⟡ ݁₊ . lambscrest .𖥔 ݁ ˖

Vanaheim sat in silence beneath the canopy of ancient trees, where silver moonlight filtered through the leaves and painted the world in pale blue. Inside her majesty’s chambers, the air was cool, fragrant with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth that snuck through an open window.

Kratos awoke, eyes cracking open to find her absence beside him. For a moment, he remained still. Listening. But all he heard was the distant chorus of rustling leaves from beyond stone walls.

With his heartbeat lodged somewhere in his throat, he rose, carefully stepping around the discarded garments abandoned across her floor from the previous night.

She had insisted he stay. Some clever remark about her bed growing cold whenever she slept alone. He had hesitated, concerned her reputation would suffer should anyone discover that the God Killer - now the God of Hope - had spent the night in the chambers of the Vanir queen. She, as always, had dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand, meeting his caution with eager insistence.

Kratos moved to the window and narrowed his eyes.

The edge of a cliff below dipped into a sea of untamed forest. Moonlight washed over the sprawling canopy, silvering the leaves and casting long shadows between ancient trunks.

An odd sense of relief settled over him once he spotted her silhouette.

Following what he suspected to be her path, he descended the overgrown vines that clung to the outer walls of her home, landing on his feet with a muted thud.

He found her seated by the cliff’s edge. Her thighs were drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her head rested against her knees, turned slightly towards the endless forest beyond. Even with her back to him, he could still make out the uneven rise and fall of her breathing.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Freya murmured. Her voice sounded distant.

Leaves cracked softly beneath his deliberate steps. He only stopped once he stood beside her, “You did not.”

An uneasy silence settled between them. The kind they hadn’t shared in a long time.

“I…” She said at last, her voice scarcely louder than the breeze, “I had a difficult night.”

Kratos didn’t answer, taking her confession as permission to join her on the ground.

Freya’s gaze did not shift, nor did she lift her head to turn to him. She sat unnaturally still. Her shoulders were tense. Her arms remained locked around her knees as though she’d crumble if she let go.

The moonlight caught the glimmer on her cheek. The sight of the dried tears that stained her face made his heart sink in his chest.

After several minutes, he spoke, “You did not sleep.”

A small shake of her head.

Another painful silence.

Freya inhaled slowly, “I…” She stopped herself, closing her eyes and drawing a slow breath that trembled despite her efforts. Breathing alone seemed to exhaust her.

Kratos watched as a rogue tear ran down her cheek.

Her voice faltered as she continued, “I dreamt about the night I hunted you and Atreus. When I landed on your sled and struck my sword in your shoulder. At some point, when I wrapped my hands around your throat… I felt something snap between my fingers and you…” She grimaced then, “You…”

Freya’s shoulders began to shake. Kratos watched her only for a heartbeat before moving. Cautiously placing one broad hand between her shoulder blades, stroking her back through her robe gently.

“I thought I was past this.” She lifted her head to gander over the horizon, “That I wouldn’t dwell on it.” Her voice cracked so quietly it was near silent, “I don’t understand.”

There were no attempts to hush her. Or any empty assurances. Kratos had battled his fair share of agonising sleepless nights to know that words alone often were not enough.

“I was snarky and prideful. Claiming that I could’ve beaten you if your son hadn’t been there.” She ranted, “I wanted to murder you for so long. The things I’ve promised to do to you. How I envisioned myself dragging your corpse around. I thought I would have peace, but seeing you die by my hand, feeling your life fade under my grip… It only made me feel empty.”

Something inside him chanted that this was his doing. Responsible for her pain, her heartache, her grief. He was well aware of her poor sleeping habits - something she had admitted during their first night together. Yet, it hadn’t crossed his mind at the time that he had been entangled in her nightmares.

Kratos exhaled, considering her words, “Something changed?”

Freya’s lips parted, but whatever she intended to say died on her tongue. She nodded, in a way a child would seeking solace. More tears pooled around her eyes once she finally turned to look at him. His heart ached at the sight.

“How can you even stand to look at me after all of that?” She asked honestly with a whisper, a deep sadness across her features.

Kratos frowned for a fraction of a second. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, admiring her beauty through the loose strands of untamed hair and tired eyes.

“Because I don’t see that woman anymore.” His thump brushed a stray tear from her cheek, “I see the woman you’ve become despite our history.”

The moonlight silvered the tears gathered along her lashes as she looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. Freya searched his face as though expecting to find resentment. Or disgust. Some horrid reminder of every threat she had ever spat at him. Instead, she found patience, as well as concern by the crease between his eyebrows.

Realisation lit up inside her then.

“It has.” She spoke just above a whisper, “Something has changed.”

Her palm found his chest. Its warmth soothing her trembling skin, “I believed that to love someone meant to lose yourself. I thought I’d recognise this feeling.” She swallowed hard, “I don’t really. I’ve lived in hatred and pain for so long that I don’t…” She continued after a deep inhale of night air, “I don’t know how to accept happiness.” Her eyes shut suddenly, “Especially after everything.”

Kratos’ hand absentmindedly drifted from her back and settled on her shoulder, drawing her against his chest in an embrace with deliberate gentleness, as though afraid too much force might shatter what little strength she had left.

“I understand.” He murmured against her temple.

Freya sighed, a bittersweet huff leaving her, “You always do.”

After a while, she buried her face against his chest as her arms came to wrap around his torso, her cheek resting on the crimson of his tattoo. A final lonely tear trailed a path between her cheek and his chest.

The silence that followed was no longer unnerving. It settled around them like the cool night air. Yet, Freya listened. Not to the forest below them, but to him. To the measured beat of his heart beneath her ear. Steady. Unwavering. A sound she once yearned to silence now anchored her.

In the midst of the warmth of his body, and the steady rhythm of his heart, Freya found a foreign serenity stilling over her. She tightened her embrace on him, almost as if afraid he’d vanish if she let go.

“You make me whole.” She admits, the words muffled against the skin of his chest, a hint of shame lingering in her tone.

No immediate response. He suddenly freezes in her hold. Panics flashes through her mind.

“I’m sorry,” She murmured, loosening her grip on him once she realised how tightly she held him, “I did not mean to—“

A calloused hand reaches the bottom of her chin, holding her head up so their eyes meet. Kratos’ golden eyes glow with an unmistakable passion often reserved for their moments secluded from the rest of the world. As well as whenever they shared a bed. Whenever she said his name in a whine and clenched around him. He looked as if he wanted to devour her, yet he held a softness that made words obsolete.

In a split second, their lips meet halfway. The kiss was not desperate. It was slow. Tentative. As though they had crossed a line they hadn’t before. Freya’s breath caught against his lips. For one impossible moment she forgot the nightmare. Forgot the years of grief, of vengeance, of the hollow feeling that persisted in haunting her.

There was only him. Only the heat of their chests pressed against each other. Only the careful pressure of his mouth on hers. Kratos did not claim her. He simply remained there, allowing her every chance to pull away. She’d rather die than to let go.

Instead, her fingers curled into the fabric of his trousers as she leaned into the kiss, slowly pushing him down onto the grass below them with a quiet sigh that seemed to carry years of loneliness from her lungs.

Freya’s thighs straddled him, her robe coming undone and exposing her completely to the breeze of the forest. Kratos’ hands immediately reach for her breasts as she begins to unclasp the restraints of his clothing. She moves quickly, the fever consuming her desperately as she lifts herself momentarily before lowering onto him. A whine escapes her as she feels the stretch she was delighted to call familiar.

Kratos’ hands drift down to her waist, steadying her as she accommodated to his size. A rush of adrenaline runs through him, his shock at her resolve only interrupted by the moan she releases once he’s fully sheathed inside her.

There was little patience in her, as she begins to ride him at a steady pace. She rolls her hips tenaciously, and it takes all the self control within him not to outright dig his fingers into her flesh.

It wasn’t unusual for Freya to take the proverbial helm in their encounters - Kratos had become accustomed to this dynamic. Yet he had never seen her in this light, as if she was in her own world. Like she needed him and only him in that moment. The sight of her bouncing with unmatched enthusiasm, the way she simply used him like his cock was her birthright, all the cries she struggled to contain spilling from her lips. He decided then he would have her ride him for all eternity if that was her undying wish.

Sweat begins to glisten on her chest, her neck is flushed, her hands grip at his torso so tightly her knuckles turn white. Kratos watches from below in awe. The curve of her eyebrows and parted lips accentuated only by the moonlight shining in the distance.

His hands reach for her thighs when she bends down ever so slightly, the heat between them like a blue flame as their chests become inches away from meeting. She kisses him again, slowly yet passionately, before she pulls away to whisper against his mouth.

“Fuck…” She panted, “I love you.”

Freya begins to bounce on him with newfound vigour. She breathes the same words between them like a mantra weaved into the symphony of their lovemaking. Her voice raises a few octaves as she gradually begins to tighten around him.

Kratos misses his opportunity to answer when he feels a sudden warmth spreading in his groin. He curses under his breath, clutching harshly at her thighs as he feels himself release into her in pulses that send waves of electricity through his veins.

Freya doesn’t stop. Relentlessly, she ruts against him, arching her back and finding an angle where her mound met his skin with every other roll of her hips. There’s a lewd squelching between them as his seed begins to leak out of her slit. A shiver runs up his spine - on the brink of overstimulation yet resilient to allow her free reign of his cock.

