked back sobs.

"You aren't- he's..." You try to lash out, try to fight against this horrible lie. But gods forgive you, there is no part of you that can bear to pull away.

"You're not real" you whispered the painful words in a weakening tone as you felt his presence step closer, only inches from you now.

"I am, my love...I am" he whispers back, your hand squeezing tighter as you try to hold the pieces of yourself together. Ever so gently he lays his head against yours, a shaky breath leaving him.

For a moment there is silence. One so quiet you could practically hear your strength cracking into pieces. A silence so painful that you can only bear to be in it so long as you hear his thumping heart and shallow breath.

"Words fail me. I cannot begin to tell you the ways I have missed you" his words strike through your being in a flash of bittersweet. He was nothing if not a man of many beautiful words and it was a rare day when he didn't have a poet's tongue. But his voice breaks and his grip on you tightens ever so slightly. A pleading is found in how desperately he clings.

"You haven't a clue" you choke out, no longer able to hold your front of fury.

"I have mourned you. You were dead to the world. Dead to me" you speak through the threat of sobs in your throat. He pulls away ever so slightly, an absence you feel so deeply that you must restrain yourself from diving back into his hold. But he seems to do that for you when he takes both hands to either side of your face. He wipes the tears that fall like rivers from you and you notice then that his own rivers fall as well. But even through the clear pain of so many years apart, he still looks at you like he would steal the sun just to keep you warm. And you knew, deep down in that part of your soul you had spent so many years trying to carve out, that it would only take the slightest shiver from you for him to consider it.

"I might not know what it is to mourn your loss, but I have mourned the pain of the lifetime I couldn't share with you. I have spent each day yearning for nothing else and knowing you were just beyond my grasp" as he gazes into your eyes you can see the saddened smile that meets his lips. How sweet his smile always was. No matter through tears or tough times, his smile always found a way to calm you. Which is why it hurts so much when it slowly falls from his lips, his eyes shut as a labored breath leaves him.

"Please...speak to me. Say whatever you will but I simply cannot stand the silence" his voice is quiet, his words a pleading request. With a deep breath you soon hold the hands he held you with, fingers stroking scars you didn't recognize.

"I..." You lose the words you wished to say just as quickly as you had thought to say them. You had spent so long wishing for him back, pleading that he might still somehow come home. You would have hung every star in the sky if it meant you would be able to hold him for just one more night. But now that you're here, faced with the reality that you had begged for a love you never lost, you could really only find one thing to say.

"I love you" the words fall with practiced ease. There is not a being strong enough to ever rip away the effortlessness with which you found your care for him.

"I have loved you for as many flakes of snow have fallen in your absence. I have loved you for as many nights as I have wished on flickering stars for you back. I have loved you, I have loved you, I have-" you are hardly surprised when his lips suddenly meet your own, however you couldn't have predicted just how overwhelming the action would be. Lips moved in ways so intimately familiar to the both of you. Hands gripped tighter as if the dream might end should you let go, the salty taste of tears is ignored by the both of you. The two of you moved as if to make up for the more than a century of lost affection, slow and gentle and desperate, a silent cry to be so close you become one.

And, ever so slowly and with a hesitance the two of you rarely ever knew, your lips parted. His breath softly fell on your face, a closeness you had longed for so many nights to feel again. His head gently rested upon yours once more and you could only hope to never feel his absence ever again.

"Would you...promise me something?" Your voice is still so quiet, too afraid that any sudden noise would break this tentative peace.

"Anything" he answers back. You can't help the warmth that falls at just how quickly he answers.

"Promise me that I will never lose you again" your words are as soft as the first time you had ever asked such a thing of him. The short silence that follows hurts you a little, your worry mounting in it.

"We both know that is a vow I cannot make" his words are familiar, a horrible reality that he never allowed you to forget. It only ever made you hold on tighter to him.

"But," he continues. One of his hands reaches to your own before carefully pulling it to his lips and kissing the jeweled ring you would never dare to lose. One he had traveled many strange worlds to make for you.

"With every ounce of strength I still hold I will not stop fighting for every fleeting moment we have. That is what I can promise" his words, as bittersweet as they are, do comfort you. They are reminiscent of a vow made so many lifetimes ago. One that he would repeat to the end of time itself. You gently take his hand as well, your lips meeting the gold band that binds him to you.

"Then that is the promise I will hold us to"

#Týr is so kind and gentle and patient and I love him #gn reader #gow ragnarok #gowr #god of war x reader #god of war #gow tyr #gow tyr x reader #gow Týr #gow ragnarok x reader #gow ragnarok tyr #týr gow #Týr #gow #gender neutral reader #self insert

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weather-rep-rt · 11 months

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kyojurou is so pretty omg, i just wanna treat him like my puppy. and what a good boy he'd be, so obedient. he'd be happy just cockwarming you with his pretty collar and leash, just praise him enough, tell him how good he's being what a sweet lil pup he is

shit like idk if im THAT into puppy play,, but imaging kyo lapping at your cock on all fours, pretty eyes looking up at you??? bitch i might make him bark...

#týr's thirsts ☆#rengoku kyojuro #rengoku kyojurou x reader #rengoku kyojurou x male top reader #rengoku kyojurou x male reader #demon slayer x male top reader #god hes so pretty

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thecrimsonmusician · 1 year

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Here’s some shameless self-promo for my Týr fic 🫣

It’s Týr x Reader if that’s your cup of tea. There are sweet little moments with other characters, lots of angst, worldbuilding, fight scenes, and more! I’ve wanted to do a long fanfiction for a while so I’m excited about this one. Also, I couldn’t resist writing about Týr haha.

Expect pretty consistent uploads. I will try my best as life is a bit unpredictable but I will be as transparent as possible about when I post updates.

If you love Týr and are looking for something to fill the void that Ragnarök left, then this is for you. Do keep in mind that this fic isn't spoiler-free. I’m always grateful for any feedback and interaction with my work! I hope you enjoy it! :)

#tyr #týr #tyr god of war #gow tyr #tyr x reader #god of war x reader #gow x reader #god of war #god of war ragnarok #gow ragnarok #gow #my posts

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yeyinde · 1 year

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circle the drain | Captain John Price x F!Reader

》 WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ — P-in-V sex; unsafe sex; gendered female reader, female gendered anatomy; implied power imbalance; no substance only smut SUMMARY: Somehow, you know his hands are the only things capable of keeping you whole. 》 WORD COUNT: 7,6k 》 NOTES: This was supposed to be a valentine's day gift, but it's super late on account of me being ridiculously sick. I'm also becoming the Patron Saint of "soon-ish" but this is the sequel to Caught p., i. Yeah. That fic that's been requested a bunch lmao. ANYWAY. It's FINALLY here. This was written in a day and edited under a feverish delirium in what feels like four months but was actually less than 10 minutes.

His hands are firebrands, fingers the lit end of a cigar. When he touches your skin, you hear the sizzle of your flesh burning away, and the pop of it cauterising under his blistering heat. He seals a little part of himself in the wounds he wrought: buries them deep in your dermis until they leak into your bloodstream.

There is no victory in this.

And yet—

"Fuck me, captain—"

—you just can't help yourself sometimes.

His eyes flash. "I didn't tell you to stop."

》 Caught p., i

MASTERLIST | JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST | AO3

It's the firm press of his front against your back that starts it all.

His hands, rough, firm. Scorching. They drop to your shoulders, one palm sliding down your bicep, fingers curling over the soft skin in the crux of your elbow.

You try not to tremble when his broad back presses flush to your spine. When he ducks his head down, bending a little at the waist to reach you—Price is a mountain, a tower—and you feel the coarse hairs along his jaw, chin, scratch against the soft curve of your neck, the back of your ears, your cheek.

"Steady."

Your teeth snap tight together when you feel the rumble through his ribcage before he even opens his mouth to utter the words. The rasping little groan—mmh—he makes rolls over your spine, the back of your ribs. It rattles through your bones, clotting in the fibrils of your tissue.

The fluttering wings of a hummingbird beat in the cavity of your chest when he speaks.

"One…two notches higher."

You scent burning sycamore when he breathes out, the rasp of his breath brushing your shoulder. Heat bleeds into your spine when he sidles close to you, hands firm on your body as he strings you into the position he deems best.

You wonder, then, how those broad hands would move you around in a different context. How the unyielding press of his chest would feel naked against your back—

"—y'right?"

Squeaking out a clipped affirmative is all you can do amid the roiling currents that batter through your chest—a dizzying concoction of want, need, for the man pressed against your spine.

He rumbles again, his pitch a guttural whisper that seems so opposed to his very essence—Týr in flesh and bone; a behemoth on the battlefield yelling himself hoarse—and the slow, smoky roll, the muted murmur, makes your toes curl. Fingers itch.

"Yeah?" He presses, unwilling—or unable—to let go until he's satisfied, until the worry in his chest over his men, over you, is abated. Shifted to some other place where it can't distract him. He leans in closer, and you find notes of Tobacco and malt nestled amongst the cindered Sycamore. Psalm ashes tickling your nose.

"Yes—," it's barely more than a breath. A ghost of something you can't place.

When it comes to Price, you never sound like yourself. Breathless, breathy. Voice a whisper amid the rumbling clatter of a rockslide careening down a mountain. His very presence seems to syphon the air from your lungs until you're gasping.

It feels like you've run a marathon—throat throbbing like an open wound; infected and raw. The taste of heme wells on your tongue. Your lungs burn. Ink blots clot over your vision.

"I'm—yeah, I'm good, cap." You say, and try not to focus on how his proximity makes you dizzy. Desperate.

He feels good against you, and you can feel the smoulder of his body even through the thick layers of his tac-vest, his military-issued jacket, and his long-sleeved shirt. The heat is dizzying. Liquifying your sense of propriety, decorum; it leaks over your threadbare resolve—that brassbound lockbox where you keep all of your hidden secrets tucked inside a place no one, nothing, can touch it.

It's absolute hot—one decillion, four hundred and twenty nonillion degrees celsius—and, well—

Who can withstand the hottest possible temperature matter can reach?

The box isn't just burnt or turned to ash—but erased. Swallowed whole by the flames that spark so hot, they don't even leave behind a scorch mark but burn the platform it laid on, too.

It frees everything you struggled to keep bound within you when he steps back, when there's more distance between his thundering heart and your liquified spine than ever before. A chasm.

Your chest is a hollow crevasse, an inexistent hole, and when he steps back, you feel threads of absolute zero snake over the scorched flesh.

You hear the sharp inhale through tobacco-stained teeth when you add sir, and wonder if he feels the same chill clot inside his marrow that you do.

When you swallow, his eyes drop, flashing to the smooth column of your throat. Liquid puddles in those sapphire pools—cenotes framed in burnt umber—and the burn of his eclipsing pupils makes you feel like you're choking.

Price clears his throat, his eyes skirting away from you in a mockery of something disquieted, demure. The loss of his eyes on you makes something sour twist in your guts.

You want it back, you think, and know, then, that it's far too late. That whatever tenuous hold you had over yourself had been carbonised and charred to cinders when he touched you with his molten hands, melting that gossamer of resolve you clung.

And—

Fuck.

His eyes are fixed somewhere on your forehead—either unwilling or unable to look you bare in the eye, and you worry for a moment that he knows. That he can see the want in your gaze, the heavy weight of sin that rolls over your shoulders until they quiver. The want in your hands makes your fingers tremble.

But it dissipates when he offers a facsimile of a smile.

"Good work," he says, the words sticking to the nicotine in his throat, and you wonder if you could become addicted to smoke just from the fumes he exudes.

(You feel the itch in your veins for the smooth draw of smoke into your burning lungs when he moves away from you.)

Fuck—you think, eyes fixed on his broad back, his taped waist, heavy shoulders—indeed.

You've never smoked a cigar before, and somehow you find yourself feening for a hit, for the smooth curl of tobacco smoke in your throat, sticking to your teeth.

Your eyes are drawn to the flash of orange in a perfect ring of controlled fire, to the stem of dark brown clenched between an even thicker thumb and forefinger; the lips pursed around the butt, the beard peppered with ash.

The craving hits you harder than ever when you look at him: the complete picture of your leader, captain, hunched over a bed of papers and files.

It's when the ashlar blue of his gaze flickers up, catching the end of something Soap says, that you know, without any sense of uncertainty, that all the cigars locked inside his case wouldn't be enough to quench the hunger in your chest. Rapacious. Greedy.

(Greedy hands, they'd say when you took too much.

Your joints burn with the urge to cling, to hold.)

Price looks up, catching your wanting gaze. He holds it for a moment, just long enough for you to forget how to breathe, how to function. Something shudders over the thin veil of indifference he wears, sealed over his face like a scab. It splits, peels back until the oozing wound below is once again exposed to the open air.

Raw, pulsating.

You wonder what would happen to your mortal body if you syphoned the ichor of Tyr, let it pool on your earthly tongue.

Your mouth is dry. Lips chapped and numbed. Your tongue lashes out, wetting them. A distraction—an unconscious action. You've studied enough to know that chewing on your lips, nails, the inside of your cheeks until the skin splits and bleeds is a self-soothing mechanism to abate the flood of anxiety that rips through you. Still. You do it, anyway.

It's a trick of the light, you think, when his eyes dim, lowering down to your blood red mouth, narrowing at the tease of your tongue flicking across your trembling bottom lip.

A manifestation, a delusion.

When you want something so badly, your mind is startlingly, debilitatingly, adept at playing pretend.

Your gaze drops to your unfinished plate, and you struggle to pretend you're not losing your mind to the whims of your desire because for a moment there—a brief, almost imperceptible second—it almost felt like he wanted you, too.

You bum a cigarette from Soap, and try not to think about that cold, windy night in Cairo when Price dropped his cigars to save you.

The barking laugh that hacked from his soot-stained lungs when you found a pack of Cleopatra Lights in the warehouse you were hiding in.

"Ain't the same, love." He huffed, white teeth flashing in the blue-green light of the Azbakiyyah quarter spilling in through the smeared windows. "No substitute for the real thing."

You take a drag, and sputter over the side of the balcony, gasping and coughing through the thick musk of tobacco that chokes your lungs.

It does nothing to abate the hunger inside of you.

With tar-stained lungs, and nicotine glueing to your aching throat, you think: no, not the same at all.

(Once you get a taste of the perfect vice, love, no imitation can compare. Keep the cigs. They'll only make me anxious if I start smokin' 'im now.)

The itch in your joints becomes too much.

You slide your fingers over your flesh, and wish it was him—

Your head lifts, glancing once more at the entranceway to the changing room.

Liquid sapphires. Brow drawn tight.

Your heart stutters. "C—captain, I—"

His eyes flash. "I didn't tell you to stop."

It's curt. Direct. Blunt. Everything he is—all narrowed down into this claustrophobic space that fogs with steam; the walls bleeding with condensation. It's sticky, balmy. Feverish heat that prickles hot and cold against your skin.

He says: I didn't tell you to stop.

And you say: I didn't tell you to watch.

An impasse. Stalemate. No victor, no loser.

(Except you. Always, always you.)

This promises nothing but your ruin should you let your arms drop from the tight clench around your bare breasts, nipples hardened, prickled and sensitive from when your delicate, small fingers rubbed at them and dreamed about his mouth.

An invitation.

One you can't bring yourself to open. The envelope is ripped, torn. But the card is folded neatly on the table in front of you.

