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unholyloaf · 1 year

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Kratos NSFW ALPHABET

Viewer discretion is advised

A = AFTERCARE (WHAT THEY’RE LIKE AFTER SEX)

Kratos is super sweet after sex. He'll get you water, massage anywhere that is sore, praise you, and tell you how proud he is of you for taking it so well ;)

B = BODY PART (THEIR FAVOURITE BODY PART OF THEIRS AND ALSO THEIR PARTNER’S)

Kratos's favorite body part on himself is his abs. He works hard for those things and he knows he looks good with them. His favorite body part of yours is your breasts/chest. There is something so erotic about seeing them bounce.

C = CUM (ANYTHING TO DO WITH CUM BASICALLY… I’M A DISGUSTING PERSON)

This man LOVES creampies. Like has an obsession with them. He also just feels like cumming anywhere else on you is disrespectful to you, but if you ask him to cum somewhere else he will.

D = DIRTY SECRET (PRETTY SELF-EXPLANATORY, A DIRTY SECRET OF THEIRS)

Every time he cums in you he secretly hopes that you will conceive a child. He already has Atreus and that's enough stress in his life, but he loves you very much and wants to make a family with you. If he can't have a baby with you he'll get a dog.

E = EXPERIENCE (HOW EXPERIENCED ARE THEY? DO THEY KNOW WHAT THEY’RE DOING?)

Do I even need to say anything?

F = FAVOURITE POSITION (THIS GOES WITHOUT SAYING. WILL PROBABLY INCLUDE A VISUAL)

His favorite position is definitely doggy. He can get a good hold of your hips and ram himself into you better. If it is more than regular sex and he wants to get sweet with it he'll put you in missionary or cowgirl to create a more intimate atmosphere

G = GOOFY (ARE THEY MORE SERIOUS IN THE MOMENT, OR ARE THEY HUMOROUS, ETC)

Kratos isn't really the goofy type. I feel like sex with him would be serious, but once he gets really comfortable with you I think he'd crack a joke or two.

H = HAIR (HOW WELL GROOMED ARE THEY, DOES THE CARPET MATCH THE DRAPES, ETC.)

His pubic area would be the same as his beard. Maintained bush. It wouldn't a full on bush and it would be well kept.

I = INTIMACY (HOW ARE THEY DURING THE MOMENT, ROMANTIC ASPECT…)

Kratos is usually a mixture of sweet and naughty. If you two are super horny then he won't be sweet at all and he'll just fuck the ever-living shit out of you, but if it's a hidden emotional day for him or he just wants to take it slow it will be romantic and sweet.

J = JACK OFF (MASTURBATION HEADCANON)

Before you, he never really masturbated much mainly because he was so busy with training Atreus. But now? If he isn't around you for let us say a month he'll masturbate at least once a week

K = KINK (ONE OR MORE OF THEIR KINKS)

I'm just gonna give you a list, breeding, hickies, spanking, light bondage, praise, slight exhibitionism, gagging (specifically you on his cock), orgasm denial, overstimulation, and edging.

L = LOCATION (FAVOURITE PLACES TO DO THE DO)

His favorite places include y'alls house (when Atreus and Mimir aren't there), a tree far away from the house.

M = MOTIVATION (WHAT TURNS THEM ON, GETS THEM GOING)

You. Honestly, that sounds really cheesy but he loves you and trusts you a lot, so naturally, you would turn him on. Another turn-on would be slapping his ass, he would definitely get you back later.

N = NO (SOMETHING THEY WOULDN’T DO, TURN-OFFS)

He would not choke you or hit you with any sort of object. He wants to know exactly how much strength he's putting into the spanks.

O = ORAL (PREFERENCE IN GIVING OR RECEIVING, SKILL, ETC)

He loves going down on you. That man will go to town for HOURS. He also loves when you go down on him. I'd say it's a good 50/50

P = PACE (ARE THEY FAST AND ROUGH? SLOW AND SENSUAL? ETC)

Kratos's thrusts are slow and deep. He knows all the spots to make you scream (scream without the s 0.0) but if he's super horny it'll be hard and fast.