Her breath hitches and before she had a chance to announce it. She clenches around him with a strength that surprises them both. Her nails claw at the muscles of his chest, her hips stutter with a violent twitch, and her thighs tremble under his unrelenting grip.

Overwhelmed, she slumps in his arms with a huff after her walls seized their fluttering on his length. Spent and limp, caged by his embrace. Her cunt aches from the friction. Kratos tenderly brushes a strand of hair from her glistening forehead.

“I am here.” He whispers into her hair.

All Freya replies with is a weak nod. She swallows hard, looking up at him as she attempts to regulate her breathing. She cranes her neck towards him and kisses him again. A content sigh leaves her when they part.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” She finally says with a regretful mumble.

Kratos frowns briefly, his hand resuming the caresses at her back, “You do not owe me an apology. And I’m… pleased you felt comfortable to share your troubles with me.”

Freya looks into his eyes with gratitude, expecting to find the neutral expression he often wore. Instead, she found his golden irises staring back in a way that conveyed words would be obsolete. He didn’t need to voice it. She knew he felt the same.

“You’re trembling.” Kratos observed softly, pulling her away from her thoughts.

She scoffs out a laugh, “I imagine I have reason to be.”

A chuckle materialised as a rumble at his chest.

Doubt strikes her, foreign and sudden, as she recalls her confession. She hesitates before she speaks, “I meant what I said. I want to make sure you know that. Even if—“

She stops once his hand intertwines with hers. He brings it up to his lips, planting a kiss so tender she would’ve melted then.

“I know. You make me whole as well, Freya.”

A genuine smile comes to her. Natural. Real. Hopeful. Relieved. Like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She’s beaming as he kisses her palm, his thumb brushing gently across her knuckles.

For a while, she’s speechless. Studying his face as though committing every line to memory.

Then, a dry laugh escapes her, “I thought laying with you would make this easier.” Kratos arches a brow. She rolls her eyes,“The night terrors. And…” She hesitates, her tone softening, “Telling you how I feel.”

“You didn’t need to. I had my suspicions.” He assures.

“Suspicions, huh?” A smug smile tugs at Freya’s lips at his retort. Her hand drifts lower, trailing along his jaw and caressing the coarse strands of his beard with her fingertips, “I still wanted to say it.”

He leans into her touch, “I’m glad you did.”

A gentle chuckle leaves her. She rises from atop him, pulling her robe closed and tying it neatly, restoring a measure of her usual dignity.

“Come,” She says, extending a hand towards him, “Let us return to bed.”

It was a needless gesture - Freya was well aware of it. Kratos could have risen with effortless ease, that had never been the point. She offered her hand all the same, and without a word, he took it.

Together, they made the short walk back to the vines that led up to her chambers, their hands never parting.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Kratos is exemplary at aftercare. Usually, he’s touchy in terms of just wanting to be physically close to his partner, embracing them and checking if they’re okay.

A good example would be missionary - he’d stay inside, brush hair out of their face, and scan for any sign of discomfort. If things got a tad more out of hand (non-vanilla stuff) proper aftercare would always be done.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s slightly indifferent to his own body. He thinks that the discipline and inner strength he’s been taught and taught himself are the most important. However, I think he’s a fan of his biceps and arms. They’re the things that he uses to manhandle his partner and what comes to wrap around them as well.

On others, I believe he’s a chest man. Though he’s able to admire the entirety of a person, he adores breasts. But he’s also a big fan of hips and waist (more on that later).

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

A big fan of cuming inside. He’s not fussed with “marking” someone by releasing on their body, he prefers to claim them internally. Also, I like to think that he cums a lot, and that it’s very thick.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Kratos wouldn’t have a dirty secret per se, but I believe he likes to be praised more than he lets on. He’d never ask for it, but if he’s doing a good job and his partner lets him know, he gets really turned on.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s obviously very experienced in the sex department. But only after meeting Faye did he actually start enjoying it properly. It wasn’t just about fucking at that point. Similar thing with Lysandra, but I don’t think he was as caring back then as he came to be way later in his life.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Mating press. No one will ever shake me out of this belief. This man was born to breed, and he knows it too.

Having someone riding him is also nice, but it’s mostly because he can just literally bounce them on him and use them at will.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Very serious in the moment. Not to the point that its concerning, of course. He might give a chuckle at a mishap, but nothing past that.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Kratos keeps his “carpet” neat. He’s not bald by any means (haha), but he’s definitely well groomed. Just a tad of hair where it should be.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Romantic wouldn’t probably be the word to describe it, but it does get intimate. He has to have some type of feelings towards his partner - it can’t be just a random. I believe he was quite romantic with Faye, and even with Lysandra.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Doesn’t really do it, and doesn’t really feel the need to. Once in a blue moon if he has no one. But if his partner is available, he’d rather be with them than alone for this. Although, if he has someone and has been apart from them for whatever reason, he might masturbate to the thought of them.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I’m the CEO of thinking Kratos has a breeding kink - it doesn’t matter if the person can get pregnant or not. He’s a simple man, but this is where the animal in him comes alive. Expanding on what I said earlier (C), he loves the feeling of claiming someone as his own by filling them up to the brim - especially with multiple rounds.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In the comfort of his bed. Any other place would be seen as unnecessary to him. Also, he’s not a fan of doing it in public or anywhere he can get caught. However, if there was a place in the wild that was absolutely secluded, he’d be up for it. Even then, his home takes first place.

(Kitchen counter is also an option.)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Their partner. Again, he’s a simple man. Simply being attracted to a person is enough to get him going. Especially if they come to him, sweet demeanour, and expecting nothing of the sort from him. I also think he’s a fan of “easy access” clothing - like loose skirts/tunics, or anything akin to a babydoll dress.

See through gowns (see Oracle of Athens in GOW1) and things that are tighter around the hips and waist to show off that silhouette are also acceptable.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Being extremely rough in bed. Kratos has dealt enough pain in others as is, he wouldn’t really be up for things like heavy hitting, hard choking, etc. He’d be more than happy to hold his partners neck just right, and wouldn’t be opposed to a spanking, but anything beyond that is most likely a no.

Definitely NO use of his weapons in the bedroom.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Kratos is an eater. If there’s pussy in his mouth, he is content. He’ll draw it out for his own benefit, if anything. He’s very skilled at it - the right pressure of his tongue, the right moment to introduce his fingers, the right curve and motion to hit that spot inside. I could talk about it for days.

He enjoys it on him, as any man would, but he’ll never ask for it. At some point he realised he quite enjoys not being the one in immediate command as he watches them taking him in their mouth.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He fucks slow but deep, only speeding towards the end. If his partner is on all fours, however, he’ll gladly jackhammer into them.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not the biggest fan (see above). It happens, but it’s not his favorite.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

The only thing I figure that he’d consider is getting someone pregnant. It’s happened twice before, so why wouldn’t it with someone new? If we’re talking about his wives, then the risk would be none - the more the merrier.

He’s a quite vanilla guy, so anything new in the bedroom would most likely be introduced through his partner and not him. He’s willing to try mostly everything within reason (see N).

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Kratos can go on for a long while. He’s not a minute man at all, he’ll keep going until his partner is satisfied and won’t finish until they do. Rounds wise, maybe four or so, depending on the day and the person.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Has none to speak of, and has no need for them. Anything he does is with his (and his partner’s) body. He’s keen on using his hands, so toys are obsolete to him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

I believe he can be a bit of a tease, but not in a snarky way. He’s devoted to drawing things out to enjoy them completely. Never to the point where one would have to beg though.

With brats (like me teehee), he’ll just put them in their place straight out. No games, no teasing.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Isn't (regrettably) very loud or vocal. He will grunt and groan, but will only really let out a rugged moan when he cums. Calling his partner’s name is probably when he’s most vocal.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Kratos enjoys cooking. At least, he discovered he did after Ragnarok. When peace settled and he actually had time, he came to find that he’s quite domestic overall. Wants more wolves (dogs), has actually learnt to take care of them properly, and he’s found himself paying more attention to details than before.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It absolutely matches his bulking figure. It’s long, it’s astoundingly thick, and heavy. With an upward curve, it’s absolutely heavenly.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not extremely high. Is not too demanding or nonchalant about it. A nice balance. However, he will never deny his partner when they approach him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Freya had disappeared into an adjoining room. Kratos sat by the end of her bed, awkwardly fidgeting with his hands as he awaited her return.

She had informed him there was something she needed his council on, but gave no hint as to what it could be. Only that it resided in her chambers in Vanaheim.

He waited. And waited. He could hear drawers opening, a muttered curse, a thud from something falling to the ground, more rummaging.

Kratos looked around, his eyes landing on everything and anything in hopes it would grant him more patience. He felt unnatural sitting on such luxurious bedding - the contrast between his rough exterior and the mostly pastel hues of her duvet seemingly unsettling something in his gut.

Not that he wasn’t keen to ever being invited whenever they had spare time together. But the dull loneliness of being in her space while she was not around felt unusual.

It had been weeks since the incident in the hot spring. Things felt easy. There was never a discussion of sorts to define their relationship. Nor was there any signs that either of them were regretful for what had transpired that day. Additionally, the affection had not faded.

