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hecohansen31 · 4 years

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To Kill a King

Ivar+Reader (Vikings Era)

The Betrayed Ruler:

He could not steal my might And it seems to be I have found a way…

“To Kill A King” by Hungry Lucy

First Chapter (1)

Second Chapter (2)

Third Chapter (3)

Fourth Chapter (4)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

This is low key a chapter I am very... nervous about...

Lately I have been extremely EXTREMELY nervous about my writing, and I am very very very worried of how you’ll perceve this chapter, because I do hope that it won’t disappoint the big hype around it.

I really hope you’ll like my writing choices, and if you don’t, do let me know being the sweetest and gentlest because I am a shy and sad baby lately.

But please remember: feedback is always welcomed by writers, because it makes our heart flutter and it makes our fingers write faster.

Hope you’ll like this!

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: Not only you are found with an accusation over your head, but soon everything that you craddled close to your heart in a foreign land is going to be put to the test, and not everything might be as you truly thought it was.

WORDS: 15 K

WARNINGS: Arranged Marriage, Mention of Domestical Abuse and Rape, Violence (Strong Themes), Sexual Harassment, Slavery, Historically inaccurate, Blood and Period.

Sunlight creeped through the tent, but for you it could have still been nighttime.

Your mind had stopped working since you had entered your tent, the guards sealing you inside, alongside Caryn and Angelika, and you had simply set yourself fall on the bed, where you still were.

You hadn’t been able to focus on much else than replaying the last conversation with Ivar you had had before you had been sent away by him, as you tried to find a loophole through it.

But every time you came close to it, the pain of not having been believed shot through you as a burning hot flame.

You knew that he had done what any rational man could have done.

But you believed…

… what did you truly believe?

That he would have finally and truly chosen you?

What a stupid girl.

Maybe Angelika was right.

She had been running up and down the perimeter of the tent, to the point that you were sure that her shoes had burned a trail in its floor, as she lout out huff loud, being shut up by an also lost Caryn.

She had joined you a bit later than Angelika, probably because Ivar had wanted her opinion before he saw you, but you weren’t sure.

You hadn’t asked her, stuck in your thoughts.

“… we should run” uttered Angelika, as she came to a halt in her walk “… we should definitely run”.

“Do you expect the guards to simply lets us pass” replied hastily Caryn, shooting her an annoyed look, and Angelika replied with an even harsher one.

“… no, I don’t think it’ll be that easy, but we can distract them, grab a horse…” she tried to mumble.

“It wouldn’t work” you uttered surprising them both, as you raised your head to meet their faces and you simply shook your head, to assure what you had just said “… we wouldn’t get far enough and we wouldn’t certainly save our reputation”.

“I know this might surprise you, princess…” scoffed loudly Angelika “… but right now your reputation isn’t the best”.

“And running away would just worsen it” using that tight tone took quite some energy from you and almost as if she realized it, Caryn moved to grab you a bit of water, for which you were thankful.

“Then what is the plan?” asked Angelika, unable to stay put, which didn’t help you easing up the headache you had been having “… don’t tell me that you have been just moping about that savage not believing you?”.

Gosh, you honestly hoped she could be just less smart.

“The plan is that we repeat our confession, we talk about it calmly and lightly and we don’t give them an option to doubt us” you explained, trying to keep your tone calm.

“… that won’t be very effective” mumbled tightly Angelika, and you couldn’t deny that it was true.

Even Caryn didn’t look quite convinced but tried her best to still her worry.

“We can’t do much” you stated, the only truth “… running isn’t an option, we’d be found immediately, this is their territory and we wouldn’t last a single day”.

“So, all we can do is pray” mumbled pessimistically Caryn.

“And cover our own asses” cursed loudly Angelika “… this is the time, princess, to set up our versions”.

“What do you mean?” asked her Caryn, confused.

“That we indeed cover our asses” you explained, mimicking Angelika’s words, as she turned to you shocked “… see if we have anything that can incriminate us further, poison, letters and…”.

Weapons.

Gosh, what would have they thought if they had found the knife in your stuff.

It wouldn’t have played any favor towards you.

But honestly, nothing seemed to do so.

You wouldn’t have been certainly sent to death, at least not with bishop Heahmund in the camping, since he would have reported the news to your father, and it’d have been a way to properly start a war.

But what worried you was that you might be either rejected as a wife, thrown away.

And although at first the thought of this wouldn’t have weighted on you, since you had actually been desiring the convent life, now…

… now that you knew life outside of the castle walls, you just… you just didn’t know.

But worst of all… if you were ever rejected… and thrown back to your father…

… he wouldn’t have been happy.

And it would have been as if Ivar, himself, signing a death sentence for you.

Even more when you thought that, although you might not die, Ivar might take it out on Angelika and Caryn.

And you couldn’t let that happen.

“I’ll take all the blame, if things fall down” you explained softly, as you looked at them in the eyes “… if they ask, you didn’t have any involvement in this, understand me?”.

“Why?” asked Angelika, confused “… are you aiming to gain the ‘saint’ title?”.

Although her tone was biting, it wasn’t as poisonous as usual.

And she looked honestly worried.

You still were surprised by the fact that she hadn’t sided against you, after the poisoning plan had been revealed, instead staying with.

Something which had made you realize that maybe she wasn’t so tough.

“… my princess, don’t you think… it is too rushed” suggested Caryn, honestly surprised.

Something similar to guilt shining in her eyes, but you simply ducked your head away from her wandering and worried gaze.

“If anything happens to you, I won’t stop feeling guilty, believe me” you promised, even sending a look at Angelika, who had lowered her eyes, ashamed “… so don’t open your mouths”.

Suddenly the tent was open, and a guard appeared, signaling to you that Ivar was finally ready to listen your excuses and wanted to see you and Caryn.

You weren’t able to know whether it was a good thing, because your mind went finally blank, or bad, since you weren’t also able to come up with a plan.

You nodded, but as you were moving, Angelika gripped your hand, stopping you and making you turn around.

Caryn moved forward and told the guard to wait a few minutes with steely eyes, as they left and gave you the privacy to talk with Angelika.

“I know what you are feeling…” she whispered, trying not to be heard by the guard, although they didn’t speak your language “… alone and left behind, that’s what I felt in the wood… that was what I have felt each moment in my life”.

You were suddenly surprised by the loneliness you felt in her eyes, but she let you feel it just for a few minutes, before her grip onto your wrist became more intense, making you lose your focus.

“… nobody had ever come for me, like you did, princess, when the Vikings came… my family… my own fiancée left me behind…” this time your title wasn’t stained with any sarcasm “… and for that I’ll be for ever grateful to you for coming for me, so please know that whatever will be the verdict… I’ll stick by your side”.

You were surprised by her sudden change of loyalty, but you couldn’t stand further, knowing that every wasted minute might have been a moment of doubt for Ivar.

But you’d have to talk more with Angelika, after all this was over.

“Thank you, Angelika” you replied to her, and turned but stopped as she uttered softly.

“I was wrong about what I said when we first met…” she mumbled, almost biting the words and chewing on them “… you might change him”.

“I hope so”.

And you went out of the tent, the dress of the previous night sticking to your body for the cold sweat you had on your body because of the anxious feeling that tightened your chest.

But you decided, after Angelika’s words, that you wouldn’t have simply bowed your head.

You had stood up to him already, now you had to do it again.

If not for yourself, definitely for the people around you.

The ones who believed in you.

The guards pushed you, as you and Caryn were grabbed by an arm each to be led.

You protested at the uncomfortable gesture the guards simply looked at you with a wolfish grin.

“… are you going to faint, again, princess?” sneered at you one, as the other, that was grabbing onto your arm, lightly pulled again, making you almost trip on your own feet.

“You won’t treat me like that, I am your princess” because if last time you had let them do what they wanted with you, without protesting, you weren’t going to let them rule your life again.

“… I don’t think that you’ll be our princess for much longer” muttered the one who had pushed you, and you turned to him, standing straighter as you breathed out to calm yourself and then uttered.

“That might be true, but that is yet to be proved” you explained “… and I am still a princess of an English kingdom, so the next time you’ll address me as that. And believe me, if you don’t, I’ll make sure you know how much I am annoyed with your arrogance”.

And that was enough for your journey to be a silent one, although you could already see where it was aimed: Ivar’s personal study.

So, you were surprised as you entered it, finding Ivar and Hvitserk, the former sat down as he examined various piece of papers and the latter on his side, a mix of optimism and unease in his eyes, almost as if he hadn’t wanted to be there.

And you couldn’t blame him.

The guards left you and you didn’t forget to thank them with a quick look.

Enough to see them shiver lightly as they turned.

“Sit down, you two” ordered Ivar, although an enigmatic smirk grazed his figure.

But his tone was stern and you clutched tightly your hands in your lap, lowering your eyes, because, although you would have tried everything you could to save yourself, you wouldn’t have given Ivar any possibility to doubt you.

“… how do you plead” he asked you, as he sent a look on your way, making you raise your head to meet his eyes.

To make him understand that not only you weren’t afraid.

But you weren’t afraid because you had nothing to hide.

You were speaking the truth.

“I didn’t poison you, Ivar” you spoke, and his smirk became tight and you were sure he’d protest or…

“I believe you”.

You choked on your breath, as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“… what?” you asked, unsure if you had heard right or not.

“I do know for sure that you didn’t try to poison me” he explained to you “I know it was Vaghnar who did, and it was Harald and Halfdan who told him to”.

“How…?” you felt like you weren’t able to let out of the anxiety and hurt you had been harboring for the entire night, as if it was too good to be real.

“Hvitserk, a few days ago, told me that Halfdan had approached you, and we have been thinking that they would have certainly tried to undermine you or put you against me, even more after everything that has happened at the wedding…” you hadn’t considered it honestly “… I knew he’d be trying something against me, using you, and I thought of giving him a slight push… didn’t I, Caryn?”.

And Caryn, beside you, shivered at that tone, as you turned to her, worried.

But she didn’t spare you a single look, as she instead stood straighter in her seat, her eyes on her lap.

“I was asked to take care of it” she asked, as her words seemed to pain her, and you couldn’t understand truly what was going on.

Because if you did it, it would have maybe hurt you more than the thought of Ivar not believing you.

“Ex…excuse me?”.

“I made a deal with Ivar” she didn’t look proud of it, in the slightest “… I should have… kept an eye on Vaghnar, he was my owner, I had heard of him… planning with Harald and… Ivar came to me. He told me that he’d give me freedom again”.

“I offered her a deal. Be my spy, report me everything and be a free woman or just stay with Vaghnar”.

And it was obvious what she had chosen.

She had spied on you, for him.

But it also meant that she could testify that you had never intended to poison Ivar.

“Then why didn’t you defend me?” you asked softly, your voice almost unable to leave the cavern of your voice “… back in the Great Hall”.

Because anger was everything that you could feel.

“I would have publicly accused Halfdan and Harald of having lied, without any proof other than a slave’s opinion” he explained as if it was the most normal thing ever “… I needed to show that I wasn’t questioning them, to let them think that they had won and come back stronger.

“And you let me squander in my tent with the sureness of something horrible happening” you uttered loudly, surprising Ivar and Caryn, who flinched beside you and before you knew it you had raised yourself, hitting Ivar on the shoulder, with you open palm.

He didn’t seem in the slightest fazed by it and as you came back from anger, you felt your hand pulsing painfully, because of the hit.

“Feeling better?” asked Ivar, as he shot you an intense look.

And you couldn’t help but be surprised by his calm reaction.

You had expected him to reply with violence, and although you had been too numb to fear him, you couldn’t deny that his unfazed expression surprised you.

“Yes”.

“I am glad, because I need that brilliant mind of yours to focus on a plan to explain why you didn’t poison me, without insulting Halfdan and Harald. A plan that could possibly get them away… far away from us”.

Your brain had officially shut down.

First Ivar let you be treated awfully and think the worst and now he wanted you there, even complimenting you.

You honestly didn’t know what more would happen.

Would Hvitserk reveal himself to be a hidden catholic?

Because after Caryn’s reveal, everything was possible to your eyes.

“… I don’t… I can’t think straight” you explained “… I have had just too much emotions for one day”.

“Focus on one thing at the time” suggested Hvitserk, coming closer to you, and you tried not to think about the fact that he had also been in in this plan, against you.

The worst was that the sole one who had been loyal to you was Angelika.

And you tried, desperately, pushing away any thoughts as you tried to focus on the matter.

Halfdan had accused you, hence denying the evidence would have simply pushed the Ragnarssons in worse problems than the ones they were already in, and you couldn’t simply reveal Caryn’s role, again because it would have showed that the sons of Ragnar didn’t trust them.

You couldn’t simply deny the truth.

… but what if you didn’t.

“I have an idea”.

And Ivar’s mouth opened in a full smirk, as he nodded your head to invite you to talk.

“I knew that you wouldn’t disappoint me”.

---

You couldn’t deny that you were suddenly anxious again due to the whispers that were uttered as you walked in the Great Hall, beside Ivar, a few guards trailing after you as the doors closed behind you, signaling silence.

In the end, everyone was curious to know what would have been your destiny.

You were guided to sit down beside Ivar, as Bjorn and Ubbe came closer to Ivar, and the latter sent you a light look as if to check if you had intention to attempt to kill another son of Ragnar.

Which you would have gladly, if he kept looking at you up and down.

“Brother, are you sure?” asked Bjorn as he leaned down to face Ivar, who simply nodded his head, a light and easy expression on his face, unlike your anxious one, which you used to cover your annoyance and anger at being used as a pawn by Ivar.

But you should have expected that.

But you would have never ever seen it coming from Caryn

“… well then communicate your decision to our people” ordered Bjorn and Ivar shared a small look with you, almost to check if you were ready, and you nodded, sure you wouldn’t have ever been ready.

“My army” he uttered, but he didn’t need to catch anybody’s attention, since it was already on him.

And you.

“My wife has been accused of having tried to poison me” he told them, as he kept his eyes on everyone of them “… and that is indeed true”.

You had foreseen the reaction it’d cast on the army, but the violence of it still choked the breath in your lungs as war screams and harsh glares were sent to you, in words you didn’t understand, but knew were insults, from the tone.

“But…” he spoke loudly, overcoming their combined voices “… she did it behind my orders”.

And again, silence fell, and you lightly raised your head, breathing softly.

“… I have known for quite some time that Vaghnar had been trying to attempt to murder me, but I didn’t know when and where it’d happen” he explained calmly.

You knew that the entire thing wouldn’t have worked if Ivar hadn’t acted that way.

That self-assured and calm way that you wished you owned.

And made you lightly blush.

“So, I asked my very brave and blessed wife…” he turned to you with a well-faked lovesick smile, that you returned with your best conviction “… to set up a meeting to Vaghnar, to convince him to collaborate again me and to poison me”.

Both Halfdan and Harald, who stood right in the front row, paled.

“That’s why she sent her own slave to set up a meeting and that is why Halfdan was also involved, to make the story more believable…” and he turned to a scared Halfdan “… thank you, for being truthful when needed, I do believe that now I can trust you, fully”.

It was obviously sarcastic and a secret threat to anyone who knew how things had gone and you joined in Ivar’s gaze at the two brothers, as you tried to let them know, that you knew what they had done.

And you wouldn’t forgive them.

“So, in order to celebrate this loyalty and to prove our strength, we’ll have a feast, in honor of the gods and…” he neared his look at Halfdan “… Halfdan! Since he’ll be leaving us for the Mediterranean, alongside my brother Bjorn”.

Bjorn’s raised his fist as Halfdan’s face presented the horror of what Ivar had just sentenced him.

Exile.

And as much as you tried to feel pity for him, you couldn’t.

He had tried to gain your loyalty, just to use it for his own purposes.

“The feast will be in five days” proclaimed Ivar, before sitting beside you, as he joined your hands together over the table, pushing them towards his lips as he kissed your knuckle “… to love and loyalty!”.

To your heart breaking and your life crumpling apart.

---

As you approached your tent, you felt Hvitserk on your tail, but you just rushed in, coming face to face with a guilty Caryn, who tried to speak up, but you shut her up quickly with a gesture of your hand.

“I don’t blame you for your choices, you have a family” as you did, and that was why you understood her position.

It was yours.

But you couldn’t simply push down and away the anger.

And you didn’t want to push it onto Caryn.

“I wanted to…”.

“Caryn, I get it” and you hoped your eyes conveyed it “… but right now… I don’t have the energy to face you”.

She seemed disappointed, almost heartbroken and again… that… that part of you that was feeling betrayed, just wanted nothing more than hurt her.

But you just pushed past her, moving to your trunks, glad that they hadn’t been searched, as you tried to release the reality of worry you had lived till you had confronted Ivar.

You pushed your nails in your palms as you thought again about the humiliation Ivar had put you through.

Hvitserk came in front of you, looking at you over your trunks, as you instead grabbed the first pair of pants and shirts you found, intending to exercise the adrenaline strike in your body, which ached to rest but you felt unable to, till at least you let out some anger.

“Where are you going?” asked confused Hvitserk, as he tried to put a hand over yours, but you simply slapped it away.

“To train” you muttered “Like I do each day”.

“I don’t think that is wise” he replied, tension appearing in his eyes, as you held his gaze.

“I don’t think that is wise standing in my way right now” you muttered slowly, anger pointing out each word.

“You shouldn’t…” he tried to speak, but you didn’t seem in the slightest swayed, as you crossed your arms under your chest to show him that you would have denied anything that he would have said.

“What I need right now is to punch something, and I either punch you or you me get to my training” and you were convincing enough that Hvitserk moved away, exiting the tent with a huff.

And you dressed up quickly as you exited alone, collecting Bukefalos and already seeing the shift in the Viking people.

Although at first, they had regarded you with a surprised interest, they now looked at you with bowed had and suspecting eyes.

Although Ivar’s explanation had worked on easing the doubts, it certainly hadn’t helped with your image.

You hated it all more and were more than grateful to ride dangerously on Bukefalos, who matched your snappy mood, helping you getting past the crowd quite quickly as you embraced his neck.

He tried to comfort you with a quick lick, but you were trembling, almost aching and all too happy to undergo whatever series of torturing exercises Nanna had for you, as you dug your fingers in the mud till they became muddy, as well and some of your nails broke.

But you didn’t feel pain.

And neither fatigue.

And when Nanna came to check on you, you could see that she was secretly impressed, but quickly dismissed you, accompanying you to your horse, for what you thought would be a private talk.

“I didn’t poison him, if you are curious”.

“Of course, I know that!” she spat out, sending you an annoyed look “… you might not have the strength to pull your body up, but certainly the gods have blessed you with a working brain”.

“What?”.

Was that a backhanded compliment?

“… you are too smart to let Ivar know that you are poisoning him” she explained as if it was the most natural thing in the world “… if you did poison him, he would already be dead”.

“How can you say that?”.

“Because if prince Ivar has chosen you, you must have had something that made the choice worthy” again her tone was annoyed, as if she was explaining this to a petulant child “… and I see how you stabilize yourself through exercises, you use the least amount of energy to get the best result. Not even the best soldiers can do it”.

You just got two compliments by Nanna.

Were you having problem hearing?

“… oh, that is… nice?”.

“If you need to let out anymore rage…” she mumbled, as she turned “… don’t hesitate to let it out here, or on your husband, that fucker deserves it”.

You were definitely having trouble hearing.

Bukefalos welcomed you back with a lick, and you smiled tiredly at him, definitely empty of all those frustrations and without enough strength to think properly, as your mind just thought about all the sleep you’d have once you were back in the tent.

And both Turid and Solveig had to poke your ribs to get you to get out of the bathtub, once you were back in the tent, because the water had grown cold, and the coldness of it brought you back to reality.

You looked in Solveig and Turid’s eyes to find out whether they believed you or not.

If they thought that you could have done it.

And if they were also spying on you for Ivar.

You wouldn’t have been surprised.

You had been naïve, although you had tried to protect your own privacy and secrecy.

You needed to be more attentive at those around you.

You were already waiting for Ivar in bed, having dismissed the handmaidens and eaten dinner alone, more to give yourself some alone time before everything erupted than because you wanted to be left alone.

As Ivar entered the tent, he was smart enough to recognize the air of tension and asked one of the guards to undo his calibers (he had called them like that, once he had explained you, as he talked about how he had created them), meanwhile you pushed further your nose in the book.

“Have you eaten?” he asked dryly, almost tasting out the earth under his feet, just receiving a slight nod from you, who also delved further in the book “… that book must be interesting”.

“Very” your answer was so sharp that you heard Ivar take a deep intake of breath, before he hissed it out.

“You are angry with me”.

“Oh, you are so smart” again that dry tone, and when Ivar, grabbed your hand you almost expected him to push the book out of your hands and then slap you.

Your father wouldn’t have certainly hesitated to do just that.

But Ivar’s grip was almost soothing on your wrists as he lightly drew circles in your skin, eventually getting you to release your grip on the book that fell silently on your lap.

And you were faced with those sky-blue eyes.

“… I am sorry for whatever you angry at me for”.

And this just made your anger flare up again, as you pushed your hands away from his grip, with Ivar effectively releasing your hands due to his surprise to your reaction.

“… ‘for whatever you are angry at me for’?” you asked him “I am angry at you, because not only you let me think that you truly believed Halfdan…”.

“I didn’t” he muttered, his tone tight and his eyes pleading as he looked at you.

“Don’t interrupt me” you shushed him violently “… but you also put somebody to spy on me!”.

“Don’t be so shocked” he retorted, his voice having grown angry, but he was trying to repress it, clutching tight his fists by his side “… and it wasn’t you who I set her spying on”.

“Then swear to me, you didn’t ask her about me, ever” you harshly muttered, sending him a harsh look, and he effectively lowered his eyes.

How stupid and naïve had you been to think that he could truly trust you.

A minute of silence filled the room.

“… you know what our problem is Ivar…” you spoke lowly as you tried to calm and steady your breath “… you make promises that you can’t hold and I do not believe that you can be truthful”.

That hit Ivar deep and before you knew it, his grip was again tight on your wrist, hurtful tight.

“I don’t break promises” his tone was angry, and you couldn’t help but shrink away from him, or try to, due to his tight grip.

And you couldn’t help but feel again like you were in your father’s castle.

Although he hadn’t dared to hit you and Abigail, he had no qualms to rough you up lightly, tightening his hold on you, till it bruised or looking at you so ragefully that you almost imagined the slap he had never given you.

And you couldn’t help but feel the same with Ivar.

Who understood your discomfort and quickly released the grip.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you” he mumbled, almost scared of your reaction, shy as he tried to gain your attention.

But you were frozen, as you moved to your side of the bed, setting yourself down and closing your house as you faked being asleep, meanwhile Ivar pleaded you to talk to him.

To get angry at him, to scream.

But as always, when it happened with your father, you were just frozen in your body.

Shut in and barely breathing.

---

Sleep had been difficult, not simply because it had taken you quite some time to get yourself tired enough not to be able to keep your lids open, but also you had rolled around the bed and you could feel again sweat coating your nightgown and something else between your legs.

You thought it was again simple sweat.

It’d sometimes coat the inside of your thighs, with all your heavy gowns and you couldn’t deny the worry that you had felt all night, hence there was another reason for you to have sweat your way through the fabric.

You exited the bed, surprised by the fact that Ivar was still beside you on the bed.

But you didn’t give it too much thought as you escaped the bed, bothered by the sweat almost as if it burned on your skin, and your stomach grumbled loudly as it almost seemed to bite the lower part of your body and, as you were moving to get yourself up, you froze, almost as if your body choked out all the breath in your lungs.

You should have understood, there and then, that something wasn’t quite right.

But you simply blamed your sickness on your frail emotional status, still hurt by Ivar’s aggression, in the previous night.

You managed to get up and circle the bed, before your stomach grunted annoyed but worst of all was the fact that the air was suddenly knocked away from your lungs as your limbs lost their strength, hence you needed to harshly grab on the small table next to the bed, as you felt acid bile raise from your throat.

And then you looked down and saw blood on your night gown.

Your monthly bleeding had paid you a visit.

With its usual timing.

You now understood the stomachache and worst of all the weakness in your limbs.

Had you known it, you wouldn’t have raised yourself from bed so swiftly.

Your monthly bleeding always made you weaker and it also made your stomach turn against you, as it pierced you from the inside painfully and gruesomely.

And it didn’t take long for the weakness in your limbs to spread to your mind, as your vision was shadowed, and your breath became shallow.

And right when your legs were buckling up underneath you, you felt two strong arms around you and suddenly a sound entered your ears, although you couldn’t quite piece where it was coming from and who uttered it.