(Take a peek, it beckons when he shifts, the unmistakable outline of his thick, hard cock bulging through the fabric of his trousers. Just a little look. A little taste.)

But it won't be, will it? Just a little. Laughable. Don't be stupid.

You never learned how to say no to yourself, how to hold back.

(Your moon is fixed in Cancer.)

You give, give, give—and, in equal, if not a little more, measure: take, take, take.

Want, want, want.

You think of his heat searing your back, liquifying your spine, turning your calcified bones to polymer, and know, deep down within your aching marrow, that what you crave is blue.

You can't let yourself want this—want him.

It's dangerous. Wrong. It's a gaping maw of hurt and agony just waiting to sink its teeth into your fleshy body, to tear you apart; ripping you limb from limb until you're a pulpy mess of tendon and crushed bones, barely human, but alive. Stuck in anguish.

He's heartbreak in smoke, in Maduro brown with a golden logo on the stem.

—means dark. Ripe. Used to only be made from the highest leaves, 'cause they spend the most time on the plant.

Dark. Ripe. Price.

Dangerous. Addictive. Inescapable.

His eyes—l'heure bleue—gaze at you through the dense fog. Waiting. Waiting. It's in your hands, now. The option to march forward and commence, to push yourself into his palm, in the worn hands that touched brushed the small of your back one day, and ignited a fire in your veins.

Or to retreat.

To walk back, to end this. To call it. Mentor, mentee. Captain. Disciple. Distance will split between you, stifling like the air that clogs the tiled, tacky room. Heavy, oppressive, and—

Inescapable.

Fuck.

You either take, take, and then deal with the aftermath of a bloody battle that will leave false starts on your bones, cutting deep to bleed marrow into your bloodstream, or you—

Forfeit.

There is no future in this. No grand declaration of romance or togetherness. It's the artificial merging of bodies in an offering to Hēdonē; an evanescent dance. It leaks heartache in the seams, and carries the tang of disillusionment should you dip your fingers in glacial blue. It'll stain you. His fingertips are drenched in agony—molten red, a hot poker—and will brand your flesh, scar your body with the perfect imprint of his touch. Of him.

It'll rear, in those soft, lonely moments when your thoughts are too loud and the room is too quiet, and the phantom press of his skin will become a burden.

Yearning.

You hate how it tastes oh so familiar.

Perpetual. Never-ending. Stasis.

You look at him and see blue: blue eyes, blue blood, blue heart, blues.

(Ache.)

But if you don't:

Stagnancy.

(Is it so different from stasis, really?)

It's nautical twilight somewhere, surely. The centre of the sun is six degrees below the horizon. You have six more degrees to go before it ends.

Six.

And then—

(It's not a jump, but a leap.)

Your fingers dig into the skin of your forearm. Piercing. Painful. The bite leaves crescents behind. Blue moons. You pry them apart, and—

Drop.

Into the sea. Into blue.

He says your name when you bare yourself to him again, consenting to this—whatever it is—and giving yourself over like an offering to some whimsical god of lust and poor choices.

The rasp of it makes your spine prickle—a low simmering heat sparks in your belly: satiated by your own fingers but never satisfied. Him standing before you, eager and wanting, strokes the flames until they burn in a frenzy of wildfire; consuming everything in its wake until you're raw, charred husk on the verge of collapsing.

A fragile supernova.

Your core is molten; liquid heat—absolute hot—and when he moves, you feel the foundations wobble, and start to fall apart at the seams.

(Somehow, you know his hands are the only things capable of keeping you whole.)

Price, still dressed in his sweatpants—tented with the obvious outline of his turgid arousal—and tight t-shirt crosses the threshold in seven easy steps. The soft squelch of his feet against wet tile echo in the room, somehow louder than your gasping breaths.

He doesn't walk to you, he stalks. His gait is measured, purposeful; each step brings him inches closer to your trembling, bare form, and the heaviness of his lidded gaze, liquid blue in a chamber of pearlescent white, cudgels into your ribcage, breaking your resolve apart as it pries the protective ivory wrapped around your delicate, fragile heart apart.

"Price—"

The grey of his pants is splattered with the inkblot stain of the water sprinkling from the looming showerhead. The darkening patches draw your eye to the jut of his hips, wide and expansive, and then further down to the damp outline of his thick, heavy cock still housed in a cotton polymer.

There's a fever in your veins—a sickness echoed in the folds of ever blue that pierce through the smog clouding around you. A blunt weight, a burning heat.

His shirt moulds to the contours of his chest when he finally, finally, stands in front of you. The burnt umber of his chest hair bled through the logo of his faded, worn tee. Liverpool Football Club in bright red against stark white. It glues to his pecs, his biceps.

Your mouth waters at the sight.

"You want this?"

His hands lift, biceps bulging, flexing under the tight cotton when he presses them against the slick, humid tile. His hair clings to his forehead, dark and wet. Droplets bead in his beard.

He presses forward, eyes brimming with want; a palpable sense of desperation that shouldn't frisson over his rigid lines.

Price won't repeat his words—not when his voice is thicker than tar, and stripped bare—and you arch against the cool porcelain pressing into your back, the duality of his unrelenting heat, and the chill of ceramic making every synapse in your head misfire.

Trembling, shaking, and desperately trying to hold on to some sense of cognisance amid this turbulent reality, you force a nod. A jerk of your chin.

He breathes through his nose, the breath wisping over the bridge of your nose. Frustration, you think, and—

Impatience. Uncertainty.

"Do you—"

Your facsimile of consent isn't enough for him. He's not a man known to repeat himself, and this—the words that are ripped from the smouldering depths of his chest should be a warning, if not a bare-faced testament to just how much he wants this—makes your heart flutter. A thrumming beat that seems to echo in the scant space between your bodies, the crevasse pitched at an intentional distance by his stalwart sense of control, propriety.

He won't touch you unless he's absolutely sure you want this, him—

Frustrating.

Verbalising your assent, your eagerness, makes something churn inside of you. As if uttering the words aloud will somehow break the spell you cast over him by your pithy voice ringing his name in the shades of your pleasure, the sight of your delicate fingers threading between your swollen, drenched folds.

You want him—haven't wanted anything nearly as much in your life than to feel his damp, naked chest flush against yours, his hips prying your thighs apart, his massive hands grasping your flesh like each pound was owed to him, and he was collecting his dues.

But—

That leap, the precipice you balance yourself on, is daunting. A touch won't be enough. A taste would just be a tease. A morsel.

You don't want a crumb—you want it all.

"Price," you whine instead, biting back the words he wants to hear. "Just—give it to me—"

It makes him groan. His head tips forward, eyes burning pits of sapphire-stained coal.

"Need to hear you say it."

It borders that illicit equinox of being both too much and not enough: that dangerous precipice where you either climb to higher, deadlier altitudes or fall down to certain death.

You wonder if there is a win somewhere in that. A choice when you come out unscathed, whole.

Price leans in, hair wet, matted to his forehead, beard slick with droplets of water that bead against the auburn, and immediately you think: no.

There is no victory in this.

And yet—

"Fuck me, captain—"

—you just can't help yourself sometimes.

. . .

It's wicked. Intense.

The clothes he wore were shed from his body like a second skin under your quiet, hungry acquiescence. They sit in a sopping pile that keeps drawing your eye.

He's naked—just like you—but there is something marginally more intimate, vulnerable, in seeing your stolid leader in such a state of disarray. His hair is clumped from the humidity and moisture—matted on the top, but moussed on his side when he stepped away from you, and peeled the drenched shirt from his body. It sticks up in pieces near his ears, and your fingers ache with a longing to smooth them down.

Make him presentable, somehow.

Or maybe it's a distraction. A way to skirt around the tangibility of him standing before you, touchable and real, and—

And wanting.

The same shades of your desire are echoed in the rucked crevasses of cenote blue when he gazes down at you, head bowed, and catching the spray like your own personal protector. The water hits the nape of his neck, and glides down his broad shoulders, his chest.

You want to sink your teeth into the puddles caught by the jut of his clavicles. Want to taste the briny water running in rivulets across his skin.

Want, you think, and want, want, want—

Price's hand knots in the fine hair at curve of your neck, a perfect fistful in the thick of his palm, and he uses it as an anchoring point, a steer, to bend your chin in whichever way suits him best to slant his rapacious mouth over yours, and devour.

His kisses are blistering—contained: controlled, powerful, and measured; and desperate: soft gasps, gentle hums, and needy noises spill from the parted seam of his teeth, muffled by his nicotine-soaked tongue that dips in each crevasse it can find.

It's addicting—just like you knew he would be.

His touch is better than anything your nimble fingers could ever conceive; broad strokes of his rough hands run down the inches of skin available to him. Calloused thumbs catch the mooned curve of your nipple, grazing the soft tissue until your mouth drops in a gasp of his name. He rolls the blunt pad of his finger over them until they tingle from his touch, until each brush sends a shock of pleasure to your core.

Price's hand slides down, fingers ghosting over the wet skin of your side, your hip, your thigh. Each whisper of a touch drags out a whimper from your throat. It's too much. Your skin prickles with goosebumps in his wake, and leaves you feeling feverish and chilled at the same time. A war, then, starts as your body tries to oscillate between stemming the ache inside of you, the emptiness in your cunt, and the delicious drag of his flesh over yours. A droplet of intimacy and tenderness in a sea that collects the ashes of Gomorrah when it rains.

It is a shade softer than what you've come to expect from your captain, and far more delicate than you deserve.

The unexpected tenderness of this moment is a stab to your chest. Blunt, brutal—it's a sharp juxtaposition to the ginger way he touches you; the soft reverence in his gaze when he looks down at you.

Just sex, you think. Lust, want. Greed, hunger.

It isn't supposed to mean anything outside of unexpected happenstance; the melding of two willing bodies in a sign of ritualistic devotion to Hēdonē.

And yet—

You want. Full stop.

Everything. All of what he has to offer, and more, because you're never satisfied with just one. Never content until you've consumed, devoured, everything. Every iota of whatever it is that ensnared your attention.

And it's terrifying.

It's not a jump, but a leap. A careening descent down an embankment that has no ledges for you to sink your fingers in, and cling to. It's a treacherous fall to the bottom.

And still. Still. You won't regret the plunge. The drop.

How can you when you know what his skin feels like under your palm—warmer, softer, than you could have ever imagined. What he smells like when he leans in close, head dropping to suckle on your pulse point—vetiver and smoke; thick and musky—and the scent of his damp hair, cigar and malt, that darkens when it's wet, and curls slightly at the ends.

He's hairier than you'd imagined he would be—a thick bed of black curls on his chest that taper off into a line down his stomach, his navel, before thickening around his pelvis. A bed of curls, untrimmed and wry, that frame the jut of his thick, uncut cock. It curves a little to the left, and what he lacks in length—though you'd hardly call nearly six inches lacking—he makes up for in sheer girth. He's fatter than anything you'd ever felt in the palm of your hand, than you'd ever taken before. Your mouth waters at the sight, and you wonder if his cock would taste the same as the skin of his neck, his red nipples that peak through the coarse curls.

Wonder, then, if you'd even be able to take him all the way down to the base or if he'd stuff you full, and make your jaws ache just around the head of his fat cock.

When you gasp it out—wanna choke on your cock—Price shudders. The hitch in his breath, humid on your neck where he buried his face, nipping the skin around your jugular, is punched out of his chest, and accompanies a low snarling noise that sounds more animalistic than it does human.

"Fuckin' hell, love," he heaves through clenched teeth. His gaze flickers up, staring at you through the dusting of brown lashes cut over blue ashlar. His mouth is red from the trail of peppered bites, nips, he laved against your wet sternum. It's sin, you think, when he shivers. When his nostrils flare. "You can't just say shite like that—"

"Played with your pretty little cunt earlier, thinkin' of me, mmhm? Made yourself cum, didn't you?" Price stands to his full height, head bowing over yours. His hand wraps around the thick of his cock, eyes cresting in pleasure at the touch. There is a moment, then, when his gaze flickers to you, catching the burning anticipation that greets him like a kiss. "Gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The look on his face, the hunger lingering in the cut of cerulean that gleams through the thin mist that clouds around you, is magnetic. Captivating. You can't tear your gaze away from the almost primal way he stares down at you. Wanting. Needy.

You taste heme in the back of your throat, and feel something knot inside your chest—something animalistic, possessive—when his eyes drop like an anchor to the smooth curve of your throat when you swallow the ichor down.

There's is the faintest flash of teeth from beneath his wet beard. A gnarled grimace. A botched grin. He bares the whites of his canines and moves closer to you. The blunt press of his throbbing cock steals the last vestiges of air from your quivering lungs.

"Teasin' me, eh?" He rasps, eyes dropping further to catch the sight of him dragging the silky head over your wet flesh until it's notched at the apex of your sex, kissing the divot above your aching clit.

With your lungs collapsing, you can't find the words to refute him, and settle instead for a meek nod.

"Use your words, love." It's a snarl punched through the clench of his teeth. "I want to hear you, yeah?"

"Yes," you gasp, back arching, aching for him. "Yes, captain—"

His broad shoulders tremble, lashes fluttering when the head of cock meets your cunt. The slide of him, iron-hard and velvet soft, has you mewling out some broken whisper of his name. Price responds with a groan. A wet, rasping noise spills out from his heaving chest.

"Fuck—," the curse is sawed out from between clenched teeth, the brush of his cock parting your slick folds, pressing taut to your leaking hole, has something wanting and possessive simmering in those cerulean pools. A gnarled hunger.

It makes you wonder, then, how often he'd leaned back against the same tile, his hand wrapped around himself just like this, and whispered your name into the steam.

"Look so pretty like this," he rumbles, fingers leaving indents in the thick of your thigh when he grasps you tighter. "All desperate for my fuckin' cock. Want it, don't you?"

The whimpered yes is ripped from your throat and shredded between the small gap of your jaws before his words take any tangible shape in your mind.

Your captain asks you a question—want my cock, don't you? So fuckin' desperate for it, ain't you?—and you respond immediately. No questions asked.

Pavlov's dog, you think, mouth watering when his cock slips against your cunt.

Price stops with just the head of his cock kissing your entrance, movements halting abruptly.

The protesting whine is cut off when he leans down, lips slanting over yours in a soft kiss, a brush. His beard scraps over the sensitive skin of your cheeks and chin, but the wet drag of his coarse hair feels good.

"Price—"

"Are you ready for me?"

No. It's immediate. Quick and decisive. A firm, assured thing that echoes in the scant spaces of your ribs.

You should say no. No, because then you'll want more. No, because once will not be enough to satiate the hunger inside of your chest. The growing chasm that growls out its need with each soft utterance of your name, each touch of his hand.

You're greedy.

You don't, though.

The hunger is stifled under the waves of desire that roll through you when his cock notches against your clit.

Instead, you nod. Whispering, I want it.

His gaze is blistering when he levels it on you. Gyre blue; arsenic white. His mouth knots into an even line, thick with anticipation. Determination. He echoes your nod once, and then presses his forehead against yours, holding it there.

His eyes bore into you when he steadies his hand on your thigh, trapped in his firm hold, and pushes himself against you once more.

"Breathe for me," he rasps, the word a low command, and then he rocks forward.

His cock stretches you with each inch that slides into your cunt. It's a white-hot heat that licks up your spine—the edges of too much and not enough, and how could there possibly be another inch when he's already so fucking deep?