Q = QUICKIE (THEIR OPINIONS ON QUICKIES RATHER THAN PROPER SEX, HOW OFTEN, ETC)

y'all do quickies quite often because of multiple factors: Atreus, Atreus's friends, monsters, and Brok being a nosy little shit. I'd say like 45% of the sex y'all have is quickies. Otherwise, he wants to take his time and properly satisfy you.

R = RISK (ARE THEY GAME TO EXPERIMENT, DO THEY TAKE RISKS, ETC)

He is down to experiment to a certain degree. Anything where he has to hit you (besides spanking) is a no-go, but if you want to try something he's down.

S = STAMINA (HOW MANY ROUNDS CAN THEY GO FOR, HOW LONG DO THEY LAST…)

This man can last a good 30-40 minutes before cumming. I'd say he can go up to 5 rounds. Cock of War

T = TOY (DO THEY OWN TOYS? DO THEY USE THEM? ON A PARTNER OR THEMSELVES?)

I am almost certain sex toys didn't exist in his time period (anything other than dildos) So this is gonna be a modern take on Kratos. After some hesitation, he would be down to use a vibrator on you. He wants to please you the best he can and give you the most amazing orgasms. He would definitely have a fleshlight. In the beginning, he'd feel kind of weird using it, but over time it's his favorite masturbation toy.

U = UNFAIR (HOW MUCH THEY LIKE TO TEASE)

He honestly is not much of a tease. HOWEVER, if he is feeling extra cheeky that day expect a lot of ass slaps/ grazing of the tits and thighs. He would also intentionally flex whenever you're around as well as show off his strength a bit.

V = VOLUME (HOW LOUD THEY ARE, WHAT SOUNDS THEY MAKE)

He's not a very loud man in bed but he does tend to grunt and breathe into your ears when yall fuck. He will also dirty talk to you and moan the word fuck into your ear. Cussing is for the bedroom.

W = WILD CARD (GET A RANDOM HEADCANON FOR THE CHARACTER OF YOUR CHOICE)

This man is a damn good singer. In Sparta, they trained the soldiers to read/play music so naturally, some of them would be good at singing. Kratos has a voice sent from the heavens and stuffed into an angry bearded man.

X = X-RAY (LET’S SEE WHAT’S GOING ON IN THOSE PANTS, PICTURE OR WORDS)

Kratos is packing some serious meat. I'd say he has a good 8-9 inches on him with 2 inches in girth. You're in for the ride of your life.

Y = YEARNING (HOW HIGH IS THEIR SEX DRIVE?)

His sex drive isn't that high. He has mellowed out from his early years and so he'd probably instigate sex maybe 3-4 times a week. If you're in the mood he would gladly love to take care of that.

Z = ZZZ (… HOW QUICKLY THEY FALL ASLEEP AFTERWARDS)

Kratos doesn't usually sleep so he'll just hold you until you fall asleep.

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

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savior-of-humanity · 4 years

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OPEN STARTER >> K R A T O S

His head throbbed, his vision a blur. Kratos had no idea where he had ended up - but he had a good idea as to how he had gotten here.

The last of which he could recall upon, he remembered walking along the branches of Yggdrasil with his son, to reach their home. Then there had been a shift, not just in the ethereal branches but in the very air itself. A shout, a warning from Mimir - the words of that warning he could not recall - the sound of splintering wood, a flash of light. Then.. darkness. Silence.

The former God of War took the time to observe his surroundings, and himself - the majority of his equipment and supplies were on himself still. But there was a noticeable lack of the talking severed head.. and his son.

“Boy.” Kratos would call out. A moment of silence - no response.

“Atreus!” Louder, more stern than before. Still, nothing.

Despite knowing nothing as to where he was - instantly, he made it his priority to find his son. No matter what would stand in the way between him and reuniting with Atreus.

#ive been wanting to add kratos to my blog since i have atreus already but im too lazy to update my muse list ghjgjhj #anyway heres ya boy Dad Of War #god of war rp #gow rp #open starter #starter call

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tarithenurse · 5 years

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All is fair in Love & War - 13

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: Loooooaaaads and loads of pining. Add some violence, death, and soulsearching...a tiny bit of angst. Oh and maybe some very rude comments. A/N: Thank you all for reading, liking and especially commenting/reblogging.