Kratos pondered, a hand passing over a wrinkle in her bedding. Memories of her beneath him flashed in his mind. Along with the times she had been the one on top of him. How soft her skin felt on his fingertips, the scent of her hair when he buried his nose in her locks, the shape of her lips as she gasped and tightened around him. The way she—

The door opened suddenly. Kratos flinched, snapping his head towards the closet.

Freya stood near the window, bathed in the pale light of late afternoon. She wore a dress unlike anything he had seen her wear before. The gown was unmistakably Vanir in design—elegant without being extravagant, its flowing teal fabric embroidered with delicate patterns that seemed to mimic vines and wildflowers. Silver accents caught the light when she moved.

She looked every bit a queen. Not the queen who had ruled under Odin. Not the queen forged by duty. Something freer. Something entirely her own.

Freya shifted awkwardly under his stare. The excitement in her features fading in a single moment.

“…Say something.”

Kratos blinked. Silence.

“It is… adequate.”

Her mouth fell open.

“‘Adequate’?” She groaned, burying her face in her hands, “You are impossible.”

He watched her as she began to pace from side to side, her bare feet lightly tapping against the marble floors. As she moved, he noticed the way the skirt followed the curve of her waist. The way its collar hugged her neck delicately. The way the tattoos covering her arms stood out and ran along her exposed ribcage.

“What would you have me say, Freya?”

Their eyes met then and she stopped. Freya eyed the deadpan expression he wore, though she was well aware he held no malice behind his words.

“I don’t know.” She sighed, absentmindedly changing her direction towards him as she resumed walking, “Adequate’s the last thing I’d have you say. Although it’s expected from you.”

Kratos frowned, his hands reaching out for her skirt once she came to a stop between his knees. He reached for the hem, fiddling with the fabric with his fingertips. His massive hands felt invasive in the delicacy of the craftsmanship. The details were perfect. Freya’s head tilted, watching his interest with foreign curiosity.

“It is beautiful.” He murmured, looking up at her. The amber in his eyes alone were enough to get her weak at the knees.

“Hmm. You have been staring.” She mused, wrapping her forearms lazily around his neck.

“I am finding it difficult to focus.”

Freya arched a brow at that, but before she could retort she felt a pair of hands trailing up her thighs beneath her skirt. Rough and large, they ventured towards the crease of her backside and up before returning back down and repeating the cycle.

“Do you remember…” She started quietly, her attempts to extinguish her sudden arousal proving futile under his touch, “…when we could barely spend five minutes together without threatening one another?”

The bottom of his chin met the valley between her breasts when she instinctively moved closer to him, “Yes.”

“And now?”

“Now I come when you ask.”

One of his hands squeezes tenderly at her rear. Freya’s breath gets caught in her throat. There’s little she can do but snake her arms off his neck so her grip was at his shoulders. She leans her head back in the comfort of his touch, a moan escaping her once she feels a caress at the back of her knee. He gently pulled it towards him so her foot landed on top of her bed.

Kisses are planted along her midriff through the fabric of her gown, and Freya’s pupils widen. Her heartbeat’s on overdrive, the heat pooling at her core is screaming for him to bend her over her duvet and fuck her until she loses the ability to walk.

His fingers nearly brushed against her folds when her hands grabbed at his forearms.

“Up.” She commands.

Kratos’ face is a perfect painting of bemusement. Yet he obeys without question. She kneels before his now standing form, brows knit in concentration as she begins to work on unclasping and untangling the layers that separated her from what she wanted most in that moment.

He watches, and listens, afraid to even move a single muscle should her fury deny him of what he assumes is awaiting him. A rush burns through his ribs down to his groin and he exhales in an attempt to compose himself.

A hint of shame flickers in the back of his mind at the joy of seeing her on her knees. The man he once was, the Ghost of Sparta, would have simply taken what he deemed as his. But no more. That man was long dead.

Freya lets out a sound of victory once she figures the mechanisms of his elaborate garments. There’s a glint in her eyes once she sees it - standing at attention, large, thick, proud, and so perfectly fitting for the bulk of a man attached to it. She stares in awe as if it’s the first time she’s laid her eyes on it. Her eyes follow the upward curve, and she bites her lip excitedly.

“Sit.” She commands once again.

And again, Kratos obeys. The mattress protests against his weight.

With a wicked grin, Freya leans into him. Still on her knees, her forearms come to rest on his thighs.

There’s admiration in her eyes when she briefly looks him over. It is not the first, nor the second, nor the third time she has seen him like this. Yet the sight of him has never failed to stir something deep and primal within her. The broad planes of his chest rising with measured breaths. The scars that she had since learnt the origin of. The tension he held so stoically over his shoulders, despite the way his eyes softened ever so slightly whenever they rested on her.

She trails her fingertips over his thigh, upward toward his groin and circling an area on his pelvis. Kratos exhales through his nose once the pad of her finger found the base of his shaft. She tortures him, slowly, tracing a vein just on the underside of the curve until she reaches the tip.

A bead of his slick catches her attention. With delicate precision, she gathers it at her fingertip, bringing it up to her lips and lays it on her tongue.

A groan rumbled in his chest at the sight.

Kratos watches, pupils dilated, as the flat of her tongue mimics the trail her finger followed beforehand. Her eyes dart to his and a muscle in his thigh twitches.

Freya’s smiling, sadistic and cocky, while lapping at the edge of his tip. She almost chuckles at the sight of his white knuckles gripping at her sheets. Impatient, she figures. A trait she had not yet seen so clearly from him. A hot, wet kiss is planted on the area before she dives in. Her throat relaxes, determined to take in all of him.

Another sound rises out of him, louder, rougher, once she bottoms out, nose brushing against the stubble at his groin. The musky scent of him dances around her nostrils. The aroma makes her empty cunt clench. She could feel herself close to dripping onto the floor below her knees.

“Freya…” She hears from above. A rasp so low it could’ve easily been mistaken for her lustful imagination.

She pulls back just enough so the tip of his cock remains in the warmth around her mouth, before she plunges back in. A rhythm is built, her head bobs with the enthusiasm she hadn’t been allowed to feel in millennia. The talent she hadn’t been allowed to display.

Kratos curses under his breath. Determination to coax every sound out of him drowning out the pleas her sore throat cries. Her eyes dart to his as his hips buck slightly - he looks drunk on her. His eyes are half lidded, his chest heaving, and his arms flexing by his sides.

A thought crosses her that Kratos is holding back. Either out of consideration or merely respect for her. Or perhaps he finds a thrill in doing only what he’s told. She won’t have that. She needed him truly involved.

Freya’s hand guides his wrist to place it atop her head, his fingers automatically intertwine with the locks of her hair. She moans, vibrating around his cock once he begins to tug.

Suddenly, she pulls away with a wet pop.

“Tell me,” She begins, eyes dangerous, a devious smile painting the swollen lips that kissed at his tip once again, “How long are you going to pretend to be patient?”

Kratos exhales deeply, the chance to protest swiftly taken from him. The fist in her hair tightens, and in a brief second, he’s looming over her. Standing. The intimidating glare that he shoots down upon her is enough to make her rub her thighs together. It’s futile against the fire at her core.

Without warning, Kratos pushes his cock past the smirk at her lips and into her awaiting mouth. A rugged sigh leaves him at the tightness of the back of her throat.

Freya lets out a muffled yelp that quickly shifts into a stretched moan once he begins to thrust into her with a brutal pace. Her hands find his thighs for support, saliva and arousal run down her chin and around her lips, there’s tears at the ends of her eyes.

“Is this what you wanted?” He huffs, holding her head in place by her hair, “To be used this way?”

She manages a nod through his assault. Another moan vibrating around his cock.

Kratos is relentless in his movements, free without the self restraint he wore before. The shame from earlier seemingly wiped from his thoughts. She wanted him like this. So he would obey her whim.

Dark streaks of ruined makeup and tears run down her cheeks, though the glint in her eyes never fades. Freya looks up at him in pure admiration, the thrill of her predicament running through her as if she had been set on fire.

Soon enough, Kratos began to pant, heavy and uneven. His hips begin to stutter, his brows are knit, and the muscles go taut as he claims her throat with one last thrust, releasing with a booming growl.

Freya’s eyes widen. She engulfs him completely. The hot, thick ropes of his seed coating her throat before she hungrily attempts to swallow every last drop. Her eyes roll back at the taste of him, unexplainably delectable, and for a brief second she regrets the emptiness of her aching cunt.

Once spent, he pulls out of her, gently releasing her hair as she regains control of her breathing.

“Are you alright?” Kratos murmurs, offering his hand to her.

Freya nods, taking it and standing on shaky legs, a drunken smile on her features as he guides her to sit where he had previously. A towel, along with a glass of water, are handed to her. She’s humming as she wipes her face.

She looked oddly content, he noted.

“Freya?”

“Yes, I’m alright.” She laughs softly,

Kratos comes to sit next to her, raising a brow, “I was under the belief you were the one commanding me.”

“And I was. You obeyed me through and through.”

He exhaled at the retort.

