Archive of Our Own

Hunger sticks painfully to your ribs, urging you to continue, to walk quicker, to reach your destination even a heartbeat sooner. Your equipment is best suited for hunting small game and fishing but the draugr sprouting up across the land has made your usually non-combative ways difficult to stick to, and animals scurry away quicker than ever when the undead are involved. Even in regions far from the Lake of Nine, far, far from the realm of the gods. At the last town, you’d stubbornly clung to your hunting knife and bow instead of buying a sturdier weapon— it was a foolish decision and you know it. You have some experience with swords, and while this adventure was not meant to be about violence, your dwindling arrow supply does have a bit of worry nagging at the back of your head.

You still have some provisions, but you’d like to save it for a real emergency since there should be a trading post close by, not as well stocked as the last but they should at least have a blacksmith and a decent bakery. It's been over a week since you’ve tasted bread and you long for it, even the thought of butter melting on your tongue has your stomach rumbling again. You take your waterskin off your hip, hoping that filling yourself up on water will abate the hunger for a little while longer.

You’re pulled out of your fantasies of crackling fires and heady smells of stews when you realize the typical sounds of the forest have stopped. You immediately lower yourself to a crouch, quickly and quietly taking your bow off of your back to ready it. In the silence, you listen, slowing your breathing as you strain your ears for whatever has made everything all so quiet. Then, you see them. Draugr.

There are three shambling about, groaning and huffing in the way bored creatures without prey often do, but who knows how many could appear once your position is revealed. Your hand reaches behind your head for your quiver, touching each fletching to count how many arrows you have left. Six. You scowl, wishing you had more to work with but you might be able to manage. It’ll be simple, take them down quickly with arrows to the head. You could use your blade if you have to, but you pray they don’t get near. Easy, nock an arrow and let it fly. You gather yourself with a deep breath then step out into the open, pulling your arm back to aim at the nearest draugr.

It finds its target perfectly, lodged deep in the head of the monster before it falls to the ground, dead. The other two turn, hissing and trying to find you amongst the trees. Before they spot you, you set your second arrow loose, but the draugr sidesteps and it misses. Another arrow, it glances off the side of its shoulder, another miss. Fear starts to creep up your spine, only three arrows left. Thankfully, the next arrow shot into its throat takes it down. Only one left.

It isn’t as fast as the last draugr, but it seems sturdier somehow. You shoot your last two arrows into its stomach but it keeps coming towards you. The hair on your arms stands on end, goosebumps all the way up to the back of your neck as you reach for your knife. The creature growls and charges. You flick your wrist and hope the steel is enough to kill the monster.

The sound the blade makes as it sinks into an undead cheek is stomach turning. The draugr staggers back for a moment, dazed, but it doesn’t fall like the others. It seems your luck has run out. You curse under your breath, still trying to calculate a winning solution as the monster shakes away the shock of the blade in its face. You could try to take him with your bare hands or flee, but two more draugr clawing their way up from under the earth makes your choice for you— run.  

You throw your bow over your head to settle around your chest as you turn on your heel, then you take off sprinting, muttering a prayer to indifferent gods that you may live through this. Leaves and branches grab at your legs, gnarled roots of trees seem to move underfoot to make you stumble and you can hear them gaining on you, snarling and growling what feels like mere inches away. Right when you swear they have you, you hear metal singing through the air, the battle cry of a man, and the sickening crunch of steel sliding through a draugr.

Your head whips around to see the remaining two draugr have lost interest in you, focusing instead on this man that attacked them instead of running in fear. As you watch the man charge the monster with your knife in its face, you duck behind a tree, sucking in greedy gulps of air and kneeling to make yourself more invisible.

It's stunning, watching a trained warrior excel in his craft. If this man is not a warrior, a human weapon, you do not know what else he could be. Perhaps he isn’t human at all, this seemingly fearless, efficient and deadly man. He beheads a draugr with ease and you wonder what he would be like against a skilled opponent, what it would be like to witness him against something that could actually put up a decent fight. He doesn’t even parry the creature’s blows, he simply knocks it back with a kick to the chest and lifts his sword over his head before he brings it down into its shoulder with a strength like lightning.

The fight— if you can call it a fight and not a slaughter— is over as quickly as it began, leaving the man shaking off excess draugr oil from his sword and you still hiding behind the tree. You chew on the inside of your cheek for a moment, contemplating waiting for him to leave before you come out from your hiding place. But he might take your knife and you need that, and… you’d like to thank him.

With another deep breath, you find your courage and step out from behind the tree. A twig snaps under your foot and the man whips around, sword raised to chest level in an instant. You bite your tongue to hold back an indignant squeak as your hands shoot up in the air, weaponless. You hope he takes it for the surrender it is. He assesses you for a moment, you watch him notice your empty quiver, your knife closer to him than to you.

“Easy,” you offer. You’ve half a mind to tell him you mean no harm but you don’t think you could injure this man if you tried, and you’re sure he knows.

