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sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 · 2 years ago

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° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ ⭐️💫 Forelsket + heimdall odinson.

Synopsis — after observing you for so long, taking occasional peeks at your thoughts and mind; he notices your longing for him. In more ways than one.

· words — 6.5K.

· warnings — please read ! fluff, smut, soft heimdall (might be ooc.) confessional sex, love confessions, mild praise kink, strangers to friends to lovers, heimdall cries, god(dess)!reader, fem!reader, dialogue about tattoos, power imbalance?? I mean he only mentions it once, biting, dry humping, grinding, daydreaming, bad flirting, heimdall is bad at feelings, fingering, pet names, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, biting, scratching, crying, self indulgent, choking. Not beta read at all.

· notes — Alright, im trying my hand at a reupload. I deleted my last account, where i originally posted this due to personal reasons. First fanfic in years, don't go easy on me. Im still recovering from my injury, but i do have many fanfictions planned. Enjoy my minor psychoanalysis and doting of a shitty man who, frankly, deserved much better. Story wise and character wise.

Remember, dont like it? Dont read.

ao3 link

It had all started with a look. You could even go so far as to categorize it as a glare, full of suspicion and skepticism. Once you had caught sight of him– you knew that it would be over for your heart. Yet, you still persisted and refused to let go of your growing juvenile crush on the aesir god. The mere thought of him caused your mind to go haywire and blank out in the most important moments, fueling your anxiety in sizeable quantities. The more time you spent around, or anywhere near his general vicinity, made your head spin and limbs mush. It was an odd part of you that longed for him so dearly, someone that was so adamantly clear about his loathing of everybody that so much as dared breathe the same air as him? You yearned to tear open the walls he placed himself behind and know what lied beneath his outward persona. As the thoughts inevitably began to delve deeper into more carnal territory,

He began to pay attention.

—

You're not paying attention to the person speaking to you. You hardly even believe that you're breathing, and if you were, you were sure it got caught in your throat. Your gaze tends to trail off and unfocus during conversation, a bad habit of getting easily distracted; but you digress. While casually roaming your eyes around the large dining hall, half paying attention to your companion and not, piercing violet eyes lock with yours from across the mess hall, dark irises unmoving. Laying comfortably on a soft blanket of furs with his right leg folded over his other and a book propped open; the other hand encircled around a shiny blood red apple. You practically do a double take; blinking stupidly, mouth threatening to drop open. What could he possibly be staring at you for? Heimdall was akin to an enigma to you and practically every living organism all around Asgard. Cocky, selfless, not above his chronic skepticism and only caring about things that could benefit himself, you truly had a hard time believing you had anything he wanted.

The man was typically uninterested in you unless absolutely necessary and interactions between you both were always devoid of extended contact, but what was with the sudden change? His head tilts to the side during the prolonged eye contact, eyes skimming over your body in slow confident strides— and you can't help but fall to the full body shiver that encompasses your pliant form. As if suddenly your limbs are heavy and your ears stuffed with cotton, unwilling to pay attention to the surrounding commotion. You're involuntarily left awestruck and trapped, your poor heart upping its tempo. He was always sporting a look of anger, yet as he's neutral, face calm and devoid of his residual rage and ostentatiousness, he truly was beautiful. To the curl of his braids framing his ear, adorned with golden cuffs and the confident way he held himself; you always felt your attention be drawn to him no matter what. Though you're fairly certain the god had undoubtedly noticed your lingering gazes on him when you thought nobody was aware. Heimdall smirks like the cat who caught the canary, observant as always.

He must have read into your thoughts and heard your admiration. You sit and ask yourself subtly if he's been doing that for as long as you've known him. It's not too far of a reach to say that you had caught his attention more than once, though anxiety creeps up and downplays his sudden attention to you at all. After all, you weren't as important as he; one of Odin's pawns nonetheless, but a less crucial one to play. His ability made him all the more useful to the All-Father, while yours was simply better for behind the scenes work. Admiration had gone a long way since you had been introduced to him, a dark summer day was when the All-Father had found you and seen the extent of your magical prowess.

Overjoyed, he had complimented and praised you to the high realms, and goaded you into working for him. Being abruptly introduced to his left hand man was a different ordeal entirely. He was rude, brash, and had a mental wall as high as hrimthurs. His words held bite, articulating every insult to chip at the confidence you had in your field, the confidence the All-Father had so 'graciously' granted you. However, you began to understand. He didn't want you to take his place; his 'importance' to his father. He might not have been willing to admit it, but you could tell he was worried his position was at risk. While being so fiercely loyal, having to regard every other god with such suspicion and passive-aggression came from a place of deep rooted insecurity. You had never commented on it, but you knew it was there; and you consoled him for it.