At first it was your name and finally your ears registered it was male and it wasn’t difficult for you to realize that it was Ivar, who lightly pushed his nose up your neck in a way that made your overheated body thrill pleasurably, but there wasn’t any intention to pleasure you, as his worried tone huskily told you to breath.

‘Breath’ he commanded you and his body followed his order as it relaxed allowing your mouth to open to breath properly, as your vision came back “… breath (Y/N), yes like that, sweet one, like that”.

And like that he led you back to the bed, as your legs lightly brushed against his frozen crutch showing you that he hadn’t even put on the calibers.

And he lightly pushed you onto the sheets, pushing your back against the cold headboard which brought you extreme relief as your drenched back met it, letting out a languid moan, as you opened your eyes, ashamed of your freeness.

But Ivar, except the light blush on his cheeks, just kept his eyes focused on you.

And you remembered the stain on your nightgown you shot a quick look at the stain on the bed, and Ivar immediately followed your gaze, finding the blood, before a quick look to your nightgown revealed to him what you were thinking.

“Are you…?” he seemed shocked as anger filled his eyes “… hurt?”.

“It’s my monthly bleeding” you muttered out almost breathlessly due to your shame and tiredness “… it gets me like this sometimes, I need to bathe”:

Because, if the sweat didn’t make you already feel dirty, certainly the blood between your legs and on the bed did.

You had caused a mess.

And in your sudden confusion mixed with tiredness, you blushed at Ivar, muttering a small:

“Sorry”.

But he didn’t seem in the slightest fazed, simply caressing your face as he checked whether you were responsive or not.

“I have seen many battlefields and believe me this doesn’t faze me…” he replied honestly “… I’ll ask the guards to wake Turid and Solveig, do you feel like you won’t faint again?”.

“I don’t think I will, and in case this bed is soft” you promised him as you exchanged tired smirks and he did move to get the guards as you tried to adjust yourself to avoid a mess, lightly pushing up your nightgown, since the fabric of the nightgown was too heavy, for you to properly breath.

The light breeze of wind that came with the opened tent, made you moan lightly as you felt it gently against your naked skin, embarrassed of the exposed way your body was offering itself to Ivar’s sight.

Who, respectfully shed his eyes away, although he sat next to you.

Right when your stomach started hurting you again, your face twisting in a grimace.

“… does it hurt?” asked Ivar, his voice lightly roughed up by his morning breath and you lightly nodded your head at him, since you just couldn’t hide your uneasiness “…where?”.

“My stomach…” you mumbled, lightly “… I usually get a warm towel on it, it helps a bit”.

“Wait” Ivar lightly stuck out his tongue as he seemed to focus himself, before his hand positioned itself on your stomach, lightly pressing, trying to look at you for any sign of unease, but you moaned out pleasurably as the warmth of his hand numbed the pain “… is it good?”.

“Yes, thank you” you mumbled, closing your eyes at the comfortable situation, as Ivar mumbled lightly his even breath calming you, lightly lulling you “My mother used to do this too, whenever my stomach ached”.

As soon as your words left your mouth, you regretted them.

Even more as you realized how intimate and silly those words were.

It was something that only your sisters knew, since it was what your mother used to do also to them, calming them softly as she moved a hand onto your stomach to make their stomachaches pass faster.

Till now also Kathleen would sometimes do it to you, when you felt the horribly.

“Mine used to kiss the zones that hurt, and tell me that she had magic lips that made everything better” he told you, and you couldn’t help but laugh lightly, at the sweetness your moms had given you.

And at the gentle confession he had gifted you.

“If it doesn’t pass, I’ll tell Solveig to give you some of my herbs to help lessen the pain” he mumbled, and you just shook your head.

“It isn’t so bad, and it usually lasts only one day” you explained but Ivar didn’t look to convinced “… it is Eve’s burden, it shouldn’t be lessened by anything, it is a divine punishment…”.

“You aren’t Christian, anymore, little one” he mumbled, suddenly his lips lightly grazing your forehead, and you weren’t sure whether it was a nice gesture or if he was checking your temperature as your mother did “… you don’t have to tolerate pain”.

Why was it like that?

Because every time Ivar was sweet with you, it was either after he had screwed up everything or before he was going to.

And it left such a bad taste in your mouth.

The thought of not being able to trust him fully.

“I’ll think about it” you muttered your tone definitely more sober.

And you were almost thankful when Solveig announced her presence with a light cough, and you couldn’t help but blush lightly, being caught in such a private moment.

“… my princess?” she asked softly, as she ordered to Turid a change of clean clothes.

“She has her monthly bleeding” explained directly Ivar for you as you blushed even redder, lightly slapping his arm ad he turned to you confused.

“Don’t… that’s private” you mumbled, sending an apologizing look at Solveig, who simply smiled, too roughed up by age to be truly embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, princess, we have been through that many and many times” she made you feel comfortable as Ivar moved to help you up as if you were made of china.

And you couldn’t help but huff at the affectionate annoyance, as Solveig took you in her arms, although you felt much steadier in your walking, solely your stomach aching, as Solveig lightly blurted out various facts about being a woman and Turid moved to start the bed anew.

Ivar followed you with his gaze till you entered in the private bathroom, adverting his gaze as Solveig helped you out of your dress, for which you were thankful.

You heard him getting ready in the other room, meanwhile Turid came back with some linen to help you in, after you got out of the bathtub, Ivar not in sight, although you could hear his grunts as he put on the calibers.

You moved in another nightgown, this one shorter, leaving your arms uncovered, as it brought your figure to be hidden under the veiled fabric something for which you were thankful, since you had taken one look at the mirror and found your belly swollen.

But Ivar still looked taken aback as you emerged from the steam of the tub, your skin lightly rosy and heated, as Solveig still accompanied you, but at a larger distance, meanwhile Turid had finished with setting up the bed, again clean and Ivar sat at a chair near the entrance.

He looked somewhat impatient.

And you immediately reasoned it was probably because he was late to where he should be.

“You can go, I won’t faint, I swear”.

“Don’t” his tone was dashingly sarcastic “My guards won’t trust it, anymore”.

“I did it only one time!” you protested looking at the sky, as he moved to limp lightly to your bed, to salute you more warmly and although you should have been pissed, you welcomed again his kiss on your cheek, before he prompted the two thralls to follow every order of yours.

‘… and starts the herbs’ he muttered tightly at Solveig, who nodded, meanwhile your glance became lightly sour.

And then he exited the tent, leaving you with your stomachache, a fretting Solveig and a comforting Turid, who was honestly the only person you wanted to be around, lately.

But your quiet was short-lived since your flock of handmaidens entered your tent, all probably alerted by Turid, as they fretted around nervously, chit-chatting as you sent a pleading look at Solveig, but she simply smiled at you and muttered ‘the perks of being a princess’.

Angelika fell down next to you on the bed.

“You should seriously consider that God hates you” she mumbled, as she closed her eyes, evidently enjoying the sensation of the fluffy mattress, where you invited the other girl to rest, comfortably “… one day you escape a poisoning attempt, and the next… you get your period”.

“God doesn’t give us anything that we can’t tolerate” you replied, harshly as you turned away, more than happy to adjust yourself to face a smirking Lia.

“Do you talk to your heathen husband with that tongue?” she contrasted you, but not with the usual bite, and you couldn’t help but feel like she was teasing you like Kathleen would do, and it brought a smile to your face.

“… I talk to my husband how I want” you replied sharply, and all the handmaiden muttered a tight ‘oh’ as they moved closer to you, curious.

“She hit him on the arm, this morning” muttered Solveig in a tight Norse that only Angelika and Caryn understood, and the former giggled lightly, sending you an amazing look, meanwhile the latter’s lips simply opened in a smirk.

Soon a few of your handmaidens went away, reassured you wouldn’t bleed out, as Angelika followed them for their daily chores, giggling with a few as Lia sent you a confused look, but you simply ordered her.

“Don’t leave her behind”.

Caryn still stayed and you knew why.

Although the haze of the stomachache still butchered your mind, you kept it tight and sharp as she came closer, almost as if she was checking on you.

But she had more to confess.

“I didn’t tell him about the letters I sent to the bishop” she mumbled through her teeth, and you tried your best to wield your face in a calm one, surprised by the fact that she hadn’t betrayed you so easily.

“There isn’t anything scandalous in my letters to bishop Heahmund” you replied with the same secretive tone “… they are for my sisters”.

And then, coded inside there were some news in Latin.

“I know, my lady” she spoke softly, but you couldn’t help but be glad of her admission.

Her last show of loyalty.

“What will you do now that you are free?” you asked gently, wanting to shift away the attention from your original theme of conversation, since the burn of the betrayal was still burning “… will you return to England? I’ll ask Hvitserk to accompany you…”.

“I have decided to stay with you” her affirmation was convinced and sincere, as if it was an obvious decision “… at least till you’ll go back to Kattegat”.

“You are free, Caryn and you don’t owe me anything” you tried to explain to her.

As much as you felt hurt by her betrayal, you couldn’t deny that you’d have done the same.

You were doing the same.

It was simply a game of survival.

And everyone didn’t play fair.

Even more your husband.

Caryn seemed taken aback by your words and lowered her head.

“Yet, I’ll stay” she promised “… and I’ll try to make up for what I destroyed”.

“You don’t have any make up to do” you explained, as you lightly pushed yourself to sit more properly “:.. this isn’t… the Vikings have taken so much from you, and you can’t blame yourself for wanting a shot at freedom, I don’t blame you”.

“But you don’t trust me” she uttered, as if that saying hurt her.

“Sadly, I can’t, not right now”.

After everything that had happened, you just couldn’t.

And you weren’t sure you would ever.

“I understand that” she mumbled lowering her head and moving up as she also exited, finally leaving you with Turid, who lightly moved around the room adjusting everything out his place, and eventually you took pity on the poor girl.

“Turid, won’t you make me company?” you mumbled, patting lightly the seat next to you and although she squealed what sounded like a tight ‘no no’, but you didn’t let her much choice “… don’t make me order you to sit down, before you give me an headache”.

And the poor thrall nodded, siting down at the end of the bed, as you dug out a book from your pillow, Cicero, ‘Pro Archia’.

You had thought it’d be fitting.

Hadn’t Cicero just squandered his talent over a case he had already won.

But it was familiar to you, in a way that almost hugged you to comfort, as you waited for Solveig to come back with the herbs.

It wasn’t the pain you were fearful, but of what the pain did to your mind, keeping it from being sharp and lucid when it should have been at its best.

God would forgive you.

Not that it mattered much to you, anyway.

As Angelika had said, you weren’t much beloved by Him either way.

And you were enjoying your beloved calmness, when your tent was opened again.

You thought it was Solveig, probably rushing in, since all the older handmaidens were busy with chores.

Sadly, it was Halfdan.

Turid immediately got up, and you expected her to move around the tent again, but instead, she stood her ground, looking up and down Halfdan, as she physically shielded you with her tiny body.

But Haldan looked definitely intimidated.

“I just…”.

The look in the girl’s eyes that you could see reflected in the mirror at the entrance spoke of steely nights and threats.

“…. I need to talk with the princess” and he made to move forward, but Turid stopped him, moving to block his road and hadn’t you been extremely angry at him, almost scared, you would have gladly laughed, at the funny scene.

But again, you spared the poor girl.

“Turid, get Hvitserk” because you wouldn’t have a conversation with him without one of the brothers being outside “… and you, Halfdan, will wait outside, meanwhile I get changed”.

And you sent him a look that told him to obey your order.

And he exited, almost defeated, the room, meanwhile Solveig entered it with the herbs, making you drink the smelly brew, which didn’t taste better and you thought that certainly if it wouldn’t have made you feel better, you would have retched your own pain.

Solveig then pushed you in a sober dark green silky dress, which was loose on your front, falling in a linear gown, not very flattering but you couldn’t just greet Halfdan in a nightgown.

Actually, if it had been to you, you wouldn’t have greeted him.

Hvitserk appeared on the threshold a bit later, as he regarded Halfdan with a hasty look right when Solveig finished pushing your hair up with an emerald pin, as a few strands of hair fell down your neck, graciously.

“Tell me what you have come here to talk and then leave” you mumbled regarding him, sat onto your bed, although you tried to keep your more upright position, almost as if you were on a throne.

Your elegant emerald necklace, you were wearing, catching the light coming from the open tent flap, so the guards would barge immediately in if Halfdan tried anything, although Hvitserk already had a hand on his sword looked definitely intimidating.

“I am sorry it had to go that way”.

“Are you truly sorry or are you sorry just because you got discovered?” you muttered, spitting those words as if they were poisoned.

“… it wasn’t meant to get that way” he mumbled darkly, and Hvitserk raised himself so suddenly that you were also caught by surprise as he moved to push his chest against Halfdan, effectively getting the man to back off.

“Oh, it was meant to get you on the throne, wasn’t it” he commented tightly, as he faced tightly and harshly the man “… but you underestimated us, son of a bitch”.

“My brother did” he commented, before he shot you a light look “I never did”.

“Then why did you do it?” you asked him, your voice tight, as you were a bit affected by the suddenness of Hvitserk’s actions and Halfdan’s words.

“I told my brother not to do it, not to go against you, that he wouldn’t have won…” he spoke, almost like a broken record “… but he didn’t listen”.

“And yet you supported him” spat out Hvitserk, almost offended for you.

“He is my brother”.

And you couldn’t deny that you would have done the same thing.

Your expression of annoyance softened, as you got up from the bed, the dress falling onto your legs and pooling on the floor, as it followed you.

You moved closer to him, under the attentive eyes of Hvitserk.

“You chose your loyalty Halfdan” you mumbled tightly “… I hope that the time away will help you see that we can choose our own path, instead of following other’s”.

And you turned, because it just hurt you.

To think that you, deep down, were exactly like him: following the path somebody had laid out for you and trying to protect your older sister.

You heard Hvitserk led him out, although Halfdan insisted you weren’t finished but you simply mumbled ‘have a safe travel’, and moved again onto the bed, facing away from everything as you looked at the reflection of your hair on the pillow, lightly catching the rays of sun that pierced through the tent.

“… he isn’t going to die” mumbled Hvitserk, almost as if he thought that you were feeling sad because you felt guilty “… he’ll have his fun travelling the Mediterranean with Bjorn”.

“And what about Harald?”.

You were honestly relived you wouldn’t have to deal with the arrogant king, because he honestly didn’t seem trustworthy in the slightest, and you didn’t want any more plotting, seeing the mess it had thrown you in.

But you were almost grateful to the king for having made you see who you could trust and who you couldn’t.

“He’ll go back to his lands” he explained as he sat down on the end of the bed, raising lightly his bright eyes to meet yours, as you brought your legs close to your chest, to help ease the pain you were feeling in your stomach.

The herbs wouldn’t be working at least for half an hour after consumption, had explained to you Solveig, but you just hoped they’d rush in, since the pain wasn’t making you focus.

“… I am glad to hear that” you uttered with a grimace and Hvitserk lowered his head, thinking that it was for him.

“I know that… you are pissed with him because I sided with Ivar…”.

“I could never be pissed with you for that” you stopped him, as you searched his eyes “I have two sisters and I’ll always side with them, no matter what”.

The discourse seemed to have made him gain something, as life was brought back in his eyes, almost as a dog who had received a praise.

“:.. but I am annoyed that you went behind my back, because I thought we were…” ‘friends’ but it was more.

He had acted with you almost as an older brother for which you were honestly thankful, but it pained you more to know that he had chosen his side.

And it wasn’t yours.

You couldn’t simply trust him again.

But you also couldn’t push him away.

“… but if you get me some sweets from the kitchens, my annoyance with you will certainly grow weaker”.

And you hadn’t seen a man move faster, as Hvitserk dashed to you, quickly planting a small kiss on your forehead, mumbling something about ‘feeling blessed’, before disappearing again.

A few minutes he was back again with so many sweets that you couldn’t help but wonder whether Vikings simply didn’t like sweets or he had stolen all of them before the others could lay an hand on them, but apparently Hvitserk has a surprise for you.

“Apparently, my dear brother has gotten them made, because he knows that you like them” and he sent you a devious smirk, as you stole the sweet in his hands to stuff your mouth with it, glad that your stomach had started to return normal.

But the herbs had left you hungry.

And sleepy.

“… oh, did he?” you mumbled, as you lightly licked the cream off one of the sweets you had been presented with.

“He did” muttered Hvitserk with a conspiring tone, as he raised an eyebrow “I’ll let you in a secret”.

“Oh, do indulge me” you mumbled, pursuing your lips in a small smile.

“I do think that he likes you”.

You erupted in laughter, loud enough to make a guard’s face appear from the behind the tent flap because he thought you were choking on something, as Hvitserk excused your antics, mumbling to him that you were alright.

“I do think that I know that, he has married me, after all” you replied, as soon as your breath came back, lightly moving your fingers to show him your ring.

“Yeah, but…” Hvitserk seemed so focused that another laughter found its way from your mouth “… but Ivar wasn’t ever interested in females, he had… a bad experience… and then never approached them”.

“A bad experience?” you asked, but Hvitserk ignored you, so you just shoved down that knowledge, listening close to Hvitserk’s incoherent mumbles.

“… and then suddenly he said that he’d marry this English princess, that she was beautiful and smart, and…”.

“Wait” you stopped him, as your eyes met “… he said this before he got to know me, how?”.

“That’s what I asked myself!” retorted Hvitserk “… because… English women are stuck up and annoying… no offense obviously”.

“I’ll need more sweets for that” you retorted, as you grabbed all the sweets that Hvitserk had on his part, gaining a sad puppy look, but you didn’t back down from your decision.

“… and we tried to get him to back off, but he was simply too convinced…” he breathed out, before a small smile appeared on his face “… what I am trying to say is that… my brother likes you, like he does, he isn’t the best at showing it…”:

“He arrested me for attempted poisoning when he knew I wasn’t guilty”.

“… yeah, he doesn’t know how to express emotions, but he is attentive and I know that you have every right to be pissed at him… it’s better him than me… but… he cares for you”.

Your cheeks blushed although you tried to hold yourself upright and to keep up some kind of royal look, as you devoured another sweet, hoping it’d also sweeten the perception you had of Ivar.

The way he had grabbed you so strongly the previous night, and yet the sweet way he had taken care of you this morning….

Why couldn’t he be seriously the monster of the fairy tales you had heard so much about?

It would have made everything easier.

Included spilling his secrets to Heahmund and hating him.

“… I’ll keep that in mind”.

“And I am totally not saying that because my brother is cranky when you are angry with him” he blurted out, sending you a pleading look “… that time you walked in him meanwhile he was plotting, he screamed for ten minutes at the guards and then I had to tell him that the way to a woman’s heart is through the stomach… quite literally”.

“You…?” you erupted in a laughter, imagining Ivar doing what Hvitserk had told you, as you rolled down the bed, in a very unladylike manner “… are you serious?”.

“I swear it on my honor”.

“There isn’t much to swear on, then” you teased him, as he sent you a light awful look “… I am joking… maybe”.

“The first day you walked in the camping I swore that you wouldn’t have lasted a day, you were too sweet…” he mumbled tightly “… I apparently lost some money with that fucker of Bjorn, because it turns out you are worse than I thought”.

“Didn’t you enjoy the poison ivy in your bed?” you retorted, feeling slightly guilty for it.

“Was it you?!” he exclaimed, faking a betrayed look on his face, as you laughed soundly “I thought it was a prank from … Ivar… Gosh, you two are seriously made for the other”.

“Next time you’ll cross me, sweets won’t save you” you muttered, pushing another sweet in your mouth, meanwhile Hvitserk just looked at you as a beaten puppy “… don’t they call Ivar, ruthless? Well I’ll be that too”.

“I don’t know why I am even surprised” he muttered, sending you a serious look “… you English women are full of surprises”.

You just sent him an enigmatic kiss.

You ate the morning away and slept the afternoon, guarded by your handmaidens that took turns to entertain you, and tell you what had been happening meanwhile you were left in your tent.

And you sadly realized your relationship with the Vikings was even more strained.

But you were proud to hear both Lia and Arabella asking you whether they could join you on your training, as Eleanor hid under the brunette, who had a loose arm around here, almost as if it was second nature to them.

‘Obviously, we’d join it when we are not essential to the chores in the camp’ stumbled through words Lia, definitely at unease.

You had simply shaken your head, telling them that they could train whenever they wanted.

‘… at the condition that you won’t laugh when you see me training’ you made them swear as they already giggled, before they threw themselves in a gossiping moment, mumbling about the sudden change in Angelika.

“I kid you not, but she asked me if she could be helpful with anything!” almost screeched Eleanor, here pretty eyes, shining almost dripping honey as naivety and surprise took them.

“She is currently folding some of your underwear, my lady” grinned Lia “… but I am not sure if you’ll have any underwear by the end of it”.

“Why?” you asked lightly curious “… she can’t do that much damage simply folding laundry”.

And they all sent you a look that meant ‘you shall see’.

Angelika did, in fact, come to you with your folded clothes, a bit scrunched up and wrinkly but you were honestly surprised that the girl had chosen to collaborate with the others, so you were more than happy to also gossip a bit with her, till your lids became too heavy for a talking spar.

“… did your husband tire you out, last night” she suggested maliciously, making you open your eyes to roll them at her antics.

“Yes, but not in the way you are thinking” you pursued your lips, as you sunk your teeth in them.

“Don’t bite your lips or you’ll make them break” lightly reprimanded you Angelika “… make him bite his lips, give him a bit of hell of his own”.

“I just wasn’t… I am not the type” because every time you had tried to confront Ivar it didn’t… it never worked well for you “… it is hard for me to use harsh words and…”.

“You don’t have to” mumbled Angelika with a sincere look “… there is a kindness to you that is definitely more effective than any shouting”.

You couldn’t help but be moved by her gentle words.

As she left you, you slept again a bit, eventually settling up to play with the cube that Floki had gifted you on your wedding.

From what you had gathered, each face of the cube was divided in smaller cubes that were signed with a different rune, meaning for it to form some kind of phrase, as you matched the smaller cubes, but whenever you found some meaning to the toy, the next movement would break away your phrase.

It was almost more frustrating that talking with Ivar.

Who walked in as you continued on trying new movements, as the wooden cubes clicked against each other, the sole noise in the room since Ivar kept himself silent, staring at you from the threshold, till you raised lightly your head.

He looked like he had been caught admiring you, and Hvitserk’s words came back to you.

He lightly bowed his head, muttering lightly an ‘hello’, as you adjusted yourself in bed, as he came closer, hiding something behind his back.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he came to sit up on a chair next to the bed, as you exited the bed to come helping him with his calibers.

“Better” you mumbled softly “… I have taken the herbs, but the second day isn’t as bad as the first”.

And as you were moving to lower yourself, Ivar stopped you, gently grabbing your hand, his roughness surprising but you wheeled your face to keep straight as you were surprised by such an intimate gesture.

“Can we talk?” he honestly seemed almost to expect you to reject him again, like the previous night, as if you held some power over him.

“I do think that we need it” you mumbled, in answer, as you moved a chair to sit in front of him and he set up what he was hiding behind his back on the table between you.

And you recognized immediately the shape: a crown.

It was a circlet of gold with rubies on it, but they were shaped to form small roses as the clearness of the crystal caught the light of the candles intensely, shining of bright red, meanwhile the golden almost became white.

It was a beautiful creation.

“It’s yours” he muttered tightly between his teeth, without raising his eyes from your joined hands, as you sent him a surprised glance, before you again reigned your face to keep it clean from any emotion.

“I won’t simply forget the humiliation you have put me through because of a nice jewel”.

Your father always did the same with your mother.

And not because he felt bad for what he had done to her, but because jewels would cover bruises.

“It isn’t a simple nice jewel” he chewed on his words, almost as if he was still thinking before he started speaking “… it is… an oath to you”.

“What… what do you mean?” you asked, sending him a confused look.

“You say that my words are fickle…” the taste of those words brought a sour taste on his mouth, but he still said them “… so I thought that this could hold much more to you”.

“I am not following you…”.

And he almost scared you with the fastness he showed as he reached out for the crown, gripping it, till the ruby roses dug in his skin and blood seeped through it, staining the crown as you realized what he meant.

He was swearing to you.

And although it wasn’t your custom, you couldn’t help but feel the holiness of this.

You bit your lips unsure whether to stop him or let him continue that blasphemy.

“… I swear, princess (Y/N), that my plot against you yesterday will be the last act against you” he swore, as he pushed himself on his knees, although you were aware it was painful.

A part of you wanted to take pity on him.