The clouds above part for a moment, a slash of sunlight illuminates the man’s sullen expression, as if you’ve inconvenienced him simply by existing in his proximity. You can see the golden brown of his eyes, the scar that runs along his brow down to his cheekbone on the right side of his face, he’s that close. This stranger is surrounded by an aura of darkness, but you can see that he’s handsome, masculine in a way men often dream of being, in a way men envy.

His sword hangs heavy in his grip, when you flick your eyes downward you’re stunned to realize he’s using a greatsword with one hand. The weapon is held out slightly to the side so you can see the broad steel plane of the blade, but there’s no magic in the sword, none that you can detect at least.

You start to lower your arms, now not daring to break eye contact, “I’ll just go, I have no quarrel with you.”

The man’s hold on the sword changes, his fingers curl around the grip with purpose now, raising it into a wide arc in the air. Its weight shifts back over his shoulder and you realize he means to throw it at your head. Once again out of options, there’s no way you could fight or outrun this man, you resign yourself to your fate. Hopefully, the strike will be swift, painless.

You can’t manage to close your eyes as he lets the sword fly— right past your head. If it was a hair closer it might’ve taken off your ear, but instead the blade is thrust deep into the belly of a draugr, one you didn’t even realize was behind you. 

Your breath comes out as a deep gasp as the creature cries out and you spin around to face it. The man doesn’t speak as he stomps toward the now dead draugr to retrieve his sword. The brief moment he’s beside you, you truly realize the size of him. Easily a head or two taller than you, maybe more.

“Thank you,” you breathe, gripping the strap of your quiver to hide the tremble in your fingers.

“They were blocking my path, nothing more.”

A voice like thunder, deep and rich and commanding. You watch him grip the handle of his sword before you realize you should be gathering your things as well instead of gaping at this stranger, who knows when more enemies might appear.

You hurry to yank your knife out of the dead draugr and slip it into its holster on your hip just as the man is done looting the corpses. He doesn’t spare you a glance or a word before he’s off, already walking into the forest with purpose.

Once you get your directional bearings, you follow. It’s pure coincidence, but he does not take kindly to it. He turns around and you can’t tell if his brows are drawn lower than they were minutes ago.

You blink at him stupidly for a moment, “Oh, I’m not following you. I swear.”

No reply.

So you continue, surprised at how steady your voice is, ”I am simply going west. Same as you, it seems.”

You wonder if his face ever changes from that stony, grim expression as you try your best not to shrink under his scrutinizing eyes. 

“Do not get in my way, girl.”

Wouldn’t dream of it, you think, quickly followed by another indignant thought: not a girl, I am a woman, but you do not reply. You follow him from a short distance away, not daring to get too close in case his tolerance for strangers has limits. As much as you would like to walk beside him, you take the opportunity to observe him again, your attention now drifting away from the blade in his hand and the glare that seemed to pin your feet to the earth. 

As you pass the first two draugrs you killed, you pull you arrows from their bodies, relieved none of them have snapped, and you idly wonder if you’ve come across a god, watching the way the forest seems to part for this mountain of a man, though you reason with yourself that you must be imagining whatever magnetic pull he seems to possess. At first you assumed the red streaked across his pale face and body was blood but it’s not so, it must be a tattoo. You follow the curves of it with your eyes, wondering how much of his body is covered in it, what the meaning behind it is, if there is one. There must be one, he does not seem the type to adorn himself in meaningless things, permanent or otherwise.

He wears an enormous ink black pelt— wolf, maybe even bear— slung over one shoulder, secured into straps around his waist and hips, you can see a bit of a scar peeking out from behind the fur. Clad in black trousers and sturdy winter boots, yet he’s shirtless save for the fur and the wrapped bandages spanning from his elbows to his wrist. And, if you look even harder, you can see red fabric peeking out from behind the slick fur. At first you’d thought it was another bit of his tattoo, but it must be some sort of hidden package, clearly a secret. Curious, yes, but you suppose you’ve seen wilder things in your time traveling the woods.

The sun has begun to dip low in the sky, the colors of sunset pushing through the overcast clouds cast everything in honey gold light. A clearing seems to appear just in time for you to set up camp for the night and, as much as you’d like to follow this man, you’re not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He either doesn’t notice you’ve stopped or simply doesn’t care, you’re certain it’s the latter.

“Goodbye, stranger,” you call to his back, holding back another thank you, as you’re sure he doesn’t need it, nor does he want it.

You receive no reply other than the crunch of leaves under his heavy steps. 

***

You’d made a beeline for the riverbank the moment you’d heard the babbling waters, your waterskin had been dry for an hour or two and your throat had begun to ache and scratch. It’s close, just past the trees up ahead, so you pick up your pace, sprinting with a smile on your face. You break through the treeline, feeling free as a fox as you come upon the wide river. You immediately kneel and push your fingers into the water, it’s warm for this time of year, it feels soothing passing over your knuckles, perhaps you’ll even take a bath. A pleased hum bubbles up in your throat at the thought of it, you almost begin to undress but then you notice you aren’t alone. You’d recognize him anywhere.