Or, had tried to, but he just simply laughed at you. You caught the flash of a look of doubt before his face was stone cold yet again. As time began to pass, the more insistent Odin was pairing the two of you together for work and errands. You did admit that the both of you worked incredibly well together; as if you were both in a perpetual state of synchronization in every battle, holding your own and taking care of eachother in your own ways. Though heimdall was more reluctant to admit it to himself. He hated doing work with you, as every time he did, he noticed something new to admire about you; small intricacies that quite frankly didn't matter. He admonished himself for his thoughts, spending days and nights fighting with his own mind to figure out just why were you so magnetic to him? On one hand you curse his ability to know what you're thinking, simply for the abhorrently shameless thoughts about him that have been gradually upping in frequency lately.

But on the other hand, you prefer to not have to say what you're thinking aloud, not because you were above being audacious, but this was the Heimdall. The man that positively oozed confidence in waves as thick as his hair, and words that cut through your confidence like a pretty bi-frosted knife. (And probably because you had developed a more tame longing for him and his company.) Though, you're not the least bit surprised that he would find it amusing, his ego boosted and confidence effectively sparking brighter, like gasoline added to an everburning flame. His fingers are splayed open on the back of the book, and you follow the movement intently as his index and middle finger traces the spine of the book slowly. Wanton need sparks inside of you— fantasies springing to life of what his calloused and unmarked fingers could do to your body, oh so willing to please. Your legs fight to lock themselves and relieve the tension that keeps building the longer you hold his eyes to yours. You lick your bottom lip, suddenly dry. You catch him following the movement.

Your breathing begins to foolishly pick up its pace, alerting your worried companion of your state. "Hey!" A pair of soft yet scarred hands place themselves on your shoulders and shake you out of your reverie. "Jeez, I was calling you for a while, there. Everything alright?" Altó's voice was worried, head tilting as he removed his hands from your body; his eyebrows were furrowed towards his temple, a pout forming on his lips. "Oh? Oh! Mhm, all is alright, Altó. I'm sorry I worried you. What were you saying?" Your gaze softens and your body relaxes, you were sure the apprentice had plenty enough on his plate to worry about. His eyes search yours, though he's without the gift of seeing intent, you worry that he'll see through you. You hope your expression is convincing enough. "Hm…'kay, if you're sure, then! Don't be afraid to tell me if somethings up!" Apparently finding what he had been looking for within your guise, he returns to excitedly ramble about the day he had spent with his mentor and detailing what he had eaten earlier.

From your peripheral, You see Heimdall rise from his seat with a sour expression. Posture tense and apple forgotten.

The next time you see Heimdall, is on the training grounds. It was a pleasant day so far, with the surprisingly low amount of chores and errands to run for the All-Father. You had wandered through the great lodge, spoken to thrùd and sif, though you were sure that thor was at the great hall drowning himself in mead again; you had hoped to speak with him. Seeing the mental decline of one of your closest companions throughout the years isn't easy. But sif had insisted that she handle it herself. Passing through the suspended bridges, you languidly moved your body with the breeze of the spring evening, yearning for some time away from noise. Far from the commotion of the harsh tutelage of the valkyrie and bustling assaults of the einherjar, you sought peace and quiet to let yourself finally think. But your mind emptied in another way than you initially intended, your thoughts blanking at the scene in front of you.

Poised and refined, he strikes his sword into the training dummy repeatedly, pivoting and dodging an imaginary opponent, slashes quick and calculative, before slicing its head clean off from its lower body. He huffs, and returns his sword into his hilt, a small bead of sweat trailing down his chin to his throat. "If your mouth opens any wider, I'm sure you'll catch flies." He turns himself to you as he speaks, hands on his thin waist. You sheepishly fidget with the skin of your cuticles, trying to distract yourself from thinking of your abashed actions early this morning; or even worse, about your affection for him.

"What is it you need? I'm sure you're not all too busy, seeing as you spend so much time gawking at me no matter what, anyways." His grin only widens as the words come out of his mouth, stepping away from the decapitated dummy, to make his way to you. "You were simply just where I wanted to go to relax." Instinctively, you back away from his intimidating aura. His presence was a surprise, but still welcome all the same. "Mhm. And yet, you stare at me as if I am the best thing you've ever seen. Is it that...you like what you see?" His strides are long and almost hurried, but purposeful, as he pushes you into a nearby wall adjacent to the training grounds.

With each step he takes forward to you, you scuttle back, eyes widening at the small slam of your back meeting a wall. Immediately averting your gaze from meeting his smoldering one, you keep yourself trained onto the soft grass caressed by the afternoon wind. He was…making a move on you?! Your mind couldn't believe the situation you were quite literally slammed into; a situation that had only ever sprung to life in your dreams was coming to realization right now! You couldn't let him see how much you wanted him to destroy you– to defile your body with his thick cock and kiss away your tears when you cry that it was too much for you to handle. You were getting off track, don't think about things like that! he can hear it, you would never be able to live that down.