The room, moments before filled with urgency and heat, settled into something quieter. The late afternoon light had begun to soften into evening, casting long shadows across the chamber. Freya sat with the glass of water cradled in both hands, her smile lingering—not triumphant, not teasing, but fulfilled.

Kratos watched her carefully.

“What?” she asked eventually, catching his gaze.

“You are pleased.”

“You don’t have to look so troubled. I enjoyed myself, Kratos.”

Yet his expression remained troubled, but Freya had learned to read the language he spoke without words. The slight softening of his expression. The way his gaze lingered. The way he seemed concerned though the need to be wasn’t present.

“But do you know what I enjoy most?” She murmured, her smile softening, her hand tracing the lines of the tattoo along his arm, “Not that you desire me. It’s that you always look at me as though you’ve only just discovered that you do. Regardless of if I’m kneeling or laying beneath you.”

Kratos ponders silently for a moment, leaning into her touch.

“When I first saw you tonight,” He starts, “I forgot what I intended to say.”

Freya’s hand stilled against his arm. For all the things she had expected from him—silence, perhaps, or another gruff observation about the impracticality of Vanir fashion—that had not been one of them.

“What did you intend to say?” She asked quietly.

Kratos’ gaze drifted toward the window. The last of the sun had begun to bleed into the horizon, painting the chamber in amber and violet.

“Not the words that I spoke then.”

She scoffs playfully, “That sounds like a reasonable answer. ‘Adequate’, some might say.” He huffs at the retort as she lays her legs over his thighs, sighing as she stretches.

“You know, I wouldn’t have minded for you to… paint my face, so to speak.”

“Freya-“

“What?” she asked innocently, though the glimmer in her eyes betrayed her.

Kratos closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose, “You speak of these things too freely.”

“And you think of them too quietly.”

He did not deny it. Though he was acutely aware she was attempting to provoke him.

The silence that followed was familiar now. Not the silence of resentment, or suspicion, or grief. Just the strange, fragile peace they had learned to share with one another.

Freya shifted, drawing her legs closer beneath her. The dress pooled around her in soft folds of teal and silver. “You truly forgot?” she asked after a while.

Kratos regarded her, “Yes.”

“Entirely?”

“Entirely.”

She hummed, “I spent three days deciding whether to wear this.”

That earned her his full attention.

“Three days?”

“Perhaps four.” She smiled. “Do not look so surprised. I have not had cause to concern myself with appearances in a very long time.”

“You never needed to.”

The answer came so quickly that it startled them both.

Freya’s expression softened. “No?”

He shook his head, “You do not need my approval. Nor anyone else’s.”

“Well, the representatives of the other realms might disagree. But I appreciate the sentiment.” She abandons her glass on her bedside table, “However, I refuse to let you escape with ‘adequate’.”

Kratos studied her for a long moment, pondering, his palm under her skirt once again to caress her thigh.

For a brief moment, she saw it. The ghost of a smile.

“It was never adequate.” He finally decides.

She leaned closer, “Then what was it?”

He looked at her for a very long time.

“Please tell me this is it.”

Kratos stood motionless, axe still in hand, watching the creature they had been chasing for the last several days collapse to the floor. Only when its post-mortem twitching had ceased did he return his weapon to its holster.

He turned around, eyeing his companion, “It is dead.”

“Good.” Behind him, Freya released a long breath. Snow still melting on her shoulders, strands of oak hair escaping her braid, and irritation written plainly across her features, “Anymore of this and I’d go mad.”

“You look exhausted.”

“How very polite of you to notice.” She scoffed sarcastically, shrugging off the ice that covered her armour.

For a moment, Kratos regretted ever speaking on her appearance. He was about to redeem himself when he eyed an item that flung away from Freya’s belt as she brushed dirt off her thigh.

He walked over, crouching down and handing it to her. Freya stared at the object in his palm as though she had never seen it before. Then, with a groan, she snatched it back.

”Do not comment on that either.”

Kratos frowned, standing up, “I was not going to.”

Again there was a scoff, and a disgruntled roll of her eyes.

“Come. We should return.”

Kratos grunted in agreement behind her.

They carried on. Trekking through the snow and miserable cold in silence. The sort of silence that Kratos wasn’t used to anymore. He could practically feel the anger radiating from her, oozing from the curses she muttered under her breath whenever their path felt uneven.

“Is there something wrong?” He finally spoke, staring into the back of her head.

Freya lifted her chin, as if it had been some sort of intrusion on her thoughts.

She spat, “Why do you ask?”

“You’re irritated with me.”

“I’m—“ She started, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to calm her tone, “I’m tired.”

“I can see that—“

“Do you have to point it out?” She snapped, turning around to face him, sharper than any weapon he’s ever wielded, “I know I look awful.”

Kratos frowned, “I did not say that.”

“You implied it.”

There was another silence. Self restrain that took centuries to master kept him from spitting back. From starting a fight that would undo all the progress in trust these two had come to build over the years. A fight that would surely end everything.

For moments, Kratos simply stared, gaze burning into Freya’s frazzled eyes. He couldn’t bear to look away.

“I apologise.” He murmured, “I should have chosen my words carefully.”

The tension in Freya’s shoulders visibly eased. She blinked, then let out a sigh she hadn’t realised she had been holding, turning back to their path ahead, “Let us keep moving.”

For a while neither spoke. The mountain path descended into a narrow pass lined with frozen rock and skeletal trees. Their hunt had carried them farther north than intended. What should have been a two-day journey had become nearly a week, thanks to the creature’s ability to seemingly leave little to no trace behind itself.

Distracted by the tracks her feet gradually left behind, Kratos almost walked into Freya when she abruptly stopped. Before he could question her, she pointed towards a narrow opening between two cliffs, steam drifted from within. Her tired eyes lit up instantly.

“A hot spring.” A pause, “We’re going.”

She did not wait for agreement, already striding toward the opening before Kratos had the chance to manage a response.

The cave mouth widened after only a few paces, revealing a basin of dark stone carved naturally into the mountain. Steam curled lazily through the air, fogging the ceiling overhead. Meltwater trickled down the walls in silver threads, disappearing into a pool so clear the rock beneath could still be seen. Snow blanketed the surrounding rocks, and ice hung from nearby ledges. Yet, warm water shimmered beneath rising clouds of steam. The contrast was striking.

“Oh, by all the realms...” She strolled around, the excitement she carried only being comparable to one of a child’s. For the first time in days, she looked genuinely pleased. Kratos lingered near the entrance, habitually still wary of his surroundings.

Freya glanced over her shoulder, a look that asked for some input in their discovery.

He scanned the area once more. Then simply shrugged.

A scoff, “You’re unbelievable.” Freya shook her head, muttering something unflattering beneath her breath as she set her bow against a nearby rock.

Kratos watched her kneel at the edge of the water and dip her fingers into the surface. Her eyes closed almost immediately. Once satisfied, she rose to her feet and stretched, joints audibly protesting the movement, “I’m getting in.”

He grunted. She waited. When no further response came, she began to tug at her clothes. Leather straps loosened, bracers were set carefully upon a dry patch of stone. Her belt followed shortly after. Kratos immediately redirected his attention towards the cave entrance.

After what felt like an eternity, light splashing echoed from the cave’s walls, a sigh that carried the weight of days of tension following soon after.

“You may look now.”

“I am giving you privacy.“ Another movement in the pool behind him.

An amused scoff, “I’m not naked, Kratos.”

He finally glanced over his shoulder.

Freya glides waist deep in the water, nothing but her undergarments still on her skin. Steam curled around her shoulders as her head tilted back in pure contentment from the warmth that seeped into muscles that ached for nearly a week.

For a moment, Kratos forgot where he was. Staring longer than he ever intended or noticed.

Freya opened one eye, “Something wrong?”

“No.” He muttered, moving to sit on a stone a metre or so away from the spring.

“Hmm. I thought I caught a stare from you.”

Kratos said nothing - a lie would’ve been harder to deny than the truth. Freya’s lip twitched at the small victory.

She sunk deeper into the spring, the top of her shoulders barely at the surface. Truly she was in her element - Vanaheim’s climate and its bodies of water were not so different from the one she found herself in now. Memories swam in her head of her days back home, during a time when things were simple, before she had been sold off and discarded like something with no value. Memories that didn’t hold grief or harsh winters, when she wasn’t required to battle with beasts and men who wronged her. Memories when she hadn’t met the man that changed everything.

A sudden pang of guilt ached around her ribcage.

“It wasn’t you.”

Kratos looked up from his hands and back at her, “What wasn’t?”

“My annoyance.” She rubbed at the back of her neck, tone soft and inoffensive, “I haven’t slept properly in three nights. Hel, I haven’t slept properly in who knows how long.” She paused, realisation widening her eyes, her brows furrowed, “Did I really look that awful?”

“Again, I have never said that you looked awful.”

“Just exhausted. I know, I know…” She trailed off, looking down at the rings of waves radiating from her body.

“Freya.” Her eyes met his then. There was something unusually patient in his expression. No pity, no frustration. Simply attention, “I am aware I am not the best with my words. But don’t perceive my directness as disrespect. Especially towards you.” He paused, returning to fidgeting with whatever was in his hands, “You are allowed to be tired.”

A bitter laugh escaped her nose, “That sounds absurd when you say it.”