But another part, the one that won, kept on looking at him, to see how far he’d push himself for you

“… my words might have been… untruthful” he didn’t seem convinced about it, but an harsh look from you gave him all the conviction he needed “I mean no harm to you and I swear this upon this crown, that might for ever remind us of this, that it is the last time that I don’t speak the truth to you, that I don’t respect you”.

And you couldn’t help but believe him.

Although you shouldn’t have.

And you didn’t let yourself go so easily.

“This isn’t enough” because as much as he had sworn to you never to cross you, he had some sides that you had just caught glimpse of.

And you had to understand whether the true Ivar was the sweet one that’d cherish you at your lowest or the ruthless one everybody knew.

“Then let me know what I have to do, and I’ll do it” he swore, loudly, as his hand joined yours, and his eyes raised to you.

You weren’t feeling any pressure at all, for sure…

And then the words slipped out of your mouth, on their own.

Maybe because it had been something that you had wanted to do, since after your first ‘night together’.

“Spend a day with me” you told him, softly, as your hand reciprocated the grip on yours and your eyes shine fully “… let me know you, as the man you are when you aren’t with others”.

‘And please don’t reveal yourself to be the monster of every English story’.

And everything in him seemed to come to life, as he immediately proceeded to kiss the back your hand, bringing it to his lips, with a gratefulness that made you blush and push away your hand from him, almost burned.

The place his lips had touched did indeed burn, as you brushed away the evidence of it, as if it had left a burn on it, but Ivar looked quite satisfied as he moved to crawl against in the chair.

“You are truly a woman of mercy, princess (Y/N)” he muttered, as he shot you a soft look, although his eyes sparkled of malice and you shot him an annoyed glance, more to hide your embarrassment than actually for anything else.

“… you aren’t forgiven… yet” you bit, your lips, eyeing him, your eyes strangely focusing on the handsome cut of his jaw, as it moved to form a smirk, and you were impressed by the strength in his neck, as it moved to send you a knowing look, as if to say he knew you weren’t annoyed with him, anymore.

And you intensified your haughty glance.

But nobody would have believed it.

“Aren’t you Christians supposed to be creature of mercy?” he mumbled, as he kept on that impenitent look.

“Not a Christian anymore, husband” you retorted, willing yourself to keep your answer short not to give him any satisfaction “… I don’t think I ever was, I loved too much the myths to believe in anything that wasn’t them”.

Something like interest appeared in Ivar’s face, but you raised from the chair, with every intention of getting yourself in bed, since, although the pain was slowly leaving, it certainly hadn’t been an easy day for you.

“Before you go to sleep… just try it on for me” he asked of you, no expectation in his voice, as he held out the crown for you, cleaning it from the blood against his own tunic, for which you reprimanded him, because ‘Solveig had already enough to wash’.

But you indulged him.

Even more because that piece was of an intricate beauty

And you hadn’t gotten many gifts.

Your father hadn’t certainly made you lack anything, except affection, but every gift seemed like a debt you owned to him.

Whereas this one… was precious.

And not solely because of the materials, but Ivar’s oath on it.

You adjusted it on top of your hair, lightly checking you out in your nightgown as you brushed back your hair before you threaded it among them, finding it quite fitting.

And you did allow yourself a moment of vanity.

Although you were in a comfortable nightgown, nothing too fancy, the crown nobilitated the entire assemble and as it caught the light of the candle, reflecting it with reddish sparkles.

And then you turned to a smiling Ivar.

He looked like you were the most perfect creature in the world.

And you blushed, your cheeks almost as red as the rubies of your crown.

“… it is beautiful” you muttered, diverting the look from him, almost ashamed and thinking that you weren’t worthy of it “… I look like a princess”.

“No” he replied, as his face took an almost ecstatic look “… you look like a queen”.

---

You woke up with a light tampering against your shoulder, as Ivar gently caressed your naked shoulder, since the nightgown’s arm straps had lowered lightly, revealing some heated skin.

At first you moved away, humming for more sleep.

But Ivar’s laughter followed his gesture, as he lightly brought your hair away from your face.

And you leaned in his hand, gently welcoming the warmth and roughness of those familiar hand, as you slowly brought yourself out of the sleep mist.

And as you turned to face properly Ivar, you blushed lightly at the nearness you had, and you scooted lightly away, a dash of blush on your face, but he smirked tightly at you, admiring your form.

“Good morning” he mumbled softly, as you hummed a response, trying to make your mind function under the watchful gaze of those pool of skies, definitely your favorite color.

He was blessed beyond measure with looks.

And he looked so sinful, all relaxed and teasing.

Excited almost by the way his eyes were full-blown, his long hair out of the braids, making you want to push a hand through them, to feel their texture since they seemed quite silky and full of volume.

And then those lips…

… Gosh, you spent all too much time thinking about them.

“… still want to pass the day with me?” he asked you jokingly, as he raised an eyebrow, but his eyes hid more.

He was almost scared for you to back out.

“Why would I not want to pass time together with my beloved?” your tone was sickly sweet, and now you were the one who was teasing him, as your hand searched for his, lightly gripping it as you brought his attention to you.

“Because you look quite sleepy” he replied tightly, as his hand gripped yours and before you knew he had brought you in a loose hug, and the part of you, who was sleepy, craved his warmth, as you cradled closer to him, before flashes of the previous night appeared in your mind.

You couldn’t surrender simply because Ivar used his devilish charm against you.

And you had enough.

“No, absolutely, I am awake!” you replied tightly as you moved away, exiting the warmth of your bed, rushing to the bathroom “… get yourself ready, I wouldn’t want to lose a single hour without you”.

“You are mean” he complained with a wicked look.

“You married me” you retorted, as you got yourself in bathroom, getting ready to change your linens, adjusting your hair, meanwhile your heard Ivar rummaging around, getting ready.

You changed quite quickly and without the help of your handmaidens, since the assemble you had chosen was simple, because if you had to spend the morning with Ivar you couldn’t have anything that would slow down.

Hence your beloved pants were on, alongside a light shirt covered with a woolen jacket.

You pushed your hair up, bringing two sides of it to join on your back of the hair with a golden pin, with shiny pearls on it, in order to bring the hair away from your face, in a less pompous look.

As you exited the bathroom, yawning lightly, you caught Ivar, doing his braid on his bed, although he seemed highly at unease and you set yourself down, beside him, gently slapping away his hands, and pushing them in his hands.

You almost wanted to moan at the softness of those tresses, surprised they were clean and silky, since you never saw him bathe, although you thought he either did when you were outside or early in the morning when you slept.

“… where did you learn to braid?” he asked, as you calmly moved the tresses between themselves, trying to get yourself used to the shorter hair.

“I have sisters…” you mumbled lightly “… an older one who couldn’t keep her hairstyle for more than a few hours and a younger one, who…”.

Your voice broke as you found yourself admitting that you had taken in the role of your mother when your sister Abigail was younger and she would escape the handmaiden’s hands because they weren’t as nice as yours-

You’d make a small Abigail sit down on your lap and then proceed to make her talk so she wouldn’t protest against you braiding her hair.

“Is it better to have sisters?” he asked, almost curious, at your tone.

“I wouldn’t know, I didn’t have anything to compare it with” you raised an eyebrow lightly “Is it better to have brothers?”.

Ivar’s eyes became suddenly dark, a shadow appearing in them, as you moved to adjust yourself a bit further away from him, scared of what would be going on.

But then he just shook his head.

“I wouldn’t know, I didn’t have anything to compare it with”.

“Don’t steal my words” you reprimanded him, as you felt the atmosphere growing lighter, before he pushed himself up to his feet, having slipped in the calibers, probably helped by the guards, as you did the same “… what do you have planned for today?”.

“First a trip to the kitchen and then…” his eyes shone of true interest “… then I want to show you a place”.

You nodded following him, as you saluted all the handmaidens, wishing them ‘good morning’.

“I’ll spend the morning with prince Ivar, so you have the day off” you mumbled, before your gaze set up on both Lia and Arabella “… I asked Hvitserk to pass here later so that he could bring you to Nanna, send her my regards”.

“We will” commented softly Lia, meanwhile Arabella’s eyes just shone.

And you proceeded for a brief stop to the main kitchen, glad of your common attire, which wouldn’t attract many gazes, although Hvitserk recognized you, but simply sent you a smirk as he saw Ivar emerge from the kitchen with a basket.

‘Bring the girls to Nanna’ you remembered him, as you passed him, Ivar laughing at your commanding tone.

“My brother isn’t used to women ordering him around” he justified it as you both moved to the stables, to get Bukefalos and his chariot, the white horse, immediately saluting you excitedly, enough to scare the poor stable boy.

Not as much as Ivar did still.

“Neither are you” you teased him, with a light wink, moving to calm down the animal, meanwhile his shocked eyes followed you and you simply focused every inch of attention onto the horse.

Spying with your side-eye Ivar.

You had allowed him another chance not simply to stay on his good side, but also for the fact that you had to see a side of Ivar that was utterly him.

You were justifying your choice with the fact that you needed it to report to Heahmund.

Who except seeing him in the hall, he hadn’t checked on you, since you had gotten accused of poisoning, and although you recognized it was a smart move to let any suspicious thoughts fall…

… it just made you wonder if he was truly here to protect you and serve his country and not keep you from running away.

And steal your thoughts.

“Get my chariot ready” you heard Ivar utter to the stable boy, effectively leaving you alone.

And a part of you feared he had done it to teach you a lesson.

Since he had touched you so harshly two nights ago, flashes of him and your father alternated in your mind.

Had it been your father, he’d have punished you privately.

But Ivar simply came closer to you, gently proceeding to caress the horse, as you lowered your trembling hands, hiding them in the pockets of your pants.

“… what kind of name is Bukefalos?” he asked softly, probably having perceived your uneasiness.

“Alexander the Great’s horse was named Bukefalos” you explained, chasing away his eyes with yours, as you stared at the dirty floor “… he was a restless horse, aggressive with anyone but Alexander, who had learnt he feared his shadow”.

You felt Ivar’s eyes on you, but you refused to meet his gaze, as you exited the stables feeling the stable boy entering inside again, and you were more than glad to let him work alone, glad to bash under the rays of sun that day you had been blessed with.

Ivar joined you, after he had instructed the stable boy, his voice now calmer than the one he had used before.

“… he is quite untamed” he mumbled as he joined you “… Buke… whatever was that mythic stallion name… we have a similar one…”.

“Sleipnir” you commented, before he could finish the phrase, the blush on your cheeks following the words you proceeded to say “… bore by Loki, who joined himself with the horse Svaðilfœri”.

“You certainly do like mythology” he mumbled, laughing lightly, as it shattered a bit the tension.

“It is just interesting… to see the links between peoples” you replied “… these stories were the foundation of society and their rules, and I just…”.

“It gives a magic that life doesn’t have, doesn’t it?”.

You felt like Ivar spoke the words you had never found, and nodded eagerly, as you finally met his eyes, finding them looking at you with admiration and… tenderness.

Your small talk was interrupted by the stable boy to tell Ivar his chariot was ready, and although you had heard quite the impressive talk about his war chariot, it didn’t seem so… imposing and scary, now

Ivar pushed himself on it, before he extended an hand to help you, Bukefalos neighing his impatience at your uncertainty, since you couldn’t help but feel like the thing seemed pretty ‘dangerous’, it hadn’t anything that resembled your English chariots.

And Ivar immediately saw through you.

“I won’t make you fall off” he joked lightly, as you bit your lips, eventually moving the first steps to raise yourself onto it.

“I’ll hold you onto that promise” you mumbled, as you nervously moved to adjust yourself, so that you were right in front of the chariot, and Ivar behind you, keeping you steady between his arms, with extreme expertise.

His body pressed against you in a way that would have been highly improper, even more if you were husband and wife, but Ivar’s body held this kind of steadiness and strength that made you relax lightly, as you thought about how much Kathleen would have liked this.

She would pretend to ride old carpets as if they were her own personal horses or try to run down the stairs onto a kitchen tray.

“I swear it on your crown” he mumbled, before he pushed Bukefalos to move.

And you had to admit that it wasn’t as bad as you had thought.

It wasn’t bad in the slightest, although your legs trembled as you finally arrived in the secluded area Ivar had brought you to.

But it had felt good.

You loved riding horses, but you couldn’t help but feel like in this case you were living more in the moment.

You were free.

“Was it that terrible?” joked Ivar as he helped you get down, meanwhile you just giggled.

“It was beautiful, Gosh, it just felt so damn…”.

“… like you were truly alive?” taunted you your husband, as he gently pushed his arms around your waist, and you should have jumped, but you just stayed there for a moment, observing the curious boy that was looking at you behind his eyelashes.

Clear blue eyes tinted with amusement, whether for your red-tinted cheeks or for your messy hair.

Or simply because you had smiled at him.

“Yeah, when Floki made it for me I honestly felt like I was reborn” he mumbled, as you finally jumped down, still in his arms, bound strongly around your waist, almost as if he didn’t want to let you go.

You almost wished he didn’t.

The comfort of his body against yours, almost making you dizzy.

“… it was my chance to run”.

You nodded, although you knew that you wouldn’t have been able to understand, and let Ivar adjust the chariot and Bukefalos, as you explored where he had bought you.

A part of you had known that it might not have been the best idea to go with him to a secluded area, even more with things between you two being unresolved.

But you were trying to give him a chance to make you trust him again.

And you had Bukefalos on your own.

The place where he had brought you was a small clearing in the middle of the woods, lightly blessed with a mirror of sunlight all for itself, in an almost idyllic picture that made you utter a soft whimper of happiness as the tips of grass graces against your hand as you touched it.

It was a beautiful situation.

Because you weren’t a princess anymore, and neither a wife.

You were simply one with the nature.

“I knew you would have liked it” commented Ivar.

And you couldn’t help but wonder why such a tormented and wary person found his calmness in this piece of heaven.

And Ivar read your question in your eyes.

“It isn’t… common for me, I know, but…” he bit his lips as if he wanted to hold the truth inside of them “… I spent a lot of time alone as a child… and if I didn’t… sometimes the… world would be too loud, so I found myself my own small… place where I could be alone”.

It was a true confession and you couldn’t help but feel the rawness of his emotions.

And you believed him.

“… and I know… that you also feel like that. sometimes” he mumbled, proving what Hvisterk had told you.

He had been attentive about you.

“So, I thought you might need this” he muttered, as the tone of his voice moved into ramblings, as if he wasn’t sure of it “… so that you can come…”.

“Thank you” the words escaped your mouth, before he could finish with the embarrassed answer, and before you knew it, you gently kissed one of his cheeks, as he sat down beside you “… this is beautiful”.

“Ahh you are welcome” he couldn’t help but choke on the words as if they were burning on his tongue, more than happy to change the subject as your hands lightly joined themselves on the grass “… and what about Alexander The Great? Was he… great?”.

“He conquered all the known world during the ancient Greek times and created a legacy that reached from West to East” you explained softly “... he was indeed great”.

Ivar’s eyes sparkled with interest.

“He was known as one of the biggest conquerors, in the antiquity” you went on spurred by Ivar’s interest “… it was a shame that…”.

“What was a shame?” pleaded you to go on Ivar.

“His entire legacy broke after his death” you continued “… his child barely survived enough to be crowned king and killed, meanwhile the others… they fought till Alexander’s great empire was broken apart”.

Ivar’s eyes now seemed to become frozen as he fell against the soft grass.

“It is what is happening with my father’s legacy”.

Again, silence fell, and you thought about prodding lightly the sleeping beast.

“… I am sorry about that” you mumbled, as you mimicked his position, turning to him, as he looked at the sky.

“That’s what always happen when a throne is left without an heir” he mumbled, as he continued to look up, before he turned to you lightly “… but these aren’t relaxing talks, aren’t they?”.

You just shot him a light look, as if to agree, and he brought himself up, moving to the basket of baked goodies, which were quite the distraction from the tougher thoughts as you found Ivar asking you a few questions, genuine interest in his eyes.

You couldn’t deny that it felt nice, and Ivar was smart and funny, enough to make you laugh out loud as he told you everything about the time that Hvitserk had stolen all the bread he could find just to find it devoured by birds.

And you told him all about the time that you and Kathleen once almost lost yourselves in the castle, since you had reached rooms you had never visited, just to be convinced of being followed by ghosts when you heard some strange noises.

Just to discover they were rats.

Something that had scared Kathleen much more than any ghost.

In the end with bellies full of laughter and food you both fall down onto the grass, as you looked up at sky, suddenly feeling Ivar’s eyes onto you, as they followed you, an unbelieving shade in them, as he retreated them and before you even knew it, your hand had darted out to his, gently tracing the different rougher spots inside of it.

The long fingers, and the uncured nails.

And everything seemed as natural as breathing to you.

And then your hand gently raised onto his arm, over the fabric of his tunic, and he let you, amusement shining in his eyes, as you moved up till you reached his shoulder, and then where his neck met his neck, making him giggle at the sensitive skin there.

You giggled almost in response, discovering that your Viking was ticklish, and then your hand moved down onto his chest, the strength of his muscles rumbling under your hands, as he raised onto his elbows, sending you a malicious look.

“Aren’t you curious, little princess?” but his eyes were adoringly, till something murky filled them, as your hand reached right onto his lower torso, and he gently grabbed with his, but with enough strength to make you understand that was all you’d have today.

And you couldn’t complain.

“Aren’t you curious about me too, husband?” your voice was breathless.

That was what Ivar’s body had rendered you, and those smartly wicked eyes…

“I wouldn’t want to scandalize you, little Christian” he retorted, showing you his tongue as you sent him an annoyed look.

“I am not Christian, how many times do I have to tell you?”.

“Then you won’t mind me…” and his hand moved onto your legs, raising itself up, till he found your thigh and he gripped it, making you squeal, but not out of uneasiness, as your cheeks became red.

You had never been treated like this.

Ivar’s touches held a tenderness tinted with a directness that had never been used with you, as his eyes asked for your consent.

“I don’t mind it” you teased him, pointing out each word, as an another hand, gently moved onto your own hand, meanwhile the other onto your thigh kept itself steady, but it still brought your mouth to open in a breathy mumble.

And he did the same as you had done with him, tracing the softness of your cured hands, then moving onto your lithe arms, nothing compared to his, as he graced just the tip of it against your light tunic, in a way that felt damnably ticklish.

He had come closer and before you knew it, he was so so close to you that you could almost taste the mead on his breath, as he opened his mouth to speak to you.

“You are beautiful”.

It wasn’t a compliment.

It was promise.

And then his warmth abandoned you, completely as he moved to his side, a sudden insecurity appearing in his eyes, and your body searching his warmth moved closer as an awkward silence fell on you, both.

You felt ashamed of wanting to feel his touch on every part of your body.

But it had felt oh so pleasurably.

“Ivar” you tried to call out to him “… don’t shut me out”.

Because it had all been perfect and then his insecurities had gotten in the way.

Another piece to the puzzle that Ivar was.

He was definitely reigned in by insecurities.

And then he turned to you, finally, and you came closer to him.

“… you made me feel so well, today” you admitted “… I haven’t laughed and felt so free, in so long”.

And it was the truth, even with Kathleen and Abigail there were certain parts of you that you wouldn’t be able to show, whether to protect them or simply because they were so utterly hidden.

But with Ivar…

… it felt good to ramble stupid facts you knew and see his eyes light up, as if he thought you were the smartest person ever.

And you had never been called ‘beautiful’.

But his words were utterly honest.

And so were yours.

“You are welcome” he seemed a big cat as he hissed out the words, but no aggression and you dared a step further, gently embracing him as he became still against you before relaxing.

And slowly he turned to you.

Again, you were so close that it was impossible for you not to think about what those lips would have tasted like.

“I know that I am still… not forgiven…” he seemed honestly a wounded puppy as he uttered those words “… but I’d die a happy man if I could kiss you, right now”.

And although everything you had been raised with screamed to you not to kiss him and your rational part agreed with that, it just felt so so good, that you simply nodded, closing your eyes, before you felt Ivar’s lips on yours.

The faint memory of your wedding kiss, having nothing to compare with the sheer intensity of this one, although Ivar was still attentive, caressing your lips to make them swell to their full bloom, almost as if he was tasting rose petals.

And you were right: his lips tasted of mead.

Then Ivar tried to deepen the kiss, something that you had never read or be told about, always thinking that a kiss was simply your lips against his, but something moist and sudden wetted the tip of your lips.

It took you by surprise and you shrieked, as you distanced yourself lightly by Ivar, as you realized he had been using his tongue.

Oh Gosh.

It hadn’t felt bad, it had actually felt good, but…

But that was a bit too much for you.

He seemed ashamed too, almost pained by your rejection.

“I didn’t mean to…” he tried to explain, and you just shook your head, as you carefully realized that your hair had been messed further by Ivar’s touches.

“I just… I didn’t know about…” and you flashed him your tongue, as Ivar’s eyes became again wicked and he sent you a teasing look, just to be decked by you on the shoulder, and he faked of being hurt.

“Gosh, Nanna is seriously training you”.

And you took this distraction to move on top of him, as you easily pushed yourself onto his torso, to further prove him that you weren’t somebody to be messed with, as the sound of laughter filled the clearing.

And you lowered yourself to shut Ivar up with a kiss of your own.

This time you wouldn’t have pulled back because of the tongue.

And just as you were inches apart you heard.

“Brother, (Y/N)!” and both you and Ivar raised your heads to find Ubbe and Hvitserk staring at you.

Embarrassment of having been caught in such an intimate position, coated both your cheeks, as you dismounted Ivar, hoping that the grass could hide you, as he turned to handle his brothers, crawling closer to them, and you busied yourself with getting everything in order.

“… what is it?” screeched Ivar, covering his embarrassment with the irritation of being interrupted resounding clearly in his tone.

And shame came back to you.

As much as you had felt with Ivar, and his gifts of the day, his talks and his laughter… you weren’t there to fall in love with him.

He was a ruthless man.

But everything he had done with you, from the gentleness of his touches to his insecurities, had been true.

It almost made you think that Ivar was at the truest with you.

That he wouldn’t have been your father.

Because he obviously cared for you.

“We are sorry to interrupt your…” mumbled sarcastically Hvitserk, sending you a knowing look as you flipped him off, as Halfdan had taught you to do “… courting”.

“English men are at the doors of the camping” was more direct Ubbe “… and they are asking to see her”.

And you had no doubt that with ‘her’, he meant you from the tone of his voice.

Now you had just to discover why the nation that had pushed you out, now wanted you back.

---

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bellesque · 4 years

Text

Sweet Dreams (Loki x Reader) Chapter 5: Smell

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 // Read on AO3.

Spotify playlist here.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.4K woooo

Warning/Tags: Incubus Loki, Sex Pollen (sort of—surprise!!!), Dom/Sub Dynamics, Fingering, Hand Jobs, Bondage/Rope Bunny, Spanking, Dirty Talk, Edging/Orgasm Delay, slight Exhibitionist Kink, lil sprinklings of Cock Worship and Cum Facials, it’s filthy don’t tell me we’re surprised

A/N: This took a completely different direction than what I was planning during the early stages. Like it’s not even that centered around smell anymore but we’re gonna roll with it okay

Tag List: @shiningloki @imnotrevealingmyname @wolfsmom1 @hanyasnape @lukeyirwy @toozmanykids (Tag List is currently open! If you’d like to be a part of it, let me know!)

THE SILK TIES aren’t by your pillow or above your head where you expect them to be. Just like the previous night, they’re folded on your nightstand when you wake up.

It’s still too early for your brain to process how exactly they ended up there, so instead of falling into the rabbit hole of hypothesizing just what kind of magic Loki has, you swing your body over the side of the bed and make for the bathroom. Not even two steps forward, your muscles ache with the evidence that you finally got what you hoped for—or at least, something close to it. You haven’t exactly been fucked yet.

But ah, the sweet soreness. The greatest tangible reminder of a mind-blowing night. Last night. Touch.

Loki’s touch.

As you get into the shower, you replay the events of last night. Each drop of water that slides down your body is a reminder of the cold, melted ice cube that swirled around your breasts. Even the sigh that echoes in the bathroom is a reminder of your breathy pleas.

Your folds begin to slicken, and it’s not from the water.

You’re tempted to stay in this morning. Take a warm shower only to burrow back under the covers. It’s not that you’re tired—work on Fridays is always a little more relaxed, and everyone’s allowed to come in anytime as long as it’s before noon. You’ve sometimes taken advantage of that but you much prefer it if they let you out early.

Still, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go back to bed.

What are the odds Loki would make an appearance?

You’ll lose momentum, the rational part of you counters. There’s a manuscript that’s sitting on your desk, desperate to be chucked into the “Done” pile. You just have two more chapters to go.