The doesn't stop until his hips are flesh with yours, filling you to the brim. When his cock presses against the plug of your womb, you expect him to stop. He's bottomed out, filling you so deeply that you can almost taste his bitter tang on your tongue, but he doesn't. He doesn't.

His cock notches into your womb: a pulsing grind into the very end of you. The slide of it makes you hiss, makes your nails rake over his flesh, leaving rivers of red when you claw at him, struggling to keep yourself from being swallowed by the waves of pleasure, pain, that roll over you.

He pauses his slow rolls for a moment, just long enough to catch your lips in a searing kiss, and lift his hand up, pressing his palm flat against the wet tile. Distracting you, maybe, from the drag of his cock pulling out of your pulsing, gripping him tight as if to keep him locked inside of you forever. With his mouth on yours, fingers threading through the wet, clumped locks of his hair, you barely have time to brace yourself when he plants his feet on the floor, and rocks into you.

The air is forced from your lungs with the even cant of his hips, the slide of his cock back into you. It burrows deep, hitting something behind your naval that makes you keen, head reeling from the phosphenes that blink, coruscating in front of your eyes. An illicit lure in bioluminescence.

The blunt, bludgeoning thrust rattles through you, hard enough to make your bones tremble, and your head spin—dizzy and heavy with the blow of his hips fucking into the tight clench of you around him.

His hand drops from the wall, falling to your thigh.

He doesn't give you a moment to ready yourself before slips his fingers around your flesh, and hefts you up. Your back slides against the slick wall, thighs pushed tight around his marrow waist, held tight in the grip of his hands.

"C–captain—!"

Price shushes you with a searing kiss full of teeth, tongue. It tastes of charcoal and Sycamore bark when his tongue rolls over yours; a heady, smoky tang that makes you dizzy off the pure nicotine nestled between his teeth.

Comfortably situated in his grasp, legs wrapped around his waist, he starts a new rhythm. The stretch of his cock sawing into your pussy stings, edging sharply against your mettle as he fills you deeper, wrenching you open wider, than you'd ever experienced before.

But it's a good pain.

The kind you don't think you could ever live without now that you had a taste. No substitute for the real thing.

It's a scorching heat that ebbs, notching higher and higher as Price holds you tighter against the slick wall, fucking into you like a man starved.

His pace is hard, fast. Unrelenting.

Pleasure blooms inside of you and feels like a bruise when it brims in your nerves. Sparks of pain, ones that edge into that dangerous precipice of feeling somehow good despite the ache, weave together with the bliss. A quit of too much knotted into an overwhelming sense of euphoria.

Maybe it's the taste of success, of victory, when Price drops his head to your temple, mouthing across your damp skin. His tongue is scorching when it laves over your flesh, chasing the droplets that leak from your hairline to your cheekbone.

The graze of his beard running over your skin feels like everything you wanted, and more.

Your fingers curl over his broad shoulders, holding him close to your trembling chest. He's an anchor, a beacon—a buoy in the middle of the ocean. You can't help yourself from thinking six degrees when his chin lifts, and his mouth swallows the gospel of his name as it's choked out between your bruised lips.

The noises he makes, deep, rasping growls of your name; grunts of pleasure; hisses when you clench tight around the thick of him, desperate to keep him locked inside of you, are better than any fantasy you could have conjured up. The weight of his body on yours, the tight grasp of his hands, the rasp of his tongue, the whisper of your name—it piles and piles; the heavy weight falling on you like an anvil.

Velvet softness, and heat. Each drag of him over your sensitive walls makes you keen, toes curling, back arching in pleasure.

You're already sensitive from earlier, from when you played with yourself thinking of him, and the fullness, the slight sting of taking him into you, make a knot form behind your navel. A spooling thread of bliss pulling taut with each deep plunge of him seating deep behind your belly button.

"Touch yourself," he demands, words rucked through the clench of his teeth, bared in pleasure as he syphons bliss from your willing body. "C'mon, love—want you cum around my cock. Wanna feel you—"

You had expected blunt brutality—it had circled your fantasies the moment you pressed your back against the tile, and slipped your fingers through your folds. It's a staple of him, you think; who he is. Ferocity in flesh and bone. He'd touch you with the same rough hands, and regard you with rougher words.

"Mm, spread your legs for me, dove."

"You want it bad, don't you?"

Words reeking of the same smoke on his breath. Heavy commands fell from his blistering lips. It brought you to the brink, to the ledge of that white-hot pleasure until the thought of his hands branding your skin shoved you over.

Hearing it uttered aloud now nearly has you weeping. Frenzied with desire, and that unignorable sense of victory when he leans down, hands roughly hiking your thighs higher up his waist as he fucks into the molten centre of you. Accomplishment when your skin smarts long after his hand drifts away, knowing there will be a mark left behind—blood pooling under your bruised flesh when he gripped too hard.

It's enough to make you delirious.

"Come on," he husks, pressing the flat of his teeth against the underside of your jaw. "You made your pretty cunt cum on those fingers earlier, mmh? Do it again. Make yourself cum around my cock. You wanted this, didn't you? Moaned my fuckin' name with your fingers buried inside your sweet pussy. Well, now you have it, love. So, fuckin' cum—"

His words make you moan loud, your belly quivering at the heat in his voice when hisses the command into your skin.

Your hand slips from the vice grip around his shoulders, dropping to the apex of your spread thigh. Your cunt is burning to the touch, and hotter than the steam billowing around you like a thick cloud. Condensed sin. The lips of your pussy are slick, and swollen from the brutal way he fucks into you. The tips of your fingers ghost over the chafed, raw skin of your pussy, feeling the thick slide of his wet cock, sticky and drenched in the mess of your arousal, as it pounds into you.

Everything feels somehow heightened, real, when you feel the stretch of your flesh around the molten heat of him.

It makes you moan—a noise you'd never heard yourself make before: low, needy. A desperate whine, broken at the first vowel of his name. Jo—John—!

"That's it, love," he gasps, low and desperate, lashes tickling the skin of your jaw. "Cum for me—uhhh, fuck—gonna—gonna fuckin' cum—"

Your fingers pass over your throbbing clit, circling in tandem with each blunt piston of his cock kissing the seal of your womb. Oversensitive from your earliest orgasm, it doesn't take much for you to march toward that precipice once more, dusting over your nerves where it stings like a bruise, and rips through you like a gale.

The building crescendo of your pleasure ends when Price snaps his hips against yours, hitting deep, and finding a spot inside of you that seems to be a direct link to Nirvana, to bliss. He throws you over the ledge until you're once again falling down with nothing but him (him, him, always him) on your mind, and his name slipping off your tongue.

"C–captain—!"

Your cunt throbs around him, fluttering like the rapid pulse beating against the thin skin he nips with his teeth. It floods your veins with liquid bliss, and the euphoric haze that congeals in your head, a mushy slurry of chemicals and victory, is soporific, heavy. It falls on you like an anvil, an anchor around your neck, and you cling to him, murmuring his name into his crown as his thrusts grow sloppy, clumsy.

Price lifts his head, hands holding you tight to him as he fucks the tight clench of your cunt. His lips slant against yours in a messy, wet kiss, broken by gasps of your name spilling from his mouth. His tongue lashes across your teeth, rhythm stuttering into a desperate series of thrusts.

He groans in your ear, a hushed noise cudgelled in the background of everything else—the slap of his balls slapping against your sopping cunt as he plunges into you, pushing in as deep as he can go, and then deeper still, the heavy pants that tumble from your lips.

"Yeah, fuck, love—," another brutal snap has your mind whiting out in pleasure. "Jus' like that. Takin' it so good. So fuckin' good, ain't you?"

He batters against the seal of your womb like he was trying to bludgeon his way inside.

"Fuck—gonna cum—gonna—"

You spasm around him, tied tight at the base of his cock like a pretty little knot, a bow, and he groans low and dazed when he pulses deep inside of you, filling you up with his cum.

"Fuck—!"

He snarls your name, mouth sliding across your skin; wet and messy. His hands are hot on your skin, heavy and branding as he clings to you, riding out the last smouldering vestiges of his release that paints insides pearlescent with the stain of him.

Branded, you think, inside and out.

Your lips sting when he rubs the coarse hair of his chin over them, mouth trailing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses up the bridge of your nose.

He comes to himself in increments, and you catalogue each notch as they unfold before you. Heaving gasps against your neck; messy, wet kisses; murmurs of devotion into your hairline, your temple (fuck, love, fuck, feels so good, so good, good for me, perfect little thing, aren't you? So fuckin' perfect, can't get enough of your little cunt around me, gonna taste you after, gonna bury my face between these pretty thighs and make you ride my face, kitten, gonna make you cum on my tongue—); and finally, finally—his head lifts.

The sight of him, cheeks stained roseate from the heat of the still running shower, from the exertion of spreading you open, and fucking you against the wall—

It's breathtaking.

His eyes are dark, cindered ash and crushed basalt around the edge of a liquid blue cenote. A lunar mare—Oceanus Procellarum dusted with fine azure.

Thunderclouds of blue.

Something intense brims in the arsenic gyre when he stares down at you, lidded eyes heavy with the weight of his lingering pleasure; subdued and far more docile than you'd ever imagined he was capable of.

He blinks slowly and languidly; liquid strokes of a pale curtain suffering over the glacial canyons cut into ashlar—the motion is almost hypnotic when the thinning fog from the cooling shower sweeps across the scant space between your bodies. A veil of diaphanous white.

The haze makes him seem almost ethereal. Incorporeal. It almost feels like a dream—a manifestation of your wants taking shape in your subconsciousness. An illicit tease from the depths of your endless desire.

But the thud of his heart under your palm, the feeling of his cooling flesh glued to your skin like gauze, and harsh breaths ghosting across your flesh are too good to ever be a dream.

You're not imaginative enough to conjure the phantom feeling of his softening cock seated deep within your aching, tender cunt.

Or the sting of your flesh.

Your body feels like one massive contusion. The throbbing sting of strummed rubber bands snapping across the places he touched, gripped tight between his fingers.

It feels like the aftermath of a battle, and the comparison makes your mouth split, unfurling into a satisfied grin as the quiver in your muscles begins to remind you of that time you sprinted through the bustling streets of Cairo together. The heat blooming in your chest, your core, as hot as the sun that scorched your exposed skin.

The burn in your thighs is the same throbbing pain you felt when you slid on loose sand, and skinned your bare knees on the cobblestone of a hidden alleyway, tucked behind an alcove.

Price is a firm mountain holding you steady—just like then, when he picked you up off the ground despite your protests (just a scratch, cap, I can walk—), and carried you through the maze of winding tunnels on the outskirts of the city centre. Solid. Stalwart. Your dependable leader.

You've looked at him the same way for the last four years. Respect, want. Admiration, desire. Greed. You crave him in ways that always, always, felt unattainable. One-sided.

Silly.

And that was it, you think, staring into the naked blue of his eyes. Bare. Raw. Vulnerable.

You've been so busy running from your own feelings, your own ways, convinced without any proof that they were one-sided. A one-way path without any parallels, any concurrents. All this time, with your head buried in your chest to avoid getting caught staring at him so wantingly, you've missed the look in his eye, bent by refraction—your own avoidance.

The way Price looks at you is rapacious—a twin flame to your own covetous desires.

There's something so unfathomably fragile about how he stares at you, now. Head bowed, catching the brunt of the chilled spray as it rains down on him, shielding you from the cold. He keeps you warm, and tucked safely in the fold of his arms. Unwilling, you think, to let go just yet. To slip back into the same impasse as before. The same forced stalemate forged by hesitation.

It drags something out of your chest—a laugh, maybe: broken and frayed at the edges, a vocal fry of derision, and disbelief.

His chin lifts at the sound, brow furrowing together in a knot of confusion between his nautical blue eyes. Six degrees. You feel every notch when he slowly lowers the two of you to the ground, falling in a clumsy heap to his knees, and still buried within you.

"What?"

The word is drenched in the thick tang of the bloom of his dormant hesitation shucking the tendrils of sleep away as the spell around you splinters at the broken laughter that tumbled from your lips. It makes you coo—a soft, soothing noise to placate the dent between his brow, and the knot of his mouth souring into an even line.

"Just thinking," you hum, legs tightening around his waist, knees now hiked up the sides of his ribcage.

He hisses teeth gritted teeth when you wriggle on his lap. "About what?"

Your palm sides down his slick chest until the thud of his heart sits in the cup of your hand. "About this."

Your words draw a low hum from his throat, and you feel it reverberate through your joints. "That so?"

That cold night in Cairo rears again. No substitute for the real thing.

The thing is: with your head buried in the proverbial sand, you missed the way his eyes never wavered from your face when he said it. How the corners tightened with something that felt like irritation, but now feels like restraint.

Why you had to hunt for Cleopatra's, anyway.

(—losin' some bloody cigars' is hardly the same as losin' you, love. Don't you ever do that to me—to us—again—)

In some ways, you think you lost the battle—many of them, in fact—but when he winds his arms around your waist, keeping locked in his embrace, you know you somehow won the war. The unwinnable victory thudding steadily against the palm of your hand.

You glue your forehead to his, and murmur: "been waiting a long time for this."

"Well," he rasps, voice ghosting over the shell of your ear. "Hell of a way to get my attention."

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #this was edited in a feverish daze so if you find any mistakes #don't @ me about it #i did my best #ahhhh #it feels like it's been forever since i wrote for Price??#but it really hasn't???#anyway #captain john price #captain price #john price #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #john price x you #captain john price x you

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grievedeeply · 3 months

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the less time the better. pt 9.

PREVIOUS | SERIES TAGLIST

pairing: heimdall x gn!reader

summary: you make a trip to midgard and try to cope with brok's death.

notes: again not a lot of heimdall this chapter but...... y/n needs a moment (or multiple) LOL enjoy everyone and thanks for all of the support! probably 2-3 more chapters depending on how long i make them. decided to add more recent people to the taglists, but if you want to be removed let me know at any time! tws: a VERY dead brok. a lot of angst, probably an ooc sindri but i just wanted a nice scene where reader gets to open up to someone about faye and how hard it was for them to deal with her death. this felt like a good time to do it with a comforting moment between them and sindri.

the silence was deafening.

usually the branches of the yggdrasil felt like nothing. they weren't affected by the weather of the 9 realms, as they were the things literally holding them up. but now, you felt strangely cold as you stood on sindri's doorstep.

10 minutes ago, brok was alive. he was making jokes as he always did, but now... he was gone. he was gone forever, and there was nothing you or anyone else could do to bring him back.

"father," your brother's voice cut you out of your thoughts, "where are we going?" he asked, taking his place by your side. you subconsciously wrapped your arm around his shoulder. you knew atreus far too well and you knew that he would blame himself for brok's death. he was the one who wanted to find tyr, but he wasn't the only one who was fooled by odin's ruse, either.

how didn't you notice it? you had never met the real týr before, but you could only assume that he was a god who put the needs of others before himself. could he still be alive? if he was, could you ever think of him as týr, and not the man odin portrayed him as? he was a god with an incredible reputation and an even better legacy— a god of war who advocated for peace. you could only imagine how he would feel, knowing his image was used for something as cruel as deception.