13. Absence

… LOKI’s PoV …

Slipping through the Midgardian encampment, Loki has to restrain himself constantly. All he wants to do is let out the turmoil inside by decimating the enemy forces that have found their way across the border into Jotunheim, but he adheres to one simple rule: the only Midgardians dying are the commanders…unless he is engaged in open combat. [Y/N] would be oh so proud of me, the Jotun thinks wryly, trying to ignore the ache the name awakens.

The next target is already in sight, and thanks to the flickering of the fire at the centre, Loki can see two shadows move about with drinks in hands. Now and then they bend over a table, becoming warped on the canvas. The king’s colours. A few steps, a roll, and a crouch brings Loki in position with the back against the tent where a large piece of furniture stands inside (By Odin’s beard, is it a wardrobe?). No one hears when he slits the fabric with a dagger because they are too busy drinking and dividing spoils they have yet to win. The heavy sweetness of mulled wine and the sour stench of sweat waft past the intruder as he slips in, carefully poised in the shadows for the opportune moment to present itself.

“I’m tellin’ you, Hans,” one of the men proclaims, “I just want the bastard skewered, a round in the hay with his bitch if he has on’…aaand a teeny-tiny box o’ gold.”

Anger rises like a flood in Loki’s mind, sweeping all else aside while he clings to reason with all his might, afraid of being swept away.

“WHA’?! Ye gotta be desp’rate!” The second man is cackling unabashed. “Ye really wanna go a roun’ with her? She gotta be a troll or som’thin’!”

A dam breaks, sweeping any self-restraint from mind and heart, and Loki emerges from the shadow with long daggers materialising in his hands in a similar fashion as the horned helmet, his crown. If they want a troll, they will have it – horns and all. The first man dies before either of the Midgardians have truly understood what is happening, blood trickling from his mouth as he looks down at the dark blade that has passed through his chest, piercing his heart in the process. He still stands when Loki steps past him, eyes set on the offender who dared speak ill of [Y/N].

The commander’s already pale face drains of all colour. “L-Lok-k-ki.”

“I should make you suffer. Let you toil the last of your pathetic, insignificant life away in the deepest mines, bereft of food and water save for what not even the rats would touch!” the Jotun king hisses, bending over the man who has stumbled and fallen in his panic. “But I am merciful unlike you and your kind.”

The commander only answers with a half-choked scream that descends into a gurgle as hot blood foams and flows from the slit throat. Mimir’s balls! Already, there is a scuffle beyond the tarp. Acting swiftly, Loki does what any reasonable god would do and tosses the corpse of the late Hans upon the fire in the center of the tent, plunging the place into complete darkness.

“My lord?” The male outside is hesitant but grows persistent as no one answers. “Lord Ragnar, are you alright?”

It is barely possible to see the tent-flap open for any human being. Loki is Jotun, however, and his eyes have adjusted to the lack of light already. To him, the silhouette of the low-ranking guard that had been stationed nearby is clear against the faint backdrop of other tents and their fires. Quick as the wind, he steps behind the soldier and covers his mouth with a hand while making sure that there is no mistaking the point of a dagger against the unsuspecting human’s throat with something else.

“Do I have to tell you what will happen if you try to alert anyone?”

A muffled sound which Loki interprets as a “no” is the most useful reaction. The other is a distinct smell of piss. Stepping back ever so slightly from the captive, the god is once more reminded of [Y/N]’s description of the common soldiers in the Midgardian army: farmers, miners, crafters, young and old. Almost no one fit for battle and its terrors. Studying the frightened figure, it becomes apparent that this individual is very young indeed. No more than 15 summers.

“You have a choice, mortal, to either die here or run back home.” The sharp intake of breath passing Loki’s fingers seems to indicate surprise. “Your king is deceiving you, forcing you to fight and suffer for a cause that does not exist so that he may live comfortably. Look in the tents of your commanders. Ask your comrades what they see. Think.”

There is mumbling which grows increasingly insistent until the Jotun carefully removes his hand, allowing the boy to talk. “Ye mean…ye’ll let me live?”

“…yes.” It is hard to hold back the sigh. Dense human. “If my intent had been to kill you all then trust me…you would all be dead now. Your armies would be destroyed.”

Clearly, it takes a certain amount of effort before the statement makes sense but eventually the lad reaches a conclusion: “Oh, so tha’s why they only keep needin’ for new co’anders? Ye only kill them?” As if on an afterthought a tentative “ye maj’sty” is added.