It’s just two chapters, the more physical part of you rebuts in turn. You can finish it in the afternoon, no sweat. Today, this morning, right now, the more important thing is Loki.

The smarter part of you flares up again, with a very good question armed and ready: but what if he doesn’t come?

You remember the time you slept like a baby through the night, wearing fucking lingerie for Loki, only for him to revisit you a week later. You’ve gotten stood up before, but even in your dreams? It’s embarrassing if it happens to you a second time.

You’re on autopilot, however, when you clamber back into bed and pull the duvet up to your chin. Thoughts of Loki and all his wicked words and ways fill every crevice of your mind. Emotions coupled with arousal crash over you, and with a shaky exhale your hand travels down between your legs.

The steady rhythm of your fingers, however, do not send you into orgasm—you drift back into sleep.

“Kitten?”

Your eyes snap open. In the hazy morning light that peeks through your curtains, you find Loki sitting cross-legged on the ottoman by the door.

Loki… here? Are you dreaming, or—wait, that wouldn’t—

Your brain hurts.

It’s so strange, seeing him here like this. Not cloaked in darkness, not illuminated by the moonlight—he’s an unfamiliar presence, almost otherworldly. A jarring image that sticks out from the normalcy and utter mundaneness of your room.

He cocks his head, lip curling in amusement as he regards you with wandering eyes. Uncrossing his long legs and leaving them spread open, he leans against the wall lazily.

“My, my, sweet. This is a pleasant surprise. A summons, at this hour.”

With a wave of his hand, the duvet falls away from you. Your heart leaps into your throat when you realize your hand is still buried between your legs. Loki’s eyebrows raise, the shock on his face equally as clear as his delight.

“A very pleasant surprise indeed.”

You’ve already pulled your hand away, but the mortification lingers in your system. Not for long though. The weight of the reality of Loki’s presence sinks in and your heart rate slows to normal.

“Summons?” You yawn, sitting upright to see him better. His pronounced features are more defined, crisper and clearer. He’s even more stunning like this. Breathtaking.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

The simplicity of his statement jolts you awake. Or at least, as fully awake as you can be in this state.

He is here. At a time that isn’t in the wee, ungodly hours of the night. There’s fucking light outside, and even though he never said there were rules as to when he’d appear, you half expect him to spontaneously combust.

“I’d ask if I’m dreaming, but I don’t think the answer would be very helpful,” you mumble.

Loki lets out an amused huff, his green eyes twinkling at you. There’s something that looks eerily close to fondness in those eyes. A quiet undercurrent that you’re in no mood to analyze right now.

Yeah, the more time that passes with him in the room—dominant, unimposing, sexy—just makes you horny.

You’re not sure what takes over you when you slide off the bed, placing one foot in front of the other until you’re standing in front of Loki in your rather sheer nighttime ensemble. If you have him here, now, in the light of day, you want to burn this image before you into your brain. Commit every slope of his face, every fleck in his eyes, each line in his lips to memory.

“You’re a smart woman,” Loki tells you, one hand extending out to stroke your forearm. “You’ll figure it out.”

“Hmm.” You plant your knees on either side of him and sink your ass onto his lap. “Maybe later.”

The hand that was around your forearm slithers to cup your ass, closing the distance between you. His cock strains against his black pants and impulsively your eyes flick downwards to where your crotches meet.

You realize you haven’t seen it. Not yet, at least. You’ve felt how big he is, how strong and unyielding of a force of its own it is. How must it look? Feel against your naked skin, in your hand that’s tiny in comparison? How must it taste?

Oh. Oh, shit, just the idea of it makes your mouth water. Your lips wrapped around the head of his cock, swirling and sucking and hollowing your cheeks until he cums.

Fuck, his fucking cum.

While your gaze has been lingering on his erection for definitely more than a few good seconds, Loki’s hands are rubbing the sides of your ass in hypnotic circles. “What’s going on in that dirty little mind of yours, sweet?”

Cock cock cock cock cock. That’s what’s going on in your mind.

“I want to see you,” you say instead, pressing your cunt against his erection. “Please, Loki, l—”

“Now where did this confidence come from?” Loki’s tone shifts, his expression hardening along with something else. As if it were even possible. “You are a cock slut. My little cock slut. Do you want me to take you right now? Right here?” His strong forearm hooks behind your waist, knocking the air out of you and sending a shudder down your spine. “I am a patient man, and I had hoped you would be patient as well.”

Arousal, thick and hot, simmers in your belly. There’s something about now that makes you think this is more a game than anything else. One that you’re definitely willing to play.

“Please, it’s been so long.” Your voice comes out like a plea. An impertinent whine. “Please—just fuck me already.”

Loki exhales hard, tightening his grip around you, his pants practically about to burst at the seams. He stares into your eyes, tongue tracing the tips of his teeth before he brings your face close to his and hisses one harsh yet titillating word: “No.”

He holds you. Just like that, your bodies meshed together, separated by clothes, your breaths mingling as you hover millimeters away from him. You could kiss him. Rake your hands in his hair. He could slide his hands over your ass over and over. But Loki doesn’t do anything, which somehow—some-fucking-how—makes you want to be petulant.

With your eyes locked in a challenging gaze, you begin to rotate your hips on his twitching cock.

You watch his eyes widen minutely, pupils dilating, and the muscle in his jaw jumps. A small sense of victory sparks in you at his reaction, but you can’t relish the satisfaction because Loki’s lifting you off his lap, turning you around lightning fast as if you weigh nothing, so you’re straddling him with your butt to his crotch.

Maybe, you think as your breathing hitches when you realize you’re fucking naked, maybe this is your victory. This is what you wanted all along.

Loki snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you to his strong chest with an audible thump. His breathing comes heavy and labored by your ear while his hand claws at your breast. “When I say no,” he growls, pinching and rolling your nipple over and over, your juices beginning to leak onto his pants, “it means no. You cannot out-seduce me. Not yet.”

His hand glides down your abdomen until one finger swipes against your slit. Fuck, it makes you dizzy. You spread your knees wider, your neck falling back against his shoulder, as you flatten yourself so his fingers can reach inside you.

“Look at you. At this. You’re so fucking wet.” He shoves the pad of his finger against your clit roughly, and you nearly arch away from him at the sudden stimulation. But Loki has you in a hold of steel, unable to move even an inch away from him.

It vaguely registers that this is the first time you’ve heard him curse. Fuck, you think with a fresh rush of arousal, you want him to curse again.

“To the floor,” Loki commands, emphasizing his words with a firm push forward.

“What?”

“I’m sure you heard me the first time, sweet. To the floor.”

Loki holds your thighs as you bend forward, until your arms are braced against the soft gray rug. The upper half of your body hangs off Loki’s legs and slopes towards the floor, where your spine curves gently as your face and chest press into the rug. The thread tickles your breasts and goosebumps prick up on the skin surrounding it, spidering out and making you shiver. This is so new, so erotic in its novelty, that you don’t think it can get better.

But it does. Loki shifts your bottom higher, and your clit pulses painfully against his hard length. He brings your knees further apart, spreading you, until there’s a whisper of cool air against your blistering heat.

“Do you think you can tell me what to do?” He roughly grabs the meat of your ass, molding it against his hand and letting it bounce when he takes his hand way. “Tell me when to fuck you?”

You know it’s coming before it even happens. It’s like you’re in sync, in a spontaneous dance you both know the next steps to.

A loud and sharp smack fills the room, the familiar vibrations in this new angle causing you to contort your face as you hold back your moan. Loki can see your ass and your sopping cunt from where he sits, all on perfect display for his enjoyment. He deals another blow to your other ass cheek and then rubs his hand over the mounds of flesh with barely restrained strength.

“I decide.” He traces the swollen lips of your cunt, and you begin to writhe and whimper as he teases you ever so agonizingly with the tip of his finger. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, only to sharply mewl when Loki punctuates your response with another slap.

“Good. So you can scream, whine, beg me all you want, but you will take what I give you, when I give it to you. Let me make that crystal clear, sweet.”

Oh, it is. You really want to grind down on him—up, whatever direction—the logistics don’t matter as long as your cunt connects to his cock. He spreads your cheeks away and then towards your back, digging his fingernails into your soft flesh before he releases and smacks your bottom again, your toes curling.

“You will follow my orders when I give them, and you will not disobey me.”

There’s a polarizing debate that’s happening between your mind and your cunt right now: you’ve been pretty submissive up to now, and an obedient one at that. Maybe it’s because Loki’s here at a time that isn’t usual that makes you think that the rules don’t apply—or at least, there’s some leeway—but you want to deviate. Just a little. Just to see how far he’ll go.

Fuck, how horny are you?

Your dilemma of whether to grind or not is taken away from you, which, in the foggy depths of your mind you’re not sure if that’s a relief or a disappointment.

But Loki plunges two fingers knuckle-deep inside you without warning, leaving you with no coherent thoughts and a simple, broken, “Fuck!”

He curls his fingers around your warmth, hooking around to hit your G-spot as he pumps in a sinful rhythm that’s got you moaning his name into the rug. The friction on your breasts makes you wetter and you present your ass to him like a humble offering.

“This glorious pussy,” Loki mutters, hips flexing to grind into your clit for a torturous split second. He pumps faster and deeper, the sounds of your sex obscenely filling the room. Your fingers claw at the rug as your hips stutter skyward, trying to meet the rhythm of his fingers thrust for thrust.

“And my little cock slut.”

“Fuck, Loki, please—”

He slaps your ass crudely, fingers still wrecking you from the inside out, and you cry out in a muffled whine. Sweet mercy, that felt fucking good.

“No.”

He somehow manages to go even deeper at this angle, hitting spots you didn’t even know were there let alone would make you cry and beg hoarsely, all the while brushing against your clit with the base of his fingers. It’s like pure magic and sex and lust and before you know it, you’re climbing into orgasm.

Loki pulls his fingers out of you with a growl, grabbing your hips and pulling your torso back up and against him. The abrupt shift has you stuttering forward, nearly losing balance, but Loki holds you securely.

With a searing kiss to the side of your neck, he spreads his knees so you spread even further, your ankles automatically anchoring around his hips. He pushes your pelvis out, shoves his hand back between your legs from behind you, and gives you a single order in your ear that melts you.

“Ride.”

Sinking onto his fingers, you do as you’re told, a sigh expelled from your lungs. You gyrate your hips, clenching your floor muscles, all the while trying not to moan and beg and curse all at the same time. Loki lets you do most, if not all of the work. A steady rhythm builds inside you, and then he takes you by surprise and brings a hand to the front of your mound, slipping inside the soft flesh and making contact with the nerves under the hood of your clit.

“Loki!” you rasp when his hands work in tandem. The hand in front of you works on your clit in steady, controlled circles and the one behind you strokes right into your G-spot. It’s a simmering pot of heat and pleasure, your body warming up as it prepares for orgasm.

“Faster,” he commands, curling both his fingers around your weeping cunt. Your eyes roll back and you reach behind to grip his hair.

Your mouth falls open as you increase your tempo, your legs beginning to falter and shake. Loki’s practically holding you up, the forearm behind you now slick with your juices from your rigorous riding. He plants an open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your shoulder, a sharp little nip to the skin, and he’s upping his pace while you bounce on top of him.

“L—Loki,” you pant, eyes lidded and vision hazy while the sensations burn white hot and seem to expand inside you, “Loki, I—”

“Cum,” he coaxes, sucking on your skin. “Do it for me.”

Your thighs shake with the tide of orgasm, and soon you’re quivering and babbling as your walls clench around Loki’s fingers, your cum seeping down and onto the crotch of his pants. Loki pulls you through your pleasure with dirty nothings and a slowed pace. You ride out your high lazily, sated and sweaty and out of breath. Your knees hurt from being bent for so long; you’re so tired you don’t think you can move. He places your feet flat on the ground and you remove your vicelike grip from his hair, limbs shaking like a leaf.

You didn’t expect a quickie like this, if you could even call it that. You fall limp on his lap, shifting so you’re more comfortable, and Loki tips your chin towards him and kisses you hungrily while your walls flutter post-release. His tongue swipes against the seam of your lips, his hands skimming over the sides of your hips.

You can feel your cum still on his fingers, which he paints your skin with, and arousal surges through like a bullet.

“You are amazing.”

The compliment catches you entirely off-guard. It’s as if he wasn’t just playing your body like an instrument in a filthy concert hall. Still, warmth floods your chest and you sleepily look up at him.

“I don’t know where this is coming from, but I’m sure you know you’re fucking phenomenal.”

Loki’s chest shakes with laughter, and then without another word he’s hooking an arm under your knee, the other around your back, and he carries you back to bed.

“Glorious woman.” He pauses when he pulls the duvet over your still naked body. “Might have to do something about that, however.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, kitten. Just go to sleep.”

You notice the succinct kiss he presses to your hairline before your consciousness slips completely from you.

You’re an idiot.

It’s not that you mind that you were late for work. Other than a clipped, “Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” from your boss, work was fine. You finished everything you were supposed to, which was a feat considering you came and left for work horny and thinking of Loki.

But still, you’re an idiot.

Not because your mind was elsewhere than at the office. Having Loki in your room during the day was an opportunity to really look at him. Memorize him. Something tells you that you’re not going to have an opportunity like that again, and you wasted it.

Well, not really. But this morning went in a completely different direction than what you initially planned.

You should have just sat in bed staring at him. Admired his beauty from afar. But somehow, you just gravitated towards him like it was instinct pulling you to.

Damn it, you just wanted to see him up close.

Still, this morning was incredibly hot—so you’re not beating yourself up over it too much.

You’ll see him again tonight. And if you don’t, well, he did say you summoned him. Even without you knowing. Maybe you could do it again.

Your mind churns with questions and thoughts as your hands fiddle with the silk ties he left. When you agreed to this, you didn’t think you would be obsessing over it the way you are now. You thought it’d be mindless sex, not something you’d be thinking about every waking moment now. How does it work? Summons? Who is he? Will you ever see him in the light of day?

You don’t mean to fall asleep on the couch with the TV in the background, but you do.

Something tickles your ankles.

You jerk your foot in an attempt to swat it away. Maybe it’s a fly.

Or not. The sensation returns, and while you try to ignore it your mind is already beginning to wake up.

You don’t expect to see Loki on the far side of your couch, your legs sprawled over his lap, his hands tracing delicate, arbitrary patterns over the bone of your ankle and eyes glued to the TV that’s still on.

“Late night television is awful. I pity the humans who are awake at this hour and have no good viewing selections.” He swivels his head to face you, an amused expression donning his features. “Why are you sleeping here, pet?”

You sit up and attempt to pull your legs closer to you, only Loki’s grip tells you that you shouldn’t. His lips curve in a gentle smile and you recall why you fell asleep here in the first place. Even illuminated by the unflattering light of your TV, Loki is beautiful. Without a doubt, he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

“Just fell asleep without meaning to.” You stretch your arms above your head, top riding up and exposing your skin. You note the way Loki’s eyes travel from yours down to your navel, and heat bubbles in your core.

“It’s not very comfortable here,” he murmurs, setting your feet on the floor so he can climb on top of you with ease. “Or are you developing a taste for uncomfortable positions?”

His lips latch onto your neck while the memory of you this morning, ass up and face down, flashes behind your eyelids. The heat that started in your core rockets down into your cunt.

Loki sucks a bruising kiss into your skin, and he pulls away to admire the way your skin flushes red. “Come, sweet. Your bed is far more comfortable than this lumpy thing.”

You follow him into the bedroom, him strutting in front of you as if it’s just as much his place as it is yours. He stops in the middle, whirling round to face you with an expectant eyebrow quirked.

“I took the liberty,” he says, a note of pride in his tone.

Your face scrunches up in confusion. “Of?”

“Replacing that terrible excuse for a bouquet with something more tasteful.”

Your eyes dart to the corner where you had put the flowers Jacob gave you and sure enough, the vase and its contents are gone. Granted, they were singed and charred and really mostly dying, but part of you feels bad and maybe even a little guilty. It ebbs away somewhat, however, when you can see that Loki’s put something so downright beautiful in its place.

There’s a single flower in a glass that looks like it came straight out of Beauty and the Beast. It glimmers in the pale moonlight, and maybe you’re tired, but you swear it looks like it’s pulsing.

You’ve never seen a flower with so many hues and shades, or one that looks like it’s glittering, like this one.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, bending forward to marvel over it up close. Your hand makes to lift the cover, but Loki stops you.

“I’m glad you like it, sweet, but I don’t think you should open that. Not yet, at least.”

“Why?” you immediately ask, head snapping up to meet his eyes.

He gives you a secretive, sly smirk. “I don’t think you’re ready for it yet. Now. Get on the bed, sweet.”

Shooting one last lingering look to the flower, you do as you’re told. Once you lie down, legs splayed open wide, Loki’s gaze settles thoughtfully on your nightstand. “I’m quite sure I left something right here, pet.”

“I think it’s on the couch,” you recall. “Can’t you—”

“No magic tonight, I’m afraid I drained my energy procuring my gift for you, which is why I need you to cum tonight so I can replenish myself.”

Well. If you weren’t wet before, you sure are now.

Loki leaves the room to fetch the silk ties, presumably to restrain you once again, and your blood pumps in excitement. He’s left you alone.

And you know you should listen to Loki, but after today’s events, there’s a huge part of you that just wants to be rebellious.

What did he mean, you’re not ready? It can’t possibly be anything you can’t handle. Your eyes flit back to the glass on the corner table.

It’s just a flower.

As quickly and quietly as you can, you slink off the bed and towards it, eyes trained on your bedroom door just in case he comes back and you get caught.

Do you want to get caught?

Gingerly, you lift the glass, peeking under it just to see what the glittering particles are. A strong, sweet smell instantly invades your nostrils, and you set the glass back down soundlessly.

His footsteps draw closer and you fling yourself onto the bed, spreading your legs like you were earlier and raising your hands above your head like an obedient child.

“Very good,” Loki purrs, sitting on the edge of the mattress as he ties one wrist to the headboard. “Such a good kitten.” His mouth closes over yours, tongues mingling, and you feel the air shift and your head throbs twice.

Wow, what a kiss it must be for it to extract such a reaction from your body.

With your eyes still closed, he wraps the ever-so-familiar silk around your eyes. It’s… did he put some kind of perfume on it?

“Did you put something on the blindfold?” you ask as he double checks the tightness around your other wrist.

“Yes, sweet. What does it smell like?”

You lick your lips, mouth going dry. It’s getting hotter, and your heartbeat’s speeding up. “Something sweet,” you answer. “Like vanilla. And a little bit of cinnamon?”

“Very good,” Loki praises, his hand traveling down your naked body. Your clit throbs and your walls clench. And you… you just want to be filled to the brim with his cum.

“How do I reward you for every correct answer, sweet?”

“Your cock.”

Okay, that—that was not what you were intending to say. Sure, you’re thinking it, but you weren’t planning to blurt it out loud so shamelessly. It’s like your mind and body are out of sync, your urges taking precedence and leading your mind that follows a beat too late.

Loki lets out an entertained, short laugh. “Eager little one today. You will get it. In time.”

He spreads your legs further apart and settles between them. You can feel your slick seeping out of your slit and onto the bed, wetter than ever. Fuck, what’s happening? It’s like you weren’t horny before, but you were—but it pales in comparison to the state you’re in now.

His nose bumps against your soft flesh, and you lift your hips off the bed and promptly rub against his snout.

It’s like you can’t help yourself. Loki has to fight a little to push your hips back onto the mattress, and your lower half falls with a soft thump. You’re breathing heavily and your body—fuck, it feels like it’s on fire. Wherever Loki touches, he leaves fire in its wake. And there’s something in the air—something musky, masculine, smelling like pure sex—

You just know it’s Loki’s arousal.

And hell, does it turn you on. Breaks the scale, if there ever was one. It’s a thick, potent smell that fills your lungs and makes you lightheaded.

He’s tired. Drained of his magic, and he needs you to fill him back up again. And you… you have all this sudden, pent up energy you didn’t know you had…

“Untie me,” you demand. Your voice is husky and your throat is dry, but it doesn’t sink in because you feel like your entire being is just Loki’s arousal and nothing else.

His hand stiffens over your thigh. “Sweet, didn’t we agree—”

“Untie me,” you repeat. You leave no room for discussion. “Even just one hand. You don’t have to do anything.”

There’s a pause where you spread your legs even wider. You lick your lips, heat flooding your cheeks and your cunt.

“Y-you can just watch me.”

You can feel Loki’s exhale fan your wetness, and it makes you shudder in anticipation.

Before he can protest, you continue, “I know you need me to cum so you get your energy. You—you can just take over when I’m about to…”

You don’t finish your sentence. Loki’s untying you with one hand, and then with the gentlest hold around your wrist he guides it downwards. “It appears you’ve disobeyed me. Well, consider it your lucky day that I am in no mood to scold you.” He rests it against your stomach, stroking a finger over the center of it.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs after a while. “While I have the perfect view.”

At his words, you clench. Slowly you bring your fingers to your cunt and trace over your swollen flesh. An echo of Loki’s own ministrations this morning. Only you don’t have as much patience as he does, and so you plunge your finger inside your warmth without any resistance.

Masturbation is not something foreign to you. But the knowledge that Loki’s head is still between your legs, with an unfiltered and clear view to your movements, has your body swimming to orgasm faster than ever. Your fingers fall into a familiar rhythm, dipping into the dependable spots and nerves that have consistently gotten you to orgasm before. Perhaps the eroticism of this exhibition—in front of Loki, no less—ignites an intensity within you that makes it seem like these spots aren’t familiar at all.

His fingers. His lips. His cock. You imagine them all inside you, on your clit, everywhere—it spurs you on, your fingers flying faster, your walls tightening as you race towards orgasm—

Loki gently pulls your hand away, and while you expect to be filled by his instead… there’s nothing. A frustrated huff is expelled from your lungs and Loki only brushes his fingertips against your sides.

“Release? So quickly?” He tuts playfully. “The gift I brought must be more potent than I’d imagined.”

“Please.” It’s a word you’ve been repeating so many times today. At this point, it feels natural spilling from your lips. “Please, I need to cum—you need me to—”

“You will cum when I say so,” he cuts in with a dominant finality that sends tiny sparks along the insides of your legs. “And I say… not yet.”

You let out a quiet whimper. You’ve never wanted to cum and hold it off at the same time as much as you do right now. And fuck—Loki’s tying the silk around your ankle and an urgency surges through you. You know what he’s doing. The smell gets even stronger now too, that musky, addictive aroma—you want to bask in it from the source—

You’re vaguely aware of the silk tie slipping away from your wrist and making its way to your other ankle. Loki’s strong hands run a delicate trail along your body and all you want is his cock ramming into you with his hand wrapped around your neck.

“Touch yourself,” he commands as soon as your ankles are tied to each corner of the bedframe. Your hole is gaping wide—it feels that way, since you’re aware of every breath Loki takes and exhales because of his proximity to you. “And do not cum unless I say so.”

Fuck—that’s what scares you. You’re so fucking turned on that you fear even just one stroke, you’d be a goner. But would punishment from Loki because you came really be all that bad? You’re not sure if you want to test him just yet.

And there’s a new smell in the air, mingling with the heady masculinity of Loki’s arousal. It’s a bit fruity, perhaps even reminiscent of the tanginess of an orange.

It’s yours.

“Touch yourself, sweet, or I’m going to have to leave you like this all night.”

Without further encouragement, your fingers dive back into your folds and your body relaxes with a sigh. Your hips gyrate over your hands as you root yourself in the fact that Loki’s watching you. He needs to see just how turned on you are, how he’s the one who does this to you.

“Use both your hands,” he instructs. “Go deeper. And massage your clit slower. Slower.”

You do as he tells you, alternating your long strokes with circular motions, and fuck, is it agony. It takes a whole lot of self-control not to buck your hips like a madwoman, so you bite down on your bottom lip. Heat prickles over your entire body and briefly you wonder how long you’re going to go like this and if you’re going to cum from this at all.

“Now focus on your clit,” he says after a while. “Shorter. Faster. Harder. How you want it, kitten, as fast as you can go…”

Finally, you think, fingers speeding up and your orgasm gaining momentum. It doesn’t take long for it to build, begin to crest—

“Hands off.”

No—not the words you wanted to hear. Begrudgingly you force away your hands from your swollen sex, slick with your own juice, and wait. You wait for his next instruction, as patient as you can be as a woman chasing orgasm, and then Loki finally says the magic words.

“Go on.”

It continues like this for a while. For how long exactly, you don’t know. Time has blurred and it’s only differentiated by moments of languid strokes and furious pumping, moments of pause that feel like forever, and then back again. He draws you close to orgasm, then away like it’s forbidden fruit, until you’re certain the minute Loki puts even just one finger on you, you’ll come undone.