"home." your father responded. he lifted the key to the mystic gateway, and the door opened. you followed after him wordlessly, and atreus matched your step. he still hadn't moved out of your grip yet and a part of you didn't want him to at all.

your feet touched the branches once again, and your thumb pressed into atreus's shoulder, running circles against his armor. he had gotten so big. where had the time gone?

"father, can we.. i.. i wanna go hunting," he said.

"i will follow."

"we're with you, atreus."

the door to midgard opened, and you stepped through silently. you were met by the cool breeze and light snow hitting you face. the last time you were here was because you were going back to asgard. heimdall wouldn't be with you now if you hadn't went back. you wondered how he was doing back at the house. it was probably just as quiet there. brok was usually the one keeping the place lively.

"which way we headed, lad?" mimir asked.

"in.. the direction of deer." he responded simply. you let go of him, but didn't move to follow him. your father turned to look at you. his eyes were filled with a sadness that you had only seen a few times in your life. when your mother died.. when atreus was ill.. and now, at the death of a friend. "go on," you said. "i'll catch up. there's just.. something i want to do here first." you told him.

"i understand." he murmured in response. you put on a smile, the smallest on you could muster, as a way to reassure him. atreus needed this alone time with him. you would have your moment some other day. he needed this.

"be careful," he said to you. you nodded. he turned, following after atreus. he was probably already visiting with speki and svanna by now. those wolves of his were far too intelligent for their own good. you were sure they knew something was wrong. you doubted he would even notice you were gone right away, and you couldn't blame him for it either.

you looked away from your father's back as he walked away from you and instead turned to look at your house. it was a tiny thing, practically built with sticks and prayers, but it held strong and always did what it was supposed to do. it kept you safe. it kept you safe from baldur all of those years ago, and again with thor and odin. you remembered thor breaking the ceiling as he threw your father and his hammer through it, but even then you knew he would be alright. he always was.

you pushed open the door, and it creaked on it's hinges as it always did. you kicked the snow off of your boots before you stepped inside. it was something your mother did every winter before she died, and you picked up on it at a young age. you closed it behind you and took in a deep breath. in a way, it still smelt like her. your mother's presence was all over the home. no matter how long she was gone, you would always feel her here in midgard.

you ran your fingers across the wood of the walls, and closed your eyes. what would you say to her now, if she were here? what would she say to you?

you thought of the dream you had with her in it, where she told you about the importance of making your own decisions. you could only hope she would be proud. you did exactly what you thought was best, without anyone else's input. if you hadn't gone back to asgard, heimdall wouldn't be on your side. he fought beside your father. he fought for you.

you breathed deep, letting the smell of the wet wood fill your nose. heimdall had changed so much since the first time you met. he was arrogant back then, selfish and cruel. now.. he felt like someone else entirely. was that because of you? if you hadn't shown up— dodged his attacks like they were nothing— would he still be loyal to odin? yes, you supposed. he would be. the thought of changing him made you feel good, like you had finally done something right. going back to asgard was worth it because you helped him see the truth. he hadn't spoken about it, really.. but you hadn't asked about it, either. you figured that he needed the time alone to think, but you would be sure to talk to him whenever you got back to sindri's house.

sindri.. the thought of him filled your heart with sadness. before, he never slipped into the realm between realms in plain sight like that. he always went behind something. you always guessed it was the polite thing to do.. but he had done it directly in front of everyone that time. you had to see him, soon. let him know that you were there for him. you'd been through loss too. losing anyone was hard, but family even harder. you couldn't ever imagine losing atreus. you didn't want to think about it.

you sat down on your old bed— a bed that you haven't slept in in weeks— and sighed. things had changed so much since the day you departed to spread your mother's ashes. you never would've met brok and sindri if it wasn't for that journey. or mimir.. or freya. you met almost everyone you cared about because of her. even heimdall, now. it was weird, saying you cared about him. but you did. you couldn't change that now.

you lied down. your head touched the pillows, and you took in another breath. you had spent so much time here with your mother. this was the place she died, too. at home and warm. at least you could give that to her.

it felt like hours before you got up again, but in reality, it was just a few minutes. everything here reminded of her, and you were glad for it. just thinking of her kept her with you. you never wanted that to change.

you thought back to your dream once again, and pushed yourself to your feet. the river you fished in so many times with her wasn't too far from the house. before she got sick, the two of you would venture out further downstream. in one of those places on the river.. that was where your dream took place. it was the peak of her life with you. but as her illness progressed, she became too tired to fish. she would go out less and less, staying closer to home. you would fish for her, but you were never as good as she was. still, you would come home with a pail full, and she would praise you for it.

you would do anything to hear her voice again.

you opened the door once more and stepped back out into the cold. you had spent so much time in midgard during fimbulwinter, but you swore you would never get used to the weather. you made your way into the woods, and you were met with the river once again. it hadn't changed much over the years, even though it had been some time since you had visited. after her death, you came less and less. the memory of her was too painful, and all fishing did was remind her of her and how she was gone.

you took in a quick breath through your nose and stepped into the water. she had told you once that you would get used to the cool temperatures of the water, and she was right. you didn't shiver or flinch at the cold. instead, you welcomed it like a warm blanket that washed over you.

"i miss you." you whispered. somehow, you knew she was listening. the world was unfair for taking her away so soon. "i love you." you told her. you swallowed the lump in your throat. would she be able to meet brok again? you could only hope so. the thought of it put a smile on your face. at least he wouldn't be alone in the afterlife. he would be with a friend.

you closed your eyes and took in the scenery. the sound of the breeze rushing through the trees, the chirping of birds and cracking of twigs under the weight of an animal somewhere.

it would be okay, you told yourself.

just one more minute.

you hadn't been to týr's temple in a long time.

you hadn't needed to, after all. with all of the towers closed in every realm and no way for travel, you never needed to go back. and now, it was still unable for use. no matter how many times you passed by it while hunting, you never stopped inside until now.

you knew this is where sindri would be though. this is the place where he made up with brok. this is where he would be, and you were sure atreus knew that too. you were sure that he and your father had already paid him a visit themselves, but you wanted to on your own. you needed to let him know you were there for him, even if he pretended he didn't need it.

it was a long walk from home, which meant you had plenty of time to think. plenty of time to blame yourself for brok's death in the first place. how could no one have noticed? you tried not to think about it too much. he wouldn't want blame being passed around. you knew that.

you sighed as you pulled yourself up the stairs. now covered in ice, you remembered when the lake was water. atreus was much younger then— much smaller. once again, you thought of the good young man he was becoming. it hadn't truly been that long since that journey and yet.. it felt like lifetimes ago.

you stared up at the doorway and pushed it open with little struggle, only a grunt escaping your lips as you did so. the inside was much warmer, and you welcomed the feeling. the familiar sound of hammering filled your ears, and as you looked, you were greeted by sindri's back. brok's body lay on the table to his side, and you blinked away your emotions. this wasn't about you.

"go away," he said without even turning to look at you.

you cleared your throat, taking an awkward step closer to him. sindri was different. his clothing was covered in blood and dirt, and so were his arms. he hadn't cleaned since brok died. how much of that was his blood? you bit at the inside of your cheek, trying your best to shove the thought out of your head.

"sindri.." you started. what was there to even say? you didn't know. instead, you stood there. after a few moments of agonizingly long silence, he turned to face you. he sat the hammer down with a thud on the table, and you felt small under his gaze.

"what?" he snapped. now that his face was in the light, you could see how red his eyes were. he had been crying. you wished there was something more you could do, but.. there was nothing you could do to bring brok back, and that was what sindri wanted.

"i just.. wanted to let you know that i'm here." you told him.

you swore you saw his gaze soften.

"i know you probably don't want company right now or.. or anything like that," you swallowed, "but i just.. had to tell you that." you murmured.

sindri remained silent. he looked away from you and towards the ceiling. you only wished you could read his thoughts. he had become someone completely different. yesterday he was happy. despite the fact of ragnarok looming over him, he was happy because he had his brother there.

"i can't imagine.." you whispered out to him, lips pursed together. "i couldn't ever imagine losing atreus. i'm.. so sorry." you told him. by now, you were standing on opposite sides of the table he had spent so much time working at.

"that's what he said." he said. "atreus." he can barely force himself to say his name.

"i figured he would come."

silence fell over the room again and suddenly, sindri shook his head.

"you don't.. you don't get to be sorry." he said. "you still have your brother. because of him and because of you— i will never have mine back." sindri laid his hand on brok's chest. you felt a pang shoot through your chest at his words, but you didn't argue. you couldn't do that to him. you looked down at brok's body. you had to look at him. that was the least you could do.

"i know." you muttered.

"he brought him into my home." he whispered. "and he.."

"i know."

he looked back up at you, gaze narrowed. you could practically see the whirlwind of emotions going through his mind just by looking at is eyes.

"what do you know?" sindri asked quietly.

"i know what loss feels like." you said simply. "when my mother died, i was.. i was inconsolable. i needed her with me to.. to function, to live." you took in a breath, heavy through your lungs.

"my father.. none of us ever told you what happened to her, did we?"

at his silence, you took it as your que to continue.

"she got sick."

his brow furrowed.

"sick? faye?" he asked quietly. you nodded.

"i thought.. how could a woman as strong as her get sick like this? how could she be healthy one day and then in her deathbed a few weeks later? i didn't understand it. i still don't. but i.. i know what it's like to grieve, sindri. i understand."

he only looked at you.

"i know my apologies won't bring brok back." you murmured. "but i.. just need you to know that i'm here for you."

he swallowed. his took a deep, shaky breath. you knew your words meant very little, but if they provided any sort of comfort to him, your trip out here would be worth it. sindri squeezed brok's hand.

"it's all my fault." you heard sindri murmur under his breath. "what?" you asked, head tilted to the side in confusion. "brok.. he died. before." he told you.

"when he.. when he died, i couldn't handle it. i went to the lake of souls and i jumped in. i.. found pieces of his soul. all of them except for one." he whispered, unable to tear his eyes off of his brother. "and now he.. doesn't have them all. he can't go anywhere. he's ceased to exist."

"that's not your fault." you told him without missing a beat. "brok.. what he said before.." you cleared your throat as sindri's gaze finally shifted up to you. "he said he forgave you. this.. that's not on you. he understood." you muttered softly. he blinked a few times, running his thumb across the back of brok's hand. tears filled his eyes, and you forced yourself to give him a comforting smile.

he said nothing in response.

"can i.. say a prayer?" you asked, your gaze shifting from brok's body to sindri's eyes. he could only nod as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

you breathed deeply, in through your nose and out through your mouth. while you didn't have the items you had when you were mourning your mother.. you didn't mind. you doubted brok would've wanted something fancy like that anyway.

"lo, there do i see my mother," you whispered.

"lo, there do i see my father.." you continued, falling onto one knee next to the table. "and my sisters and my brothers. lo, there do i see the line of my people. back to the beginning. lo, there do they call to me. they bid me take my place among them in the halls of valhalla."

"where the brave may live forever."

you finished, pressing your forehead against brok's arm. he was cold. stiff. the last time you did this, it was for your mother. it was the exact prayer you and atreus had said before her funeral. you swallowed, feeling pressure build up in your throat. you stayed there for a moment, and sindri watched you wordlessly.

you knew there was no valhalla for brok. but he was brave. and he would live forever within you, within everyone who loved him.

you pushed yourself to your feet, turning your attention back to sindri. "thank you." you said to him, and he nodded once again. "i'll.. be at the house." you muttered, turning on your heel to leave him to his thoughts. you swore you could feel him watching as you left.

you pushed the heavy doors open and stepped back into the cold of midgard.

lo, there do they call to me. you repeated to yourself.

lo, there do they call to me.

tags: @ic-yourface @alisblackgf @engardeitsme @venfia @dijanur @s1mpss @gorepitt @callalillie15 @bluehorizon987 @vanserrar @trippingoverstars @mysiax @beaniebear152 @rei64bit @neverendingdumptser @a-bunny13 @lei-leigha @candy4bonez @yyourmotherr @blobdrake-theory @zarizee @rainygamingstreamingturtle @kise-kae @aesthetic-of-a-director @unodostrescuatrolove @nixeustheclamity @aiciteaa @multifand0m-gal0re @chibi668 @wonderkive @lentillo @luffysoctopus @elizabeth-hatake @black-star1472 @lacm-ac @sxmirae @maggot-baggage @emc2beans @suzumi-hiddenmistclan @white-lyra @lmorg149 @iamverydreamy @giornos-curls @reinabxitch @ourchampionofthesun @paintmekala @the-eternal-sunflower @alextric-overload @lynn-haitani @prettysurethatsakidney @justsomereaderwholikesanime @emmbny @kukungi @sweetdayme4427 @mimiissia

#god of war x reader #gow x reader #god of war #heimdall x reader #god of war ragnarok #heimdall gow #heimdall god of war #heimdall god of war x reader #god of war heimdall x reader #gowr

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soft-for-them · 2 years

Text

Hidden away - Týr x plus size reader

Summary: Whilst searching for a suitable breakfast you happen to come across the old god of war and justice hidden away.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: This gif does not match with the story but there isn't many God of War Ragnarök gifs out there (understandable because the game just came out) and for some reason I don't like using still images. ALSO I haven't finished the game (someone has already spoiled it for me which is annoying) so don't spoil even more for me or anyone else thank you. I'm already thinking of a part two if people want it.

“Sindri!” you grumble as you finally come out your cocoon that is you little bedroom.

You’ve hastily put on a blue overdress, the same one you were wearing all day yesterday, with a fresh long sleeved underdress on of course. The big golden broaches that hold up the straps of the dress, one made by each of your brothers (you were adopted well after they were born but they still insist you are apart of their family) with the Huldra symbol moulded into each of the shiny metal rounds are the only clean part of your outfit, your dress covered in powdered paint and glue now dried clear.

Need to say you really need to give your dress a good scrub.

Bare feet hit the shallow steps that were really made only for your brother’s short stature lead down to the open planed ground floor, your bones clicking as you smooth down your clothes over your curves, not bothering to do your hair quite yet.

“Sindri!” you call again this time a bit louder as you head to the kitchen area.

The last you saw of your bother he had quickly popped into your bedroom, which is also your workroom where you paint your murals. He had excuse himself for he was going to go help young Atreus and his father. He said something about Tyr and Brok but really half of it went in one ear and out the other for you were painting and not paying attention to your non blue brother.

You lazily look around for some food to eat whilst also seeing who’s around, Sindri did say he’d be back with Brok, Atreus and Kronos but the tree house is awfully quiet without the bickering of your dwarven brothers along with the clinking of metal tools.

For a moment you stop and look around, you debate calling out again but you don’t.

Instead you find an apple to eat, a bruised one but an apple all the same. You don’t want to be cooking, it’s too early and you’re not the best at it (seem it runs in the family), so you take a big bite out the red and yellow fruit frowning at the chalky texture.

“Where are the porridge oats?” you wonder out loud as you rummage around for the food.

Porridge may not be the first or second thing you’d want to eat in the morning for its awfully bland on its own (and you still want to do as little as possible because you’re tired and in need to finish your painting) but you search for it anyway.

Mediocre apple half eaten you wonder over to the doors leading to what you assume is a pantry, well you thought it was.

You see this isn’t your home, well it is now that the end of times is coming but you didn’t live here before fimblewinter.

Before you lived out in a remote cabin in the middle of the woods living off the land and painting your artwork in peace. Now you cramped in your brother’s spare room for he insisted you move in with him when a group of raiders attacked you home.