“Hello, stranger!” you call, making sure your voice is loud enough to be heard over the current splashing against the rocks. 

The man is working diligently at the leather of his waistband, working at a stain you can’t seem to see from across the river. In the broad daylight, the crimson of his tattoo looks even more vibrant, it truly does look like blood if you just glance over it. You’re mildly surprised that he looks up for a moment to acknowledge you, but it might be more reflex than manners. No matter, you have your own tasks to do. You cup your hands into the water and give your face a quick scrub before you fill your waterskin, holding it under the water and waiting till it swells, though not without taking your eyes off him. He finishes his work before he lifts his head to you again, his expression not nearly as intensely disgruntled as it had been on your first meeting. You watch him stand, adjusting his gear like he means to get going once again.

“Safe travels,” you say with a wave of your free hand as you pull your now full waterskin up from under the surface. He looks at you for a moment before he continues on his way, the trees swallow him up.

You hum to yourself, curious about what business he has in the woods, maybe it has something to do with whatever mysterious thing he has wrapped in foreign fabric. Through the days, you find yourself thinking of him. This warrior, this man, so elusive he feels almost like a ghost. You find yourself earnestly looking forward to the next time you come across each other.

***

At this time of the evening your camp is usually set up in a secluded spot, hidden amongst boulders or trees thicker than three of you side by side. A bare bones fire with your latest kill cooking, your bedroll not too far, and you, repairing arrows and sharpening your knife. But tonight is unusual. There is no fire, no kill, and you’re still trampling through the forest, all because a damned owl stole your rabbit. You hadn’t had the heart to shoot it as it flew away with your dinner but your stomach admonishes you for your mercy anyway. It seems every creature in the forest is hiding from you now, neither hide nor tail finds itself in your sight, and you’ve no tracks to follow.

You think, in your hunger and annoyance, you imagine the fire you come across, but your stranger is seated there, his eyes finding yours in the near dark. Your lips can’t help but pull into a smile, your mood instantly changing for the better at the sight of him, stolen rabbit and crankiness forgotten.

“Stranger,” you greet him with a nod, “We meet again.”

The man gives you a look in lieu of a verbal hello as he prods the fire, adding another log after a moment of consideration. The setup is quite nice, the tell tale signs of an experienced adventurer across his admittedly sparse camp. A bedroll even simpler than yours, the fire surrounded by hefty stones, parts of a neatly skinned and gutted lamb cooking over the flame. You’re glad to have missed that part of his night, hunting small game is already difficult on your stomach. Yet, your traitorous stomach itself grumbles at the smell of food, you hope he cannot hear it.

“May I join you?” your eyes flick downwards as if to glance at your own mouth in shock, your hunger speaking before your brain.

You would have taken his responding huff as a rejection if not for the gesturing nod he gives to the tree stump across the fire, you wonder if he himself chopped it down. You thank him with an even wider smile and take your seat, removing your bow and quiver to set them in the dirt beside you. A bit of fat drips from the meat, setting the fire spitting and crackling as you tell him your name. He just… looks at you, unimpressed.

“It’s my name,” you explain, undeterred by his tepid response, “I’d been rude not telling you sooner.”

“Hm,” he grunts, letting minutes pass before he offers what must be his own name, “Kratos.”

You sense this is a rare gift and your heart swells in your chest, “A pleasure to finally meet you, Kratos.”

A strange name, but it rolls off your tongue with ease even though there is now no doubt he’s not from anywhere near these lands. The man— Kratos seems a bit lighter once you’ve called him by his name, or perhaps you’re imagining the tension in his shoulder has lessened.

The two of you sit in silence for a little while longer, watching him turn the spit slowly again and again. Kratos stands, taking his knife from his belt to cut a generous helping of meat before he leans over the fire, offering it to you.

“Eat.”

You take the hot, tender lamb off his knife as you try to conceal your eagerness and surprise. Your heart leaps into your throat when your fingers brush against his, “Thank you.”

Kratos huffs and takes the rest of the meat for himself, sitting as he begins to eat. You wait until he’s taken at least two bites before you dig into your own meal, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure. Another lapse of silence as you eat, you watch the embers pop and the smoke rise into the starry sky as you finish your portion. Kratos puts another piece of meat to cook and you watch the way the muscles of his arm move under the skin, openly ogling.

“Tomorrow,” you break the silence, hoping you're not prying into his affairs too much, “Will you continue that way?”

You point with your cleaner hand in the direction you were heading, finding yourself hoping for the chance to travel with him, if only for a day, just to see what makes him tick.

“No.”

“I see,” you say with a touch of disappointment.