Your fingers work hard at your cunt, coated in your warm slick, until Loki finally, finally lets you grow taut with the tension of building release. It’s strong, you can feel it. You’re already so sensitive and even if your muscles are growing strained, your need for release is overpowering enough that you don’t mind it in the least.

Loki rips your hand away, shoves his fingers inside you in perfect sync, and you cry out in ecstasy. Your fingers can only do so much, but Loki—he’s pure magic, pure sex that nothing could ever compare or replace him.

His thumb flicks over your clit harshly and your walls clench against his fingers. And the air—oh fuck, it’s the intoxicating smell of his arousal—you just want to rip off his clothes, suck him dry—

In some inexplicable way, Loki manages to leave you teetering on the edge of orgasm. Just between that space of cumming and winding down. So close, yet so far. Your breath comes in shallow pants while your hips rotate to meet him. He has to let you cum, you remind yourself. He has to.

Before you can gasp it out, Loki says, “No.”

Fuck, how many times are you going to hear that today? Your clit is pulsing, your walls fluttering in a sporadic rhythm as you hang in the ripping limbo of trying to hold in your release and let it go at the same time. It drives you mad, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes from the guttural need that needs satiating.

A wave of Loki’s arousal wafts fresh and heated towards you. Your mouth hangs open while his thick arousal hangs in the atmosphere, dizzying and fueling your need to have your fill from the source.

And then without warning, Loki plunges his fingers into you knuckle-deep, moving fast against your clit at the same time while knocking your G-spot over and over until your mouth hangs open, no sound coming out—your back arches off the bed with the overpowering, all-consuming need for release—

“Cum.”

The single syllable he utters has you unwound, undone—little white dots explode before your eyelids while your body convulses with the soul-stealing release he’s bestowed upon you. Toes curling, body tense, you’ve never experienced anything as blissfully shattering as this. Every nerve ending in your system has sizzled out, sensitive to the lightest gust of air.

Loki lets you ride out your orgasm on his fingers that continue to coax out your release. With the blood pumping in your ears, you can vaguely register the sounds Loki’s making. He’s muttering to himself, whispering—and once the pounding recedes from your ears you can make out a few lines.

“Yes, sweet, cum… cum all over my fingers, that’s it, you sweet girl… this perfect cunt, so warm—the way my cock—inside, yes, more…”

You clench tightly, and make a risky decision. One you clearly have no foresight to.

You sit up, and while the quick change in position has your cunt convulsing in stimulation, you ignore it. You’re still horny, yes. It’s as if that buildup to your seismic orgasm wasn’t enough, and while you would love another (or three more), there’s something else you want.

His cock.

Sitting up like this, you can smell his arousal coming from somewhere near the floor. Which, your lustful brain calculates, makes sense because his lower half should be sprawled across the floor.

Some kind of strangled noise comes from the back of your throat, and your hands reach out to fist, well—whatever you can reach. You can’t exactly see.

Your hands actually land in his hair, and your nails dig into his scalp. Loki makes a deep, throaty noise, satisfying you.

“Kiss me.”

Loki doesn’t chastise you or tell you no—instead the mattress creaks with his weight. He pins you down, his tongue delving into your mouth which you welcome instantly. The aroma of his arousal fires you up into a frenzy, especially when you feel his hard length pushes against your swollen clit.

Your hand boldly moves to squeeze his ass, bring him closer to you. Yes, having your arms in a full range of motion is better. Sure, you can’t see or close your legs, but you can touch him. Smell him. Loki bites down on your lip, groaning softly when you tug on his hair and pull him against you by the ass again.

Touch him.

Your brain is on autopilot. Like it’s got a mission it needs to see through to the end, regardless of whatever obstacles are to come its way. While Loki’s taking this opportunity to moan against your neck, telling you how he would just love to fuck you right here, right now, your hand moves from his ass, down the side of his hip, and to the front of his pants.

Loki freezes.

Whether it’s good or bad, you don’t care. You take this opportunity to palm the bulge you’ve felt, a soundless sigh escaping your lips. Your fingers grip around the outline, from what you think is base to tip, and a trickle of your juices flows out of you when you feel him shudder.

It’s all the encouragement you need. You slide your hand over the hard bulge once before your fingers dip underneath the waistband of his pants. Your breathing shallows when the tip of your finger comes in contact with a bead of wetness.

The strong, potent smell of Loki envelops you, and while it feels like you’re already bathing in him and his essence it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. You want more.

Loki hovers above you while you slip his pants down, his breath warming your neck. Licking your lips in anticipation, you finally lay your hands on the prize you’ve been dreaming and drooling about.

Your fingers wrap around his shaft, and as crazy as you sound, you might actually cum from just holding it.

Blood beats searing hot in your veins, your arousals mingling and fueling the other’s. You pump his shaft, once, twice—and you’re distantly aware that you’re speaking now.

“Need to,” you breathe, “t-to smell it. Up close, just—oh Loki, please, I need your cock on my face, just let me—”

Somehow this state you’re in has Loki speechless. You’re begging, though assertive at the same time. Loki lets you lead him until you’re lying down on your back, and he straddles your face, his thick cock hovering just inches from you.

Oh, fucking hell.

Your fingers skim the column of his shaft, savoring the feel of his hard length. You can’t see it yet, but you’d like to imagine how it looks before you do. Your fingers bump against the ridge around the head; veins that traverse his cock bounce against your touch; you trace a finger down the slit of him, collecting precum and trailing it over his frenulum.

Loki bucks his hips against your hands, hissing.

“What are you doing, pet?”

Tentatively, you bring your nose to the base of him and inhale deeply. Your cunt flutters in response and your mind deigns to feed you an image of his cock inside you, stretching you—maybe even wrecking your throat.

A wanton thrill shoots through you, and you drag your closed lips along his cock and then part your lips, salivating as you draw closer to him—

“No.” Loki pulls your hair gently, stopping you. Only it’s almost… reluctant. Like it’s more for himself than for you. Breathing hard, he continues, “Not tonight. Touching, just touching is… is enough.”

You settle for dragging your nose along the underside of his cock, inhaling the sweet, sweet scent of victory. “Alright.”

And then somehow you’re talking again. “I just love your cock,” you whisper mindlessly. “So thick… hard… I just want you, Loki. You can put your cock in my mouth… my pussy needs you a little more though…”

His cock twitches at your statement, and you hum against his groin, smile blooming on your lips. You pull your head away and your hand closes around him. You begin stroking, fisting his cock and twisting your wrist as you get closer to the head and loosening your grip when you get to the base. Soon he’s rutting his hips into your hand, and you relish the way you can feel him tense. All because of your touch. There’s a surge of pride at this new dynamic unlocked.

And his cock—it’s even better than you imagined. You tell him how you love his cock, you’d have it anywhere, anytime, whenever he wants—and Loki’s hips grow more frantic in his movements. You cup his balls, fondling him, and Loki fists your hair roughly, rasping out, “Hold still. But keep going on my cock. Faster. Harder.”

You and Loki work together to reach his orgasm, and soon you can feel his balls slapping against your hands and his movements go stunted, his cock tightening—the incoming smell makes you even dizzier, and you angle your head upward—

White hot ropes of cum splatter onto your face. Your forehead, your cheeks, your chin. Some of it dribbles down onto your chest and you have to fight yourself not to scoop some up and shove it into your cunt.

Loki groans all while he cums, until he’s running his fingers through your hair and tells you absently, “Sweet, glorious woman. An absolute sex kitten.”

His fingers swipe at his cum on your face, and then you realize it isn’t arbitrary—he’s pooling it together for you to eat it. Eagerly you open your mouth, sucking on his finger coated with his cum. Once your face is mostly clean, your tongue darts out the corner of your mouth to collect a drop you missed. No cum should go to waste.

Your heart practically leaps into your throat when you feel his tongue flatten against your sternum, collecting cum that’s dripped down your chest in a straight line going up to your face, and then he kisses you

His taste mingles with his seed, and you relish how delicious he is. You sigh into his mouth and are about to wrap your legs around his waist, only you’re brutally reminded that your legs are tied up.

You hope you wake up like this.

Your hands go to his still-hard cock, and Loki’s surprised, “Already?” has you giggling as you start pumping him again.

When is the next time you’re going to have all this energy after all?

#sweet dreams #by belle #should have just titled this chapter COCK #loki smut #smut #loki x you #loki x reader #loki x y/n #incubus loki #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #reader insert #FINALLY I CAN GET TO WORK ON THOSE REQUESTS

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suckmysupernatural · 4 years

Text

Sunshine - Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2226

Pairing: Sam x OC Sunny

Series Summary: The Winchesters meet a cheerful hunter named Sunny, who quickly captures Sam’s attention. Little do any of them know what lies in store when Sunny gets invited to join the brothers. Who can say how Sam, Dean, and Sunny will be some training days, a handful of hunts, romantic dates, a kidnapping, and one vengeful demon later.

Chapter Summary: Sam and Dean meet an upbeat hunter with incredible skills

Warnings: show-level violence, language

A/N: I’m so excited to finally be sharing this series with you guys! 2 1/2 months of writing and it is seeing the light of day. A big thank you to @emptycanvasposts for beta-ing and helping to correct my many, many grammar mistakes. Also thank you to @erin-fox-winchester for hyping me up and giving me amazing notes that made this series so much better.

A/N 2: I’m now doing a forever tag list!!! Send a message, ask, reblog, or reply and I’ll add you <3

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The sleek black Impala raced down the road towards Norfolk, Virginia. Sam and Dean had been alerted of a vampire nest in the city, so they decided to make the long drive from Lebanon. Sam was passed out in the back seat as Dean rocked out to classic rock music to stay awake. They had been on the road for a total of 20 hours, stopping once at a motel for sleep. Dean looked down at his phone, checking the directions; he nodded to himself, satisfied with the results.

Ozzy Osborne’s “Crazy Train” suddenly blared from the speakers, Dean turning up the volume to wake up his brother. This was Dean’s version of an alarm clock, and boy was it alarming. Sam jolted upright, looking for the source of the sound. After realizing it was just his brother, he brought his hands up to his eyes in an attempt to rub away the grogginess Sam felt.

“One hour out, man. You hungry?” Dean asked over his shoulder, chuckling at the brother’s reaction to the noise. Sam awkwardly climbed into the front passenger seat, his legs getting caught under him and almost causing him to tumble face-first into the dash. Dean bit back another laugh upon seeing the taller brother’s struggle, only to be met with a glare.

“Yeah, I could use some food,” Sam responded as he tried to suppress a yawn. The two brothers continued their journey in relative silence, nodding their heads along to the music. Before they knew it, they were passing a sign welcoming them to Norfolk. As soon as a diner was in their sights, Dean pulled into the parking lot. The brothers went in to eat, taking their time as they knew that the vampires wouldn’t be a problem until nighttime.

“So, I was looking for a place the nest might be. There is an abandoned house on the south side of town. All of the victims were within a ten-mile radius of it. I’m thinking this one is open and shut. We can head there tonight and take ‘em out. Thoughts?” Sam offered up his research to Dean as they settled down in a booth. Dean looked over the map that Sam had marked up with the locations where each victim went missing and was found. It all seemed to point to the old house. Nodding, Dean agreed. It was nice when they didn’t need to go searching.

They made the plan to set out for the abandoned house just before sunset, letting themselves relax as they ate their meals.

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

The sun had just set as the brothers approached the house. As soon as they saw the multiple cars parked out in front, they knew they were in the right place. No one had owned the home in years, and usually squatters didn’t drive BMWs.

The two men could hear the commotion from inside as soon as they reached the porch steps. They held their machetes up, prepared for whatever was going to happen. Or at least, they thought they were ready for anything. The front door swung open, revealing a vampire attempting to run from the house. Before either brother could make a move, the monster’s head was swiped clean off. The body dropped, revealing a woman that had both brothers in shock.

She had a machete in hand, but other than that, her appearance didn’t line up with the classic hunter look. She had on bootie heels that added an extra couple inches to her height, although she was still a lot shorter than both of the brothers. Her jeans were tight and she wore a loose floral shirt that flowed as she moved. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, out of her face but still stylish. The strangest of all was the smile that grew on her face as she saw the brothers.

“Oh, hi! You guys must be hunters,” she said to them cheerily, her eyes looking down at the machetes in their hands. Dean wore a confused face, not used to cheery people, especially cheery hunters. Sam, on the other hand, was transfixed by the woman that stood before him. She was beautiful, and that smile, god that smile. It was so perfect that he was surprised that it didn’t twinkle like in cheesy cartoons.

“Um… yeah,” Dean said, realizing Sam was not going to say anything. “I thought there were like 6 or 7 vamps in this nest. The number of deaths…”

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded simply, “it was six. So, do you two have names to match those handsome faces?”

Sam opened his mouth to respond when he saw movement behind her. Both brothers were about to warn her of the threat but she gave them a quick wink before twisting. She moved fluidly, slicing perfectly through the remaining vampire’s neck.

“Make that seven. Anyways, names?” she asked again while wiping her machete off on the now-deceased vampire’s jeans. She started walking towards them; her demeanor still bright. The brothers both looked at her in shock.

“Um… I’m Dean, and this is my brother Sam. Do you mean to say that you just took out seven vamps all by yourself?”

“Well, nice to meet you, Dean, Sam, and yes I did,” she responded, offering her hand to shake. “The name’s Sunny.”

“Sunny?” Dean asked, his eyebrow raised as he shook the woman’s hand. It fit perfectly with her upbeat attitude. It was almost hard to believe that this woman was real.

“Yeah, it’s a nickname. My friends started calling me Sunshine, you know, cause I’m so positive. It didn’t take long for it to become shortened to Sunny. It’s what everyone calls me,” Sunny flashes another smile to the brothers. Sam clears his throat, finally speaking.

“So - um - Sunny, wanna go grab a drink with us?” he asked, trying not to make it sound like he was trying to pick her up. Even though that was definitely what he was trying to do. He was drawn to Sunny and didn’t want to say goodbye just yet. Dean looked over to his brother and poorly attempted to suppress a grin. It was rare to see Sam so flustered over a woman. Hell, he didn’t even know how long it had been since his brother had a date.

“Sure, sounds great! I’ll follow you guys,” she smiled. The three hunters walked back in the direction of the Impala. It wasn’t until they passed a cluster of trees that Sunny started to break off from them. Behind the foliage was a bubblegum pink car that seemed to match the woman’s personality perfectly.

“Holy shit is that -” Dean’s eyes were wide.

“A 1955 Cadillac Fleetwood? Just like the one Elvis had? Yes, it is,” Sunny smiled with pride. The car was her most valued possession and she loved to see people’s reactions to it. Turning from the brothers, she climbed in and started the engine. Dean bit back a moan at the sound, looking over to his brother.

“Marry her, Sammy. Just fucking marry her,” Dean said, his tone serious. Sam rolled his eyes as he started to walk towards the Impala. It didn’t take long for the brothers to get in and pull onto the road. This time, however, Sam couldn’t keep his eyes off of the side mirror, the pink car following not far behind them.

Soon they pulled into the bar’s parking lot. Sam had found one on his phone, giving Dean directions. It was nicer than their usual stops, not some roadside biker bar. He had a feeling that wasn’t Sunny’s scene. The Cadillac pulled up into the spot right next to the Impala, Sunny climbing out and gently closing the door. The three of them walked into the joint and were immediately met with the smell of booze. It was a familiar scent for them, the hunting life and alcohol went hand in hand. Dean made a beeline to the bar, leaving Sam behind with Sunny.

“What can I get you?” Sam asked her. She flashed him one of those heart-stopping smiles before responding.

“I’ll have an Old Fashioned,” she said. Sam nodded, leaving her to join his brother. Sunny found an empty table and sat. It didn’t take long for the brothers to return, Sam with her drink and a beer in his hands and Dean with a whiskey neat. Sam hands Sunny her glass as Dean speaks up.

“I’m surprised, didn’t take you as an Old Fashioned gal,” Dean points out. He had thought she would have gotten a sugary drink that requires a tiny umbrella.

“Just because I’m feminine doesn’t mean I can’t handle my alcohol. I am a hunter after all,” Sunny laughed, bringing the glass to her lips. She wasn’t surprised by his question as it was one that most men tried to use as a pick-up line when she went to bars alone. “And I think it's a bit obvious by now, but I’m full of surprises.” She winked, causing Sam to almost choke on his beer. Sunny was definitely something else.

The three hunters all nursed their drinks until Sam asked the question that both men had been wondering since they met her.

“Okay, so how did you do that back there? Take out that many fangs? And that one that came up from behind you?” Sam blurted out. If it had been either of the brothers, they would’ve been outnumbered and blindsided. The vampire had moved silently, not doing anything to reveal its whereabouts.

“Oh, that. I felt the air shift,” she said like the answer was obvious, taking a sip.

“Wait, what?” Sam asked as both brothers looked at her, completely confused.

“So you know how we always have to be aware of our surroundings? Always on high alert? Well, I’ve managed to hone that in, taking the nerves out of the equation. I am fully aware of every part of my body, every sense. Sure, the vamp might’ve been completely silent, but as he moved near me the air was softly pushed in my direction. I could feel it on the back of my neck, so I knew he was right behind me.” Both brothers absorbed the information, surprised by the woman that sat across from them.

“So, you’re just a human?” Dean asked bluntly. It was hard for him to believe she didn’t have secret powers. The question made her throw her head back in laughter.

“Yes, Dean, I am 100% human. I just don’t do things like most hunters,” she shrugged. Sam was in awe of her. She had such calming energy to her, he never wanted to leave her presence.

“Can you teach it? Your technique?” Sam asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Honestly? I’ve never tried it. I rarely meet other hunters and most of them are men who assume I’m afraid to chip a nail. If they want to underestimate me, that’s fine. I just let them take over and move on. There are plenty of monsters out there,” she said. It was surprising to hear, as she was obviously a fantastic hunter. Dean and Sam had barely seen her in action but they knew it to be true. To think that others thought she was just a pretty face was frustrating to Sam.

Sam looked over to Dean and Sunny quickly noticed that they seemed to be having a conversation with just their eyes. They were brothers, so this wasn’t surprising. It was something she used to do with her sister. It only took a couple of seconds before they both looked back at her.

“Why don’t you come back with Dean and me to our bunker? We would like to learn from you if that’s alright. You’d have a room to stay in and everything. That is if you want.” Sam was trying to not to keep his hopes up. There was no reason for this woman to follow two strangers and agree to train them. Looking into her eyes, he knew that he could get lost in them. She took a minute to think it over, taking a sip of her drink.

“You know what? Why not? It’s not every day you get such an interesting offer. I can’t even remember the last time I worked with anyone,” Sunny accepted.

“Wait, you are just going to come with two guys you barely know?” Dean asked in disbelief.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you both know that I could kick your asses in a heartbeat,” she stated simply. Both brothers exchanged a look. She was probably right. This decision seemed like the right one for Sunny. She usually didn’t trust male hunters, expecting them to be sexist assholes. These two were different, though. Dean seemed impressed by her skills, shocked only that she was human. He didn’t seem to care that she was a woman.

Sam was something else entirely. She could tell that he genuinely was curious about how she worked. There was something about him that made her trust him. Maybe it was the kindness in his eyes or the way that he spoke to her like she had some sort of wisdom to impart. Whatever it may be, she had a feeling that the two of them were going to get along well.

It also didn’t hurt that he was quite handsome.

Chapter 2 ->

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babysizedfics · 4 years

Text

Little Accidents, Big Developments

Chapter 2: Nighttime Confessions

[This is an age regression story]

Chapter Summary:

Roman doesn’t like bedtime, Patton and Logan discuss affection, and Virgil wakes up in the middle of the night.

Chapter word count: 5,500

Other chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / bonus

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

oOo

The door to Logan’s room felt unreasonably heavy as he pushed it open with a tired sigh. He did not bother closing it behind him, instead letting it fall shut on its own in favour of immediately flopping face-first onto his bed. The door slammed shut a little harder than he would’ve liked and he winced into his pillow. Hopefully, the sound hadn’t been loud enough to reach either Roman or Virgil’s bedrooms.

Tonight both boys had been little right up until bedtime and so required both Patton and Logan’s help in getting prepared for bed. As was expected given Virgil’s clear preference for the paternal side, Patton had taken charge of his bedtime which meant Logan was left to handle Roman’s bedtime.

Hence Logan’s current exhaustion.

It had taken a great deal of effort to even convince Roman to change into his pyjamas, let alone to stop bouncing around as he rambled about a new idea he had for a game. Logan, of course, commended his creativity, though reminded him that they would have to wait until the following day to put it into practice.

Roman had not appreciated that. He wanted to play with Virgil at that very moment and was quite disheartened to hear that it was Virgil’s bedtime and his baby brother would be too tired to play with him. Learning that it was also his bedtime had been far more cause for concern for Roman. It had taken a multitude of bargaining on Logan’s part to get Roman to agree to get into bed. Even then, it still took some coercion to get him to stop complaining and at least try to go to sleep.

Bedtime had been at 10 pm. It was now coming up to 10:45 and Logan had only just been able to leave Roman, who was finally (thankfully) drifting off in his bed.

Logan flipped over on his mattress, mentally preparing himself to get up again and get ready for bed himself. Though an energetic knocking sounded at his door before he had the chance.

He lugged himself up from his bed and over to the door, rubbing at his face wearily.

‘Roman,’ Logan sighed as he opened the door, ‘if that’s you I don’t want to hear any more whining.’

Patton stood in his doorway smiling from ear to ear.

‘Patton,’ Logan greeted, sure that his relief was quite obvious in the way his shoulders sagged. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yes, gosh, everything's amazing!’ Patton near-squealed and Logan hurriedly beckoned him into his room. Patton seemed dangerously close to yelling and Logan did not want Roman hearing it and then getting excited himself.

‘What has caused you such great elation at this late hour?’ Logan asked, feeling himself smile at the pure joy on Patton’s face.

‘You should’ve seen how cute Virgil was!’ Patton immediately gushed, and Logan was glad he had managed to close the door behind them quickly. ‘Oh my goodness, Lo. He was so sleepy and adorable! At first, he was nervous about being left alone, but then I switched on that star nightlight you got him and his face just lit up.’

‘Was that a pun?’ Logan narrowed his eyes.

‘I don’t even know anymore!’ Patton cried giddily, his eyes sparkling with happy tears.

Logan chuckled and leaned his back against the wall, sure that Patton was nowhere near finished.

‘Gosh, he was so happy,’ Patton said and started pacing quickly around Logan’s room, dispelling his excited energy. ‘Then I just sat by his bed for like twenty minutes stroking his hair and he was so calm then - oh my gosh - then he reached up and held my finger, Lo!’ Patton held up his finger in demonstration, his eyes wide with awe. ‘His whole hand wrapped around my finger, how friggin’ cute is that? Then he told me he loved me and he just fell straight asleep! Ahh, it was so adorable!’

By the end of his monologue, Patton’s voice had become so strangled and high-pitched that it was barely recognisable.

‘That does sound charming,’ Logan agreed, and couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous.

He was not in any way disappointed that he had taken care of Roman rather than Virgil. He was equally fond of both of them even if Roman did require much more energy to look after. Though Logan wished that Virgil would feel comfortable enough with him that Logan might experience something similar to what Patton had just described.

‘It sounds like a positive bonding experience,’ Logan smiled stiffly.

Patton’s grin faltered. After taking a deep breath, presumably to calm himself from his excitement, he moved to settle beside Logan against the wall.

‘So… How was Roman?’ Patton asked.

From his careful tone, he apparently knew it would not have been such a simple experience getting the older little to go to bed.

‘Next time we’re switching,’ Logan said simply.

‘That bad, huh?’ Patton still smiled, though it was twisted by sympathy.

‘I… wouldn’t say bad, necessarily,’ Logan said. As much as Roman’s protests exhausted him, there was something in the whole routine that had brought Logan some comfort despite the stress. ‘Though it was foolish of me to believe that Roman could not possibly get more petulant.’

‘Poor little guy,’ Patton pouted, then looked to their feet in thought. ‘Do you maybe think his bedtime should -’

‘No,’ Logan interrupted. ‘We are not delaying his bedtime.’

‘But if he was so upset about it…’ Patton said.

‘It was a reflexive response more than anything,’ Logan replied. ‘I think he just wanted an excuse to act childish. Besides, as soon as I read him a story he went straight to bed. He was clearly just reluctant to admit that he really was tired.’

‘Aww, you read him a story?’ Patton asked in delight. ‘That’s so cute!’