“Brok?” you call out. Brok always shouts at you back, he’s your older brother and he loves you but he finds you and your shouting annoying. Sindri would say that you’re just as bad as each other with all the shouting and swearing, two peas in a pod but Brok insists you aren't.

You hear no shouting of your blue brother so you push open the door of what you think is a pantry the thing only open just a bit enough to squish you plush body through. It takes another budge from your shoulder to push the door inwards more, the something that once blocked the door moving away.

Either you’ve become very strong or whatever was blocking the door walked itself backwards.

“What the?” you whisper to yourself as you peak down around the door not see a random box or a weapon that Brok has left around, no, you see a big foot.

Eyes gone wide you slowly look up to see a man, a giant man, a man you have never seen in your entire life before waking up from his make sift bed in the small storage room.

Long dark hair drapes over his face that’s very sleepy looking, his glowing eyes barley open with little bits of sleepy in the corners as he peers up to you.

You want to act on instinct, grab the nearest blunt heavy object and throw it at him followed by running away but his eyes pool with confusion like a animal who has encountered a lost human in the middle of the woods only to run away themselves.

You assume you’ve just woke him up by barging in, his foot obviously being the object you though you moved to open the door just a bit.

You hope you haven’t hurt him in anyway.

“Who are you?” you ask in a stern but quiet voice, not wanting to scare away the giant man who now sits up from his slump.

“I could ask the same thing.” his voice makes you shiver, a warmth travels up your neck.

“I live here thank you very much.”

Already your eyes look the man up and down, his height sitting up taller than your brothers at full height, he must be a giant or part giant you think. The only part giant you’ve met is Atreus and well, Thor as well but you do not like to talk about that.

“Are you a giant?” you ask as you step a bit closer, your body now over the door frame, you now fully into the small room.

“Giant, do you mean Jötnar?” his voice, though laced with a sleepy croak one has when you’ve just awoken, sounds almost playful but also wise.

“I’m sorry, Jötnar, I’ve been around Brok and Sindri too long to remember the proper names for everything-“ you’re babbling but you do so to justify you slip up of calling him a giant, “I’m a human but technically I’m a Midgardian, I do not mean any offence.”

“I don’t take any-“ he talks with his hands, he moves them in a certain motion urging you to give him your name.

“(Y/n). Sister of Brok and Sindri.”

Holding out your hand and despite him sitting down he easily returns the greeting. His large hand wraps around your forearm, his digits squishing your soft skin lightly, his touch light as a feather like he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. You wrap your own hand around his forearm, your own fingers aching as they stretch around the wide width of his arm.

He goes to part from your greeting but you grip on his arm pulling on it like you intend to pull him up off the floor. You know you can’t, you’re not that strong, but it’s a kind gesture to say 'here, I can help you up' to the tall man.

When you were little and smaller than your brothers you’d try pulling them up despite not being able too, they’d get up just fine but they were always thankful for the so called ‘help’. Maybe it’s a childish thing to do, especially to a stranger, but the part Jötnar man looks so tired, so in himself like he doesn’t know who he is.

He pulls himself up just fine, your hand still lingering on his arm. He does not mind, he actually likes the feeling.

“Sister?” he asks.

“Adopted.” You say back with a smile.

“Ah. I see.” He looks down at you with his glowing eyes, not a bad emotion crossing his eyes as he looks at you, “I’m Tyr by the way.”

You mind runs wild.

Atreus and Kronos succeeded in freeing him!

“Well Tyr, would you like some breakfast-“ you raise you other hand that still hold the half eaten apple, “- I was looking for something more substantial to eat than this apple.”

“I would be grateful for one, I-I haven’t had a good breakfast in quite a while.”

#god of war #god of war ragnorak #god of war x reader #tyr god of war #tyr god of war x reader #tyr x reader #x plus size reader #plus size reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader

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takusan-no-ai · 1 year

Text

Forbidden Love

PAIRING: Odin x Female Reader (Romantic) (Angst)

SUMMARY: Odin, disguised as Týr, is introduced to Kratos’ eldest child, (Y/N), and falls in love with her.

“When will those idiots get here?” Odin pondered. He had been waiting here for hours, tied by a noose, and disguised as his own son, Týr. “How long does it take to kill a few Einherjar?”–Odin laughed mid sentence–“I thought Kratos was supposed to be the god of War.”

A loud boom silenced Odin. Three mumbled voices spoke amongst each other as the door was opened. “Time to become Týr,” Odin thought. Kratos, Mimir, and Atreus finally were face to face with who they believed to be Týr.

Why wouldn’t they believe they rescued Týr? Odin acted the part; he knows how sadistic he is, so he knew how to play a helpless victim to Odin’s tyranny. “I can’t show off my powers, or else they might figure me out.” He decided to play as a pacifist, to avoid being spotted in his lie.

“Where are you taking me? Odin has eyes everywhere…where could you possibly hide?” Tyr asked. Odin really needed to know all of their secrets. The more steps he was ahead of his enemy, the better.

“We’re living in the realm between realms temporarily,” Atreus said. Kratos made a grumble. “Sorry, we probably shouldn’t talk about it out here, with Odin’s henchmen around and all,” Atreus corrected himself.

“Of course,” Tyr responded.

After escaping his “prison” they fled for Yggdrasil and made it to Sindri and Brok’s house, hidden away in the world tree. After becoming acquainted with Brok and Sindri, Odin made his way to the broom closet. Out of his arms came Muninn.

“Muninn, I need you to be as quiet as possible and stay here. That way I can travel back and forth, understand?” He whispered. Muninn nodded and hid in a small corner. Odin heard Atreus calling for him and left the broom closet, back in character as Týr.

“Hey, Týr, this is my older sister, (Y/N).” Atreus was eager to introduce his sister to him. She waved with a simper on her face. Odin waved back, taken aback by her ethereal beauty. She wore the clothes of a spartan woman, despite the lack of battle gear. “She’s a great fighter, but not as good as me.” (Y/N) pinched her younger brother’s cheek for that comment.

Odin couldn’t believe that he hadn’t known of her existence. Just how did Kratos manage to hide her so well? And why? He didn’t put in this much effort for Atreus, even after the incident with Baldur and the two fools. Was there something about her that Odin could use? He had to know. The possibilities made him mad.

“I hope to become great friends with you. If my family trusts you then so do I,” she stated. Odin smiled and shook (Y/N)’s hand.

“This is going to be easy,” he thought.

As Odin spent his time there, he began to notice a strange difference between (Y/N) and her family. She was kinder, softer, calmer, even more delicate than Atreus and Kratos. Odin could tell she wasn’t a daughter of Faye, or else she would’ve been much stronger as half a Jötunn. “Excuse me, Lady (Y/N), but, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, how exactly are you related to Kratos?” Tyr asked.

She chortled in response. “It’s okay, I get that a lot.” She sat down next to him, holding a lyre in her hand. “I’m not sure if I should go into too much detail, since it is a personal family matter. The summary is, I have a different mother, a mortal one.”–she teared up at the memories–“She’s dead…along with my sister. I’m only partially a goddess, so I’m not very strong. To add to that, I take after my mother’s personality.” She moved to wipe away her tears, but Odin beat her to it.

“It’s been so long since I’ve met someone so genuine. I’m sorry for resurfacing such traumatic memories,” Tyr apologized. A part of Odin really meant what he said. But an even larger part of Odin saw how easy it would be to control someone as trusting as (Y/N).

Days went by of Odin and (Y/N) bonding. They cooked together, did chores together, and Odin even comforted (Y/N) when Atreus disappeared for some days. He hadn’t realized that he was starting to care for the woman’s life. Her kindness, compliments, and soft touch lured him in. Before Odin knew it, he was already playing favorites with (Y/N).

He almost felt bad about how he purposefully started the fight between Kratos and Atreus so that the boy would come running to Asgard. But he needed to protect Asgard. Odin couldn’t die yet, not without knowing where he’d go.

“I don’t know what to do Týr. I know that Atreus shouldn’t trust Odin, but I want to trust that whatever my brother is doing, that it will be for the good of all of us. I just hate that all of this is because of that All-Father,” (Y/N) confided to Odin. A pain struck his heart at her words. Why didn’t he like her speaking the truth? He’s not a good man and he knows it. He knows she couldn’t ever love him, and yet, that feeling haunted him.

“I’m…unsure of how to help as well.” Odin really didn’t know what to do for her. He couldn’t reveal his identity to (Y/N); did she even like him back? Would she refuse to love him if he told her the truth? Would he die by the hands of Kratos immediately? He knew the answer to that last question.

Odin would lock himself away in the broom closet, regretting all his decisions in life. He hated how his heart longed for his enemies daughter. There were so many reasons she wouldn’t love him back, and he hated that he wouldn’t be able to change a single one of them.

“Maybe I should just go back to that damn tree again,” Odin pondered. He really couldn’t be with you. “…unless. I could…just take her to Asgard after Ragnarök. Maybe even offer to marry her in exchange for ending the war, like I did with Frigg.” Odin got lost in thought, not even hearing Muninn’s reluctancy to the idea.

“She’d definitely love me if she got to know me.”

“Týr? Are you up? I was wondering if you wanted to make dinner together?” (Y/N) asked from the other side of the door.

“I’d love to.” Odin left the broom closet, wrapping his hand around (Y/N)’s.

- Fin

#god of war x reader #oneshot #female reader #odin x reader #odin

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theautisticcentre · 1 year

Text

TRAGEDY VIA ODIN

Father!Kratos x GN!Reader, Little brother!Atreus x GN!Reader

Warnings: Angst, AU, Death, SPOILERS FOR GOD OF WAR: RAGNAROK AND GOD OF WAR (2018)

Summary: A rant from you at Týr ends in tragedy.

Notes: In this AU, Odin ends up killing you instead of Brok.

----------------------------------------------

"He does hate surprises..."

"...Hold on," you said, as you walked in front of Týr, "I wanna hear about this way into Asgard you know." Throughout your groups entire journey, Týr had apparently had a way into Asgard he neglected to share until now, which ate at your mind like Brok did to Fuckin' Gratitude.

"Well?" "It's an ancient path. We can't reach it from here," responded the norse God of War, as he turned to walk away from you. However, you were still unsatisfied. "If not here, then where?" Tyr turned back to you and said, "Let me collect my things, and I'll show you." "You don't have anything," you perceptively pointed out, before continuing.

"And by the way, that mask. Give it here," you angrily said, before you took the wooden mask from his hand and throwing it onto the nearby table. "You didn't earn that mask. My brother did." Atreus quickly moved to separate you two, and told you, "Y/N, it's OK..." but you angrily responded, "No, it's not, Atreus! This isn't right. The pieces aren't connecting. Like- Hey, what's with you calling him "Loki"? You know his name!"

Týr slowly turned away from you. Your rage reached it's peak as you gently pushed your brother aside and stormed up to Týr to continue your rant.

"Hey, Týr! Answer me!"

Before you could react, a magical knife pierced your chest.

"DO YOU NEVER SHUT UP?"

You fell to the ground as the truth unveiled to the others, as Týr's form devolved to reveal Odin. Atreus was quick to rush to your side, as Kratos and the others rushed to confront the All-Father. "Of ALL the things-" "Odin! If my son/daughter/child dies..."

Your focus quickly turned from the confrontation to your younger brother, who was desperately trying to heal the wound, or close it, or do anything. Flashes of your time with your brother came to your mind, from when you first held Atreus, to when you and your father both helped him hunt a deer just after your mother passed, and most of all, of your team up in your final battle against Baldur. As the tears fell from your eyes, you couldn't help but smile at how far he'd come.

"Y/N, please, hol-hold on...Maybe if we go back to the Lake of So-Souls, we can-"

"No," you groaned out to Atreus, holding his cheek. "Wh-why are you smiling," he asked in tears. You let out a slight chuckle, and responded, "...Because of you...Look how far you've come...I'm so...proud. And mom...would be, too..." As you smiled, you ended up coughing up blood.

"No, no!...Father..." By now, everyone was near you, with Atreus and Kratos right by your side. "Y/N...son/daughter/child...I-" "Shh..." was your response to your father, as he held you. "Father...thank you...for helping me and...and Atreus...survive..." You could feel your strength to even breathe slip by the second, but Kratos kept his hold on you tight. "Y/N, you must hold on. For us. For-" You help Kratos' cheek, your eyes practically waterfalls now.

"It's OK...You...you can let go..." you said as you moved one hand down to your father's, and another to your brother's.

"I'm...I'm going to see mom now..."

And with that, you let out one last exhale, and slipped away.

"No! Wake up, Y/N! Wake up," screamed Atreus, as he shook your body.

"Wake up!"

"WAKE UP!"

"Wake up, Y/N..."

"...Mom?"

THE END.

#kratos god of war #god of war ragnarok #god of war 2022 #god of war #god of war kratos #kratos #god of war ragnorak #gow ragnarok #atreus #god of war atreus #atreus god of war

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t-z-gow · 2 years

Note

Can you tell which requests your working on? I don’t want you to be bombarded or annoyed by extra requests 😭😭love your writing btw ❤️🔥

Well I currently have 29 requests, but I also haven't fully combed through them yet so chances are that that number is a lot lower.

I also do requests in the order that I find interest, not first come first serve. So I prefer to have a lot of asks so I can be a little pickier with them. I hope I made that clear in my request rules ^-^;

However if your looking for what I've actually started writing for, here's the list below!

Sindri x reader ~ Consequences of the Past (will post in a few minutes)

Thor x reader ~ [no title yet]

Týr x reader nsfw ~ [no title yet]

#god of war #gow ragnarok #gow x reader #god of war x reader #gow #god of war ragnarok x reader

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that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main · 1 year

Text

Being Thor's best friend + Týr's Fiance part 3

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Reader: female | Thor x sister-in-law Reader (Platonic)| Týr x reader (romantic eventually)

Notes: thanks for waiting so long guys.

Warnings: bitchy ass mom w / her bitchey ass friends.

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Týr would be up before you would the next morning, your cuddled in close to him, head barried his chest, his arm drapped around you

The loose shirt you're wearing exposes from your neck to your shoulder, and even a bit of your arm

He thinks you're pretty

And FUCK do certain people know.

Freya. Sif. His mother. The dragon that likes to sneak in and grab food off the counter

Anyone that would listen really

He's sure he's told you

But not really he tends to marvel at you instead

Which causes him to go silent and just stare.

Luckily his hands are warm and when he places one of your bare shoulder you sink into it.

And just casually rubs your shoulder, looking at your tattoos he hadnt seen before

He gets startled when you toss and turn, turning to your other side with your back to him.

He's just glad he doesnt disturb you.

He'll admit he wants to kiss you, but just wont.

Well a kiss on the cheek never hurt no body-

"OH Y/N!" Freyr cheered with a bright smile, slamming the shutters open.

"No!" She shouted, grabbing a nearby pillow and throwing it at him.

"Hey! Someone didn't get laid -" Freyr argued Y/n getting up on the bed, "Shit!"

She jumped out the window barefoot and in a night gown, chasing after him as if he was prey.

Choking Freyr out at the crack of dawn in a puddle of mud?

Absolutely

He rather you be passive, but he cant stop you

Plus, no real damage is being done.

You come back covered in mud.

"Morin!"

"Ah. Good morning..." Týr chuckled, "You have fun?"