“I don't remember telling you you could look away from me. Don't be so impolite, sunshine.” His hand tilts up your face by your chin, chastising you for averting yourself from him. His hold isn't rough by any means, but he gives you absolutely no room for movement unless initiated by him. Heimdall's face is contemplative when his eyes lock onto your face; as if memorizing and etching the expression drawn onto your face into his mind. He huffs a sigh from his nose, head tilting with his hand tilting your own to follow his. “Now, don't think that I didn't notice that little show you put on in the great hall. why don't you give me an encore, hm?” His knee abruptly parts your legs, placing itself in between the empty space before you could feel the loss.

His chest is flush to yours, the only pillar to your weak balance. "Do I affect you that much?" He laughs cheekily, pressing his thigh into you harder, eyes trailing to your quivering form. Humming, Heimdall grabs your hips with his other hand, rocking you onto his knee slowly, observing your reaction. "Go ahead, rub yourself on me, slut." He knows he has hardly overstepped, rather, chose to willingly step right into the beginning of your fantasies. He had been thinking about you as well, and an opportunity like this does not simply come up often. You hold back a whimper, the muscle of his thigh flexing and applying more pressure to your need as you start to ride his thigh.

Heimdall wasn't monstrously built at all in many ways; but he was lithe and agile, frame slender yet still built in the right places. Yet, every drag of his leg across your heated skin sent electric sparks straight to your clouded mind and clothed cunt. "What if…hah, what if someone sees? We could get in trouble," You meekly call out, hands gripping the wrist holding your chin, eyes clouding over and mouth parting. He stares into your eyes, and appears to be stunned, before laughing incredulously. "You don't even care, do you? Here you are, acting all shy and demure. Yet, you wouldn't give two shits if someone was watching us right now, would you?" His leg pauses from its movements, causing yours to halt as well, watching you with a raised brow and curled lips.

Your face burns from his declaration; and the damn near whine of disappointment that slips out when he forces both of you to stop— and you know deep down that it was true. A debauched part of you couldn't find a single care in all the nine realms to give for if your position were to be compromised. He was always your main focus, afterall. Loving him means that he took a lavish amount of space in your head. Heimdall wasn't simply somebody who you could take your eyes off of, his presence demanded attention and praise (when it was needed), and who were you to deny him? "Such a little vixen, aren't you?" He leans into your ears, letting go of your chin to crowd you into the crook of his neck, hands grabbing his shoulders for stability. His lips find easy purchase on your jaw, sucking and licking at the unmarked skin.

"A little vixen who has such whorish thoughts about their superior… for so long, moreover. " your hands tighten around the cloth of his tunic, legs clenching onto his own, willing for your arousal to simmer down; it was going up way too fast, you needed to stop him before someone found out— "You may try to lie to yourself, darling, but your body doesn't lie. Why do you think I'm doing this?" He hums quizzically at his own question, hands trailing from their purchase on your hips to your chest. "Because I've wanted to know what this pretty body of yours wants from me. Your mind may say you're embarrassed to do this in public, but…" he removes his leg, and you fight to stay upright, yelping quietly and leaning back harder onto the wall. He pries open your clenching thighs and fingers the fabric above your cunt, smirking smugly at the slick that connects to his skin. "Clearly your needy little pussy knows what's best for you, doesn't it?" He throws his head back and outright laughs at you, trailing his clean hand through his braided hair, loosening it slightly.

"Don't act like you're any better, heimdall. I've seen the way you stare at me," Defiantly, you manage to quip back at him. A feat on its own, but you're not sure it was exactly appreciated in the moment. Regaining your stability, you push off from the wall, but choose to keep resting yourself near it. "You've been lusting after me just as long as I have you, haven't you?" Heimdall pauses his laughter at your words, resuming his position towering over you. His right hand slams itself onto the wall, right beside your head and you flinch from the harsh contact. "Don't be so proud of yourself. The more time I spend with you, is the more time that I have to listen to your…explicit and lovey dovey thoughts. Perhaps I simply got tired of it and decided to give you what you so crave." His face is neutral, not strewn with anger like you had assumed it would be; yet his eyes hold a certain emotion that you cant place.

You quickly squash down the thought that it could possibly be doubt swirling in his violet irises. Him? Doubting his own words? Heimdall wasn't one for…feelings. His only main priorities was protecting Asgard and preventing Ragnarök from happening, you knew you were nowhere close to his list of prime concerns. But, all those patrols you had gone on together, all the enemies you've fought side to side with; he had trusted you enough for you to watch his back and keep him safe. That meant something, right? The late night chats and visits to him from atop the wall; the comfortable silence in relishing eachothers company, the insults that no longer held any bite to them? Grasping at mental straws, Heimdall sees your dilemma.