For the first time that day, the silence that followed wasn’t hostile. Not the kind from before, lingering with bitterness and venom. Not the kind they’ve had countless times in the past.

Steam drifted between them. Somewhere deeper within the mountain, water trickled through unseen cracks in the stone.

“I suppose I’m not very good at it. Just…resting.” Her arms came to rest along the edge of the spring. Kratos shoots her a look of mild confusion, given her current predicament. She notices straight away, “No, I mean… At night. I close my eyes and my mind refuses to cooperate. Every mistake I’ve ever made suddenly decides to introduce itself. Every conversation I wish had gone differently. Every decision I regret.”

The confession surprised even herself. She wasn’t entirely certain why she chose to share it aloud. Perhaps exhaustion had finally loosened her tongue. Perhaps the spring had.

Or perhaps it was simply Kratos - he had become infuriatingly easy to open up to over the years.

“I understand.” He said.

“You do, don’t you?” She stared, a knowing smile on her lips, “You sleep?”

“Occasionally.”

That rose a genuine laugh from her. Him and his wry sense of humour, along with what she could swear was a grin at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re getting worse at hiding them.” She made a gesture to her own lips, indicating a smile.

A dry chuckle, “Perhaps.”

For a moment, Freya eyed Kratos carefully, gaze lingering on every inch of his exposed skin. The broad shoulders, the countless scars, the exhaustion he carried just as heavily as she did - though he would rarely admit it or acknowledge it. Something in her mind lit up.

“You should get in.”

Kratos raised a brow.

“The spring.” She clarified.

“I am fine.”

“So you say. But are you truly?”

He exhales through his nose as if Freya had proposed something preposterous. Regrettably, she was right. Kratos is unfamiliar with relaxing - Freya enthusiasm being the only reason he even accepted his fate into this enclosed hot spring. He sees her laugh more than ever than she ever has in a long time, which in turn made the brutality of their hunt worth it.

With a sigh, he removes his shoulder guard and sets it aside. The sound of metal settling onto rock echoed through the cavern. A moment later, water shifted.

“Well.”

Kratos slowly turned his head towards her, “Something amusing?”

“Not a thing.” It was difficult to hide the sick grin that creased along her cheeks.

After settling into the spring, his reaction was immediate - shoulders dropped, the harsh lines of his face faded ever so slightly.

“Better?”

“…Yes.”

Freya’s smile became positively radiant. Her eyes alone are teasing, the steam of the spring aiding her courage like a bottle of mead to a nervous youngling new to courting. She swam closer to him absentmindedly through the depths of the pool.

As the afternoon faded, their conversation drifted. Old jokes, old fights, old memories. Some bitter, some nostalgic. Subjects of their distant past, and retellings of recent developments.

A joke was thrown that almost caught Freya off balance. It struck Kratos then how long it had been since he’d heard her laugh like that. Not the sharp, sarcastic huff she often gave him. Not the bitter amusement that sometimes accompanied old wounds. But actual joy radiating from her chest.

Somehow they found each other standing inches away from one another - neither chose to point it out. Or step away, for that matter.

“Are you happy?” She questions, tracing the vivid red of his tattoo along his chest absentmindedly with a tip of a finger.

For a while, he was silent. Not because he wished to avoid answering - because he simply was unsure. Happiness felt unfamiliar, like something he hadn’t felt in centuries.

“I am at peace.”

“That did not answer my question.”

“No, it did not.”

Freya waited. Patiently. As she always seemed to be with him now.

Eventually he spoke again, “Some days.”

“Hmm,” Her gaze softened, “Only some?”

Kratos mulled his words over before he chose to speak, “You are not always around.”

The reply was unexpected. It struck her as if Mjolnir itself had dealt a blow to her chest. For a second she tensed, but after the realisation that she might be getting too ahead of herself and her hopes, she shifted.

“We do…” She stumbled over her words, “We are together quite often. For the good of the realms.”

“For the good of the realms.” He agreed.

The words hung in the air. Freya was the first to look away. Not because she wanted to, but because if she continued staring at him, she feared he would notice exactly what she was thinking.

The spring suddenly felt too warm.

“Is that your excuse?” Freya heard him say.

Flustered, she turned back to face him, “Excuse?”

“For spending nearly every spare moment in each other’s company?”

“Well, we don’t really seem to have a choice anymore.”

Kratos pressed, “But is that what you would have chosen?”

Another blow to her chest. The way he kept his composure, as if he was merely talking about the weather, was beginning to drive her mad. Her brows furrowed, determined to change the subject so the flush blooming on her chest and cheeks would fade at once.

“I…,” She started, a new sense of courage washing over her, “Actually, no. What do you want?”

“What?

“You’re always so insistent on duty. On responsibility. On what must be done.” She saw the furrowing of his brows, yet kept on, “What are your wants? Your needs? Your desires?”

It was clear what she was doing, but Kratos chose to indulge her with her difficult question. He never felt he had the luxury of choosing - or expressing - what he wanted. Obligation and sacrifice was most of all that he’s ever known.

Considering the question, there was one constant that swam in his mind.

She eyed him carefully as though she sensed the shift, “What is it?”

He hesitated, and for a moment Freya considered she might never get an answer. The silence was palpable, and she felt a gust of anticipation through her ribs.

“You.” He paused then, “I have come to find your company and wisdom a comfort. I find myself searching for you when you are not near.”

Freya stared. For perhaps the first time since he had known her, she appeared genuinely speechless. Kratos considered shrugging everything he had just spoken off, diminishing its meaning, or changing the subject entirely.

There was an acute awareness of the guilt he still carried even after years of having Freya as a companion. Even coming to call her a friend felt like a luxury he didn’t imagine he’d get in his lifetime. He understood that she once had deep rooted hatred for him, to the point of praying for his death and attempting to murder him relentlessly. It was conflicting to think about her in this new and intimate way.

He feared destroying their friendship with his revelation. The friendship earned through trust, forgiveness, and time.

Still, his eyes locked with hers, “That is what I want.”

Deep brown eyes softened, their message riding through surprise, understanding, until they reached warmth, “Is it really?”

“Yes.”

Freya stood quietly, processing what she had just heard. Once, she might have met such a confession with anger or disbelief, burdened by the grief, betrayal, and bloodshed that had defined so much of their history. But they were no longer the people they were then.

“You stubborn thing.” She murmured, something deeper laced in her words, “I spent months wondering… If you felt the same.”

The admission hit Kratos like a thousand volts. He could see the hope on her features, nervousness sprinkled throughout.

She was beautiful. Yet he did not understand her reaction.

“Does this not concern you?” He asked, conflicted, “Your responsibilities. What I’ve done to you.“

Her hand found his by surprise. Freya stepped closer, close enough that he could see every detail on her face, close enough that he could still feel her warmth through the steam surrounding them.

“I cannot forget the past, nor would I ask either of us to. But what we have become… What we built… Means more to me than vengeance ever did.”

“Freya.” He murmured just above a whisper.

The way Kratos spoke her name was enough to unravel what remained of her restraint. Her eyes dropped briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes.

In a heartbeat, she lunged forward, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him into her. Their lips met then. It was hurried and desperate, hungry for one another. Her heart felt as if it was about to burst out of her chest.

Large and calloused hands found themselves roaming all over Freya’s figure, feeling for anything and everything they could. Her undergarments came off briskly. Her braid was unraveling in the mist of the air. She was about to tug at his last layer separating them when her wrist was caught.

“Are you certain you wish to proceed with this?”

“Yes.” She managed out of breath, “I’ve never been so certain of it.”

Kratos released her wrist, and Freya felt something bloom within her. It had been millennia since she got a say in ventures of her own bedroom and what happened in it. To be given a choice was a gift she didn’t consider she’d receive in her future.

The sadness that flashed across her eyes is enough to sting his heart.

“You do not have to prove anything to me.”

Freya’s throat tightened, “I know.”

With a nod, Kratos grabbed onto Freya’s waist, wrapping his arm around it as his other hand found the underside of her thigh. Effortlessly, he lifted her and sat her by the edge of the spring.

A burning mix of adrenaline and anticipation ran through her veins when she felt his touch under her knee. Kisses were planted along her legs, skin was caressed with a touch so gentle one would think she was prone to shattering. Slowly, they trailed up her thigh. The heat at her core akin to a blue flame.

Just before Kratos’ lips reach their destination, she stuttered, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He countered, placing her knee atop his shoulder, “If you allow me.”

A charmed yet surprised exhale was all the permission he needed. Kneeling between her legs, he gripped her hips in a strong hold. Freya watched from above, sitting back on her elbows. His golden eyes scanned hers before diving in.

A relieved moan echoed throughout the cave once her core felt the wetness of his tongue. He gave it a long lap, delicately exploring her slit before moving on to the aching bud hidden within the fluff on her mound. Freya’s knuckles turned pale as she clawed by the icy debris by her sides once deliberate licks turned to firm sucks, a heavy tongue still circling attentively.

It was unbelievable how quickly her breaths became heavier. How quickly her back was glistening with sweat after mere moments of his touch on her. Her hips twitched suddenly and his hold on her tightened to keep her in place.

“By the gods…” She managed to whisper, a hazy gaze finding his head bobbing with enthusiasm.