Y/n nodded, "Yeah. I think Freyr knows who's better anyhow."

So as the mud dries on your skin you offer him to go take a bath in a near by lake.

He takes you up on the offer.

You both dont think much of it as you walk together carrying your chlothes for afterward.

You only realized what you've asked as you both stand infront of the water.

"You can!-"

"Oh no-"

The two chuckled.

"Neither of us thought this through I think." Y/n laughed.

"No. We didn't."

Shit you might as well at his point.

Luckily you found a tree and hid behind it as you undressed before jumping in the water.

You manage to convince him in but turn your back, giving him the same amount of privacy he allowed you

Soon akward bathing turns into you guys messing around.

Because tbh your a massive child at heart

Throwing water at one another out of all things, till one gives up

Its you

You can't compete with the massive waves he can make with a wave of his arm

By the end of it your cleaned sure, but now exhausted

Both are now dressed. You sit on a log outlooking the lake

"I'll get you next time." Y/n told

"I look forward to it." He responded smiling at her causing her to chuckle and shake her head.

Its already turning mid-day as you guys sit by the lake in peace

You do feel like the conversation does go kinda dry between you two.

Its like there is nothing else to talk about but so much at the same time

The wedding, perhaps, or really- what to do after it...

"Are they expecting a kid out of us?" Y/n pipped up.

"I. I'm sorry?" He asked, confused.

"Our parents. Are they expecting ae have a child together?" Y/n asked, "like immediately. What happens if we hate each other."

"You are very much a delight to me, Y/n."

Y/n sighed, "I just..."

"Y/n." He spoke, she turning to look at him, "When you are ready, you are ready, when you are not, you are not. That is your choice. The greatest wars are often against oneself. The hardest to win is the one where your heart, your gut sides together, but your mind and your upbringing sides with another, your mother in this case."

"Read me like a book..." she chuckled under her bresthe, "thats gonna get tiring real soon you know."

Týr smiled softly at her, he letting y/n lean into his side as he wrapped an arm around her.

"What's your opinion?" Y/n asked.

"I have no opinion." Týr explained, "there's nothing to have an opinion on. Not on your feelings."

"Your opinion about our parents, I mean." Y/n responded

"Oh well, that. That's a different subject."

You felt the safest you have in a very very long time.

And its. Relaxing almost.

He's pretty sure your the god of sleep though, as you fall asleep on him after you had gotten comfortable.

He lets you snooze and soon snoozes himself

He'll admit he's not used to adventures like you take him on: for the laughs and the funs, his are usually go here: diplomacy here and there

When he wakes up a few hours later you're gone

Your mother had snatched you right from his side

You were just having the time of your life with your mother

"You should be glad I am giving you a choice here." Her mother ordered holding the dress up to Y/n's form.

Y/n yawned, pushing it away.

"I do like, it's pretty white is pretty," Her mother smiled, "You'll look to big in it."

Y/n was silent tired still in her eyes.

"What do you think?" Her mother asked turning to her friends.

"Do you want her look pregnant?" One chuckled.

"Are you pregnant dear? Or perhaps you should lay off the meed."

"Yeah and your all whores so I'll take your words with a grain of fuckin salt."

"Y/n." She was scolded by her mother, Y/n, rolling her eyes.

"Disrespectful little twat." Her mothers friend snapped.

"Oh no. Im so hurt. Mama! Tell the bad lady to stop it!" Y/n cried, a smirk painting her face as she walked away, "I'll find a dress on my own."

Unfortunately, your attempt to leave is well, non existant and your trying on multiple dresses.

Your mother ended up picking a white one: just as bland as she is.

You picked a soft red one, its not bold or strong in color, but it's old, older than you, and decorated beatifully.

So while your mother's too busy laughing it up making fun of you, you take it and leave quickly.

You run into your father outside tending his little garden he always did that.

He looked to see you, holding the dress bundled up, ready to run for the hills with it.

"Quickly. Come on." He spoke guiding her along, "lets get it all folded for you to not ruin."

He's quick to rush you into his little shed where he kept to himself most of the time.

He helps you fold it and put it in a handmade sack and handed it to you.

You thanked him.

You and your dad were always awkward in a sense.

He loved you, and you loved him, but your mother always ruined everything

And that caused a rift.

"Go. Quickly." He spoke, "before your mother finds out you've taken it, go now!"

Y/n nodded and rushed off quickly.

When you get back in the room, your starttled by Týr.

How fast he comes at you next almost scares you as well.

"Are you alright?! You disappeared! I was worried!" His words quick, his voice raising with every word which were laced with concern.

Y/n shifted slightly, back against the door, and sack in arms.

He sighs in releif, the sigh visibly easying Y/n.

"I'm... okay..." y/n spoke softly, "sorry..."

"No, it..." he sighed, "I should have not of rushed you in such a way. I was..."

"Worried?" Y/n asked he nodding, "you don't have to apologize for being worried...I should be sorry I worried you so much."

He looked down at her as she looked up at him, soon moving her eyes away from his gaze, just to look back at him and chuckled softly.

"You... do that a lot."

"Hm?"

"Stare." Y/n responded.

"Ah. I." Týr chuckled, his laugh having a flustered tone to it, "I'm sure I have told you before, of your beauty."

Y/n's expression told it all, her lips formed a goofy smile as she looking down in response.

"Oh..uh. my dress." Y/n responded, "for...the ceremony...would you uh...like to see?"

"If you'd like."

Y/n nodded, passing him and making it to the bed to put the sack down and pull out the dress.

"It's uh..red and uh black." Y/n smiled smally, "I liked the sleeves..."

She held it to herself, turning to look at him, "I wasn't going to wear shoes with it...since no one would see my feet anyway. Plus, the cold never really bothered my feet."

A finger carefully grazed the deep v neckline.

"It'll look beautiful on you." He told.

Y/n smiled, looking up at him, her stomach in knots. Face hot to the touch. Her skin glowed and seemed soft as ever. A hand carassed her cheek she leaning into his touch.

"Can I....confess." Y/n spoke.

"Has something gone wrong?"

"I...believe I have....fallen." y/n responded, "for...you that is..."

Týr looked at her, she was concerned, worried. Afraid.

"Y/n." Týr spoke, "I...I..."

"I shouldnt have-"

"No- Y/n-"

"I got caught up I am sorry-"

"I feel the same-"

"Please, don't say that to make me feel better-"

"Y/n." He stopped her, "I feel the same."

Oh. oh SHIT ITS HAPPENING

You kinda don't care what happens to that dress you once had in your hand as you melt into his palm

Bro didnt even have to kiss you before you were melting for him

Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him.

He ends up just placing a firm kiss on your cheek, holding your face as he does its so sweet and soft.

His beard tickles you.

And your doing stupid laughter.

He starts laughing too he doesn't know what's funny even.

You guys are having a laughing fit.

And it ends with you both dying on the bed. He looks over at you to have you start laughing again

And you both start up again,

This time he grabs you: softly too, ontop of you as you laugh and smile, crying almost.

"I don't understand!" He laughs, Y/n taking a deep breath to calm herself down.

"Okay. Okay..." she breathes, the smile hurting her face as she looked up at him, "im okay..."

He raised an eyebrow as she started up again.

This wasn't ending any time soon.

But it made him happy, to see you laugh so hard it hurt.

He's gonna be telling anyone about it for days.how pretty it was to just sit there and watch you smile and laugh.

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Tags: @gabedreeam

#x reader #x female reader #female reader #thor x reader #thor x y/n #týr gow #týr #týr god of war #týr x reader #god of war #god of war ragnarok #gow ragnarok x reader #gow ragnarok

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peiskos-and-apricity · 1 year

Text

Fated to Fall ~ Sindri x Reader [Pt 4]

|Chapter Selection|

|Previous Chapter|

"You've returned! Now if you'd just-" Sindri barely got more than a few words out before he realized he was being completely ignored as Kratos simply strided in, ruining the floor the dwarf had just cleaned once more. Sindri stopped the steps he had been taking to meet the three, his eyes momentarily held on the tracked in dirt with a look of clear disgust and annoyance. He was pulled from this only when he realized that Kratos was quickly overtaking his personal space. So we went to take a few steps back, his nervous smile invading his face once more. Though by the way he seemed so willing to approach Kratos in the first place you quickly realized that he hadn't caught on to his agitated state. Not that the stoic man made it easy. Frankly you didn't blame the dwarf. Moreover, you felt rather bad for whatever was going to be taken out on him

"Well uh um- anybody need a snack? Kratos? Snack?" The man, rather uselessly, attempted to play the good host. You silently winced back a little when Kratos' stare deepened on him.

"I do not need a snack" his voice carried more monotone than normal, his eyes glued to Sindri. You wondered what he could have done to deserve his anger. Whatever it was it certainly couldn't be good.

Then you watched as Atreus, always one to play the diplomat and rarely ever doing it successfully, stood between the two.

"What we need is your help getting to Svartalfheim so we can try to rescue Týr" Atreus managed to string together a set of words that nearly gave you a damn heart attack as it opened several different boxes of questions in your mind. They wanted to waltz right into Odin's territory as if the only known living sons of Odin hadn't just shown up at your home? To save a presumingly dead god of war? When did all of this happen?!-

"T-Týr? Al-Alive? I mean that's...whaaat" oh no. Oh that had to be just about the worst lying you'd ever seen in your life. You felt even your sore muscles tense at the pitiful display-

Wait...

He knew? Is that what Atreus and him had been sneaking off to find out? And here you thought Atreus had just been getting tired of the restricting ways of your father.

"It's okay. I told him everything" Atreus spoke as if he didn't just sign away Sindri's lease on life.

"Everything" Sindri's eyes showed the sudden fear he had coursing through his system. That and betrayal.

"You aided my son in disobeying me" Kratos finally spoke, taking a few threatening steps forward. It surprised you a little. It had been a while since you'd seen him this threatening-

"Well I'll be damned, you're still kickin'!" Your attention was suddenly drawn away from the conflict at the sudden appearance of someone. Upon realizing who it was though you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips, even with the tense situation happening just over at the front door. You weren't too concerned with it though. If your father wanted to kill the dwarf he would have done it by now.

"And you still smell like shit" you teased lightheartedly as he stepped closer, a hardy laugh leaving the man.

"Least I don't look it! What'n Hel's ice gone and got you alls fucked up? Dancin' with Draugr or somethin'?" He asked, motioning to just your generally disheveled state. Despite the way his words might sound to anyone else, that being offensive and rude, you knew the man well enough to take it as a kindness that he had asked at all.

"No, though that does sound like a good time" you commented back, moving away from your more tense posture into a bit of a slouched one as you grew more comfortable.

"I actually had my own little date with the lap dog of sir All-Fucker himself" you relaid, though your words moved from joking to a bit of weariness.

"Heimdall? And ya survived that?" He asked, his normal cadence slipping a bit though not enough for you to point out. More so just a bit more of an intense look in his eye than anything serious. You faltered slightly at the question, though you didn't leave more than an extra second of silence before answering.

"He wanted me dead but...I don't think he was allowed to kill me" you responded, the questions you held in your mind now shown in the uncertainty of your statement. He seemed to notice this with the way questions brewed in his eyes as well.

Brok then suddenly turned toward the door having heard something you hadn't. Quickly following his eyes you then heard the voice of an overly smug man speak.

"Oh-ho! The Huldra Brothers finally require the services of the smartest man alive" He announced with the sound of his grin dripping in every word. Glancing back over to Brok you had expected a burning to show in his eyes, a sense of utter hatred at needing the services of anyone, let alone someone as self-congratulatory as Mimir. However, you instead found an almost sinister smirk take over, the only remnants of displeasure shown in the slightly annoyed upturn of his nose.

He was planning something.

He glanced back at you to see he had been caught. He didn't seem too worried about it though, instead sharing the smile with you before striding up to the group, dropping the look entirely.

"s'bout enough yappin'! You dumbasses ain't ready for no picnic, let alone any fightin'! 'specially you" he butted in as he pointed out Atreus before walking over to the workbench. Not without an offended stare from the boy though. For what reason you weren't quite sure, seeing as the boy most certainly wasn't equipped after having fled from home. But you didn't really give it much mind. You instead focused more on how-

"Excuse me-" you nearly jumped from your chair, the voice having startled you from any sort of temporary peice you had found in the crude dwarf's company. You nearly fell from the chair as you whipped around to see who it was.

"Oh uh! Sorry! I uh, didn't mean to frighten...you..." Sindri spoke, the familiar voice numbing the sudden scare quite quickly. You instead focused on the way his eyes glued to yours, staring with a bit of...well you weren't quite sure. But it didn't make you uncomfortable so much as it made you confused.

Suddenly though you caught on to why, especially as you noticed your vision had grown brighter. You quickly blinked away what you knew only from other's retellings was the golden sheen over your eyes. As you did you watched his face turn to clear curiosity. You felt a pit grow in your stomach, dread building as you wondered what he might ask.

"I...see you've met Brok?" Relief fell over you the moment those words left him. You hoped he'd convinced himself he was seeing things, as harsh as that might sound. You hesitated for a few seconds as you processed what just happened before quickly shaking yourself back to reality.

"I know him actually. He's worked on my stuff a few times before" you explained, your eyes turning back to the wooden item in your hands, your thumbs once again carefully drifting over the wood. It was because of your change in attention that you didn't notice the utter shock on his face.

"Oh..." He suddenly couldn't find the words to speak.

"Well um...-" whatever Sindri might have been able to say to save the conversation was made mute when Kratos moved towards him, his eyes as intense as ever. He must still not have gotten over the whole 'my son constantly left to go on dangerous journeys without me knowing and you helped him" thing.

"Oh uh- Kratos! Done gearing up already-?"

"How do we unlock the realms?" Kratos went right to the point, skipping any of the pleasantries Sindri had offered him. Though if they had known each other enough for you all to be allowed to seek refuge here, then the dwarf was surely used to it by now. Judging by the slight look of relief on Sindri's face you'd go as far as to say he was comforted by it. Or at least, comforted by the escape from the conversation he had started.

"Right right. We'll just need something from back at the workshop. Follow me! And be sure to bring the head" he explained, the disgruntled sound of Mimir following not long after, before beginning to make his way to the workshop. You were tempted to stay in your chair and rest a little longer but knew that if left with nothing to do for any longer you'd fall to boredom. Not to mention that the only pain left now was a mild sting. So, with a bit of annoyance, you stood. You stretched a little and rolled your shoulders before following the two. Atreus started approaching the group only a few short moments later.

"So. Where exactly is Týr being held?" Sindri asked, his head turned to Atreus. Your interest peaked at the implication that the god was alive, let alone trackable.

"He's imprisoned in a mine somewhere...that's all we know so far" Atreus answered. You sent him a confused look, but he seemed too busy talking to Sindri to notice.

"Hm...the realm is full of mines, you realize. You'll need help narrowing it down- oh! You should talk to Durlin!"

"Who's Durlin?" Atreus asked. The name sounded familiar to you.

"He's a cousin of ours, sort of...works for the city on safety issues. Should have access to all kinds of information on mines. And I know he's no friend of Odin. That's why your mother sought his help when she was trying to whip up a rebellion. Ready?" Sindri explained, though the detail that caught your ear the most was the mention of your mother. A small smile fell at the mention of the old story she had told you in your older years. Of a fight for freedom that was struck down by stronger forces than even she could handle. Though the mention of those involved was something she never did share.