“Such a bright observation…”

Apparently, the soldier has not learned much about sarcasm either because he straightens with pride at Loki’s comment. Rather than suffering through another minute of conversation with the dimwit, the chat is brought to an end with a hard blow to the head of the boy which renders him unconscious, allowing the Jotun to exit the tent unhindered.

…

He should be resting or at the very least study the reports the spies have delivered, but the only thing Loki can do is reread the single line of text on a crumbled piece of parchment that he received more than a week ago:

Everything is proceeding as intended.

Those five words hold all of Loki’s hopes and fears although it is impossible for an outsider to make proper sense of the message.

When a raven had delivered the small note, it had felt as though years of sorrow fell from the Jotun king’s chest. [Y/N] has arrived safely, and not just that, no, she has managed to claim a place in the court without casting suspicion upon herself which always was the biggest risk. The plan could have failed if just one person with weight behind their words had objected to her presence. But apparently, it is greed rather than intelligence that is prevalent in the Midgardian court.

Now all Loki can do is wait for the information he needs. The details that will grant him access to the castle and put an end to the corrupt king’s life.

So he waits for [Y/N], his love, to return so he once more can offer her a life with him – but one that is based on free will rather than founded on the unbalanced relationship of a captive and her captor. Meanwhile Loki keeps occupied by seeking out every single encampment on either side of the border, he travels to towns and villages in Jotunheim to ensure that everyone is getting through the winter without lacking…and he wanders the forest and keep at night because he cannot find rest except in the small room that served as her chamber, and each time he wakes surrounded by her fading scent the absence pains him even more.

Sometimes, he curses himself for having grown so soft, so sentimental, and yet he has to acknowledge that all the changes within may very well be for the better. The incessant notion that he is alone is gone, replaced by a tranquility – or it would have been if it was not for the fact that his lovely mortal is gone. Why did I let her leave? Loki knows that he is to blame. He planted the notion in her head that she could be a spy in the very heart of the enemy’s land and not a day goes by where he does not regret that, causing him to snap at the servants who try their best to tend to his every need.

Loki hears them, listens to their mumbled conversations when they are unaware of his presence. At first, he had been outraged at their worry-full tones. No one were to pity him! Did they not truly understand how powerful he is? But then he notices the affection laced in the words, and although the admiration is tethered to [Y/N], whom they have taken to call Little Queen, Loki is pleasantly surprised that his people willingly extended it to encompass him. Perhaps Frigga is right when she has said that love and patience are not a sign of weakness in a king…at the very least, he knows that the feisty mortal would agree.

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fimbulwintxr · 6 years

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so I noticed that in the short time you don't have atreus, entires in the journal still popup

now I know that of course they would still pop up, it's just a mechanic but what if

kratos was the one doing the drawing in every entry and atreus just wrote in it.. it would open up soooo many more bonding opportunities...

A: ....do you remember what that troll looked like??? :)??

dad doesn't even respond, just takes journal, dad draws a masterpiece

A: :O!!!!

while putting in mimirs entry:

M: make sure to get my good side!!! ;))

K: >:(

#mercedes screams #gow #mimir #kratos #atreus #gow spoilers #mine #text

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spocksaestheticblog-blog · 7 years

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ice.

a ficlet i’ll probably never finish under the cut

it was a thing i wrote for Santa Clause 3

content warning for blood hate crimes and general gore

When Lucy finally lets go, everyone sets eyes on Jack. Brown hair, white suit, already Jack Frost looks much friendlier and warmer. The Legendary Figures stand behind, encircling, celebrating this new victory.

Calvin is the only one that sets eyes on the split running down Jack’s lip, watches as it starts to bleed, takes a step forward when Jack’s left eyelid starts to swell unnaturally.

Something is wrong. Something is horribly wrong. Lucy speaks.

“…Where’d you get that? What’s happening?”

Calvin turns his head to the others, wondering why the other Figures are pleased. They’re all murmuring to each other in hushed tones, wandering off, and Sandman is the only one that avoids Calvin’s gaze. He must know something is wrong, right? He hears Frost mumbling apologies and laughing, and Calvin turns back around to look back in panic.

“No, no it’s fine! This is just- what happens when I lose my p- powers… I’m gonna be fi- i. I.”