Freya felt her walls begin to tighten around nothing just before she felt a pair of large fingers prodding at her entrance. A gasp tore from her throat once they delved in, curling just right to that spot that made her vision blur. Kratos pumped in and out, the squelching of her arousal, along with the addictive scent of her sex, enchanting him to devour the Vanir queen. His fingers quickened, as did his tongue. Her hips bucked under his hold.

It should’ve come as a surprise that the retired god of war was oh so talented with his mouth. But as she laid there, she couldn’t fathom that he’d be any other way. He moved with skill, as if he had been with her before, yet the passion behind his movements nothing short of unexpected.

Freya felt the coil in her south tighten, taunt like a rope about to snap. A lustful groan vibrating at her core. Before she could muster a warning, her walls gripped him like a vice before she let out a high pitch wail that filled the entire room. Kratos’ touch did not seize. As she rode out her orgasm, his lips reluctantly left her south, standing once more and leaning into her so they’d meet eye to eye. His fingers kept pumping, making her eyes snap shut from their curled grip.

He only slowed when she did. When her breath was returning to its regular flow and her elbows gave out. Kratos pulled his digits out deliberately, laying them on his tongue before making a show of licking them clean. Freya was too strung out to give him anything more than a light chuckle.

“That…” She swallowed, “That was something else.”

“Something else?” Kratos almost mused, enveloping her with his body, his elbows coming to support his weight at her sides. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist.

“I’m not used to the attention.” Her hand came up to caress his beard, “I’m sure I don’t need to explain why.”

Another flash of sadness masked with a dry chuckle. If he had the opportunity to kill that horrid man again, he would do it with no hesitation.

Freya could tell by his furrowed brows that the self deprecating comment had stung him. She shrugged it off, her thumb tracing his eyebrow. The tension melted under her touch, and his features softened once again.

Kratos shifted closer. His body pressed against Freya’s once she pulled his waist further into her. A side of his length brushed against her thigh and she bit her lip eagerly, “Are you going to delay this further?”

“I do not wish to rush you.”

Another laugh, “Nonsense.” Her hand snaked between them to grab at the part of him that stood at attention, leaking against her skin. She hadn’t even noticed the moment his undergarments were taken off.

“Do you want me to beg, Kratos?”

The sultriness in her tone made him shiver, along with the way she bent her wrist to massage at the head. A groan left him, his eyes shut at the sensation. Freya hummed at herself. How amusing that the man she had witnessed drenched in beast blood countless times was now trembling over her touch.

“Freya…” He moaned her name. Not as softly has she had before him, but enough that she beamed at the new sound.

Patience running thin, Freya guided the head of his cock into her, the grip of her thighs on his waist only serving to pull him in. The couple sighed in unison.

Kratos felt… massive, to say the least. By what her hand had perceived earlier, he was certainly bigger than past partners she had taken to bed. But his cock was practically stretching her inch by inch. The lower part of her slit burning with the welcome intrusion. Kratos grunted at the tightness of her walls around him, fluttering once his pelvis met hers and his tip kissed her cervix. His forehead came to rest against hers, as her arms came to wrap around his neck.

Slowly, he began to move. His thrusts are considerate, scanning the goddess under him for any sign of discomfort. She looked radiant - there was a tint of rose on her cheeks that flowed down to her chest, her hair like branches on the stone beneath them. He had never seen her eyes glimmering as much as they were now.

A hiss from Freya shook him from his thoughts, and he immediately seized.

“No. Keep going.” She breathed in his ear, her chin coming to rest on his shoulder once he leaned further into her, his arms now cradling her from underneath.

With a hint of hesitation, he resumed. He thrusted deeply yet deliberately, drawing out all the sounds he admired rising out of her throat. She clawed at his back, the heat at her core rising with every stroke.

It wasn’t long before Kratos’ composure began to slip away and his pace quickened. The walls of the cave vibrated with the sound of skin slapping against skin and the many groans and moans they coaxed out of one another. One of his hands came up to her face, her jaw in his hands as he pulled her in for a hungry kiss. She moaned into his mouth before her lip caught his in her teeth.

A growl erupted from his chest. A hot flash awakened a primal instinct within him as he grabbed onto the back of both her knees to set them upon his shoulders in a single move. Her thighs now pressed flush against his chest in a mating press. The sheer display of his strength shocked even Freya in that moment, and her hands returned to clawing at the floor by her sides as she was folded in half, his cock hitting a new spot within her she had come to forget with time.

Again, he was massive. It wasn’t just how well endowed he was - though the line for ignorance in that field had already been crossed. His presence was overwhelming, almost intimidating, drawing her eyes without the a need or demand for her attention. Freya had never considered herself the time to enjoy being overpowered by another - especially in this context. Old scars and fears kept any desires of that sort locked behind careful independence. Yet laying under him, feeling the sheer force of his natural authority, she found those convictions wavering. There was something dangerously alluring about him, something that made her want to surrender every carefully constructed defence. She would be lying if she said she didn’t want him to completely undo her - to leave her breathless, aching, and utterly at his mercy in whatever way he chose. The realisation should have frightened her. Instead, it sent a thrill racing through her.

She heard him grunt something under his breath in what she could only assume was his native tongue, before he picked up his pace once again, pounding into her with a fierceness he mostly kept reserved for battle.

“Kratos—“ She yelped. Her hands meeting his forearms in a grip so strong she carved half-moons into his skin as she felt a wave from her core about to strike, “Fuck, you’re going to make me cum…”

His eyes snapped to hers just in time to witness her features as her orgasm tore through her. A stunned gasp left her, her eyes widened, and her walls clenched so tightly around him he thought they’d trap him inside her.

All she could think about was how unreal his touch felt, how quickly he had her panting and sweating in his arms. She felt so safe, so held, under him. She never wanted either of them to vacate this spring.

“Don’t stop.” She managed to breathe out, tone close to begging, “Please don’t stop.”

Never one to deny an order, Kratos’ rhythm gained a newfound vigour with his hips slamming into hers, determined to prolong her high with the freedom to chase his own. Before long, he felt a welling of pressure deep within. His hands came to grab Freya’s waist, rolling his hips as he began to rut against her with ragged breath. He panted and grunted with exertion bending low and pulling at her body as he sank further into her. He thrust ferociously once, then twice, then—

With a satisfied growl, Kratos came, his cock pulsing with every hot thick spurt of his seed coating the inside of the walls accommodating him. He felt a hand tracing along his bicep to the side of his neck, caressing it as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

After a moment of stillness, his eyes locked with hers once again.

Freya looked spent. She shot him tired smile and opened her arms as an invitation. He accepted with no hesitation - settling her legs at his hips once again and finding comfort in her embrace.

Neither wanted this moment to end. The years between them finally seemed to fall away then. The grief. The anger. The mistakes. The long road that had brought them here. Not forgotten, yet no longer standing between them. Their chemistry felt simply undeniable.

Freya leaned her head back, admiring the frozen artistry of the ceiling of their newfound hideaway.

“I’m glad you came here with me.” She speaks after a moment.

“I would have followed you regardless.”

“Getting sentimental on me already?” She teased.

“Freya,” His head tilted up towards her, “I’m unsure if i can give you the life you deserve.” He continued through the confusion written on her face, “I do not know if I can be the man you want.”

“Kratos.” She sat up then, bringing him along with her, “You already are.”

Kratos sat silent, the weight of Freya’s words settling over him with an unexpected heaviness. His gaze lowered, not in shame, but in disbelief. He had overcome his own challenges, his own trials before he could accept himself and the changes he faced in Valhalla. Even so, the belief that he did not deserve her was difficult to shake. Freya had considered all of it and chose him anyway.

A rare softness crossed his features before he exhaled slowly. Freya didn’t expect a reply. She was content with what she had.

“The sun is setting.” She observed, her gaze following his towards the mouth of the cave. Beyond the veil of steam, the world had turned amber and gold. The snow outside reflected the dying light, paining the mountains in warm colours that seemed almost foreign after days of grey skies and endless cold, “Should we return home?”

Kratos grunted in agreement. It would be too dangerous to travel back during the night. They should get a move on before darkness settled.

Together, they gathered their belongings. Armours was refastened. Weapons reclaimed. Layers returned against the cold.

The moment felt oddly domestic.

When they finally stepped outside, evening was peaking just over the horizon. The air was sharp, fresh snow glittered beneath the fading sunlight.

For a while they walked in silence - not because they lacked something to say, because neither felt the need to fill the space.

Their shoulders brushed once, then again. Eventually Freya reached for his hand without caution or nerves. Kratos looked down at their joined hands, then squeezed gently.

Ahead of them, the path home stretched across the mountains.

The wind howled through the trees of Midgardian forests, its sky a dark grey, a warning of an approaching storm.

With little effort and a freshly felled log across his shoulder, Kratos made his way through the debris and fallen branches that littered the path back to the cabin, leather boots soiled with mud and leaves from the snow.

“Rain incoming.” Faye spoke, following closely behind him, “It mustn’t get wet.”

“We are not far. It will hold.”

She hummed in response.

Kratos glanced over his shoulder at his wife. Her white tunic graced over her bump with a glow of a woman who was near to bring new life into the world, the skirt long and flowing gently with the wind. The golden details at the hem tainted by dirt from their path.