"A rebellion? Did you know about that?" Atreus asked, turning to his father.

"I did not" Kratos admitted. It didn't surprise you that Atreus didn't know. He was too young to have heard the story when she passed. However, the fact that even your father didn't know was a bit surprising. Then again you had known your mother to keep many secrets.

"A rebel leader who knew mom?" Atreus started.

"Ta-da!"

"Sounds like exactly what we need!" Atreus spoke over Sindri, fully missing the dwarf's anticipated reveal. You held a small laugh back at this, Sindri turning to you with slight embarrassment but an overall happy smile. He seemed to appreciate you paying attention, as that smile faded when he turned to the other two.

"I think you missed the 'ta da'...well nevermind. I'll have this oiled up in no time. Meet you at the gateway outside!"

"'Rebel leader'? Durlin? Phuh! If that ain't givin' a hound a haircut" Brok mocked the idea but Kratos was already on his way out the door

"Atreus" Kratos called for his son

"Alright...see you out there Sindri!" Atreus followed. You, however, hung back just quietly enough for the three not to notice. Or rather, that they wouldn't notice you anyway. You soon turned your head back to the dwarves, both looking in your direction expectantly

"I have to know what you two are up to" you answered the silent question from the two. Sindri looked confused and more than a little worried but Brok gave you his usual toothy grin.

"Well you's is about to find out ain'tcha?" Brok countered as he leaned back over the table, his grin never falling.

Whatever it was, it must be good. You hardly ever saw Brok with such a persistent smile.

"Fine...all I ask is that you warn me if something's going sideways" you requested from the blue dwarf who nodded, though it was a bit begrudgingly.

"Yeah yeah. Won't be nothin' ya need ta worry about" he answered, moving from his leaned position with a wave of dismissal. Sindri looked between the two of you rather surprised. At what? You didn't know, though you frankly couldn't find a reason to care. So you gave a nod and left out the doors. You barely made it to the three when the dwarves followed behind. You weren't too surprised though. Brok had always been quick with any help he'd given you.

"We'll just need the Bifrost and the head. Brok, do the touching" Sindri ordered with disgust showing in his voice as Brok took the head from Kratos' hip.

"Ah, this would be the part requiring my assistance then?" Mimir spoke proudly as you took a spot next to Atreus. Both you and the boy seemed equally weary. He must have picked up on the dwarves' behavior as well.

"You said it" Sindri chimed with just the slightest bit of sharpness to his tone. You looked on intently, trying to catch on to what was happening.

"This device here has been crafted to your measurements. It'll help you get a better look at the problem, with those bifröst eyes of yours" he explained, though his attempt to hide the mischief in his tone was slipping.

"So, I...do I control this thing somehow then?" Mimir was catching on.

"Oh, no, no, no no no no no- this is just to hold you in place while we- shine this light in your eyes!" Sindri finally revealed. You barely had a second to react before-

"Argh! Sindri, you sodding bastard!" Mimir called out in pain, a bellowing laugh bursting from Brok not a moment later. You looked on a bit wide-eyed before turning to Atreus who turned to look over to you with the same concerned look, though with less of the surprise.

Hm...the three must have some bad history.

"Open, open now" Sindri spoke with urgency.

"I was really hoping not to use the eyelid clamps" he murmured next. It further surprised you, considering how kind he had been since you'd been here. You didn't take him for the type to enjoy such violence, especially from what Atreus has told you about him. Then again it wasn't like you really knew the guy. And he was Broks brother after all.

"Do it!" Brok suggested before bursting into laughter once more. Mimir, seeming to find that idea to be horrifying, instead finally opened his eyes to the burning light with another yell of pain that made you wince again. You had to admit you felt kind of bad for the man.

"That's it! That's it! Good!" Sindri cheered on, getting more excited by the moment.

"Now release!" He yelled, his arms raising as if in triumph.

"Still unpleasant!" Mimir, in the ultimate understatement, yelled out as the light moved from his eyes to the door.

"That's our cue. C'mon, hurry!" Sindri called for his brother.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'" Brok replied as both of them quickly moved their hammers to the door.

"Hrævelgr's EGGS man, what was that for?" Mimir complained. Taking a few steps forward you leaned to look at the man. To no surprise to you, he was trying to blink away the pain of the sudden 'unpleasant' light. But besides the pained expression you didn't see any real damage.

"You'll see soon enough. Just need to adjust...there! That should do it" Sindri spoke before the brothers slowly took a few steps back, admiring their work. What they had achieved? You hardly had a clue. It wasn't like anyone had taken the time to explain anything to you. All you knew was that it had to do with opening the realms.

"See? No permanent damage" the gold-plated dwarf coyly commented and judging by the fury that took over Mimirs face you knew he didn't take too kindly to the dwarf's behavior.

"I'll show you permanent damage, ya wee fuck! Kratos! Throw me at him! Horns first!" Mimir yelled and, had he had any form of movement, you swore he'd willingly bite the dwarf. However, with no such movement, he got nothing more than another laugh coming from Brok.

"Aww, can'ts ya takes a joke, ya old goat!" Brok quipped back. You took this time to move back to Atreus, your attention on him as Kratos grabbed Mimir.

"You think he's gonna be okay after that?" Atreus asked, his worry still evident. You gave him an uncertain shrug before speaking.

"Physically? Probably. Emotionally...he might be upset with those two for a while. You know how he likes to hold grudges" you attempted to comfort the boy with a bit of realism which seemed to work quite well. If you had learned anything from your time with Atreus it was that he hated sugarcoating. He was an honest kid when given the chance to be. It was hard to maintain that under the iron fist of Kratos though.

"Yeah. I think that's why they hate Mimir so much. They all have a lot of grudges" Atreus explained, further solidifying your suspicion of their bad blood from earlier.

The both of you quickly stopped talking though when the door glowed, signifying it was time to leave. You both quickly followed, Sindri first, then Atreus then-

You were stopped by Kratos, his arm keeping you from entering the glowing door. You stepped back, confusion soon contorting your features, your eyes turning to meet his.

And you knew, the moment he didn't look away, that something was very wrong.

"You will stay here" he announced, or more so demanded. Your eyebrows tightened further, your surprise still not faltering even with the tinge of anger that came from him leaving you behind once again.

"What do you mean?" You asked, hoping to get any sort of explanation from him. He was quiet for a moment too long and it left you to push further.

"The two of you are off to find a long thought dead god in a realm controlled by the gods who seem to want us dead and no one has told me why any of this is happening. I was attacked by a son of Odin and no one has explained why he nearly killed me! And yet you want to leave me here? For what reason?!" Your voice rose as the tinge of anger grew. Just the sheer audacity of him to think his commands could be given without your thoughts as to why. That you were just supposed to stay and either be fine with not knowing or read his mind as to why. His eyes looked more intently into yours as you saw the world glow brighter. You blinked once again, pushing away the feeling once more. But it was too late. He had already seen it. Judging by the look that came over him it was likely he had known long before now.

"Your power, it has been left unchecked" he finally explained, your prior confusion vanishing in an instant at his words, his reason. A pause came before you spoke again.

"I'm fine" you shot back with a harsh tone as your eyes narrowed. He must have noticed the line he was crossing, judging by the hesitation that grew. That didn't seem to stop him though.

It never did.

"You are not. You were nearly killed" he tried to pursuade you with a rather harsh reality, his presence suddenly growing more intimidating. You had to admit, a part of your spirit always shriveled away when you saw him like that; upright and with that slight snarl. It was as if the long-faded child you had once been returned to simply cower before him. You stood your ground well in spite of that part of yourself, but it wasn't without the movements of your hands to grip onto whatever was closest to you, this time being the wooden carving Sindri had returned to you.

"I was fighting an Aesir god alone and unprepared, not to mention his ability to avoid any of my attacks. It was hardly my fault. As far as I'm concerned the fact that I didn't lose control then is restraint enough" you explained as you tried to defend yourself. But it never worked. He never listened.

"That is not my concern" he quickly shot back, his body seeming closer without having even moved. The heat of his frustration was always obvious. You were silent for a moment as you glared, but you soon found your words.

"What are you implying?" you asked, your voice quiet but intense as you tried to find an answer in the way his eyes stared at you. As if you were still a child trying to understand him. Trying to understand what you had done wrong. Trying to understand why his eyes only ever felt scalding when they stared at you.

"Do you think I do not notice when you leave at night?" He asked, the question faltering your glare for a moment.

If you were being honest, you really thought he hadn't.

Your glare soon returned though, frustration at his behavior causing deep discomfort in you. A want to hide, to leave, to just simply go. But you couldn't- you couldn't because- because he would win!

And you would still be a child under his burning gaze.

"What I do when left to my devices is mine to deal with. I am not your child to order around. That relationship died with my mother" you spoke back with venom. You hated the way he made you like this. A snake hoping to slither out of a conversation but finding the only way out was to bite. He pushed when you told him to stop, stepping over lines you'd drawn a million times. Yet he dare ask if you didn't think he noticed when you left? Of course you thought he didn't know. How could you ever believe he cared to notice when your words felt so useless to him?

"You will watch the way you speak" his tone turned deathly, haunting even. That child hidden in the deepest part of your soul grew louder in your mind as you stared at what you'd caused in Kratos. A wave of anger you knew too well and a face burned deep in your mind. But you were stubborn- no not stubborn, at least not with anyone else. You were more so full of a dignity others never saw. One that would allow you to stare into the face of death itself and have the audacity to ask what more it could ever want from you.

But you were done. Done with this conversation, with his control he tried to trap you under as if you hadn't lived a life of your own. As if still a child, his child. Frankly you just wanted out, away, to be gone, to stop feeling so small under the eyes of the rageful god. So you tried to walk past him and into the glowing door.

You had expected him to allow it as he often gave up whatever he was trying to stop you from doing at this point. However you felt him stop you once more, the strengths of the sudden movement along with your push causing you to take a few sloppy steps back in order to keep your balance.

"We will finish this later" he spoke decisivly before stepping into the glowing void. It took a few seconds for you to register what was happening when you suddenly dashed forward.

But you were met only with empty air, the sound of the rocks falling behind you as you stopped just before the edge. Fury boiled in your skin as you realized you were stuck here, that he had trapped you.

You had never felt more defeated.

|Next Chapter|

#gow #god of war #gow ragnarok #gow sindri #god of war sindri #gowr #god of war x reader #gow kratos #god of war kratos #gow sindri x reader #gow of war Sindri x reader #gow atreus #god of war atreus #gow brok #god of war brok #gow mimir #god of war mimir #gow x reader #fated to fall

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weather-rep-rt · 1 year

Text

have i seen a single episode of one piece?? no

does that stop me from being earthshatteringly horny for zoro?? hell no i want that man on his knees sucking my cock.i want him beneath me with a red face & tears in his eyes while i rail him cockdumb

#týr's thirsts ☆#roanoa zoro x male top reader #sorta...#ya feel me #roronoa zoro #roanoa zoro #roronoa zoro x male top reader

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yiminsuu · 2 years

Text

Agape

(n.) the highest form of love, selfless, true and unconditional love. Emotional affection, or erotic love.

Pairing: Týr x F!Reader

Warnings: Sexual themes (+18), lovey dovey smut, big cock, fingering, handjob, loss of virginity, awkward moments, depression, angst with fluff, violence, enemies to lovers, family issues (come on its Odin’s family), arranged marriage, Týr is the best husband, reader uses magic.

Author’s Note: I’ve been having some rough days so I didn’t have time to finish this until now. Apparently the adjective for the word Agape is “wide open in surprise” but the noun is “love”, that is actually really interesting.

I hate them.

Most importantly, I hate him. The bastard everyone called All-Father, the one who induces every realm into panic and fear, and his family dares to call it worship and respect, because Odin has 'aided' in the needs of the people. He doesn't care about anyone, he made that very clear when his son Thor killed my brothers to put us in debility.

In Midgard, there was a big town that welcomed everyone with open arms, my parents learned sorcery when they were young, and with that magic, they decided to help the homeless, they were loved even by the oldest star in the sky, and in no time that town was born. Rich, lovely, and kind to every passerby. After I was born, they both contracted an illness nobody had ever heard of before, not even the Goddess Freya could heal them, and so my brothers took care of me until I became of age.

I was called The Storyteller by the young, with all the books I owned from distant lands and fantasy stories I would create shows for the entire town to delight, my magic was so powerful that I could make them live that same story, like an illusion of sorts.

I was happy. I WAS.

When the attack happened, the helplessness I felt was immeasurable, and once I had no tears to cry, the only sensations left were anger and bitterness. Odin stopped Thor from decapitating me with his hammer and I was brought to Asgard, everyone was applauding my arrival, and it was then that I knew about my engagement to the God of War, Týr. The annihilation of my town was planned... Just so I could make the Aesir more powerful than they already are...

I was scared, of his family, of my situation, and of the state it would leave me in the near future. Freya was the only one to come to my side, having already met each other, and I saw pity and remorse in her eyes. "Listen, before you do anything drastic, give Lord Týr a chance." My eyes wavered emptily as her hands raised my face to stare into her eyes. "I promise he will take care of you, (Y/N). He has a good heart." I didn't believe her. The incarnation of War? Take care of me as if he truly loved me? I wanted to laugh.

I didn't believe a single word the Aesirs told me, even Sif had tried to crack me out of my shell as she prepared the ceremony, but I remained in silence and she never gave up. Freya didn't either, and one night I sensed powerful magic being released toward me, when I went to seek an answer I discovered she was binding me to a love spell. Just like that, I didn't trust anybody in Asgard.

I would pass my days and nights sitting on a rock staring at the landscape, in silence, hoping nobody would find me. Unfortunately, Baldur did and he was kind to a certain degree, always bringing his son Forseti with him so he could hear my stories. "Everyone in this family is fucked up, I'm impressed you haven't run away yet." Thanks to the God of Light and his child, I was able to maintain my sanity for a short period, but one morning Freya and Týr spotted us and Baldur was asked to stay away from me until I was married. I noticed that children were my only chance of forgetting my imminent doom, so most of the time I was surrounded by the youngsters of Asgard, their eyes were innocent and joyful as I read them stories controlled by magic, those moments were perhaps the only peace I got. My smile was small, but it was still there.

I would receive gifts from the God of War himself soon after, books I'd never read before, and that he obviously got from the lands he traveled to. "I had in mind that perhaps... We could read them together sometime." In my eyes, Týr, Freya and Odin were the sources of all my pain, I ignored those gifts and the many more he wished for me to have because accepting those stories would mean accepting the Aesir, and that would never occur. His expression when I ignored him nearly broke my heart, he looked genuine... But not enough to deceive me.

When the ceremony took place I was unable to display any emotion, a marriage is supposed to be the happiest moment for a young girl, but now that I was married to someone I don't know and becoming immortal, I learned an important lesson: You never get what you want, happiness is an illusion everyone tells you to continue living and trying, and now that I have absolutely nothing, what's going to happen to me...?

The more I thought about it, the less I wanted to be in that damned ceremony, and my feet led me to the landscapes. I cried and sobbed, my tears creating cascades in the grass as my sadness increased, then I felt a hand touching my shoulder and I backed away, looking up to find my husband staring at me with pity. "Don't touch me!" I shouted at him, my heart freezing the instant I realized I was yelling at the God of War. My body trembled, and soon my eyelids were closing as I lost consciousness, I was caught by Týr and the last memory I have of that night is being placed on a comfortable bed. Something I hadn't done for weeks.