You hum as you lick the last of the lamb from your fingers, most of your hunger sated. Staring into the hypnotizing flames, your eyes begin to droop, the day’s excitement catching up with you. A log pops, loud enough to startle you awake again. You feel embarrassed but it doesn’t seem Kratos has noticed, his attention still wholly focused on the meal cooking.

“Why do you travel without a guardian?”

That really wakes you up, you never expected a question from him. You rub sleep out of your eyes with the back of your wrist and answer him, “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Kratos gives you a look as if to remind you of your first encounter but you do not shy away from his intense eyes this time. He grunts, “The roads you travel are dangerous, girl.”

Annoyance prickles below your skin at his words. Sure, you’re not entirely composed of hard muscle and warrior skill like he seems to be, but you can fight and survive just the same. But, when you look at him, observing you, you don’t feel as if he’s judging you incompetent. He cuts another portion of meat for you, staring you down until you take it. You have half a mind to refuse it, but your body says otherwise. You take a bite of meat larger than you intend to, your cheeks puffing out slightly as you chew, allowing yourself time to hold back a snide comment, even if the heat burns the top of your mouth a bit. He watches you the whole time, waiting for you to reply.

You swallow, your annoyance ebbed away slightly by food, and murmur, “I am a woman and I’m aware, thank you. But a day‘s journey away, maybe two, I know there is a town. There, I mean to stock up, maybe even stay a while and get some rest.”

Kratos takes a bite of his own dinner, staring at a spot somewhere over your shoulder, which is somehow more unnerving than if he was staring directly at you. Again, you finish your smaller helping of lamb first, wiping your hands on a rag you produce from your travel pack.

“I will accompany you,” Kratos says seemingly out of nowhere, “I am in need of resources as well.”

You blink, a surprised smile gracing your face, “I look forward to it.”

***

You’d anticipated coming across more draugr, it seems the whispers of the Desolation have more truth to them than you’d originally thought, but having Kratos by your side takes quite a bit of anxiety off your shoulders. The moment they crop up, on reflex, you take an arrow from your quiver, readying yourself to shoot it at one of the undead, but Kratos’ free hand hovers in front of you to stop you as he steps forward, “Stay behind me,” he instructs.

Your first instinct is to protest, but the words die in your throat when you see the look on his face. He isn’t looking at you, but his eyes… it’s a somber, bitter thing he’s carrying inside him. Nothing to do with you, but you know he needs to do this right now. To protect. So, you let him, even though you keep an arrow ready, just in case.

Kratos dispatches the first two draugr with ease, one gets sliced in two and the other has its head crushed beneath one heavy boot. He doesn’t seem winded as he continues to fight, taking down the monsters with ease even when a regular man would be overwhelmed by their numbers. That is, until a draugr brute crawls its way out from under the dirt to challenge him.

You’ve never fought one before, you don’t think you’d survive it, but you don’t fear for Kratos even as he faces this new type of enemy. You watch him dodge for the first time, sidestepping and rolling to avoid the heavy swings of the brute’s sword. With his focus on the brute, a common draugr slips past and heads right for you. Prepared for this possibility, you pull back your arm and shoot the monster right between the eyes. It doesn’t even get the chance to growl as it falls, dead.

Suddenly, you’re hoisted into the air, lifted easily by Kratos’ strong hands. You startle, grasping at his arms to steady yourself as he looks you over. His eyes flick to every corner of your face, clearly concerned. You put your hands on his shoulders, trying to smile soothingly as you insist, “I’m alright, Kratos, honest. I’m unharmed.”

Kratos lets you go after another once over, turning away rolling his shoulders once, twice before letting his breath out in a loud huff. You look past him and see the draugr brute dead on the floor, head crushed and body nearly vertically sliced in half.

You lay your hand on his bicep and give it a reassuring squeeze before you use your head to gesture forward, “Let’s go.”

***

When you come across the village, it’s late afternoon. Shops are still open so you and Kratos do your shopping quickly, your quiver filled with sturdier arrows and both your packs filled with enough food that’ll last for a while. You both stop at the blacksmith, Kratos’ sword could use some repairs and you could use a sword.

You end up leaving after placing an order with the blacksmith, there was a pre-made sword you’d liked but it just needed a few tweaks before you’d take it, you’re told it will be ready for you tomorrow. 

By the time you both finish up your business, there are clouds rolling in, the humid smell of rain hangs over everything. Yet, Kratos seems like he’s going to head back out into the forest, toward whatever mystery goal he has. He gives you a stern nod as you reach the town square and turns away, leaving you staring at his back.

“Wait!”

You surprise yourself, and you must surprise him too. He stops but it still takes a moment for him to turn around, his eyes meeting yours expectantly. 

“The weather…” you start, trying to find the right words to convince him to stay with you, “The weather is turning foul, I can’t let you go out when it’s like this. Let me repay you and give you a place to stay for the night. Please.”