‘It was a purely tactical approach,’ Logan said hastily. ‘Being read to in a quiet, soothing tone can trigger an autonomous sensory meridian response in the listener’s brain. It is a widely used technique to effect deep relaxation in both children and adults alike.’

‘Mhm, of course. Purely tactical,’ Patton agreed, though he did not sound convinced.

Logan’ gaze snapped onto Patton to find a knowing smirk being directed towards him.

‘Did you do funny voices?’ The mischievous lilt to Patton’s tone was hypnotising, and Logan could not resist his imploring gaze for long.

‘Maybe,’ Logan finally admitted.

It was impossible to keep a straight face when Patton burst into giggles like that.

‘Y’know, you don’t need to do that,’ Patton said after he had collected himself.

‘Do what?’

‘Pretend you don’t enjoy being Mama Logan,’ Patton said. His hand rested on Logan’s arm gently. ‘I know you love looking after the boys.’

Logan couldn’t deny it. Though even if he wanted to, the tingling warmth spreading from where Patton’s fingers touched him had rendered him momentarily speechless.

‘And the boys love having you as a Mama,’ Patton added.

‘Well, let’s not assume,’ Logan murmured. The grip on his arm tightened.

‘Logan.’ Patton’s voice was hushed and strained. ‘I’m not assuming anything. I know that they love having you as a caregiver.’

‘How do you know?’ Logan asked. The clear desperation in his voice made him squirm.

Patton’s gaze softened.

‘Well, in lots of ways,’ he said. ‘Just earlier, Roman couldn’t stop talking about playing Doctor Who with you yesterday.’

‘Yes, he was rather impressed by my Dalek impression,’ Logan nodded.

‘He didn’t talk about your impressions, silly,’ Patton chuckled, though Logan could not find it in himself to feel offended. ‘He talked about you. About how much fun it was to run around with you and spend the day laughing together.’

‘Oh,’ Logan breathed, feeling his heart swell.

‘And I guess Virgil might be a bit of a Papa’s boy -’

Logan raised his eyebrows.

‘Alright, he definitely is,’ Patton corrected, ‘but I’ve seen the way he cuddles up to you when I’m not there.’

Logan wanted to accept it, he really did. But he could not ignore all of the facts.

‘As you have just stated, that is only when you are unavailable,’ Logan said quietly. ‘I fear - I suspect that I am a mere substitute for his one true caregiver.’

‘Sorry, Logan, but you’re wrong this time,’ Patton said easily. ‘Do you know why Virgil felt so much better when I switched on his nightlight earlier?’

‘Because he is scared of the dark,’ Logan said. ‘They both are. Though I believe Roman’s fear is bordering on nyctophobia.’

��‘No - well, yes,’ Patton conceded. ‘But Virgil’s salt lamp was already on.’

Logan frowned, perplexed.

‘Why would the nightlight make him feel better if it was not to counteract a dark room?’

‘Because it’s from you,’ Patton whispered and nudged his side gently. ‘The nightlight made him happy because it reminded him of his mama.’

Logan could not respond as his throat felt too tight all of a sudden. A smile tugged at his lips.

‘I know you don’t think so, but caregiving comes just as naturally to you as it does to me,’ Patton said. He leaned against Logan’s side slightly and Logan’s breath stalled in his chest. ‘Sure, we’re very different caregivers; you make sure they behave with rules and I probably spoil them with too many sweets. But just because I’m more cuddly than you doesn’t mean I’m a better dad.’

‘Thank you,’ Logan whispered, breathing deeply for the first time since the conversation had started.

‘Besides,’ Patton added cheerily, ‘you’ve been getting a lot better at showing affection with them.’ He paused, and Logan almost though he had finished speaking, but then Patton added in a more stunted tone: ‘And…’

‘And?’ Logan prompted, unable to tear his gaze away from how Patton chewed at his bottom lip.

‘With me,’ Patton whispered and met Logan’s eyes earnestly.

The hand which had been resting on his arm all of this time snaked down to wrap around Logan’s wrist lightly.

Pleasant shivers coursed through Logan’s veins at the contact and left him stunned. Patton’s fingers had been resting casually on his arm for most of the conversation, but this touch felt different somehow. The intent behind it was suddenly impossible to ignore.

‘Oh, shoot,’ Patton breathed, his eyes falling to the ground quickly, ‘I read this wrong, didn’t I?’

Logan floundered over silent words that would not leave his lips. Patton’s hand hastily snatched off of his wrist.

‘I’m sorry, I - don’t mind me,’ Patton chuckled, though it was shaky and forced. ‘I’m just being silly. I’ll leave, don’t worry about it.’

He had pushed away from the wall but did not get far as Logan hurriedly reached out to grab Patton’s hand. Their fingers intertwined on instinct. Logan’s cheeks heated exponentially.

‘Patton…’ he started but no matter how much he tried, he could not force his mouth to form any more words.

He realised that, for once, language could not effectively express all that he wanted to say. It was terrifying. But as he had taught Roman, sometimes it was more effective to show rather than tell.

He hesitantly moved forward, glad that Patton did not step away. It did not take much movement for Logan to be stood directly in front of him, certainly violating his personal space. Silence settled in the few centimetres between their faces. Logan thought he might be suffering from heatstroke. His palms were sweaty, his face burning and his head swimming as he impulsively closed the gap between their lips.

The kiss was achingly short. Patton’s lips barely ghosted over Logan’s own before the logical side was hit full-force with the realisation of what he had just done. He snapped his head back with wide eyes.

‘I apologise, I should not have done that,’ Logan blurted, feeling as though his tongue was inexplicably too large for his mouth. ‘I have no idea what came over me to think I could kiss you without asking for your -’

‘Logan?’ Patton’s free hand came up to cup his jaw and Logan’s mouth snapped shut.

‘Hm?’ he hummed.

‘Shut up,’ Patton whispered fondly.

Logan only had a brief second to see the spark of determination in his brown eyes before Patton pushed up and kissed him again.

Their lips slotted together so effortlessly, Logan thought they might have been made for each other. He breathed out through his nose, the warm air bouncing straight off of Patton’s skin and back onto his own. The heat was unbearable matched with the burning of his cheeks, but he could not consider pulling back. Patton’s lips were soft and slid against his own in such a mesmerizing dance.

A low sigh of content sounded in his throat and a muffled hum of agreement came from Patton in response. Logan could not contain a wide smile, and when Patton accidentally ended up kissing his front teeth they both broke down into breathy giggles.

Reluctantly, Logan pulled away from him by a few inches so that they did not accidentally butt heads in their laughter. Patton’s hand fell to his shoulder and Logan responded by curling his own fingers around the nape of Patton’s neck. Through his fingertips, he could feel the shiver that coursed through Patton’s body.

‘That was,’ Logan paused to gasp an inhale, surprised by how breathless he was, ‘highly satisfactory.’

‘I’ll say,’ Patton agreed fervently. ‘I wasn’t sure you felt the same way.’

‘I am not certain of what “way” you mean,’ Logan said cautiously. He, of course, had his theory but he did not want to risk being wrong about something so significant. ‘Your phrasing was rather ambiguous.’

‘Whoops, I guess my brain’s just a bit frog -gy from the kiss,’ Patton said giddily, eyes brightening in the way they always did when he wanted to laugh at his own joke.

‘Ambiguous, not amphibious,’ Logan corrected, though he was somewhat glad for the Patton’s relapse into dad jokes. It was familiar and comforting and dispelled Logan’s anxieties about making an incorrect assumption. ‘I will hazard a guess at what you meant and be blunt: I harbour a romantic attraction towards you, Patton.’

‘Oh, thank goodness!’ Patton’s breath rushed from him.

‘I take it my assumption was correct,’ Logan smirked, but it was quickly swallowed by Patton’s lips.

They kissed for a long time after that. Logan’s legs grew numb, but neither of them made a move to sit down or change position. They barely allowed themselves to stop for breath, let alone something so unimportant as moving. The only matter of importance to Logan right now was kissing Patton.

Eventually, they slowed, pecking each other wherever they could reach between hushed words.

‘Did you notice Roman playing cupid?’ Patton asked against Logan’s cheek.

‘How could I not?’ Logan huffed in amusement. He kissed Patton’s eyebrow. ‘He wasn’t very subtle when his reason for braiding my hair was, and I quote, “to make you extra pretty so Dad will swoon and fall into your arms”.’ Patton snorted, interrupting the kiss he was pressing to Logan’s jaw. ‘I almost wanted to put him in timeout,’ Logan admitted.

‘Almost?’ Patton asked.

‘Well,’ Logan pulled back and looked at Patton with a smile curling one side of his lips, ‘his plan did work.’

‘Oh, I swooned for you long before that,’ Patton shook his head fondly and pushed a strand of Logan’s hair behind his ear. ‘I’m pretty sure Roman knew that already, though.’

‘He is frustratingly observant when it comes to romance,’ Logan said, stroking his thumb over Patton’s cheekbone.

‘Aw, he’s just passionate,’ Patton defended, then twisted his head to peck Logan’s wrist.

‘Even so,’ Logan sighed, feeling a pit in his stomach, ‘I dread the bombardment of invasive questions and interventions he would bestow upon us if he knew what we’ve been doing for the past -’ he checked his watch ‘- twenty-five minutes. Wow.’

He leaned forward to kiss Patton’s nose but Patton curled back as if burned.

‘You don’t want anyone to know, do you?’ Patton asked, and the hurt in his tone was unbearable.

‘That is not what I meant,’ Logan quickly corrected. He gently carded his fingers through Patton’s hair as the moral side often did with Virgil and Roman. ‘Please know, it is not that I wish to hide my romantic feelings for you. I’ve hidden them for months and quite frankly I am tired of it.’

‘Months?’ Patton smiled.

‘Of course,’ Logan said softly. ‘And while this is a welcome development, it is also a significant one that will have a profound impact on the whole household.’ Patton started nodding. ‘Roman will be rather intense in his support, possibly to a fault. As for Virgil -’

‘Virgil doesn’t like change,’ Patton finished, sounding resigned. ‘No, I get it. I don’t want to upset anyone.’

Logan pulled Patton’s hand up to his lips and kissed each one of his knuckles tenderly. Patton's breath shallowed.

‘I am certain they will be supportive when we do decide to tell them, but for now,’ Logan sighed gently and lowered Patton’s hand, ‘I believe it will be beneficial to our family dynamic if we maintain subtlety.’

‘It’s no problem, Lo,’ Patton shrugged with a smile. ‘I can be subtle, easy peasy mac and cheesy!’

Logan felt a little put out by how easily Patton had said that.

‘Well,’ he straightened his posture and focussed on not letting his disappointment leak into his tone. ‘Don’t sound so sure. It may be harder than it sounds.’

‘Nah,’ Patton said flippantly and Logan saw a cheeky smile pull at his lips. ‘You’re not that irresistible.’

Logan’s mouth dropped open in offence and Patton started giggling under his breath.

So Logan swiftly ducked to Patton’s lips with the intention of proving him wrong.

oOo

Virgil gasped, his upper body flying up from the mattress. His breath came in short pants as he reached out in panic and grasped onto the first thing he could find. He frantically ran his trembling fingers over the object. Soft. Fluffy. Real.

He clutched Minty to his chest tightly and a shaky exhale rushed from him. He was in his bed, in his room. He wasn’t hurt, no one was hurt. He was safe.

His heart still pounded against his ribs and his head swam from the violent awakening, but he knew it would get better soon and he would be able to go back to sleep. Then he shifted on the mattress and froze.

‘No, no, no, no,’ he whispered in anguish as his stomach sank.

He hid his face against his toy. He didn’t need to be able to see to know that his pyjama pants and sheets were soaked through. He gritted his teeth against a wince at the familiar feeling of wet cotton clinging to his skin.

It never got any less upsetting when he wet the bed. He knew how to cope with it, of course. It happened often enough that he had a tried and tested routine that meant none of the light sides had ever discovered his embarrassing problem. He was at least relieved that he had thought to invest in an absorbent mattress protector when he first moved in. It saved him a lot of trouble. Though it didn’t exactly make this habit any less humiliating to deal with.

Virgil usually jumped straight into action when he woke up to wet sheets, working on autopilot to clean up quickly and quietly. But at that moment he felt stuck. His legs were locked in place and his lip began wobbling.

‘Papa,’ he heard himself whimper.

It was unexpectedly high-pitched and shaky and it jolted Virgil out of his haze.

He tensed and growled in frustration. What was he doing?

The hand that wasn't cradling Minty wrapped in his hair and pulled harshly at the locks. He didn’t need his papa, he had always dealt with this on his own. It was bad enough Patton had seen Virgil wet himself in the hallway 3 days previously, he didn’t need to see this too!

Virgil eased the tugging on his hair and instead started stroking it absently. But when he had an accident last time he got lots of cuddles and kisses and it made it less scary. And the next day Papa said Virgil needed to go and get him if it happened again. Virgil didn’t want to be a bad baby.

He felt his eyes burn with tears at the thought of dealing with his wet sheets all on his own, not getting any cuddles, and being told off for it.

No, that wouldn’t happen! Virgil shook his head quickly, trying to make himself a grown-up. Why was he even debating the situation? He didn’t want anyone to know that he wet the bed, that was all there was to it. He wouldn’t get told off for not going to get his papa's help if Patton never even found out about this.

With Minty still cuddled tightly to his chest, Virgil threw the covers off and stood on shaky legs. He looked down to the sheets. The sight of the wet patch sucked all determination from his body and he started trembling uncontrollably.

He didn’t know what to do! The bed was soaked, his pants were soggy and cold, his skin was getting itchy, and there was a big, achey lump in his throat.

He sniffled and brought his thumb up to his lips. He felt yucky. With a gasp, he remembered Papa was sitting next to his bed when Virgil went to sleep. He quickly looked over but the spot was empty now. He turned in a big circle. He couldn’t see Papa anywhere in the room!

A whimper came from his throat and he hugged Minty tighter. The bright stars on the walls and ceiling made it a little bit less scary, but he still wanted his papa.

The yellow hallway light shone through the crack under his door and Virgil realised what he needed to do. He needed to go and find Papa all on his own.

He walked over to the door and opened it carefully, peeking out just in case Papa was waiting outside and wanted to surprise him.

The hallway was empty. He took a really deep breath. Monsters only lived in the dark so he shouldn’t be scared of the brightly lit corridor. He jumped out from his room and ran across the hall really, really quick.

He got to Papa’s door and knocked on it. Hopefully, he came straight out and hugged Virgil! He didn’t like standing on his own ever, but especially not in wet pants. They made him feel small and scared.

Papa didn’t come to the door and Virgil felt a sharp stab in his chest.

He knocked again, a lot louder.

When there was no response Virgil felt some invisible force weigh down his mind so that he felt much more present in his body. Patton was an incredibly light sleeper, the slightest gust of wind would wake him up. Something wasn’t right.

Virgil quickly pushed the door open and flicked the light on. His eyes searched the couch and bed frantically, finding no sign of Patton. Then with a gulp, he dropped his gaze to scout for any lifeless heaps on the floor. Nothing. Images of Patton having hurt himself or worse during the night quickly dissipated from Virgil’s mind and he sighed in relief.

Then suddenly his head felt floaty like before, but there was a sinking feeling in his stomach this time. His adult ease was quickly replaced by childish desperation.

‘Papa,’ he whined to nobody.

Tears finally fell to his cheeks and he started sucking on his thumb. There were pacis in Minty’s secret pocket but he didn’t want to drop them everywhere because he was so shaky. Mama always wanted him to use pacis instead of his thumb, though.

He gasped around his thumb and turned to run out of the room. Mama could help find Papa!

He hurried to Mama’s room as quickly as he could and reluctantly took his thumb out of his mouth to knock on the door. He wanted to suck on it again but didn’t want Mama to tell him it was bad so he hugged Minty with both hands instead.

There were lots of shuffling sounds behind the door. For a bit, Virgil thought Mama wasn’t going to open it. Did he want Virgil to go away? He pouted at the thought but then the door was open and Mama was looking down at him with his eyebrows pushed together. His cheeks were pink.

‘Virgil, it’s past midnight,’ Mama said. ‘What are you doing up?’

Virgil didn’t know what to say and bit his lip. Was Mama mad at him? He looked at the ground. He didn’t want to see Mama if he looked angry.

‘Are you alright?’ Mama asked, and this time it sounded a lot softer.

He put his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. It was heavy and made breathing a bit easier.

Virgil looked up again and Mama didn’t look angry at all, so Virgil wasn’t so scared to respond.

‘Papa wasn’t there,’ Virgil whispered.

‘Why do you need -’ Mama started asking but then his eyes went down and his face changed.

Virgil realised he was looking at his wet pants and he quickly dropped his hands to hold Minty in front of himself. He didn’t like it when people looked at his accidents, it gave him so many butterflies that his tummy hurt.

‘It’s alright, little one,’ Mama said.

Then there was a weird squeaky noise from his bedroom but Virgil didn’t know what it was. The words Mama said put a fuzzy feeling in Virgil’s chest that made him feel less scared, but it also made him cry more. It was weird.

‘Did you try to find Papa after you had an accident?’ Mama leaned down to look in his eyes.

‘N-not in his room,’ Virgil whimpered and tugged on Minty’s tail with the memory.

‘Uh, well,’ Mama said quietly. He sounded a bit scared too, but not really the same kind of scared. ‘Maybe he is just… on a little trip?’

Lots of scary pictures of Papa never ever coming back played in Virgil’s head. His heart jumped really hard and hot tears filled up his eyes.

‘I wan Papa,’ Virgil whined. His chest got tight and then a sob hurt his throat. ‘Papa.’

There was a loud crash behind Mama and Virgil jumped. He saw Mama's closet door had burst open and then someone scrambled out from the shirts.

‘I’m here, baby!’ Papa yelled and jogged over to him.

‘So much for subtlety,’ Mama said really quietly.

Virgil didn’t know why Papa was in Mama’s closet but he didn’t care. Warm arms were hugging him and Virgil sniffled and buried his head in Papa’s shirt. The smell made him feel happy and made his head tingle.

‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ Papa whispered and patted Virgil’s hair. ‘Papa’s got you.’

Virgil cried and held Papa’s shirt tightly in his fingers. He never wanted Papa to leave again!

‘Why did you say I was on a trip?’ he heard Papa whisper.

‘I panicked,’ Mama whispered back.

Virgil didn’t want Mama to panic. Panic was really scary. He pulled his head back to look at Papa. He wanted to ask if Mama was okay but he didn’t know how to and he pouted. Words were tricky.

‘I’m so proud of you for coming to get Mama when you couldn’t find me, baby,’ Papa said with a smile. ‘Now, sweetheart, can Papa please give you a bath?’

Virgil put his thumb back in his mouth and laid his cheek on Papa’s chest again.

‘It will be nice and relaxing,’ Papa said and his chest rumbled and made Virgil feel sleepy. ‘Then we can get you in some clean pyjamas and then cuddle for as long as you want!’

Virgil sniffled. It might be scary if Papa gave him a bath because he had to be naked, but he didn’t want to do it on his own and his skin was really itchy and burning now. And Papa said they can cuddle after!

‘Yeth peas,’ Virgil mumbled around his thumb.

‘Good boy!’ Papa said and it made Virgil’s tummy feel better.

‘Virgil, did you have an accident while you were awake or did you wet the bed?’ Mama asked.

Virgil felt his cheeks get hot and he hid his face more in Papa’s shirt. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about his bedwetting. He just wanted Papa to cuddle him and help make things better, he didn’t want to talk about it!

‘Honey, I need you to be really brave for me,’ Papa kissed his head and it made a happy noise come from Virgil’s throat. ‘Can you please be a good baby and nod for Mama if your bed is wet?’

Virgil didn’t want to nod but he really didn’t want to lie, so he nodded. He didn’t like that it was quiet after he nodded. What if Papa and Mama thought he was bad and they didn’t want to look after him anymore?

He whimpered and hugged Papa tighter.

‘Shh, it’s alright, baby,’ Papa said and stroked his hair. ‘Thank you for telling us.’

‘Mama is going to make your bed for you, Virgil,’ Mama’s voice said right by his ear.

Virgil turned his head a bit on Papa’s chest and opened one eye to see Mama crouching down and looking at him. He didn’t look angry or anything, he looked friendly just like normal. But Virgil still felt a bit shy. He sucked his thumb more.

‘Do you want me to take Minty and tuck them in while you have a bath?’

Virgil looked down at the dino squished between him and Papa and thought for a bit. He kind of wanted to take Minty with him but he didn’t want them getting wet. Plus, if he had Papa with him then he didn’t need Minty to protect him anymore.

He slowly nodded and took his thumb out of his mouth so he could push Minty into Mama’s open hands.

‘Thank you,’ Mama said then stood up tall again. Virgil liked that Mama was really tall. It made him feel safe.

‘So…’ Mama said quietly.

‘Yeah,’ Papa said back.

Virgil was really confused. The grown-ups sometimes spoke in ways he didn’t understand. He didn’t really care though. Minty was held under Mama’s arm like a basketball and it looked funny. Virgil smiled then reached out to poke their nose. Fluffy!

‘Shall we continue our…’ Mama was even quieter now, ‘our discussion later?’

‘Sure, later,’ Papa whispered.

Virgil looked up and saw Papa smiling. He liked it when Papa smiled.

Mama started to walk away but then he stopped and walked back.

‘How could I forget,’ he said then lifted Minty.

It looked like he was tickling them for a bit but then he held something up. A paci!

Virgil lifted his head from Papa’s chest. He really wanted his paci. It was way better than his thumb.

‘Can you tell Mama what colour this is, little one?’ Mama asked nicely. It made Virgil’s head tingle.

The paci was dark and it had little glittery bits that were really pretty.

‘Sparky,’ Virgil said quietly.

Papa squeezed him a bit and made a funny sound.

‘It is sparkly, you’re right,’ Mama said and then he held it up to Virgil’s lips.

Virgil opened his mouth for it. When he felt the chewy smooth bit on his tongue he breathed deep in his nose and closed his eyes. Pacis always felt really nice.

He opened them again to try to say thank you with his eyes but Mama was already walking away.

‘Let’s go run you a warm bath, baby,’ Papa said and pinched Virgil’s cheek. It didn’t hurt, it was really soft and kind of tickly. ‘This is gonna be soap much fun! Are you bubbling over with excitement?’

Papa tapped Virgil’s nose and Virgil giggled and nodded. He wasn’t scared anymore!

oOo

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#ts agere #ts agere fic #sanders sides agere #agere virgil #little virgil #cg patton #cg logan #little/big series #little/big series fics #little accidents big developments

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demivampirew · 4 years

Text

Don’t judge a book by its cover Chapter 6 (final chapter)

A Cap. Syverson story.

Triggers: Heartbreak ;use of curse words; crying; puking.

Synopsis: Rebeca is an Argentinian girl who a few months ago moved to the USA (Washington D.C) to study in university thanks to a scholarship that she was granted. She’s lonely. People don’t treat her well. Some could be understood but most of them just hate her for being a foreigner. She meets Syverson because he’s a man from the South and she has not had a good experience with people from there, but she may find out at the end that she shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Tag: lunedelorient

You’ll find a note at the end of the chapter, which is an explanation of what is being said when the * appears.