He knows he's by far not exactly easy when it comes to deciphering (a trait he can't help but be proud of,) but acts of trust to anybody who wasn't the all-father were not common whatsoever. Your brows furrow while you're thinking, and he resists the urge to flick you on your forehead. The way your nose scrunches up when you're concentrating makes you look…cute. "I think you might just like me just as much as I like you. You were simply avoidant because you couldn't figure yourself out, huh?" You smirk up triumphantly, meeting his eyes, at last. Eyes alight and bright, you fight to seem confident in your question, but he can see you're doubting yourself, asking yourself if you've misread the situation. He huffs internally and berates himself for having to agree with you in the long run.

Throughout the centuries, you've been deployed by his side. You were merely a thorn to him at first; an easy footstool for him to gain more approval from the All-Father. But something had certainly changed a couple of decades ago. He had recently come to terms with it. He had fallen for you; your confidence in your abilities, the way you held yourself, kind and open to new possibilities, the warrior side of you he was only able to see, your patience and perseverance. You wanted to help him, heal him, and soothe the old and fresh scars of his mind with your love, a tenderness that had never once been reserved for him, at all. He wasn't exactly sure what had initially drawn him to you.

Perhaps it was the way you sought approval from him, willing for his trust and companionship, going out of your way to spend time with him, filling the lonely silence with your hums and stories recalling what you had done and seen that day. You gave him a chance, even when he was cruel to you; even when he had made you shed tears from his words. He wanted to apologize, wanted to tell you that he did in fact like you, pour out his heart for you and bear himself and his mind naked and vulnerable for you to know what he was thinking rather than the other way.

But, actions speak louder than words, don't they? So he connects his lips to yours, relishing in the soft gasp you give when he pushes you back, flush onto the wall. Your eyes mist over with the overwhelming amount of feelings running through your mind, doubt erased completely by his reciprocity. He longs to speak the three words he knows you want to hear, but not yet. He needs to show you his adoration in other ways. Your arms curl over his neck to place your hands to the short hairs at the base of his neck, playing with the ends of his braids. He parts from your lips, thumbing the apple of your cheek and wiping away a stray tear. "Such a little cry baby. Don't get in over your head, vixen. We aren't done here yet." You simply smile sweetly at him, and push your face into your arm, gazing at him with your head tilted, bringing your body as close to him as you could. You kiss and nibble at his skin, carding your hands lovingly through his hair. His hands trail down your body, briefly grasping at the base of your throat, before replacing his hands with his lips.

The snuffed out fire was quickly reignited at the feel of his mouth on your skin, marking you as his. Your hands tightened their grip on his hair as he bites down onto your skin, a breathy moan slipping from your lips. Snickering, he palms at your ass, grabbing you and arching your back so your pelvis was directly onto his. You feel the fabric of his pants and the print of his cock, leaking with precum. "Feel what you do to me," he groans, hand trailing down into your pants, feeling your sopping pussy through your panties. He draws gentle circles onto your mound and traces his fingers around your labia, evidently everywhere but where you wanted him the most.

"Dirty tease." Huffing, you admonish him for teasing you. He simply responds by pushing his hand into your underwear, index finger onto your hood and pushing it back, pressing down onto your aching clit with his middle finger. He rubs slow methodical circles onto it, placing more pressure on it the more sounds you let out. You bite back the needy sound that fights to escape you from the feeling but fail, unable to concentrate. Having his body so close to you; you're caressed and enveloped by his scent, things that could only possibly be attributed to his person, making your mind be filled to the brim with only thoughts of him. "Please, i, fuck…i want you," breaths picking up in speed, you claw at his clothed back and rock with his fingers, longing for them to be inside of you.

He dips his index and middle finger into you; clit briefly forgotten, but quickly remembered when he thumbs at it. You whine as your hole parts to welcome his fingers, willing yourself open further. Hissing subtly at the pull that your pussy gives to his fingers, he laughs at your body greedily fucking itself into him. He follows the movement, longing to hear the obscene sounds your body makes for him before removing them. "Fine, I'll give you what you want. But not here." He relishes in the excited clench you give around him, hoping for his finger to be replaced with his dick, instead. He makes a show of licking your slick off of his fingers, dipping his digits into the cavern of his mouth. He kisses you once he licked off every bit of you he had on him, and you jump when his tongue finds itself tangled in yours abruptly.