Kratos’ brows furrow but he gives that reluctant grunt of agreement again and you smile, motioning him to follow you as you speak, “There’s an inn this way.”

He follows silently, your enormous shadow, neither of you pay any mind to the curious stares of onlookers. The inn comes into view just as the clouds start to pour rain down in fat drops. You pop your hood up and pick up your pace, Kratos isn’t far behind. 

You push open the door with a pleased sigh, the bar is surprisingly lively for such a small town and everything is glowing with warm candlelight. You come to the counter on the left and lower your hood, wiping rain off your cheeks as your smile to the innkeep. Kratos, behind you, must be scowling even deeper than usual for the innkeep to look so perturbed.

You try to distract him, “Good evening, sir, we’d like a room.”

The man reaches below the counter then hands you the key but he keeps his eyes on Kratos’ sword the whole time, wary, “Our last open room so that’ll be five silvers for the night, then. In advance.”

You reach into your coin purse but Kratos stops your hand with his before he lays down more silver than the room costs with a simple command to the innkeep, “Do not disturb us.”

Kratos begins to walk in the direction of the rooms, unaware, more likely uncaring, of the way your face burns as you move to follow him. Now everyone will think you’re going to lay together… not that you’re hoping for a different outcome.

You pass the dining area where Kratos has already caught a barmaid’s eyes. She saunters over to him, tankard in hand and corset pulled tight. You’re annoyed at yourself for being annoyed at the way she practically commands his attention, knowing it’s her job. You spare her another glance and find her making cow eyes at him. Alright, perhaps it’s not just her job.

“Care for mead, sir?” she says, smiling and batting her lashes as she gestures to an empty table in the corner. The better to seduce you with, my dear, your brain supplies bitterly.

You have to hold back a confused look when Kratos turns his head to you, for a moment you don’t understand. Then, you do. You shake your head then he turns back to her, “No,” and continues along, mounting the first few steps up to the rooms.

The barmaid’s face goes from flirtatious to dejected, her gaze passing over you entirely as she goes back to her other patrons. You smile to yourself in selfish, feminine victory and hurry to follow Kratos. Even if he doesn't touch you everyone will think he did, and you don't mind that at all. 

He waits for you at the locked door, the number on the door the same as the number on the key in your hand and you hurry to unlock it, not wanting Kratos to wait any longer. There are two beds, something you note to yourself sourly, but the room is nice enough, a wardrobe and a modest area for bathing with a partition. 

You drop your gear on the floor by your bed, kicking your travel pack underneath it as you leave your weapons readily available. Even though you don’t think he’s the type to ogle, you swear you can feel his eyes on you as you remove your clothes. The thought of it isn’t an unwelcome one, but it warms your cheeks anyway— but you reason with yourself that it’s your imagination.

By the time you’re done changing, he’s stripped of his gear as well, all of it neatly piled on the floor by the foot of his bed. You try not to stare at his bare chest as you get into bed, bundling yourself up in the blankets provided for you. You shut your eyes and listen to the sound of the other bed creaking as Kratos lays down. You wait and you wait for sleep to take you but, try as you might, it’s simply too cold for you to drift off.

It seems like Kratos doesn’t feel the chill that you do, soft snores are already drifting over from across the room. You roll onto your side and stare at him, the size of his body makes the inn’s bed look like a child’s, but staring will not help you now. You gather the courage to get up from your bed, stifling the uncomfortable groan that you want to make when your feet meet the chilly air. As quietly as you can, you pad over to the wardrobe, hoping it has an extra fur or blanket to help you warm up. Its wooden door creaks slightly and you cringe, staying still to listen if Kratos has woken up. Then he says your name, startling you enough to jump a foot in the air. 

You whip around, a hand over your pounding heart as you whisper, “I hope I didn't wake you! I’m just… cold.”

Kratos hums in understanding and you think that’s the end of it but he surprises you, lifting his arm as he flexes his fingers in his direction just once, “Come.”

This is not an offer to be taken lightly, you can sense it. The hair on your arms stands on end as your skin breaks out in goosebumps, funny what one word from him can do to you. 

He tucks you under his arm, and you curl up happily, he’s so warm. Your face ends up pressed against the side of his chest and you’re surprised to find that you can smell him, the heady scent of him clinging to his skin leaves you dizzy.

”I’m sorry,” you whisper, ashamed of being so human in the presence of a man so like a god.

“You are cold,” he says simply, the vibrations of his voice reverberate deep in his chest, “You cannot apologize for that.”

“Well, thank you anyway.”

One of Kratos’s hands rests on his stomach, you watch it rising and falling in time with his breaths and you notice his bandages again. Curious, emboldened by your closeness, your hand strays to touch one of the frayed edges. He stops you by grabbing your wrist, so quickly you have no chance to pull away. You look up to find his gaze firmly fixed to the ceiling, breathing hard through his nose like he’s trying to contain anger. A long minute passes before he speaks.