Things couldn't be better for Rebeca. She had been dating a wonderful man for the last three months and he treated her like a true queen. She passed all her exams with high grades and now was rightfully enjoying her spring break. Now she had time to hang out with her friend Danielle and even would have double dates with her and her girlfriend Phoebe. She couldn't be happier. One morning she woke up feeling like hell. She had to run to the bathroom to puke. At first, she thought that could have been something that she ate the day before that settled badly in her stomach, but after several days of waking up nauseous and feeling awful but then feeling better the rest of the day, she realized that something else was going on. She decided to take a pregnancy test - two actually, for more certainty- at both gave positive as a result. She was expecting a baby. They usually were careful when having sex, but there were two separate occasions in which they didn't use a condom. She was nervous. What would happen now? Could she lose her scholarship due to her pregnancy? What if they wanted to kick her out of the country and separate her from the child once he had him/her? Would Sy be happy with the news? Should she have the baby at all? The only answer she knew was the last one and it was yes; that baby would be her's and Sy's. She needed now to find out how he felt about it. As long as he was ok with the baby, she'd know that everything was going to be ok, because he always going to be there for her, to help her solved any troubling situation she might be in. After work, she went straight to Sy's house to share the news with him. She was quite nervous, but also excited. If he was happy with the news, then she would get the family she always dream of. She entered the house using the key he gave her and once inside the house she searched for her boyfriend. She found him sitting in the couch, crossing both on his arms in his chest, looking at the space in front of him, lost in his thoughts. Something bad had happened, she could feel it. She caught his attention and he looked at her in silence for a few moments. "Fuck" he cursed and she knew that whatever happened, it was really bad. He sighed and asked her to sit in the couch with him, that he needed to talk to her. - I got the call - he said with sadness. No further explanation was necessary, she knew exactly what that meant. - How long? - she questioned. - Maybe a year or more. They need me there, it has to be me. The locals already know me, I'm the only one who might bring some peace there. - he answered. - I knew I shouldn't have started a relationship. I knew that this day would come in eventually. I didn't want to hurt you, babe.- he apologized. - What are you saying? It's a year or maybe a bit more. I'll wait for you. - Beca assured him - Darling, I may never come back, that's how things go there. I tell you is a year and might end being more. Last time I was supposed to be only for a few months and ended up staying for three years. That's a lot of time. You're young, you cannot spend the rest of your days waiting for a man that might never come back. - he tried to reason with her. - You're breaking up with me then? - she asked with tears on her eyes. - I am, yes. This is best for you. - You promised me that you'll always be going to be there to protect me, but you were lying. You're going to leave me alone.- she recriminated him. - I'm really sorry, baby. It hurts my soul knowing that I'll have to leave you, but I have to go. I have to. I don't have another choice. - But you do. You could leave and found another job and never go back, but you want to. You want to be there because you want to save people, is in your nature. That's who you are. You want to help even if it costs you everything. - she replied, filled with sadness. She stood up a walk to the door with the intentions to leave. He followed her. - Beca, stop. It's late, don't go. It can be dangerous. - he pleaded her to stay the night. She wanted to act like a stubborn child and just leave, but she knew he was right. I was nighttime already and was dark outside. And she needed to think in the baby. "the baby" she thought, reminding herself that now she was going to be alone in this predicament. She was going to be a single mother. She accepted to stay, but she would sleep in the couch, he tried to persuade her to change places, so she would sleep in the bed and him on the couch, but he knew that'd be a waste of energy, she was too stubborn to listen. She spent at least two hours crying silently and thinking in all the mess she was caught on. She was going to have a child in a country that wasn't her own and probably wouldn't want her, an inmigrant with a study visa, to have an American kid. She would probably lose her visa and her job because there was no way she could study and work with a baby and also would not be able to afford childcare. There was only one solution she could find: she needed to go back to her country. There, her family would help her and she would be able to study in her former university and work while her parents looked after the baby. That was the only solution. Then she thought about Sy; the fact that she'd probably never see him again and how he could even die in the battlefield. She got up from the couch, went into the bedroom and saw that he was awake, probably thinking as much as she was. As soon as he saw her, he sat on the bed and stared at her. First, she looked mad at him, but then she started to cry and he extended both of his arms, waiting for her to accommodate herself in his chest so he could hug her. After a bit, she felt a little bit better. She looked into his eyes and kissed him. If that was the last time she would ever see him, she wanted to be a night that neither would forget. A proper goodbye. Neither of them spoke again, they let their bodies do the talking. He made love to her for the very last time, taking the sweet taste of her lips with him forever in his heart. ----------------------------------------------------------- Two years later Syverson was back from the Middle East. He was promoted and now he would never have to come back there again. He was ready to settle down alive and normal life. He would help train new soldiers and would help the new captain there from America, giving orders of how to proceed, but he would never go back. The first thing that crossed into his mind, the main reason he fought to never go back, was to see Rebeca. She was on his mind constantly. There wasn't a single day he wouldn't think of her or dream with her. He planned to search for her, and if she hadn't moved on with her life, he would beg her to take him back. She was his everything. He went to her place and found a young man living there. The gentleman told him that he never meet the former tenant of that house and that he's been living there for over a year and a half. Syverson then looked for her in the grocery store, but she wasn't there either. Another girl was working there, who told him that the owners of the store were on vacations and that she never meet any former employee and that she had been working there for a few months. College was his last resource. He waited for her to get out of the building, but that never happened. After the place was almost empty, he lost his hope in seeing her. He was about to leave when he saw a familiar face leaving the place. - Danielle! - he called at the girl. She turned around and recognized him immediately. - Sy!- she greeted him, surprised to see him.- How are you? - I'm fine. How are you? - he asked politely - I'm great, thanks. - she replied- What are you doing here? - I'm looking for Beca. I've been searching for her everywhere but I haven't been able to find her. Her phone is not the same, she moved and she doesn't work in the grocery store anymore. - he explained confused.- Is there any chance you might now where is she? - I do, actually.- he admitted and took a pause before delivering the bad news- She went back to Argentina. - What? -he questioned, shooked by the news. It was like an ice-cold shower - What happened? Did she lose her scholarship? Did something do something to her? - he asked worriedly. - No, she's fine, don't worry. She went back shortly after you left - the young lady informed him- She said she missed her family a lot and didn't want to stay any longer in the country. She didn't lose her scholarship, she gave it up.- Sy was speechless. He has lost her forever. He couldn't accept that just like that. He needed to see her again, somehow. - Do you have a phone number by any chance? - he asked her - No, sorry.- she apologized. After a little pause, she continued - I have her address, though. She sends me an email with her address and I sent her mine so she could send me things she wanted me to try from her country and I'll send her things that only could find here. -----------------------------------------------------------

He had learnt enough Spanish from two Latino soldiers on his squad to be able to handle short conversations. So, thankfully, it wasn't to difficult for Syverson to order a taxi at the Argentinian airport to go to Rebeca's house. He got out of the taxi and took a minute to see her house. It was quite beautiful, it had flowers in the front. There were bars in the front of the house, so he had to press the doorbell for someone to open the door for him. Moments later, a woman in her late forties or early fifties open the house door. - Hola, qué necesitabas? (Hello, what do you need?)* - asked the woman - Hola. ¿Está Rebeca? (Hello. Is Rebeca here?) - questioned Sy, struggling to hide the fact that he wasn't a Spanish speaker. - Decime tu nombre, así le aviso que la estás buscando (Tell me your name so I tell her you are looking for her) - Digale que Sy la busca, por favor. (Tell her Sy is looking for her, please) - he replied. The woman clearly heard about him, because she looked surprised at looked at him from head to toes, like inspected him. - Espera acá un minuto, ya vuelvo (I'll be back in a minute, wait here) - said the woman and entered the house, closing the door behind her. While waiting, he took a look around the place. Pedestrians were walking around, looking at him, just like some old ladies who were sitting in the porch of the house chatting. For a moment, he felt like a zoo animal. Around ten minutes later, the door opened again and Beca appeared, closing the door behind her and walking towards him. She opened the bars door and let him in. They looked at each other in silence for a moment and then hugged, like if neither of them could believe that was happening. After the hug, he pressed his head against her forehead and smile. He missed her so much. He looked at her and couldn't even believe it. She was way more beautiful than he remembered. - Why did you leave? - he asked her - It's a long story. -she replied. - I thought I lost you forever.- he replied, sighing in relief to know that he was finally with her again. - I ... Why are you here Sy? Why are you in Argentina? - I came to you. I want you to come back with me. - he begged her. - I can't. I lost my visa when I gave up my scholarship. - she explained - You can get it back or maybe a work visa - he suggested - It's not that easy, Sy. You know it. - I'm not giving up. I'm going to find a way to bring you back. Please, take me back. - I would, but I don't think I can get back there. Things are way more complicated than you think. - she paused and took a deep breath. Then, she looked into his eyes and asked him to follow her. They entered the house. Rebeca asked him to wait in the living room as she went into another room. While waiting, Syverson inspected the place. It was a homie. It wasn't different from his house or any other American house, but it felt different. The smell of homemade food being cooked; there was a certain cosiness and warmness that it was hard to explain. No wonder she wanted to go back there instead of staying in the coldness of the solitary house she used to live in Washington. He heard a room door open and he settled his eyes in the direction in which Beca disappeared. He froze as he saw her enter the living room with a little girl on her arms. She had the same eyes and curly brown hair that Rebeca, but her face...her face looked like him. It was like looking at the pictures that his mother had of him as a little kid, but with long curly hair. Rebeca sat in a chair next to a table, while looked at the little girl, who was shyly hiding her face on her chest, grabbing some of her curls. Sy kneeled before them, without taking his eyes out of the little girl, speechless. He tried to stroke the girls' hair but she hid even more. Beca caressed her and told her that it was ok. - He's daddy. Do you remember daddy? I showed you pictures of him and talked to you about him? He's here. - she explained the little girl. - Does she speak English? - asked Sy, without even thinking. He still was in shock. - Yes. I decided to teach her both English and Spanish at the same time. She's still learning, but she understands when you speak to her in both languages.- she explained. - Hi, baby. I'm your daddy.- he replied, with tears in his eyes. He couldn't believe he had a daughter. - Why... -he began, looking at Beca. He didn't have to finish his question because she knew exactly what he was going to ask. - I was going to tell you that day, but then I couldn't. For lots of reasons. I think you might understand why I did it. - I do. - he agreed. She didn't need to explain anything. Whatever happened, happened. He knew that somehow Beca made the right call. It wouldn't have been the same those years if he would have known that she was alone taking care of his child, but he couldn't leave his squad alone either. He felt terrible for losing a year of his daughter's life; for not being there the day she was born, her firsts steps, her first word. Nonetheless, he would be for the rest of her important moments. And no matter how hard I'd be, he would find a way to take his woman and his daughter back with him.

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

- Mommy, mommy, look what daddy bought me! - said Alma running into her mother's arms to show her the new toy she's got. It was a plastic gun. - See? Now I'm a warrior like daddy. - the little 5 years old girl told her mother while pretending to shoot with the gun. - Seriously, Syverson, a gun? - Rebeca reprimanded her husband for the toy he gave to their daughter. - Hey, she chose it herself, ok? - he defended himself, grabbing her wife by her hips and kissing her. - A kiss is not going to get you out of trouble, mister. Tell me, do you think a gun is an appropriate toy for a little girl? - Girls can be awesome soldiers too, ma'am. - he pointed out - I'm not saying that's not an appropriate toy because she's a girl, I'm saying that toy isn't appropriate for a child of any gender. - Apologies, my lady, you're right. But, you know her, she'll leave it on the floor and forget about it in two days, as she does with all of her toys. - he said grinning. - You're lucky you're right, sir, otherwise there was not going to be more kisses for you. - And that would be the end of me. - he finished the conversation, kissing her while he stroked her face.

The end.

Notes: *In Argentina, is a polite way to ask people you don't know who they are and why are they calling at the door.

#cap sy #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson fanfiction #henry cavill #demivampirew

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shannendoherty-fans · 4 years

Photo

Shannen Doherty Is Not Signing Off Just Yet

Fighting Stage IV breast cancer has forced some self-reflection, but the ’90s icon and so-called diva refuses to slow down.

By Kate Pickert Sep 29, 2020. Photos by Kurt Iswarienko. Elle USA October 2020 issue

On a cool evening in February 2019, Shannen Doherty invited some friends to a Venice, California, rental house for a dinner party. Doherty’s actual home was in Malibu, 20 miles north, but she and her husband, photographer Kurt Iswarienko, had fled the property a few months earlier, when a wildfire that started inland burned nearly 100,000 acres on its way to the Pacific Ocean. The couple’s house survived the blaze, but Doherty says the property sustained significant damage that made it uninhabitable.

The guest list for the dinner included only people Doherty trusted: her husband and the friends who knew the real Shannen—not the 1990s tabloid caricature, the loudmouthed bad girl with a temper. Actress Sarah Michelle Gellar was there, along with model Anne Marie Kortright, Malibu real estate agent Chris Cortazzo, and a Los Angeles doctor named Lawrence Piro.

Doherty had compiled the guest list, but it was Piro, her oncologist, who drove the conversation. Less than two years earlier, the actress had finished treatment for breast cancer, and Piro was at the dinner to explain that Doherty’s disease was back. The cancer, Piro said, was now metastatic (also known as Stage IV), meaning it had spread beyond Doherty’s breast and lymph nodes. “The way he presented everything to everyone was matter-of-fact,” Doherty, 49, tells me when we speak in June. The news was devastating, of course, and Doherty had invited Piro so her friends could get answers to the questions she knew they would have. Would she die of this? Probably. Would she die soon? Probably not. Why did this happen? It was impossible to know. Could this be treated? Yes, to a point. “Everybody got to ask questions and know what we were looking at as a group, as a team,” Doherty says.

About 300,000 American women are diagnosed with breast cancer every year. In the majority of cases, initial treatment for the disease is effective, curing the patient. But in a significant share of cases, the breast cancer returns, either to the breast or nearby lymph nodes or to other parts of the body. In Doherty’s case, despite the surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation she had undergone after her first diagnosis, it seemed that some cancer cells had survived the assault and made their way to her spine. Eventually, the disease will most likely spread further, to Doherty’s brain, lungs, liver, or some combination thereof.

Still, there was reason for hope, Piro told the group. Treatment for metastatic breast cancer, which was once an automatic death sentence, has advanced in recent years, with patients living longer and having a better quality of life. Some survive for a decade or more. Doherty’s treatment would include hormone therapy to block the estrogen fueling her cancer, plus a second targeted drug that is often effective at stabilizing metastatic disease. If this didn’t work, there were other drug combinations to try, but the bottom line was that Doherty would be in treatment for the rest of her life. As Piro explained all this, his patient sat at the table, listening.

Nearly 30 years after she played Brenda Walsh on Beverly Hills, 90210, Doherty is still striking, with high cheekbones and shiny, jet-black hair. “I think people have a mental picture of Stage IV cancer as someone sitting in a gray hospital gown, looking out a window on their deathbed,” Iswarienko, tells me. “I don’t see a cancer patient when I look at Shannen. I see the same woman I fell in love with. She looks healthy and vital.”

As if a massive wildfire and a metastatic cancer diagnosis weren’t enough, there was more bad news to come. Weeks after the Venice dinner, Doherty’s 90210 costar Luke Perry died suddenly of a massive stroke. After the show, they had grown apart, but they’d reconnected in recent years. They were even talking about working together, developing a new television project.

At a memorial service for Perry in March 2019, Doherty saw Brian Austin Green, the only other 90210 castmate she could call a close friend. Green had known Doherty even before they were onscreen together, and she shared the news of her metastatic diagnosis with him, even though she was keeping it under wraps publicly. Doherty and Green chatted at the memorial, and the conversation eventually shifted to the latest reboot of the show, called BH90210, a scripted-reality version of the old nighttime drama set in the present day. Castmates Tori Spelling and Jennie Garth had helped come up with the idea for the series, which had been green-lighted at Fox, and all the principals of the original had signed on—except Doherty.

Even before her cancer diagnosis, Doherty was dead set against doing the show. “I had already done two 90210s by that point,” she says. “I didn’t really see it as something that was going to help, but I did feel that it could stir up stuff from when I was 19 years old.”

The 1990s made Doherty a household name, but the decade also left scars. She had helped build 90210 and the Fox network into juggernauts, but on and off set, she seemed to run into problems wherever she went. Celebrity tabloids regularly published stories about Doherty fighting with producers, writers, and actors. She was a diva, according to reports. She was a bitch, they said, impossible to deal with. A 1993 People magazine cover declared Doherty “Out of Control!” after the actress’s ex-fiancé accused her in court of threatening him with bodily harm. The story itself, one of many like it, reported that Doherty had “left a trail of bad debts, trashed homes, exhausted friendships, and wasted relationships.” There was even an I Hate Brenda newsletter devoted to bad-mouthing Doherty and her onscreen character. “The more stories that were written about me, the more defensive and closed off I became,” Doherty tells me. “And the bigger the walls I built around me. I had a lot of resentment.”

Doherty had worked hard to move on from that time. When the newest reboot came around, she had long been out of the spotlight, but her relative obscurity had an upside—privacy, which she prized more than anything. She didn’t want to go back, to the tabloids or her castmates. But Green asked her to reconsider. “I was really pitching her: ‘I know it’s going to be fucking hard, but come do it. I think it’ll be really good for you,’ ” Green says. The actors had grown up and were all different people now, Green told her, and so was she. He would act as a buffer if she needed one. “ ‘This is a rare opportunity to experience each other again in a much different way,’ ” Green says he told her.

Perry’s death shifted things for Doherty. Maybe the show could be a sort of tribute to him. Maybe it was a chance to prove to herself that metastatic breast cancer didn’t mean the end of working. Maybe it was both. “Things happen and you go, ‘All right, this is what I’m supposed to be doing at this moment,’ ” she says.

This moment would be different. Doherty had changed, yes, but so had her ability to fight back against negative stories in the celebrity press. “I knew that once I signed up for the show, the bullshit would start all over again. And, in fact, it did,” she says. The reboot’s showrunner and several writers quit before the new show began shooting, and rumors swirled that Doherty was once again acting out. “I addressed it immediately,” Doherty says. On Instagram, she wrote, “I refuse to be cast in the same villain role because ‘journalists’ lack imagination.… I am a woman with my own story.” She wrote that the rumors about her causing upheaval with the new show were untrue and that she was a more complicated person than the headlines made her seem: “I promise,” she wrote, “you don’t know me.”

Part 1 - Part 2

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sinemoras09 · 4 years

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Crash pad excerpt

How Obito becomes Hokage. (Background: everyone was accidentally resurrected after the war and Obito and Madara were put under surveillance.) I combined several ficlets here. @innovativestruggles

Note: this is a sequel to the fan comic birdsong, where Hashirama is a woman. In this fic she and Madara had gotten married and had kids. Also, Rin isn’t resurrected yet. Obito is living by himself.

-----

"Apparently I'm cursed to be surrounded by idiots," Madara says, when he sees that once again he's being chaperoned by Gai and Naruto.

"Yo!" Naruto says, and Gai gives him a hearty salute. Madara sighs heavily.

They walk down the forest path, Gai spouting ridiculous platitudes while the Uzumaki brat laughs and nods excitedly. It makes sense that he's paired up with them: Might Gai was the only shinobi who managed to injure him, and the Naruto kid's strength rivaled that of the current generations' kage - which doesn't say much, but the fact remains.

"Oh, look! It's Kakashi-sensei! And look, there's my dad!" Naruto says, and Madara looks up and sees Obito being similarly chaperoned, flanked by Kakashi and Minato as they walk toward them.

"Yo," Kakashi says, as they pass. Minato's eyes close into pleasant half-moons as he smiles at Naruto. Obito keeps staring straight ahead of them.

Madara sighs. Somehow it's even more depressing seeing his protégé similarly neutered.

"Yo, Bushy-Eyebrows-sensei! We should do push-ups after the mission, dattebayo!"

Madara glances up at Obito. Obito shrugs.

*****

Uchiha Obito wakes before his alarm.

He shuts off the clock radio, then pads barefoot toward the bathroom. The sun hasn't risen yet, and everything is shaded in a blue-gray hue outside. Silently Obito opens the medicine cabinet and methodically shakes open his medications - an antidepressant, a migraine prophylactic, and a pain pill for the lingering neuropathy he has in his face, arm, and leg. Closing the medicine cabinet, he looks briefly at his face in the mirror before dry-swallowing the pills, grimacing a bit before turning on the tap of running water.

"Yo," Kakashi says. He's waiting for Obito outside the apartment steps. Obito walks down the metal grated stairs, wearing the standard shinobi flak jacket in Konoha's colors. He doesn't wear the forehead protector, though - it feels dishonest and it makes him slightly uncomfortable.

"What's today's mission?" Obito says.

"VIP escort to the Fire Kingdom's periphery. Easy enough. Sensei is going to meet us at the gate."

They hitch their packs and walk.

The sun is starting to rise, its pale rays starting to peek over the lingering shadows. Minato is there, and he gives them a cheerful wave as they join him.

They called it a second life. Second chance, new beginnings. A way to redeem themselves; a miracle. Whatever it is, Obito has adjusted to his new life in the village. Even if his crimes were forgiven, he still has a need for atonement.

*****

His throat tightened the first time he spoke to Sensei in the village.

"Sensei, forgive me," Obito said, and his voice cracked. "I can never forgive myself for what I did, for hurting your wife and child. I understand if hate me. I can't help but hate myself."

Kakashi watched. Minato stood, the slight spring breeze catching his hair. He smiled and patted Obito on the shoulder.

"Water under the bridge," Minato said. Obito lifted his eyes.

"Sensei?"

Minato's eyes closed into two happy crescents: "I know Kushina would be the first to offer forgiveness, and my child is already grown, and quite fond of you."

Obito's eyes grew shiny with tears. "Sensei--"

Kakashi clapped Obito's back. "You always were a stupid crybaby."

And Obito laughed, wiping his eyes.

Now the three of them are a team - a formal team of equals, no longer tasked with watching him. He's accepted as a part of the village - people smile when they greet him and no one is afraid of him. "This doesn't feel right," Obito had said to Kakashi, in a low voice. "By all rights, the villagers should shun me after what I did."

Kakashi sighed. "I think you need to go up on that antidepressant," Kakashi said.

*****

They call themselves Team Minato, just like they did during their genin days.

They work their jutsus in tandem, Kakashi flanking their target on one side while Obito runs toward the other. One blink, and Obito's kamui swirls, Minato flash-stepping beside them and neutralizing the threat.

Afterwards, they sit at the base of a tree, eating a few rice balls and sharing a canteen of water. Obito is screwing back on the cap when a thought suddenly occurs to him. "Sensei?"

Minato looks up. "Yeah?"

"I just realized, Sensei. Physically we're all the same age."

"You just now figured that out?" Kakashi says, and Minato laughs. Obito glares and blushes.

"It was just an observation," Obito says. He tosses a stick on the ground and puts away his canteen.

They're coming back from the mission, Kakashi and Minato and Obito, and as they trudge heavily through the forest path toward Konoha, they see the shape of another three-person team walking toward them: Naruto and Hashi and Uchiha Madara.

"Look, it's my dad!" Naruto says, and Minato waves at them.

"Hello," Hashi says to Kakashi. Kakashi nods.

"Yo."

Obito's eyes track toward Madara's. Madara looks back at him stonily.

"Yeesh, that guy is really intense, isn't he?" Kakashi says, after they pass.

"Who?" Minato says.

"Uchiha Madara. Who else?"

Obito tosses a rock, walking a little ahead of them.

"You okay, Obito?" Kakashi asks. Minato looks at him, worried.

"I'm fine," Obito says. He keeps walking. "C'mon. We're almost home."

******

Iruka sits behind his desk, folding his hands in front of him.

"So, as you know, your daughter has finished her first month of kindergarten, and," Iruka takes a moment, keeps his voice calm and measured, "there are some things we need to discuss."

"What is it?" Hashi says. She is sitting in the chair provided in front of Iruka's desk, but Madara has opted to keep standing, his arms crossed and a pinched look on his face. Iruka's eyes dart quickly toward him before turning back to Hashirama.

"Well," Iruka says. "Your daughter is...very advanced."

"Splendid. What is the problem?" Madara says.

"Ah, Madara-san, perhaps...perhaps if you just sit down...?"

Madara's eyes narrow. "I prefer to stand."

"Okay." Iruka rubs his neck nervously. "Well. The young lady is, ah. Is rather intimidating for a five-year-old her age...."

"Intimidating, how?" Hashi says. Iruka takes a breath.

"Well...she used her Sharingan against the faculty a number of times; she used her Rinnegan against a group of upper level students who were learning bunshin jutsus, and apparently she has beat up two genin who were preparing to take their chuunin exams."

"Splendid!" Madara says, while Hashi starts, "What?" Iruka clears his throat.

"As I said, your little girl is very advanced," Iruka says.

"Excellent. So we pull her out of this class and let her take the chuunin exams. I agree with this assessment," Madara says.

"Now hold on, she is still only five years old, mentally and emotionally, she's a kindergartner, so--"

"It is my understanding you people had children as young as four years old fight in the Third Shinobi War, unless I am mistaken," Madara says.

Iruka hesitates, "Well, Uchiha Itachi, like your daughter, was a special case, so--"

"So what is the problem?"

"Anata." Hashi turns around in her chair. "Just come sit down."

Madara glowers. He pulls out the chair and sits heavily, glaring at Iruka. If looks could kill - and on a normal day, Madara's can and does - Iruka would be completely annihilated right now. But because his wife is urging restraint, Madara keeps himself in check. He sits back in the chair and crosses his arms.

"So we have a choice," Iruka says. "We can either pull her out of the classroom now and assign her to a genin team, or we keep her where she is, so she can continue to develop socially."

"Pull her out," Madara says, while Hashi says, "Keep her where she is." They glance at each other. Iruka laughs nervously.

"Well, you two take some time to talk about it. No one needs to come to a decision, now."