Besides his protests, Faye was determined to join her husband in his quest to retrieve wood for the fire that served to keep their home warm. Though he was stern, she was stubborn.

A troublesome combination, she often reminded him.

After mere moments of silence and light snaps of twigs beneath their feet, she uttered again, “Is there a reason you keep looking back at me?”

“The path is uneven.”

“I have eyes.” she tugged at her skirt, stepping over a particularly thick branch while the axe in her hand was used for support.

“You should be resting.”

“I have been resting.”

Kratos grumbled, unconvinced at her retorts. Faye only smiled smugly to herself. It seemed pregnancy had only sharpened her ability to provoke the father of her child. For a brief moment he wondered if their child would inherit such a trait.

The wind picked up while carrying with it the scent of rain and distant snow. Branches creaked overhead, swaying beneath the gathering storm.

The first drops of rain began to fall. Minuscule at first, then heavier. Faye’s grip on her dark bear cloak tightened, the mist of the air cold against her skin. Kratos adjusted the log upon his shoulder and quickened his pace.

Without warning, a clap of thunder split the sky. The sound roaring through the forest like an ancient beast that resided beyond their protection stave.

Faye instinctively flinched with a brief gasp.

Kratos’ head shot towards her, “Faye—“

“I’m fine.” she assured with a groan, grit teeth and a knit brow, “It’s…” He made a move as if he was about to drop the log by his feet to tend to his wife, but was stopped with a wave of her hand, “Let’s keep moving.”

Hesitantly, his body turned towards their path once again, but not before he extended his hand behind him, beaconing her to take it as support. She held it with a grateful smile.

With bonded hands they walked in silence. Not the uncomfortable silence of strangers, but the silence of two people who had long learned that words were not always necessary.

Their shared cabin soon came into view though the trees. A sigh of relief rose out of Faye’s chest.

Home.

Kratos dropped the log with a dull thud on their wooden floor next to their makeshift fireplace, as Faye moved to the makeshift kitchen she had helped build.

Wood was split, every strike precise and controlled, tossed onto the pile. The scent of stew and fruitcake filled the space between them.

Another pained sound broke their shared silence. Instantly, the retired god of war abandoned his task and rushed towards his wife. Before he could even open his mouth, she intervened.

“I’m fine-“

“You are not.” He asserted, moving the empty bowl from her hands and abandoning it on the counter, “Sit.”

Hesitantly, she shifted, guided by him to take a seat on the furs of their shared bed. Kratos took over her previous chore, arranging a bowl of ready stew and serving it to her.

He caught Faye’s eyes lingering on the bed next to theirs before she winced again.

“Your child grows restless.” She groaned, “It seems to disagree with where my ribs are positioned.”

Krato’s expression darkened, “Faye.”

“It is normal.”

His brow furrowed. With her eyes now locking with his, she could almost see the concern warring with confusion. For all his battles and strategic expertise, pregnancy remained the one challenge he couldn’t face with sheer strength.

Faye reached for his hand - the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly. His fingers closed around hers carefully, as though it was something that would pain her further. She squeezed, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand as she gently tugged at him so he’d sit beside her.

As she brought the bowl to her lips, Kratos caught himself glancing over the smaller bed beside them. His gaze lingered longer than he intended.

The bed was small. Crude. Built by his own hands from timber hauled through the forest. Faye had insisted on placing it close enough that she could reach across from their own should the child wake in the night.

Everything in that cabin had been constructed as a culmination of their devotion and love towards one another - and now for their newborn.

After a content sigh from the warmth first taste of her meal, Faye caught his gaze. A knowing smile tugged at her lips, “You are doing it again, you know?”

He looked away in an instant, almost shaking off the observation with a flat expression.

“You mustn’t worry.” She set the bowl aside and shifted carefully against the furs. The movement earned another uncomfortable wince, though she managed to mask it for his sake.

Kratos remained silent, forearms coming to rest on his knees in stretched thought.

Her smile faded when she noticed the shadow that was cast on his features, “Kratos-“

“What if I fail?”

The quietness of his words, and the brutality of their meaning almost rendered her speechless, yet she managed an understanding sigh, “You will.“

He grimaced.

“Every parent fails, Kratos. You will make mistakes. You will be stubborn. Overprotective. You will fail sometimes.” Her hand came to rest over her bump, “So will I. But our child does not need perfection.”

Kratos sat up, blinking as he took in his wife’s words. He caught that tug back at her lips again - the smile that he feared losing. That he was terrified of never getting the privilege to see again.

“Oh!’ Faye yelped, Kratos shifting instinctively closer to her, “There you are.”

He followed her gaze to the hand pressing into her stomach, watching the movement beneath her tunic. This time, he didn't look away. The child kicked again.

“I’m beginning to think they want out.” She mused, a soft laughter humming in her chest.

Another feature of hers he dreaded ever losing.

Noticing his pondering, she reached for his wrist. He tensed, yet allowed her to guide his hand. She placed his palm against the curve of her bump - for several seconds, there was nothing. And then-

Faye laughed again, the sudden kick striking the her husband’s hand.

He froze. The entire world seemed to stop. Even Faye’s amusement sounded muted in his ears. There was only that tiny movement beneath his palm. Another kick, more gentle than the previous one as though it was greeting him.

Faye watched his face. Watched the wonder he tried - and failed - to hide. Pleased that his hand remained exactly where it was. Kratos swallowed, a tightness in his chest he hadn’t yet been familiar with. Perhaps it was love. Love for a child that had yet to see their father’s face.

And fear of repeating the past.

“Do you ever wonder what our child will be like?” Her voice broke him out of his thoughts, hoping the question would aid in grounding him.

There was an urge within him to claim he was unsure, but that would be a lie.

“Strong. Stubborn.” He mulled over his answer, Faye hummed in gentle agreement to each characteristic. “Curious.”

There was a gap between his words before he admitted with a whisper, “I hope he has your kindness.”

This struck her unexpectedly.

“You help those who you know cannot repay you.” He continued, matter of factly, almost self deprecating.

She managed a whisper, “You notice that?”

“I notice everything.”

For a moment they simply sat beside each other, still intertwined by the child between them. A gust of wind rolled across the distance, the only sound filling the silence.

Faye placed a hand against his chest. Beneath scars and muscle, she felt the steady beat of his heart. A heart she had come to cherish as if it was her own. A heart that he had spent centuries believing was incapable of holding anything but pain and anguish. The tension beneath her palm was palpable. The fear. The guilt. The memories he rarely chose to speak of.

“You think the past decides what kind of father you’ll become.” Her thumb brushed lightly over the rough leather protecting his chest, “But everyday you prove otherwise.”

The word’s struck him harder than any weapon could.

Krato’s eyes locked with hers, the fondness in them threatening to bringing him to tears.

His jaw tightened, “You do not know what I have done.”

“I know enough.”

The retort came with no hesitation. Yet held no judgement nor fear in its tone.

The storm outside finally broke in full. Rain hammered against the roof as the wind threatened to rattle the walls of their cabin. Thunder could be heard rolling across distant mountains. Still, Faye never averted her eyes.

“You gather wood before sunrise because you worry the cold will reach us. You hunt for the following week despite us only needing stock for the remainder of this one.” She scoffs, her voice stern through his silence, “You check the protection stave every night before sleeping, and every morning before I wake.”

His eyes shifted elsewhere, another kick struck against his palm. The child clearly disagreed with being ignored. Faye exhaled while placing her hand over his, rubbing the spot.

“See? Even he agrees.”

Kratos found himself staring at her bump again, speechless through Faye’s words.

The feeling remained strange. Foreign and dangerous. He had been a father before - the memory clawed at him immediately and he sneered. The ghosts of his past were persistent still after millennia. Faye noticed immediately.

“Hey.” The softness of her voice dragged him back instantly, “You are here. You are not there anymore.”

For moments, the only sound was the storm. Then Kratos exhaled slowly, carefully, as if releasing a weight he had been carrying for far too long.

“I’m afraid of what’s to come.”

A painful confession she known to be true. A sentiment not unfamiliar to herself, like a wound being teared open once again.

Faye shifted closer despite her discomfort, noticing how his gaze drifted away from her once again. Her head found his shoulder, resting near the nook of his clavicle. She hummed, mulling her words over.

“Then perhaps,” She murmured, tilting her head just enough to look up at him, “You should try seeing yourself the way I do.”

Again, he stayed silent. Unsure of his next words. Unsure of how to take in his wife’s words. Unsure of how to express his appreciation for her presence alone, never mind the kind wisdom of her advice. He spent so much of his life believing he didn’t deserve it. Deserve her. Deserve this. A home, a family. Peace.

“Kratos.”

His eyes lowered towards her.

“You are allowed to be happy.”

After a moment, Kratos nodded, shifting to wrap his arm around Faye, his nose finding comfort in the locks of her hair, nestling himself as close as he could to his beloved.

“I will be better.” He finally murmured against her skin, and echo of a lesson she had taught him time again.

A hum vibrated in her chest, her lips brushing his cheek once he tilted her head back up, the coarseness of his beard a light tickle on her skin that forced a content smile out of her.

Outside, the storm continued its assault upon Midgard. Inside, everything was safe.

It was home.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ

Another sharp pain suddenly crossed Faye. Kratos sat upright instantly.