“No.”

“Forgive me,“ you whisper, “It was not my place.”

You have to bite back the urge to cry, feeling so much like a child caught in an act of petty theft. Something tells you you’ve touched on a rather deep wound, shame crawls up your neck to set your cheeks aflame.

Kratos lets your wrist go and for a terribly tense moment you think he’s going to send you back to your bed. Instead, he huffs a command, “Sleep, woman.”

As he shuts his eyes, you take his words as a peace offering. You try to obey, shutting your eyes and lying as still as you can but… being so near him has something electric curling between your legs. Eventually you do fall asleep, curled into his side and breathing the warmth of him in.

***

You wake with weight on your face, your whole body almost too warm. You almost move to push it off but then you recognize it for what it is, Kratos’ hand. More of you is laying on him than there was when you’d fallen asleep, your arm is slung across his stomach and your ankle is hooked behind one enormous knee. The weight of his hand shifts and you realize he’s stroking your hairline, dragging his thumb down your sideburn then back up again, repeating. It has your heartbeat shooting directly to your clit, having this brutal man touch you gently has you reminded of how you’d ached for him before you’d finally slept.

“You are awake.”

Your breath hitches as your mind brings forward a memory of a rabbit you trapped a winter or two ago, and suddenly you feel too-late empathy for the little thing, it cannot have felt too different in your arms than you feel in his now.

“Yes.”

Kratos doesn’t move, his thumb now lays motionless on your temple. A moment passes, then another, then another, and you both lay still, pressed against each other. You shut your eyes and try to ignore the wetness between your legs, the desperate, heavy throb of your clit, but staying still in a bed too small proves to be difficult.

His rumbling voice startles you and arouses you in equal measure, “Are you ill?”

“No.”

He grunts, waits for you to continue. When you don’t, “What is it, woman?“

“Can’t say,” you whisper, suddenly ashamed, reminded of the possibility of rejection. More than a possibility, with a man like him it seems to be a definite answer. In your head, you can almost hear the deep timbre of his voice saying a final and disappointed no. You press your nose into his side, as if you could melt into him and disappear, but his muscle has little give and no hiding place to offer.

Kratos’ hand trails down, two fingers move lay across your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut, desperately willing your heartbeat to slow, but your body does not obey. He can feel your rabbit quick pulse, and a part of you wonders if he really doesn’t know what he does to you.

“Tell me.”

A shudder works down your spine and your mouth opens with a soft gasp. The size of his hand feels twice as large when it’s against you like this, it's hypnotizing. You turn away from him, meaning to get off the bed so as to not embarrass yourself, but his arm slings across the top of your chest to stop you. He pulls you to him and you have to bite your tongue to stop the noise that threatens to escape you as your body settles against his, your ass right against his groin. Kratos’ other arm comes to lay over you, when his hand rests on your stomach you shift, slightly uncomfortable.

He moves his hand away, down to your hips, lingering a moment before running along your thigh. You shiver, blinking at the wall across from you, shocked that he’s touching you like this, encouraging your arousal. The hand on your shoulder trails down and cups your tits. You whimper, but he doesn’t allow you a moment to recover, his other hand cups you over your smallclothes. Your thighs try to pinch together as his hand strays to where you’re soaked for him, but that only serves to pin his fingers against you. Helpless, your hips roll on instinct and you unsuccessfully try to stifle a moan.

“Hm, I see.”

“Kratos,” you whisper, embarrassed, “Please.”

“You wish for me to stop?”

You shake your head wildly, your heart in your throat as you clutch at his wrist, not trying to pull him off but, instead, trying to find a way to anchor yourself. You roll your hips again as you lift your leg, allowing him to touch you as he pleases. His hips push forward, encouraging you to continue your movement along his sturdy fingers and you greedily accept. With no further prompting, you use his hand to get off as you press your hand over his where it lays on your breasts, silently asking him for more.

It doesn’t take long for the thin fabric of your underwear to become soaked, Kratos’ body against you has you weak and wanting. You almost sob when he takes his hand away from your pussy before you realize he’s pulling your underwear down, you help him remove them as best you can and he tosses them to the floor. In the end, it only serves to make you needier, having his thick fingers directly on your clit and sliding through your folds has your head spinning. 

“I need you,” you whine as he teases one of his fingers into you, barely even dipping it inside. 

“You cannot take me yet,” not the boasting of a man with something to prove, simply the truth of a man who knows his body and is getting to know yours quite well. You can feel the way your cunt desperately clenches around nothing at the implication that you will be able to take his cock, soon if you’re lucky, “You are too impatient.”

Whatever reply you were going to say dies in your throat with a whimper as one of his fingers pushes into you, all the way to the knuckle. You clutch at the sheets as he slides it out and then back in, two fingers this time. You’re so wet the stretch can barely be felt, your body accepts his fingers happily. He stretches you out so slowly it almost feels lazy, his fingers prod places your own can’t seem to reach, until you can take three of his fingers. When he curls them and pushes against the tender spot inside you, something wicked creeps down your spine and you think you’re about to cum with just his hand.