Tasting yourself on his tongue was a new experience, but the ferocity of his kiss makes your head spin and inhibitions crumble into mere dust. You palm him through his pants, thumbing at the weeping imprint of his cock, tracing the generous impression with your hand. You moan breathily into his ear, squeezing his bulge. “Take me, Heimdall. I'm yours.” The sound that slips from his mouth is nothing short of animalistic, and he grabs your arm roughly, dragging you into the great lodge, glaring at every asgardian that dares to meet his eyes. They send pitying eyes to your form, yet you can't find it in yourself to care, he wasn't going to do what they had thought, anyways. You feel more of your arousal coat your underwear as the anticipation grows. You reach his room, finally. He shoves the door closed, not minding the loud slam it gives on impact.

His body leans over your hunched form, securely resting between his parted legs. He cups you through your pants, relishing in the sharp inhale you take when he squeezes and traces slow figure eights on your clit. His breath fans over your exposed neck, lips slowly, teasingly, roaming around the expanse of your jaw and throat. He sucks onto the unmarked skin with fervor, hands palming at your chest and tweaking the stiff peaks of your nipples. You jolt into his hot touch with a weak whimper of his name, grinding your ass into the tent of his pants, fabric taught and tight. Your hips wax and wane to the outline of his cock, begging for the friction you know only he is capable of granting you. Condescendingly, he chuckles, and bites down at the junction between your neck and shoulder— hips finally canting into your sex at the sound of your broken mewl with drawn out purpose. He thumbs the outline of your arousal with practiced ease, as if second nature.

You keen at his touch, unable to stop yourself from following the movement of his fingers, your hips refuse for his touch to leave you, unwilling for the fire in your pelvis to snuff out. "Fuck, please, more?" Mouth propped open and eyes glazed over with unreleased lust, his eyes meet your own, and you're unable to catch the pathetic sound that crawls its way out of your throat at the look in his eyes. Heavy with lust and dominance, his lashes flutter over his cheeks as they narrow to look down into your own. His free arm thumbs at the inside of your thigh slowly, inching to your center but never meeting its point. He brings himself to your ear, removing his hand from your thigh to roughly grasp at your throat, making your breath hitch and hips grind down onto his bulge on impulse.

"What is it that you want?" Huffing a dreamy sigh and leaning into his firm but gentle embrace, you stare up into his violet eyes and watch as he trails his gaze over the blotches blooming and decorating your skin with the utmost pride, a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes meet yours once more as he waits for your answer, grip tightening and eyebrow arching with question. "You. Only you, heimdall. Please?" Clawing at his tunics cuffs, you grab his wrist and press it down onto your heady provocation shamelessly. He hums low and inquisitively, tracing small figure eights onto the spot that makes you buck into his touch harder. With his unoccupied hand, he keeps your hips down flush onto his own, refusing to give away the pressure your backside gives his growing cock. Your lips desperately search for his, tongue wetting your bottom lip.

The burning want and overwhelming need of having all of him on every part of you is making your head spin. Sensing your struggle, he huffs out a laugh through his nose before tilting your head back to meet your mouth with his own. His love is bruising and rough, only with the smallest undertones of the gentleness lying within, but you don't want him to be gentle. Not now, atleast. The kiss quickly becomes heated and messy, drool trailing down your chin, down to the hand that restricts your breathing. His tongue finds yours quickly, sloppily meeting with your own as you quickly submit to the onslaught. You drink up the taste of his tongue and spit, the feeling of his hand pushing you onto his clothed cock with increasing rhythm, his labored breathing mingling with your own, together with the small grunts and moans that he lets escape into your oral embrace.

He smirks cheekily, patronizingly squishing the apples of your cheeks with the hand that was once on your trachea.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" You shake your head in agreement, eagerly shifting on his lap, pelvis taught from his teasing caresses. Impatient taps at your thighs bring your attention to his hands, he murmurs an uncharacteristically soft, 'up.' and obediently, you follow his command. You allow him to get up from his seated position, watching his every move with heady anticipation. He unties his pants and steps out of them, unhurried and calm, moving to remove his tunic and gear onto his dresser. He takes his time, that much was clear, yet you fidget and marvel silently as more of his skin becomes visible to you. He has tattoos, you notice, gold markings spanning across his arms and ending before they meet his elbow. Intricate yet small, they still catch your eye.

His body is littered with small and (at first,) unnoticeable clusters of beauty marks and freckles. You yearn to feel him, to revel in the sensation of running your hands over his fair skin. So, you reach to touch him; yet hesitate, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. A sudden wave of softness washes over Heimdall. Your interest in him was always a breath of fresh air, a clear reminder that he was more than just the watcher of the aesir, more than a mindless puppet with no free will. There was more to him than his brutal work ethic, his (frankly) tiring and overwhelming amount of loyalty and insecurity. He grabs your wrist and places it on his chest, giving you the nonverbal confirmation you needed. You hum, and slowly run your fingers around his arms and stomach, stopping to thumb at the gold markings briefly.