Sif, Freya and Týr watched over me as the fever went down, becoming a Goddess along with not sleeping at all proved to be dangerous and Odin was pleased to have that piece of information. I spent days in bed, only speaking to the children that were allowed access to Týr's room, something that makes my blood boil is how the little ones seem to love him, my husband gave the image of a peaceful and devoted man, his ideals and morals enclosed solely in loving and caring. I glared at him every time he would give me something, doesn't matter what it was, I was concentrating on making him know I don't trust him, any of them in fact. They liked to manipulate, it's what they're good at.

And this lasted for years to come.

No matter what I said or did, Týr would continue to try and get to know me, voicing his worries about me, questioning me about my life, about what I liked and didn't like. When Týr was out in his travels in other realms and lands, Baldur would get me his letters, which I never read and proceeded to burn them in the fire, the God of Light would sigh and rub his nose in annoyance. There was this one time in which Baldur inquired me about sex and, having been incapable of feeling embarrassed for a long time, it got me by surprise, but I denied him. Freya had cursed him, and I didn't want to ruin his hopes, or my body either. He did request, whoever, to make him an illusion in which he would still be able to feel in his dreams, and that was the only time I indulged an Aesir.

Days later, when my husband stepped through the door to our dorm, he didn't say a word and simply sat on the large bed, it was an understatement to say that our room was the biggest one in the house of Odin. For a moment I was perplexed, normally he would be giving me another gift and downright be an annoyance around me, but tonight he was quiet. Oddly quiet. "I know you didn't wish for this, and... I should have been better for you." From the corner of my eye I stared at Týr, crestfallen, he spoke again. "Did he come here?"

"The real question you want is 'did we have sex'... Isn't it?" I stood from the chair in front of the burning flames and stepped closer to my husband, who now glanced at me with his Bifröst eyes. I have to admit he is good-looking, and the eyes given to him by the Jötunn embellished him. My head was pushed down to earth when his hand touched mine, it wasn't like before, he is now more shy, afraid that I will shove him away again.

"Baldur did propose it." His jaw clenched slightly, yet he remained silent. "We know what Freya did, I wouldn't be able to help him, and I don't want my body to be ruined by the Aesir."

"(Y/N)." He called just before I could walk away, his hand still holding mine. I hated when he used my name. "If it were up to me that day, I would have never hurt your family. Believe in me, I--" My eyes glistened with tears, and he swallowed whatever words he was going to utter. "Believe you? You killed my brothers, my whole town was destroyed because I had to be your wife! Innocent people were killed!" I broke into tears. "I hate you... You're the worst thing that ever happened to me..."

The silence was eating me alive, his presence alarmed me to the point I shattered completely. The God of War is supposed to be extremely intelligent, cunning and unpredictable, from what I heard, he outsmarts Odin in every aspect and diplomacy earned him immense respect and even adoration from various races of different realms and even foreign pantheons. Even the Aesir-hating giants trusted him enough of their deepest secrets, and is possibly the only Aesir they hold in high regard. Yet here he is, not capable of winning the love of his own wife, for years Freya and Sif had told me to stop being so cruel to Týr and to trust him, to open up about the pain, that I couldn't have been luckier. He invited me to go with him on his journeys, but I always refused, he would bring me food every night, he would shield me when Heimdall or Thor and his sons were being too inconsiderate, the gifts... The list goes on, and I'm baffled at why Týr made efforts to gain the impossible.

"My beloved..." He muttered, and I shook my head. "Stop! Get another wife and just leave me alone...!"

"I won't marry another woman, I yearn for you!" I jumped in place when he exclaimed that sentence, forcing me to raise my head and look at him. Týr exhaled heavily. "You do well in not trusting Odin, but please don't question my affection for you. I confess, I should have done more to protect you, and I am sorry your life wasn't as you wished it to be." His thumb cleans the tears in my cheeks, his touch was mild and sweet, and his lips are pressed against my forehead. "Cry if you want to cry, scream if you want to scream. Don't hide it, I am here for you." I don't understand, what would he acquire by taking my heart? Isn't it enough that I have nothing?

That night I slept an inch closer to my husband, he felt warm and didn't push me as I did him.

Days passed, and my anger subsided to the point where I could see everything surrounding me clearer, the cloud had dissipated. I began reading the books Týr gifted me, and the one that interested me most was about the Ghost of Sparta. Sif seemed astonished when I stepped out of my room, and flashed me a small smile as she invited me to eat with her while she did her work. She was nice I suppose, and I learned from her that nobody except the youngsters liked Odin, he's the one that made Thor miserable, and unfortunately, her stepsons were following the same brutal path. Afterward, as I was taking a walk and breathing some air, the kids circled and begged me for more stories, and I felt that spark named joy in my chest.

Týr and Freya watched from afar, my husband smiling as he took in how I was before all of this happened. The magic of my stories kept its surprises in check, and it had been a long while since I'd done this, thought for a moment I was getting rusty, but that was not the case. Back in my room at night, I shily enter our chambers to find Týr finishing his studies of other lands. "You were magnificent." He said, coming to meet me with a big smile plastered on his lips. "You should interpret more often, you do wonders to the hearts of the children. You take their minds away from war and battles, thank you, my love..."

My heartbeat was rising the more he held me, and I felt like a traitor to my family. "T-Týr...?"

He glanced down at me with fondness written in his eyes, it was the first time I ever said his name. "I feel... I'm scared, and anxious, and I'm angry... I'm very angry..." I sobbed, letting his arms engulf me as I cried out every remnant of sorrow inside of me. "It's alright. You are a strong woman, you endured the hardest experiences thrown at you, what you are feeling is acceptable, (Y/N). You have every right to feel resentment."

Týr lets my body rest on his chest where a booming, steady heart beats solely for my ears to hear every night. Waking up after a good night's sleep, we stared at each other first thing in the morning, and with him being the only thing in my mind, my lips kiss his softly. Týr would play with my hair gently as we spoke in bed, the rays of the sun illuminating us. "I'm sorry... For everything..." I muttered, he grabbed my hand and kissed the knuckles, his beard tickles me a bit. "How many more times do I have to say you're forgiven?"

"Numerous, Týr. I cannot be that easily excused." He grinned, his hand caressing mine. "I would have done the same in your place, by good fortune, you would be there to show me the path back." He paused. "I never gave up. No, your eyes show me the deepest part of you, and what I saw was a broken heart. You deserved more, I wished to see you for you, the beautiful storyteller I heard every realm speak of. Beloved, I couldn’t love you more than I do right now, and yet I know I will tomorrow." Sitting on the bed with me between his legs, we spent the rest of that morning with each other, stealing kisses.

The months in Asgard were incredibly tranquil now that I'm healing the pieces of my heart, the only matter that hadn't changed was my problem with Freya, maybe it's the only issue I would have to keep on hold.

Týr would come straight from his travels to our chambers, and I quickly caught up that he was bashful whenever he needed affection from me, moreover, his hands wander my body curiously each passing day. Following his bath, I quietly step towards Týr with our dinner, acknowledging his hard work with the Jötnar, and my breathing grew heavier as my eyes roam down his torso, as muscular as he usually was the fire seemed to highlight his toned body.

I just realized, shamefully, that we're years married and we never consummated. With my wrath, my grief, reading books, practicing my magic and concentrating on our newfound love, it didn't even cross my head. Continuing down I take in his length which is covered by a cloth on his lap while he takes notes. My breathing grows more urgent as I long to touch the God, consequently, I almost let the food fall to the floor, and Týr is suddenly aware of my presence. "(Y/N), I didn't think you would bring dinner. I--"

"Y-You have to eat, so do it before it gets cold." I said as I felt my cheeks burning up. Not sparing him even a glance, I went to our wardrobe and changed into my night-time attire, when I came out my husband was waiting for me to start, and he was still with nothing on. He realized something was wrong because I wasn't speaking to him like I do when we're having our private dinner. "Is something wrong?" He questioned and I shook my head immediately, Týr stopped all he was doing to set his whole attention on me. "There is, (Y/N). Tell me."

"You..." I started, but my hand flew to my mouth, rushing in what to say so he doesn't take it the wrong way. Týr set the dinner aside and held my hand. He's the kindest Aesir, and he's my friend and husband, I don't have to be afraid of something like this, or so I hope. "You are... Incredibly distracting when you don't have clothes... On..." His eyes widened and his brows furrowed in amusement, but his expression showed him somewhat abashed. "Is that right? You've been distracting me ever since you came into my life."

"But we never saw the other naked... This is different."

"Yes, I am aware." There were a few seconds of silence until he spoke first. "I've been meaning to propose this, but I'm afraid to hurt you for evident reasons."

"Can I see it?" That catches him by surprise. Without taking his stunning yellow eyes off me, he takes the cloth away and I stared at his oversized cock. A strange tingling places itself between my legs as I glided a hand down his torso, and Týr sighed when I wrapped around his rapidly hardening length. "My love, I..." His sentence ceased with a strained gasp leaving his lips as my hand begins to pump up and down. Bringing me closer to him, we kiss softly as I continue, and his hand runs through my hair encouraging me to go faster.

"I have to prepare you, (Y/N)." Týr mumbled between kisses. "In the instant you feel pain, tell me and I'll stop." I nodded and watched him take a jar from the cabinet containing a slippery and sticky mass from it, it smelled like flowers... And magic. "Don't be concerned, this is called lube, I bought it from a merchant in my previous journey. It's... Meant to help you feel pleasure." I stared at him with an unreadable expression, he was hoping to have our first time after coming back. I take my attire off under his watchful eyes, dropping them onto the floor as I lie on my back, and felt self-conscious the more he stared. "S-Stop staring like that..."

Týr chuckled, a sound that made my heart burst violently. "Can you blame me? You look heavenly." Placing some of that lube on his fingertips he begins circling my clit, my breath immediately catching in my throat as he dips a finger into me letting out a quiet moan, we were equally surprised to find me this wet already. His fingers are long and thick, and the intrusion stung a little, but the pleasure was there. He dragged his fingers over my clit slowly, gliding them up and down through my glistening folds.

A loud moan left my lips as two fingers pushed deep inside me. "Do you want me to stop?" I shook my head, looking down and watching his fingers move within me, I adjust quite easily and he settles into a rhythm, however, he never stopped experimenting with my body, curiously touching from my waist and breasts to my thighs. If he discovers certain places that make me shiver unwittingly, he will caress them again, stimulating me further as I feel my climax build, my walls contracting around his fingers. "Týr, I'm..." My moans fill the air as I almost reach my orgasm, it’s at that instance I feel kisses press against my inner thigh. "My lovely wife, alluringly fair..." He's thrusting his fingers in and out faster, pulling truly explicit moans from my throat as his other hand circles my clit, the pressure is too much, and I tightened around him as I came deliciously.

"Forgive me, perhaps I overstepped." He apologized, my hands reach for him as my eyes fluttered open, coming down from my high. "I-I'm fine... Stop worrying so much about me." I smiled softly and he leaned down to kiss me, pushing out his fingers. "Don't ask that of me, I want you to be safe." I swallowed the words I wanted to say when I felt his length touching my folds, and I grew nervous, by the expression he was wearing he had the same sentiment. "We can stop any time."

"You won't hurt me, trust me as I trust you... I want to feel you, Týr." I said shyly, placing one kiss on his lips. "Let me love you..."

There must be a storm roaring in his mind, I've led him to believe I never felt anything for years and suddenly we are here, embraced beside the fire, dinner long forgotten, and accepting the love for each other to bond even further. Without a word, he scoops more lube and reaches down for his cock pumping it a few times before running the tip over my entrance, I was going to memorize every inch of his body towering above me. I hiss in pain when his tip presses against me, it felt uncomfortable as it stretched me more than I was able to, but I don't want him to stop, not now nor ever.

"I love you too, (Y/N)..." I felt a weird sensation between my legs that quickly spread through my womb. The magic that lube has--

I whimpered when he finally slipped in, and tears of pleasure flowed down my cheeks. Týr's grip went to my waist and pushed himself into me steadily, he groaned when he felt how tight I am. "Hel... You feel astounding..." My eyes rolled back and my head falls further back into the pillow, I wonder how much pain I would be in if we didn't use that lube, his size is inhumanly huge. I moaned when he poked my cervix, and to my disbelief, there was still a small part of his cock that wasn't coming in even if I wanted. "Please! Please Týr...!" One of his hands remained on my hips and the other held my hand on the bed. Feeling my second orgasm already building and my folds gripping around him, he starts a slow pace that had me seeing stars, he's touching everything inside me.

I almost scream as I feel his cock beating against my womb as if the remains of him could enter, the sensation verging on pure pleasure as my eyes fill with more tears. There was no way of stopping now, it was too late to stop, but this is what we both wanted, needed, to feel reassured that this is real. "Týr...!" My hands wrapped around the back of his neck, as he uses his grip on my hips to move himself in, my legs around him encouraging him to continue. I arched my back as he increased his speed, all the while looking into each other's eyes.

I gasped when Týr kissed my neck and down my breasts, he growled into my ear, his cock hitting all the right spots within me making me almost delirious. "Bear with me a little longer, my love..." To my astonishment, he pulled me up to him and now sitting on his lap my torso pressed against his chest as he spreads my legs further apart. I began to feel his length pulsate within me, his hand slipping from my hip to rub quick circles into my clit, maintaining his assault on my sex.

My orgasm is washing over me like an earthquake, unexpectedly, too soon, but it never felt like this when I pleasured myself. I feel myself gripping his length as I moaned loudly, my arms holding onto his shoulders as he releases inside me, his cum coating my walls and cock pressed against my womb. Our mutual heaved breaths fill the now quiet room as he kisses my cheek, and lays me back on the bed while his eyes widen. "(Y/N), I'm sorry. I didn't wish to hurt you." I am confused until I glanced at my body, noticing the marks he’s left on me.

"I-I'm alright... It doesn't hurt." Týr doesn't believe me and I capture his lips, kissing him deeply. "I loved it, I knew you would take care of me, you never disappoint."

Removing his cock from me slowly, he places his head on my chest and I exhaled when he caressed the bruises he had left on my skin. The silence is comfortable and I am relieved that this has finally happened, we are bonded until the end and I couldn't be happier. "That lube, Freya did something to it, didn't she...?" I questioned and my husband hummed, closing his eyes. "If she did, I thank her. I would've probably injured you without her magic, I couldn't have lived knowing I did."

"She gets too concerned about us sometimes... But I do appreciate her." Curling up in bed, my fingers traced the tattoos on his skin as we snuggled together, the fireplace keeping us warm. I look at Týr only to see him already staring at me with a smile, my cheeks heated up the more attention he gives me. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful and kind storyteller who had lost her heart to grief."

"But with the love and patience her husband bestowed, she was able to come back from the darkness." I finished for him, embracing him as sleep conquered our minds. This is the end of my story and a befitting beginning for our unborn children that would come months later.

But just like mine, the story of my newborns would start with sadness, as Odin had declared Týr dead before I gave birth to a girl and a boy. Odin lies and I saw it in his eye, the closer my husband got to peace and the trust of the Jötnar, the less composed his father appeared.

I know Týr is alive, and he always comes back to me. He didn't give up on me, I won't give up on him either.

"Until the day we see each other, my love..."

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