Calvin can’t let Lucy watch this. He presses hands over her eyes and pulls her away as he watches, trembling as Frost crumples to the floor like a dead weight. Rumpled hair, torn suit, broken nose, cracked bleeding ribs. He presses at Lucy’s face almost enough to hurt as he watches bloodstains leak into the suit, old words he didn’t want to subject Lucy to.

This is no longer Jack Frost, force of nature breathing snow and ice into existence with no effort. This is the image of a man bleeding to death in the early 1920s, hijacked outside of a prohibition speakeasy because he dared to ask another man to dance. This was the result of a hate crime.

This wasn’t right.

Calvin stiffens when he begins to notice how cold Lucy’s skin feels under his hands. The red of her hair is fading. Her lips have gone blue. Calvin stops breathing.

“She…She’s Frost now? Do they have that power?”

Lucy flexes her fingers, backing away from Calvin’s grasp, wheezing. The cold feels wrong in her lungs, in her skin, in her heart. It’s heavy and sharp like a knife, like being plunged in cold water and never feeling the warmth again. She sobs, running off, and Calvin goes to chase after her, but a soft hand clasps his shoulder.

“They’ve done this before. I was U’akimu. They did not give me the chance to turn this down- My duties to every dream precluded me from escaping my fate. You, Calvin, you have time. Winter only lasts so long.” Sandman murmurs, hushed and panicked, before slipping away to Duty, to Sleep, fading back into unconsciousness and sleepwalking like a shrouded dragur roaming the halls of the dead.

Calvin panics.

He’s only been Santa for three or four years. This was still all so new. He had nothing for guidance- The snowglobes. The snowglobes of previous Santas. Maybe there was something there. Maybe he could still do something.

Calvin only has enough time to check for a pulse. It’s faint. Hopefully the time to run to the hall of snowglobes isnt that long.

He runs faster than he ever has before in this new form, pressing his full weight through the doors after entering the code.

The snowglobes are gone.

Without snow, there were no snowglobes. Calvin knew that. But this was something entirely different. The room was filling with water fast, the door was closing behind him, and he had no way out otherwise. Something curls around his leg, some sort of root, and he feels the water surging over his head.

When he’s finally realized he can still breathe, he finally opens his eyes. There are millions of eyes, all strange sizes, no two the same, all circling him, watching him.

“Frost is dying. They gave his powers to Lucy. Please, I don’t know whats happening. Whatever this is, please. Please do something.”

The root pulls him down, only for him to realize it’s hair as he looks into the dead eyes of a severed head. Its cold, dead lips part, bubbles rising from them, blood dribbling upwards from its blackened teeth and gums.

“T H E E Y E. G I V E ME B A C K T H E E Y E.”

“I don’t have-“

“T H E G I R L. THEYVE G I VE N HER THEN.”

“I dont know! I dont understand! Do you mean- to take her eyes? Who’s eyes?”

“Y O U. Y O U ARE OF W II S D O M. Y E T YOU HAVE NOT PA I D.”

Calvin falls silent, trying madly to make sense of this. He’s underwater, surrounded by eyes. There’s a severed head talking about wisdom and eyes.

Suddenly, Calvin recalls his college course on vikings all at once, and everything horrifyingly clicks.

The current Santa concept stemmed directly from Odin. So did the Jack Frost myth, drawn straight from Old Man Winter, all manner of pagan beliefs extrapolated from a singular source. This was all by design, a rift of power, a division between two different individuals that once belonged to one being that was once respected as a deity.

He was taking Jack’s rightful territory. And now, he was in Mimir’s Well.

“I owe you my eye.”

“C O RR E CT.”

“If I give you my eye, will you save Frost? Can you do that?”

“I C AN GRANT WI S D O M. O D IN. AL L F A THER. P R OT E C TOR. SE R VE YO U R PURPOSE.”

Calvin feels the cold knife of pain, of tearing retina. He sees light, flickering and blinding, and then nothing. He opens his eyes, only to have the right return any sort of meaningful information.

The room is snowglobes again. His own snowglobe floats ominously in front of him, the metal of the bottom now carved with intricate patterns like all the others.

He has to find Frost’s snowglobe. It’s the only way.

#santa clause 3 #fanfic :::

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