"You should feel honored. To gaze upon me bare." He smirks cheekily and hardly moves when you rake your fingernails along his pecs in retaliation. You roll your eyes and sigh with mock wistfulness, removing your hand from his body. "Truly, the highest of honours." Bowing dramatically, he merely lets out a small chuckle and begins to advance on you. Backed into the headboard of his large bed, you let yourself lay down; appreciating the view of him above you. You catch the way his eyes soften a smidge when they meet yours. He reaches to remove your clothing, briefly checking your face for permission before proceeding. Raising your hips so your underwear can be removed, Heimdall's breath hitches the more he sees. Prodding your legs open slowly, you shiver from the heat of his gaze trained on your pussy. "What? Like what you see?" You smugly use his earlier words against him, letting out a squeak when he pinches down onto your clit. Brows furrowed, you pout up at him; expression falling for a moment at the look on his face. He's smiling.

Not his usual smile, but a true and honest smile. His expression is a picture perfect replication of 'soft' and 'content'. He stares at you as if he adores you; unspoken words looming in the air between you both. You long to hear him say it, but understand that it must be hard. His visage tells you everything you need to know. Heat creeps up to your neck and core; why did you find the thought of him loving you back so appealing? To feel so loved by a man as high as he, self-centered and selfish, possibly being able to love another? You clench around nothing at the thought, embarrassment crawling up into your mind. "Will…" he starts, his voice leading you to meet his eyes once more. "Will you let me have you?" Thumbing your inner thigh, he doesn't break contact with you. His face is the most relaxed you've ever seen it be. Though, he seems unsure. Hesitant and a fraction of afraid that you'll reject him. "Mn. I'm yours, Heimdall." Lips meeting each other halfway, slow and methodically the kiss prolongs. You both gasp when his cockhead prods at your hole; lubricating himself with your slick. Breaking the kiss, you look down to where you will eventually become one and your breath gets punched out of your throat. He was thick and long; yet clean shaven and hair taken care of. It wasn't your first tryst; but you were unsure if it was going to— "Don't worry, it'll fit." He lays a kiss on your forehead, letting his head hover next to your ear. "If not, I'll make it fit." He pushes into your heat as he finishes, making your muscle tense at the intrusion.

You will yourself to calm down and welcome the sting, crossing the line between pleasure and pain. "Fuck, let me in, darling." The pet name catches you off guard as you tighten on him, rewarding you with a groan from his red bitten lips. "Gods! It wont fit, " inching himself deeper inside of you, you whine into his neck, curling your arms around his back. Panting heavily he reaches to circle your clit, hoping to relax and distract you. "There we go." finally bottoming out, he plants soft kisses on your face and neck; mindful of the sore bite marks blooming there. The fingers circling your clit don't let up, accelerating in pace as he starts to slowly work up a pace that leaves your mind foggy and eyes hazy. His nails dig into your legs, raising them to fold over your waist. Your knees take the place of your arms around his neck and you fall back into the soft furs of his bed. Feeling stuffed full, you resign yourself to fall into the pleasure he generously gives you. Mindlessly whimpering his name, your whines up in pitch when he hits the spongy spot inside you.

His rapid rhythm makes your eyes clench shut; senses bombarded by his scent, the feel of his skin on yours, burning hot. You jolt when his hand wraps around your sore throat, breath stuttering. "Don't take your eyes off me." He pants, yet hardly breaking a sweat. You obey his command, fighting to keep your eyes locked with his, even as you fight the urge to throw your head back to get away from the stimulation. Eyes glassy and mind hazy, your nerves are set alight with each thrust of his hips, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with a particularly deep cant of his hips. The sting of the hit nearly sends you over the edge, making you momentarily forget how to breathe properly. "Look at me, look at me when you cum. Gods, i want to see you when you do." He grits through clenched teeth. Heimdall's brows are furrowed, muscles taught and clenched with barely concealed restraint. Overwhelmed, you begin to cry. Fat tears slipping down the apples of your reddened cheeks with a fervor akin to the enthusiasm he uses when kissing you. Babbling incoherently, you claw and mark his shoulders and arms with red and pink trails.

Heimdall hardly even registers the sting of blood seeping from one particularly hard scratch, focusing on you only. "Love you— oh fuck, i love you!" You cry into the pillows as you cum, shaking and twitching as your mind blanks. Your cunt squeezes his cock with a vice grip, walls trembling throughout the waves of your orgasm. Your eyes never leave his, mind assaulted by the inordinate amount of adoration and love pouring redoubtably from your eyes into his own. He realizes it now, that it's alright for even someone like him to be loved. That what was once a broken man, merely valued for his loyalty and need for approval, could become whole again. You trusted him enough to give yourself to him. Wholly and carnally, you resigned your body to him and allowed your pleasure to be in his hands.