Kratos pulls his fingers out, giving your clit another gentle circle before he takes his hand away. You let out a mournful little sound at the loss, but the view of him sucking your arousal off his fingers almost makes up for it.

“Come,” he says as he helps you off the bed, steadying your shaky legs, “Undress.”

Kratos watches you toss the thin slip covering you off, you let it fall to the floor without a care before you move to undress him as well. He helps you push his trousers down, then your hands are on each other. You touch him greedily, pressing your hands against the weight of his chest, letting out an amused huff when he flexes his pecs on reflex before relaxing them. He touches you similarly, cupping your tits and making an pleased sound at the feel of them in his hands. Dark hair starts below his navel and leads down to where his cock sways heavy between his legs, resting against his balls.

Your touch moves down, trailing down the coarse hair until you wrap your fingers around his cock. You gasp, half at the heat of him and half at the tweak of your nipple under his fingers. He lets you lazily stroke his fat, drooling cock as you look up at him with reverence, wondering, again, if he could be a god. When he cups your face with the hand not still toying with your breast, letting you press your cheek into his palm, you don’t care if it’s blasphemy— you would worship him if he’d let you.

Kratos gently knocks your hand away from him, ignoring the way you pout and reach for him again as he makes his way back to the bed. He lays on his back and raises one hand to gesture you to him. Come here.

A thrill runs down your spine as you crawl over him, kissing the edge of the scar on his stomach before you settle with your knees around his hips and let your cunt, soft and wet, press against his cock. Kratos groans as you drag your hips forward and back, his hands spanning along your thighs before he flexes his fingers, watching the way your skin moves under his grip. He allows you to continue humping him until your jaw drops as you moan, the head of his cock touching on your clit just right— then he lifts you off him. You whine in protest, a few more minutes of that and you could’ve cum, but you forget it all when he pulls you upward, positioning you until you’re hovering above his face.

Kratos’ breath fans across you and your clit twitches at the barest of contact, you swear the noise that comes from his chest is one of amusement. You put your forearms on the headboard, resting your forehead against them to look down at him, both of you enraptured with each other. His thumbs pet through the coarse hair between your legs before they hold your folds open for him, more of your slick drools out of you at the attention. Kratos’ name escapes your mouth as a whine at the first touch of his tongue on you, he lets out a satisfied little rumble in response, the vibrations of it right on your clit.

You sigh as he laps at you slowly, methodically, almost as if he’s forgotten you’re there and he’s getting himself off doing this. His hands move back to cup your ass, filling his palms with you as his beard grows wet with your arousal. It tickles between your thighs, almost burns if he moves his head too quickly, but you enjoy every sensation, taking anything and everything Kratos has to offer.

You’re not sure how long you spend firmly sat on his face, desperately clutching the headboard and nearly biting through your lip to muffle each sound you make. Kratos keeps working you up to orgasm but the moment your breath hitches and your hips roll forward onto his tongue, he backs off. Impatience rears its head again after the third or fourth time, by now you’re desperate to cum and he seems to be avoiding your clit on purpose.

“Please,” you breathe shakily as you shiver, his hands on your hips keeping you still, “Kratos, please.”

He pets your thigh in what seems to be an apology for keeping you so strung out then he gives you the attention you need, kissing your clit before he laves his tongue over it, humming at the tremor that runs through your body. He lets you roll your hips the way you’ve been aching to, your clit throbbing with every pass of his tongue. Another sound vibrating from Kratos’ mouth has you tipping over the edge, your body curling forward as you let a wordless cry out and let yourself cum on his mouth. 

Your eyes squeeze shut tight and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, your body desperately yearning for something to ease the ache inside you. Kratos follows the rhythm of your hips easily, keeping his motions on your clit the same until you try to lift yourself up away from what’s quickly veering into overstimulation.

You’re tipped back when he rises, but your body falls into Kratos’ hands instead of the bed. His mouth, still wet with your slick, comes up to your nipple and sucks gently, drawing out a soft sound from you. Your hands cradle his head as he switches to your other breast, kissing the underside where the weight of it droops. He makes an appreciative sound when you scratch your nails over his scalp, your thumb following the curve of his tattoo before he shifts you in his arms again, settling his hands around your waist to lift you.

“Kratos,” you laugh, breathless and a little nervous as he raises you into the air effortlessly, “This is ridiculous!”

If this were anyone else, you’d have to wonder if he was doing this to show off or impress you, but you know he has nothing to prove. You loop your arms around his neck to secure yourself as he stands, one of his hands stays on your waist as the other guides you to wrap your legs around him.