“Faye.”

She pressed a hand against her bump. The discomfort lingering for longer this time - long enough for concern to replace contentment.

When it finally passed, she released the breath she had been holding. He was already kneeling beside her, “What is wrong?”

It was a miracle he managed to keep his voice so controlled. Even if just barely.

Faye opened her mouth to dismiss her pain once again, then paused, an overwhelming sharpness taking over her lower stomach.

Her eyes went wide. The realisation dawned upon her at the same second it dawned upon him.

Another thunder rolled just beyond their home. And then-

A small stream of fluid splashed onto the wooden floor just beneath her by his knee.

Faye stared. Kratos stared.

For the first time in centuries, the god was utterly unprepared.

Deliberately, Faye lifted her eyes towards his, “Kratos?”

Somehow his expression became even more alarmed.

“I think our child has decided they want out.”

Morning arrived slowly.

Warmth pulled you awake before sunlight had a chance to. It beamed through your eyelids as your eyes fluttered open.

It was still miserably cold outside, the freezing hold of winter covering the backyard in a blanket of snow. You scanned the trees twinkling with frost through the window as you struggled to truly wake.

Drifting your gaze to the centre of the cabin, you eyed the abandoned cups of mead from the previous night, sitting by the ashes that once were the fire to warm your home. A hazard if left otherwise.

Even so, you found heat still engulfed you. A toned, broad chest pressed firmly against your back, and a protective arm around your middle. You wondered briefly if he awoke as well.

Turning your head slowly to look over your shoulder, you found him still in slumber. Peaceful. Content. Even with the limited ability of your peripheral vision, you could still make out the lack of harsh lines that usually decorated his features in a fit of frustration, anger, or even mere annoyance.

Yet, he looked… soft. A rare sight basking in the pale morning light.

Absentmindedly, your gaze wandered towards the protruding vein in his upper arm, only moving on to the ruggedness of his chest once satisfied with faint roguish images of the man in bed with you.

By the Gods, he was difficult not to stare at.

It was harder to resist a touch.

Before you could even honour your sinful thoughts, the arm that held you tightened its grip around your waist, tucking you further into him.

It took every ounce of discipline in your body to stifle the sob that rose in your throat.

Your body felt it before your brain could register it - the jutting mass just outside your core.

The furs beneath you surrender to your grip, knuckles white as the length of him pressed flush alongside your entrance. You glanced over your shoulder again, only to huff softly when you realised it was out of your field of sight.

It felt wrong given he was asleep. But it wouldn’t harm to wonder.

A low grunt pulled you from your thoughts.

Your eyes quickly darted to his. His brows knitted together as amber eyes cracked open. For a moment, he simply stared at you, still half asleep and unfocused enough to be oblivious to the shock flickering across your face.

His eyes shut again with a murmur, voice rougher with sleep.

“You are awake.”

“I am.”

Kratos shifted slightly, and you quickly realised he hadn’t loosened his grip on you.

A wave of relief washed over your chest. Yet your stomach flipped.

Carefully, you turned to face him, hands finding his shoulders with one leg hooked over his hip.

“Are you tired?” You whispered softly.

He grunted yet again, eyes now half lidded as he scanned you. Gaze landing on your lips before making its way down to the space between you. His expression lifted to something warmer yet heavier, and after following his line of sight, you understood he had noticed your lack of sleep wear.

Before you had a moment to speak, his eyes returned to yours.

“No.”

You hummed in acknowledgment.

The hand that was once tucked underneath your form glided softly across your waist, dipping into your back and along your spine earning a tremble from your skin.

Your own hand found solace in the feeling of his beard, fingertips disappearing into the roughness of his beard as you caressed the strong line of his jaw — one you had never witnessed bare — before resting against his cheek.

Your eyes met fully then.

So did your lips soon after.

You shifted closer without thinking, your free hand now flattening against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in your palm. A groan escaped you, melting between shared breaths and kisses.

Something hot twitched against your thigh. Instantly, you beamed.

“There you are.” You murmured between kisses, rsliding your hand between the both of you to caress the source of your morning stir. Already achingly hard, pulsing and heavy in between your fingers. Anticipation shot through you when you felt the slick of his own arousal running down one of your knuckles.

A muffled growl vibrated through his chest as his gaze darkened further.

Then, slowly - with all the self control he could muster - Kratos rolled onto his back, bringing you with him until you sat straddling his lower abdomen, knees pressed beside his hips.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Large, calloused hands settled firmly on your waist while the other wandered across your back. His fingers flexed slightly, as though resisting the urge to drag you down onto him without mercy.

But no. Now was not the time for that.

The hand along your back made its way to the curve of your hip - a touch so gentle you wondered if this was the same man that had ravaged you beyond recognition so many times before - stopping just below your lower abdomen.

You flinched with anticipation watching his fingers press into your skin, his thumb brushing lightly against your clit, forcing a sigh out of you.

Lazy circles dance around the area. Slow. Agonising. The kind of pleasure that bordered dangerously close to pain.

Kratos watched the mess he was making with unreadable focus. Anyone else might have mistaken his expression for indifference, you knew better. He was studying every reaction, every tremble, and every bite of your lip.

By the way you’re practically singing already, and how easy it was to have your own slick pool on his abdomen, he figures there’s no need to keep you waiting.

He lifts you effortlessly by your thighs as if you weighed nothing, lowering you onto him as you reach your hand down to guide him inside.

Within the first few seconds you already feel that familiar stretch. Fullness. Heat. That overwhelming sensation that always made you wonder how much more there was left to take. His movements are considerate as if he has all the patience in all the realms, waiting for any sign that he should seize.

It never comes.

Ethereal would be an understatement to describe the way he felt inside you. You were convinced that somehow his cock was specifically crafted for you by some higher power.

The morning sun spilled through your windows, casting a glow on your skin and you began to rock against him, its light bathing you in its earthly warmth. Possessive hands travelled from your thighs, to your waist, and finally your chest before repeating the cycle - wandering constantly, never being able to settle in one place.

Your pace quickened naturally, alternating between grinding and bouncing on his cock, leaning back and chasing a deeper angle that earned a low groan from his chest.

You had never been particularly quiet.

From your lips came a symphony of moans, mewls, and sighs that filled the cabin and seemed woven in its walls. His name alone had made your throat hoarse more times than you could count - it was all that filled your mind as he filled you.

He had never been a man of many words.

But you saw it in his face. His expression changed. His demeanour changed.

As you rode him, you couldn’t help but focus on the way his brows pulled together, knitting in the middle as a man utterly consumed in the inner embrace of the woman above him.

Though slow and deliberate, you were surprised to find your orgasm quickly approaching.

“Kratos, I’m-“

A rugged thumb found it’s way back to your clit, its lazy habit of circling abandoned for a firmer, more purposeful motion.

“I want you to cum for me,” He murmured, voice low as his other hand tightened against your hip.

That was enough to push you over the edge.

A silent cry tore through you as heaven crashed over your body. Your walls clenched tightly around his cock while your hips jerked helplessly through wave after wave. Through blurred vision, you caught the widening of his pupils — the unmistakable look of pure admiration burning behind them.

You would have collapsed against him if he had not caught you first, pulling you down against his chest and into his lips.

Your fingers dug into the flesh of his chest as the kiss deepened just enough to make your head spin. Kratos’ forearms came to wrap tightly around your back, holding you flush against him in a possessive embrace that kept your heart racing.

It was clear how badly he needed this, despise the calm indifference he always seemed carry with him.

And judging by the gruff sounds that poured from his mouth into your ear and the sharper thrusts meeting your hips, he wasn’t far behind you. He planted his feet firmly against the bed, giving that angle that made you see stars once he fucked upwards into you.

It wasn’t long before his hips started to stutter and he buried himself completely inside you, stilling with a deep groan - your cunt still so tight around him that you felt every pulse of his seed pumping into you.

Kratos exhaled heavily, steadying himself once he was empty, though he made no move to exit you.

For a moment, there was silence. Like an agreement that there was nothing of relevance to say. The cabin had fallen quiet, save for the distant howl of winter beyond its walls.

When you finally had the strength to pull yourself up, your lips tingled with a promise of a swollen week. Your forehead rested against his, still catching your breath.

His hands remained on you, opting to explore your aching thighs. As though he had fear that if he loosened his hold on you, you’d slip away.

You smiled softly at the thought.

“Good morning.” You joked. You hadn’t expected the tug of his lip at that, although it was a welcome sight. He still carried that softness from earlier in the morning on him, not a sign of negativity in sight.

For everything you had come to learn about him, all the rage and all the violence his history was littered with - moment like this felt like a fever dream, in the best way possible.

You pushed the thought to the back of your mind and your hand’s wandered to his biceps. Chiseled and perfect in your eyes. He flexed them almost playfully, and you let out a pleased hum as you squeezed.

Eventually, Kratos carefully shifted beneath you, moving you so you’d return to the comfort of your bed, side by side once again. You curled instinctively against his chest. His heartbeat now in your ear as his massive hand tangled itself in your hair.

Your fingers drifted lazily across the scarred skin of his chest.

“Don’t leave today.” You whispered against him, “Please.”

He looked down at you for a moment before pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead.

“I won’t.”