Letting him know that it was alright for him to not always be on guard, always seeing nothing but the worst in others; allowing him to trust rather than push away. He has never felt so loved before, tears foolishly mist over his eyes. He doesn't remember crying past his childhood. It's an odd feeling, one that takes over his chest and makes his heart stutter and pulse madly whenever he looks at you. He realizes it now, he truly fell hard for you. One more weak clench of your cunt triggers his own orgasm, and Heimdall allows himself to fall prey to the pleasure creeping up his spine and setting his muscles afire. "I, gods- i love you too," he removes his hand from your throat before he empties himself inside of your womb, bringing it to your chin, wiping off the stray trail of drool and tears. "You're mine." He damn near sobs those words as he cums, eyes locked into the hazes and hues of your own.

Nearly toppling over and losing balance, Heimdall doesn't think that he's ever been this mentally and physically exhausted before. Your hand reaches to touch his cheek, hands gentle. Your fingers collect his stray tears and wipe them away, the action making his cheeks redden a twinge. "You finally said it." You smile so wide your eyes wrinkle at the edges, making your cheeks hurt. Heimdall rolls his eyes, smoothing over the bruised imprint of his hands on your thighs. "Don't get in over your head." He mutters, helping you stretch your sore limbs. His words hold no bite whatsoever, a stark contrast to when you had first met; it makes you laugh. "There he is." You bring him down to meet your lips, tangling your arms into his loosened hair. He leads you upright before breaking the kiss, reaching for a stray towel near a washbasin.

Movements thorough and gentle, he cleans his cum from your skin and lathers your body with calming oils. Once cleaned, he climbs under the furs with you, quickly circling your waist and bringing you flush to his chest. "Too bad your braids got undone." You point out, brushing away a few stray strands from his forehead. His jewelry glints with the light filtering through the curtains. "You may braid them for me tomorrow." Excitedly, you begin to think about ways to plait his hair until your exhaustion finally catches up to your tired body, excitement simmering.

You murmur into his chest before it can claim you fully. "Thought you didn't let anyone braid 'em." Sleepily, you twirl a fibril of hair absentmindedly between your fingers. He hums, rubbing a comforting hand up and down the small of your back.

"Be honored, you'll be the first." He whispers into your scalp.

"Mhm…g'night ástin mín." You kiss his skin before closing your eyes, finally giving into your fatigue.

"Goodnight, elskan."

Heimdall falls asleep shortly after you, thinking about the future he was finally willing to admit to wanting to be a part of with you. Calm and content,

he finally lets himself relax.

#I’ve read this so many times #heimdall x reader #gow heimdall x reader #gow heimdall

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sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 · 2 years ago

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now that I'm riding this train, do you have any headcanons of kratos and hemidall together? or how their relationship progresses to something more than "enemies" also how they'd romp around in the sheets too 💀 im sensing thered be some sexual tension, especially on heimdalls side. he's never seen such a man like kratos, someone so physically strong and imposing yet a mind as calm and quiet as a gentle river. interested in your thoughts!

Okay, I LOVE this. Again… NSFW!!! NO MINORS. Seriously, I’ll feed to you Svanna and Speki…

Kratos x Heimdall - Enemies to Lovers. Smut ahead MDNI

Not proof read.. I’m very tired.

Let’s pretend Heimdall wasn’t unalived during the fight (maybe he did still loose his arm) but Kratos is walking away, Heimdall’s head is downcast and he lets out a quiet “I can’t go back, I can’t go back” and Kratos replies with a questionable “hmm?”

Heimdall is just defeated, he’s in pain. No one has ever so much as snagged his clothes let alone BEAT him in a fight. He knows damn well though he’s as good as dead if he goes back to Asgard

Kratos contemplates, Atreus’ voice in his head saying “everyone can be saved father” so he removes the spear and mutters a “you so much as antagonise my son and your fate will be much worse than you returning to Asgard”.

Heimdall follows, full on playing the kicked puppy routine, slowly trailing behind Kratos till they reach the others, too embarrassed to even look at their questionable faces everyone has seeing the spiteful little shit trailing behind Kratos.

Fast forward and Heimdall is being taught and learning what it takes to be his own person without Odin‘s influence and releasing not everyone has cruel intentions as he previously believed. People are being civil to him! He still kinda taunts Atreus though but only in thought.

The more time he spends with Kratos, even though tensions are rife, he’s looking at him, watching him. How can this behemoth of a man be so… calm. The roughness of his face, the lines around his eyes, the grey in his beard but yet those almost golden eyes never show him any contempt.