You sigh against his neck, rocking your hips forward impatiently as best you can with your body still in his firm hands. He pinches your ass as if to tell you to keep still, so you stop, whimpering into his neck as you wait for him to fill you. One of Kratos’ arms comes to wrap around your waist, waiting a moment to make sure you’re steady until his other hand comes down to angle his cock against you.

It feels even bigger than it looked as he glides it against you, taking his time gathering your slick before your impatient groan of his name encourages him to finally, finally push it inside. You can feel your damp breath against his skin when your mouth opens on a desperate gasp as he slowly feeds his cock inside you. It’s not painful, you silently thank him in your head for taking his time with you, but there’s a pressure by being filled by him. His whole body is strong, huge and unrelenting, his cock should be no different.

Your heart is a drumbeat in your chest as Kratos pulls you toward him, seating his cock all the way inside you. The soft grunt of pleasure he makes is worth more than anything, your cunt clenches around him knowing he’s feeling good too. He holds you like this, clinging to him as his cock throbs inside you, until you ask him to fuck you, each syllable a breathy moan against his shoulder.

Instead of fucking you by pulling his hips back, Kratos decides to use his hold on your body to pull you off his cock and bring you back down onto it. The first bounce of you on his cock has you keening, clutching at the back of his head and his shoulders, overwhelmed in the best way. He continues, unfazed by the way you flutter around him. You seem to have lost control of your mouth, moaning his name and sighing each time he knocks against the tender spot deep inside you.

It feels… good to be this helpless, to let someone take pleasure from your body while they give you pleasure in return, if Kratos isn’t careful you might not let him go. He turns his head to press a kiss to the column of your neck and it sets your heart racing twice as fast, somehow more intimate than him fucking you like this. He pulls you flush to him again with a murmur of your name so soft you almost miss it, then he’s moving, gently untangling you from him as he lays you on the bed.

You don’t have a chance to miss him because he’s on you again, pressing his cheek against your jaw as he guides his cock into you, one hand idly playing with one of your breasts. You feel so soft in his hands, sighing as your nipple brushes against a callus on his palm. He must feel it too, you think, the gentle give of your body wherever he touches you, you hope he enjoys it as much as you do. His cock throbs, hard, and you’re suddenly certain he does.

The shoddy quality of the tavern bed makes itself known when Kratos’ heavy thrusts make the bed frame creak and groan, only drowned out by the noises you make, by the noises your slick cunt makes each time he bottoms out. One of his hands pets down your stomach, trailing down the hair between your legs to thumb at your clit. 

You jolt, finding yourself close to orgasm again, your mouth trying to catch up and let him know you’re going to cum soon. But instead, the words come out as, “Kiss me.”

He growls and, for a moment, you’re unsure if you’ve said the wrong thing— then his lips crash into yours, full and surprisingly soft. Kratos kisses like he has lost so much, like he’s trying to make up for every affection he’s ever been denied, and you’re happy to supply him. His thrusts never slow, his thumb stays insistent on your clit, and the moment your tongue brushes against his— you cum. 

Kratos swallows up every whimper and moan you make, slowing his hips until he’s sheathed inside your cunt once again, cumming in tandem with you. You have barely enough self awareness to hear the groan that resonates in his chest, a deep sound that seems to drag on forever and vibrate down into your sternum as he fills you.

“Kratos,” you gasp at the first sensation of his seed spilling inside you, pressing uncoordinated kisses to his jaw, uncaring of the way his beard rubs your cheeks raw. 

He pulls you back, both hands cupping your face so he can kiss you again and you forget yourself in his grip, held to reality like never before under his weight. You hope against hope that this night never ends, that sunlight may never touch you again if it means being held like this.

***

Leather sliding against leather and the clink of a belt being cinched wakes you, blurry eyed and aching but satisfied, well rested. You sit up, uncaring of how the sheet pooling around your hips leaves you bare as you feel the remnants of his seed slowly leak out of you. Kratos seems to be in a good mood, coming over to give the crown of your head a kiss before he sits to lace up his boots. A pang of loneliness shoots through your heart, you know this is goodbye.

“Will I see you again?”

Kratos stands and adjusts the strap on his waist and pauses, taking a moment to hum thoughtfully before he rumbles his reply, “It is… unlikely.”

You give him a soft little smile as you lay back down and bring the sheet up to your chin again, sad to see him go. You roll onto your side and tuck your hand under your cheek, silently watching him across the room gather the rest of his things. A flicker of hope sparks in your chest, unlikely isn’t an outright no, and you can learn to be optimistic. You wish he would stay, tell you where he’s going, ask if you would like to follow him, but you know he will not. As much as you would like to take the time to unravel him, you know a man such as him must be called to a higher purpose than wandering around the woods.

“Goodbye then, Kratos, and good luck.”

You watch him shift his weight slightly forward like he means to take a step towards you. You hold your breath, waiting as still as you can as if he’s an easily frightened animal. A moment passes, then another.

Ultimately, Kratos just nods and says, “Until we meet again.”