Heimdall fights within his mind. He’s the scion of the Aesir for crying out loud but when that huge Greek god looks at him, Heimdall becomes this timid shell, completely at the mercy of the Spartans gaze.

He starts thinking of the way Kratos helped him. He doesn’t yell at him. Never raises his hands, never condescends him, never puts him down. He treats him like an equal.

Heimdall starts to loosen up around Kratos then one day he’s outside Sindri’s cabin, hearing grunts followed by logs hitting the ground. He follows the sound and there is Kratos chopping wood for the fire. The effortless way he swings that axe and those muscles… they way they constrict and release with each swing. Heimdall is starting to feel flushed and that flush goes straight to his groin. Embarrassed, he high tails it away to avoid Kratos from seeing the wood Heimdall is now sporting.

Let’s say Ragnarok happens, Odin is dead, Asgard has fallen and Heimdall is in Vanaheim helping the Vanir and Aesir rebuild. Everyone has noticed he’s changed. he’s still offish but he’s trying. Kratos notices this too. Heimdall isn’t uptight any more, he’s actually letting loose a little and do his eyes actually sparkle more now he’s free from the burden of Asgard?

There’s been times late at night where they’ve held conversations. Heimdall enthralled by the stories of Kratos in Greece and something more is starting to stir within both of them. Is this what companionship feels like? Common ground with another being?

One night the thoughts become too much. Heimdall can’t sleep, the god of war plaguing each of his thoughts and he can’t help himself but ease the growing tension in his crotch. He assumes everyone is asleep and he is desperate, his hand reaches down until he grasps himself and by the gods.. the pleasure that runs though his veins the minute his grasps his aching cock.

Kratos awakens to whimpers. He’s confused, it’s must be Heimdall having a nightmare. He figures he needs to check on him, Kratos knows damn well how the past can effect a sleeping conscious. He slowly takes steps to Heimdall’s room. The whimpers are becoming more frequent but he thinks nothing of it until he opens the door and he cannot take his eyes off of the sight. Heimdall is lying there, languidly twisting his wrist and palm over his very erect cock, the slick sounds of skin on skin, the glistening of pre cum coating Heimdall’s shaft and Kratos feels himself hardening.

Too lost in the feeling, brain flooded with thoughts of Kratos, Heimdall’s foresight is practically useless at this point, he doesn’t even hear the footsteps coming towards him until he feels his hand still being replaced by something much warmer and much more calloused. Shock setting in, bifrost eyes widening in fear but when he feels Kratos start to pump, by the Norns, he could’ve cum right there and then.

As always, there’s a calm and collected approach to the way Kratos’s closed palm moves so effortlessly along him but the warmth, the pressure, the heat coming from Kratos and Heimdall is close, so damn close. But he wants, no.. he NEEDS MORE.

Too consumed by pleasure to actually speak but he locks eyes with Kratos and he is BEGGING the man to either make him finish or just put him out of his misery.

What follows is an event Heimdall never would’ve imagined. He’s on his back, legs pushed towards his chest and he’s just so damn FULL. The feeling of Kratos… hard, hot, thick and deep is too much and yet not enough. Kratos is towering over Heimdall. Nothing but brawn and muscle and yet each movement. Each stroke. Every slow, tortuous stroke is hitting his spot just right at every thrust and Heimdall is seeing stars.

For the first time in his life, someone is caring for him. Focusing slowly on his pleasure, his comfort, his well-being and he’s so close and so full he almost wants to cry.

What feels like hours is spent in pure, all consuming ecstasy and Heimdall has never felt this connection before.

Kratos, still as composed as ever is also feeling confused but the way this young man clamps around him is too delicious, he needs more. He’s missed that closeness of another person. It may be nothing, a one time thing. A way to relive stress but with the golden haired man beneath him, the heat enveloping his hardened member, he could not care less.

Both men are spent. Heimdall is half expecting Kratos to up and leave without saying a word. Kratos got what he needed, he had no use for him now but when he’s gently pulled towards the Spartan and strong arms are wrapped around him, one hand slowly moving to play with his hair he’s overcome with feeling. For the first time since he can remember, Heimdall falls asleep feeling at peace.

Probably more Heimdall’s character but this bitch is still INSUFFERABLE at times. Mouthing off, sarcastic isms thrown left right and centre towards everyone and anything still happens on the daily until one day, he’s said the wrong thing to Kratos and all it takes is one look at Kratos’ face and he knows he’s about to be punished.

He knows damn well he’s going to be sore tomorrow and walking with a limp after Kratos is done with him but… he’s the god of foresight. He saw this coming after all… that’s exactly why he chose to push the Spartans buttons.

#went off on a tangent #sorry #not sorry?#heimdall #heimdall gow #kratos god of war #kratos #kratos x Heimdall #I’ve never written anything like this before #smut #mlm

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