*****

"I'm just worried," Hashi says. It's nighttime now, and they're walking down the street, heading back to the house. "The whole point of starting the village was to protect our children from unnecessary harm. Genin go out on real missions, there won't be anyone to protect her if she's in danger."

"She won't be in danger, genin do not do anything," Madara says. "The most she'll do is rescue pets or help frail civilians cross the street. She won't even leave the village."

"Aren't most genin around twelve years old, though? She's five. Those kids are going through puberty. What if they exclude her?"

"Then they will learn to fear and respect her."

"I don't think that's a good plan," Hashi says. They get to the house and open the door.

"Nii-san!"

Madara starts, "Izuna?!"

Their daughter is laughing, pinning Izuna to the wall with her ocular powers, her little brothers giggling by her feet. She looks up and sees them. Her face brightens.

"Mommy! Daddy!" She jumps up and runs toward them. Izuna drops to the ground.

Madara leans toward Hashi. "Hashirama, are you still concerned about those kids going through puberty?" Hashi shakes her head.

"I guess not."

*****

Madara and his daughter are hiding in the bushes, watching a merchant rearranging apples on his fruit stand. Madara points.

"Look well, daughter. You see that man over there?"

"Yes, Daddy?"

"He insulted your father gravely. Let us practice your katons to show him."

"Okay, Daddy!"

She starts weaving her hand seals.

"You set fire to his fruit stand?!" Hashi says, while their daughter laughs and Madara stands, arms crossed, aloof and disaffected.

"Do not worry, Hashirama. She only set the sign on fire."

****

"Why were you throwing rocks at our child?!" Hashi says.

Madara holds up his hands. "I was teaching her to dodge, so that she is not so dependent on the Sharingan."

"By throwing rocks at her?! Knives? Shuriken?!"

"Calm yourself, Hashirama, I would not use weapons against her if I weren't confident she'd survive."

Hashi crosses her arms. "I don't think you should be talking about our daughter 'surviving' your training," Hashi says. Madara frowns.

"Need I remind you, Hashirama, there are jounin not even half her skill level being thrown into mortal peril at all times. I fail to see how she's in any danger from a few loose rocks."

"Can't you just skip stones by the river with her? Practice her katons against wooden targets instead of people?"

"I fail to see the utility in that."

"Ugh."

"More to the point, Hashirama, I'm concerned you're growing soft. We lived in an era of constant war. You are coddling our children."

Hashi looks around. "Wait a minute, where are the babies?" she says.

Madara cocks his head to the side, where she sees the baby and the toddler playing with their toys inside his Susanoo. "I would have left them with weapons, but you told me not to," Madara says.

*****

At the base of the river, an Uchiha child toddles forward. There is something shiny in the riverbank, and the child is curious. He reaches his chubby hands into the water.

Something yanks him backward, and the baby's little legs stumble. He lands squarely on his butt. The baby looks around, confused, then looks up. His face brightens. He reaches his little arms upward.

"What the hell am I looking at?" Obito says, as Madara picks up the toddler from across the river.

Obito is sitting next to Kakashi across the other side of the river, watching with growing disbelief as Uchiha Madara herds his children; one is strapped to his chest while the other one toddles around with a baby leash. Occasionally, he will toddle a little too far, and Madara will yank him backward.

"Have you seen his daughter?" Kakashi asks, and as if on cue, the little girl comes barreling down the trail, shrieking and laughing. There is smoke coming from behind the bushes and they both realize she has set something on fire. "He's practically a house husband," Kakashi says. He stretches, then leans against the tree comfortably. "Tsunade won't let him go on any missions."

"Why?" Obito says. Kakashi shrugs.

"Not trustworthy. And besides, Hashi-san herself is worth the strength of an entire platoon of nin. If something of that magnitude needs to be done, they'd rather just send her in."

"That doesn't anger him?" Obito watches as Madara shepherds his children away from the river. The toddler starts throwing a tantrum: Obito and Kakashi watch as Madara simply genjutsus him.

"I don't think so," Kakashi says, as Madara picks up the toddler the way he would a sack of flour, carrying both babies while his daughter follows him. "I think he actually enjoys it."

"Actually enjoys terrorizing the civilians in the village," Obito says. "I heard he set a local fruit stand on fire."

*****

"She's too powerful. I don't think she should be training with the other genin." The genin team leader, a Nara jounin, is sitting in front of Iruka and Tsunade. A sweat drop forms on the Nara jounin's forehead.

"Powerful, how?" Tsunade says. The Nara jounin swallows.

"Well. The span of her katon is easily the the same width and breadth of an entire fleet of nin. She's so proficient in taijutsu, she's inadvertently nearly killed the other genin. She's turned playground equipment into weapons and when I tried subduing her with my shadow technique, she overwhelmed it with chakra and broke free. And this is without her even using her Sharingan."

"Oh," Tsunade says. "I see." She and Iruka glance at each other.

It had been a compromise: three days a week, Madara's daughter would stay with her kindergarten class, while on the other days she would go train with a genin team. The team was a typical one, three rookie genin and a jounin instructor, and Madara's daughter was allowed to tag along with them on missions.

"What should we do?" Iruka says. He and Tsunade go over potential other jounin instructors, people with ocular powers who could easily subdue her. "The Hyuuga can't seem to handle her, and all the genin are afraid of her."

Tsunade crosses her arms, leaning back in her chair. "I think I know what to do," Tsunade says.

*****

Kakashi, Obito, and Minato stare at the little girl waving in front of them. "Hello!" she says. "My Sensei says I can come and train with you!"

Kakashi and Minato don't skip a beat. "Hello, ojou-chan. How old are you?"

She holds up five fingers. "Five!" she says. She holds up her dolly. "This is my dolly! She has a pink dress! Can she come train too?"

"You have got to be kidding," Obito says. Kakashi elbows him in the ribs.

*****

"YOOOOOOOOOSH! Get ready for the ultimate team! Me and Fuzzy Eyebrows Sensei and Old Man Madara, dattebayo!"

"Once again, in the springtime of youth!" Gai says, and he and Naruto chest bump each other.

Madara stares at them. "I am in hell," Madara says.

*****

Of all the indignities he must suffer, this by far is the worst. It also confirms Madara's suspicions that Obito was a consummate idiot, letting himself, a thirty-year-old man, be talked down by a sixteen-year-old with next to no life experience. That Uchiha Madara, the strongest shinobi alive, second only to Senju Hashirama, is being forced to be chaperoned by said sixteen-year-old is an affront to his senses.

"Sensei!" Lee's face is a waterfall of tears and snot, his lower lip trembling and his buggy eyes streaming. "Why can't I be on your team, Sensei?!"

"Worry not, my adorable pupil!" Gai throws an arm around Lee. "After this mission, we will continue to train!"

"Alright! I got the snacks, dattebayo! And the map, and the mission objectives, and--" Naruto pats his pockets. "Oh crap! Where are the mission objectives?!"

Madara gives them a withering look and holds up the pamphlet. Gai grabs it from him. "Ha ha! Looks like our resident grumpy grump is contributing!"

"Touch me and you will lose that hand," Madara says, just as Gai is about to clap him on the back. Gai and Naruto look at each other.

*****

"Madara-ojiichan. How come you're always in a bad mood, dattebayo?"

Naruto is walking with his hands behind his head, while Gai is running around in circles around them, counting reps and punching the air. Madara gives Naruto a pointed look. "You really need me to answer that question?"

"Is it 'cuz you miss your kids? 'Cuz I heard from Kakashi-sensei that you're pretty much a house husband, and--"

"Do the both of you wish to die? Because I can make that a reality," Madara says.

Gai starts shadow boxing. Madara glares.

*****

There is a meeting discussing who will succeed Tsunade as the Sixth Hokage. A few names float around: Might Gai. Hatake Kakashi. A scribe writes their names on a white board while the council discusses the formal nominations.

"What about Uchiha Obito."

They turn. Madara is leaning against a wall at the entrance of the conference room, arms crossed and covered in shadow.

"Madara." The elders look at each other. "You were not invited to this council."

"I had a hand in the founding of this village. Well. You invited neither myself nor Hashirama, so I suppose I can't be too insulted."

The elders frown at each other. "Uchiha Obito has committed many atrocities. He was an S-class nin and kage-level threat. He was the one who put in motion the Fourth Shinobi War."

"And it was my understanding he sacrificed himself to end it," Madara says. "Well. I am not surprised. Council idiots would never put an Uchiha to power."

"Madara-sama, a moment--"

But Uchiha Madara is already gone.

*****

Obito is coming back from a mission. It's dark now, and he slowly walks up the metal grate steps to his apartment. He's tired and his body hurts, and all he wants to do is go to sleep after a long, hot shower.

"Obito," Tsunade says, and Obito stops, surprised.

"Tsunade-sama?"

Tsunade smiles. She hands him some papers.

"I have need to speak with you."

*****

"Hokage?" Kakashi turns sharply. Obito is hunched over the bar, a drink in his hand and staring at his glass. "They've nominated you for Hokage?" Obito nods. "Obito...congratulations."

Obito lifts his eyes. Kakashi is beaming beneath his mask. Obito looks back down at his drink.

"I think I'm going to refuse it."

"Why?" Kakashi says, and Obito swirls his drink. He watches the amber liquid swirl, his reflection distorted in the glass.

"Whoever is Fire Shadow is sworn to protect the people of this village." Obito sets down his drink. "I was the one who set the Kyuubi loose. I was the one who nearly destroyed it."

Kakashi falls silent for a moment. And then, "Have you told Sensei?"

"I am too ashamed. I don't want him to know about it." Obito's voice is soft. He doesn't look at him.

Kakashi frowns. "I think you should talk to Sensei," Kakashi says. Obito hunches over the bar, not saying anything. Kakashi shifts forward.

"How long did they give you to make a decision?"

"Until the end of the month," Obito says. His eyes flick upward. "I was told if I refused, the title of Sixth Hokage would go to you."

Kakashi blinks. Obito pours himself another drink. "So," Obito says. He sets down his bottle. "Do you still think I should take it?"

There is the clinking of glass in the background, the sound of a wooden fan turning above them. Kakashi considers.

"Yes," Kakashi says, and his eyes meet Obito's.

"I really think you should."

*****

There aren't any other missions scheduled, but Obito doesn't enjoy his days off. While Kakashi is buying erotic fiction and Minato is hanging out with his kid, Obito has nowhere to go other than the training grounds, honing his techniques and thinking of ways to teach their little teammate more about the Sharingan.

"You mean Madara isn't training her?" Kakashi is sitting on a fence, watching as Obito tries to come up with ways to use Mangekyou without hurting her. Obito kicks a post, a simple side kick, but keeps his leg mid-air, holding the kata in perfect formation.

"Apparently he told her not to use her Sharingan because she has a tendency to overuse it." He slowly lowers his leg, then straightens. "I believe she goes straight to the Mangekyou and the Rinnegan because she doesn't have as firm a grasp on the basics."

"You mean genjutsu and enhanced perception?"

"Correct." Obito twists his body in another slow sideways kick. He punches. "I suspect she's had the Sharingan so long, she has taken for granted its own set of powers. And Madara is too used to using his Mangekyou and his Rinnegan, it is probably difficult for him to dumb it down."

"Hmm." Kakashi leans back, crossing his arms. "You really do make a good teacher. If you never got crushed by that rock, maybe you would have gotten a teaching job like Iruka."

Obito spins and kicks the post again. Kakashi hops off the fence.

"So," Kakashi says. "Have you decided what you're going to do about the Hokage thing, yet?"

Another kick. "I told you. I'm probably going to refuse it."

Kakashi sighs, loudly. "If you're worried you're interfering with some long-seated dream of mine, let me assure you, you're not. I'd only accept the position of Hokage out of an ingrained sense of duty."

A kick. "I doubt the villagers would accept me."

"The villagers don't know what's going on half the time. You'd have to worry about the other shinobi."

Kick. "Thank you for reminding me."

Kakshi tilts his head. "You know, Obito, I used to call you a crybaby elite and make fun of you, but even before you woke the Sharingan, you weren't bad. I was even jealous of your katons."

"What is this? Rare praise from Hatake Kakashi?" Kick. "Of course I wasn't bad. I was just a part of a clan of geniuses, teamed up with the top genin of our class. Anyone would look bad in comparison."

Spin, spin, kick. The post bends. Obito turns. "That took me the better part of twenty years to realize that. A shame I nearly had to end the world in order to do that." He looks at Kakashi's bag. "Another ero novel?"

"Oh yes." Kakashi holds up the book. "This one's called 'Kisses for my Lover.' I hear the plot's derivative but the smut scenes are phenomenal."

"You know most men would rather just watch porn instead of reading it."

"I prefer to use my imagination."

"Hm."

*****

The sun is starting to set, and the village is bathed in a deep, rich orange.

Obito goes to the drugstore to refill his medications. Antidepressant. Pain pill. Migraine prophylaxis. Recently he's been having panic attacks, so his doctor started prescribing Xanax. "It's likely PTSD from the rock falling in that cave," the civilian psychiatrist said. She wrote Obito the prescription. "If you take it, avoid operating heavy machinery. Don't take it with alcohol or mix it with other medications."

Obito walks out of the drug store, clutching his bags.

*****

Nighttime. Obito sits over the table and quickly eats a store-bought bento, sitting in the dark and watching the small television in the corner. It's a movie, some romantic comedy where the plucky heroine goes off to find herself in a small town. Invariably she's engaged to some jerk businessman, but she finds true love in the neighborhood lumberjack she meets after leaving the city.

This annoys him. This isn't love, it's infatuation, and what about her poor fiancé sitting in the city? Why do the writers have to bend over backwards to make him a jerk? Obito frowns at his bento box, then takes a swig of beer.

There is something lurking in the shadows outside.

Obito's eyes narrow. Slowly, he stands up, lowering the volume of the television. There is the sound of something clattering, and Obito strides quickly to his bedroom.

In the dark, the window is open. The light curtains move ominously in the breeze.

There is a weapons rack across the bed, and silently Obito backs up and palms a kunai in his hand. Gripping the handle, Obito carefully edges back out into the hallway.

A black shape darts out, and Obito whirls around.

Obito lunges toward him and attacks, an explosion of power. The man blocks, once, twice, then whacks Obito across the face. There is a sickening crack as the man's fist makes contact, but Obito jerks forward, dodging the next blow and spinning into a kick.

Punch, punch, kick. The man flips Obito over but Obito catches himself, springing back upward and vaulting into a flying kick through the air.

Contact. The man staggers. Obito whirls around and punches hard, once, twice, the third time he misses, the man dodging and hitting him square in the jaw. They stagger into the kitchen, where it's too dark to see. Obito's Sharingan flares. He dodges, lunges forward. The thin light from the movie pulses in the background.

Slam! He shoves a kunai against the assailant's neck, slamming him against the wall.

Obito's heart is thudding fast. Who was this? Was someone trying to assassinate him? He feels his throat constrict, the weight of a thousand boulders strangling him.

He's on the verge of another panic attack.

Obito's jaw tightens. He struggles to keep control, forces himself to slow his breathing. He grips the kunai harder.

And then, his assailant slowly starts to laugh.

"Splendid! Splendid! I should expect nothing less from the man who lived as Uchiha Madara!"

Obito pulls back, shocked. In the dark he hadn't recognized him. Madara's face splits into a slow grin.

"However," a black rod slowly worms out from Madara's arm, then presses menacingly against Obito's stomach, "once again, you have left yourself undefended."

Madara gives him a small poke, then retracts, raising his hands to show him. "Don't get too full of yourself," Madara says. "If I wanted to kill you, I already would have."

Obito lowers his kunai and the two men straighten. Obito's eyes narrow. "What do you want?"

"You are my daughter's teacher," Madara says. "It is only natural that I would want to see you."

On the TV, the heroine coos. "Oh! I never knew what love is until I met you!"

"I heard you were the one behind the Hokage nomination." Obito switches off the TV, flipping on the light. He turns back to Madara. "Why?" Obito says. Madara shrugs.

"I have children in this village," Madara says. "You could say I have a vested interest." Madara looks around. "A bento for one? How pathetic. If I had known you'd have such difficulties finding a partner, I wouldn't have worked so hard to kill your precious Rin."

Obito grabs Madara by the collar and slams him against the wall. "Why?" Obito says. "Why me? Why Hokage? What is it you're trying to do?"

Madara smirks. "It is a shame you have to ask."

"You're trying to find a way to manipulate them."

"Hm."

"What did you do?" Obito says. "Genjutsu them? Use mind-control to manipulate them?"

"I did nothing of the sort," Madara says. He pushes off Obito's arm and dusts off his shirt. "I merely gave them your name. Those simpletons at the council came to the same conclusion." Madara looks around. "This is your apartment?" Obito's eyes narrow.

"What's it to you?"

"It is a bit small, is it not?"

Obito glares.

"I mean no offense. I just remember you not being overly fond of too-small spaces."

"Just tell me what you want," Obito says. Madara turns.

"You've grown strong," Madara says. He looks Obito over. "I'd like to think I had a hand in it." Madara's eyes track over to the grocery bag of medications sitting on the desk.

Obito knows, without Madara having to say anything, that Madara is using his Sharingan to read the medications. Obito stalks over to the desk and grabs the bag.

"Let me spare you the trouble," Obito says, and he dumps the contents of the bag onto the table. "This is an antidepressant. This one is an anxiolytic. This one is for migraines and this one is for the shooting pains I still get in my face and limbs."

"Is that all?" Madara says. "And here I thought you were overly medicated."

"You manipulated me and tried to kill me. I was just a child. And you were a fucking psychotic old man--"

"You make it sound as if I somehow violated you. All I did was give you one small push - I did not inspire anything that wasn't already there."

"Killing Rin was not 'one small push'," Obito says. Madara spreads his hands.

"Agree to disagree, then," Madara says. "Believe it or not, Obito, I believed her death could be negated, so long as we stuck to the plan." Madara turns. His eyes flick upward.

"The world was imperfect," Madara says. "We both wanted the same thing. And if it meant eternal peace, it was a burden we both were willing to bear."

"So even now, you don't regret it?" Obito says. Madara sighs.

"I regret that it was what neither you nor I had wanted," Madara says. He picks up a bottle of medication, glancing at the label, before setting it down again. "I do not regret the original plan."

Obito scoffs. "That's not what I hear you told Hashirama."

"I tell Hashirama a lot of things. It is her own fault if she chooses to believe them." Madara looks around. "Do you have sake in this sorry place, or should we procure it elsewhere?"

Obito scowls. He moves swiftly to the other side of the kitchen and brings out a bottle.

"Ah," Madara says. "Good." He pours himself and Obito a drink."You asked me why I had them nominate you. The answer is quite simple. The Hokage is supposed to be the strongest shinobi in the village. You are my protégé and one of the few Uchiha left. If it is a matter of strength, then the answer is clear."

Madara sets down the bottle, pushing the glass toward Obito. "But you're right to question if I have an ulterior motive, and I do. I'm doing this for my children," Madara says. Obito knits his brow.

"Your children?" Obito says.

"My children are Uchiha in a village that shuns them," Madara says. He crosses his arms. "Don't you know what happened to my daughter?"

Obito sits back, listening. Madara leans forward.

"She was pulled out of her kindergarten class because those idiot teachers at the Academy claim she was bullying the other children. But I spoke to her, and do you know what she told me? She told me they were making fun of her. That her eyes were that of demons and that as an Uchiha she should have died. Those children made my daughter cry," Madara says, and his face darkens. "I would have killed them myself if not for Hashirama."

Obito's brow furrows. "You are telling me to become Hokage...because your daughter was bullied by other school children?"

"I am telling you to become Hokage because this village does not protect the Uchiha, it treats us like second-class citizens.

"I have children, Obito. I have a little girl who loves her school but wonders why the others won't be friends with her. I have two sons who will grow up in a world that will look at them with suspicion and contempt. If there is an Uchiha Hokage, my hope is that it can mitigate that."

Obito watches as Madara plays with the glass in front of him, and realizes Madara is telling the truth. "I want to talk to my Sensei, first," Obito says. Madara scoffs.

"Oh? You mean that yellow-haired weakling you tried to kill when you first attacked this village? Fine. Go talk to your Sensei. But know if you don't accept this position, your true Sensei will be very disappointed."

"Fuck you," Obito says. Madara rises. He starts to leave, but stops by the door.

"For what it is worth," Madara says, and Obito looks up, Madara's back facing toward him, "I do regret everything that happened. We betrayed each other for no good reason."

"I want you to leave," Obito says. Madara turns the door handle.

"I will see you again when I pick up my daughter," he says, and he walks out the door.

*****

Minato is spending the day with Naruto, but he can meet with Obito in the evening. "He's going to get ramen with Iruka. Maybe we can meet for dinner?" Minato says.

The sun is starting to set. Above them, the sound of crows echoes through the otherwise empty street, and the setting light is red and orange. Obito stands at the top of the hill and sees his Sensei walking up toward him. Their eyes meet and his Sensei smiles and waves at him.

They go to a barbecue restaurant on the other side of town. Meat sizzles on the grill, and Minato turns it over with a pair of chopsticks, grilling the other side.

"So," Minato says. He adds more meat onto the grill. "What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?" Obito hesitates.

"Sensei," Obito says.

"Hm?"

"They..." the meat sizzles. "They asked me to become Hokage."

Minato's face brightens. "That's great!" Minato says, but Obito lowers his eyes. Minato asks gently, "Why are you not happy?"

"I am happy. I'm flattered I'm being acknowledged, but..." Obito's hands tighten into fists. "But I don't know that I deserve it."

Minato smiles. "You of all people deserve it," Minato says. "You've always worked so hard to be your best, and you always helped other people."

"Sensei I tried to kill your wife and child--"

"I know," Minato says. "But I believe you've worked to atone for it. I know you'd be a great Hokage," Minato says.

The door to the restaurant opens, Naruto and Kakashi walking inside. Naruto sees them and his face brightens.

"Look Kakashi-sensei! It's Obito and my dad! Let's go sit with them, dattebayo!"

Minato turns and Obito quickly wipes his eyes, which are red and swollen. Naruto and Kakashi come over.

"I take it you talked to him?" Kakashi says to Obito. Obito smiles ruefully and nods. Naruto tilts his head quizzically.

Minato beams, proudly. "Naruto. Obito just found out he was chosen to be Hokage." Naruto's eyes widen.

"Eh?! Obito-san is going to be Hokage?!" Naruto's face splits into a grin. He pumps his fist. "That's so cool, dattebayo! Obito-san is gonna be a great Hokage--wait, Obito-san?! You're crying?!"

And Obito laughs, his eyes creasing into two crescent-shaped moons, smiling and wiping his eyes.

*****

10.

It's the day of the Naming Ceremony, and Madara's daughter is excited. "They're gonna pick a new Fire Shadow!" his daughter says, and she spins around the house yelling at topmost volume, "Fire Shadow! Fire Shadow! Fire Shadow!" She runs up and down the hallway excitedly.

Hashi is supposed to take her to the ceremony, but his daughter insists Madara come with them. "My Sensei is going to be the Fire Shadow, Daddy! I want you to come see him!"

"Your Sensei is an idiot. Why must your father see him?"

"Because it's my Sensei, Daddy!"

Madara cannot think of a good argument not to come, so he loads the other two children up in a wheelbarrow and pushes them through town. His daughter cranes her neck, trying her best to look out through the crowd of gawking civilians who have gathered. Madara sighs loudly, then picks her up, putting her on his shoulders.

"Look, look Daddy!" his daughter bounces on his shoulders. "There's my Sensei! See him?"

"I do," Madara says, and his daughter laughs and kicks her feet excitedly, hitting him in the chest. Hashi bites back a laugh.

"Anata. That was a good thing you did for Obito." It's nighttime now, and Hashi turns and snuggles Madara in bed. "Everyone thinks you're so terrible but you actually have your soft spots."

"Hmph." Madara sniffs. "I had my reasons."

Hashi hugs him. "Because even after all that's happened, you're still fond of him."

"No." Madara starts to laugh. "Because I can tell that over-emotional idiot to take me off that stupid team with the Uzumaki brat and the Taijutsu idiot!"

"Eh?"

Madara's eyes glitter. "Tsunade has long refused to remove me from my keepers. Anyone she would have picked would inevitably do the same. Now that Obito is in power, he can remove me from that team and let me work alone and in peace, the way it should be!"

Hashi frowns. "So, this whole thing you did - the heart-to-heart, the grudging apology, the acknowledgement of each other's strengths and weaknesses - that was just so you wouldn't be watched by Naruto and Gai?"

"YES!" Madara laughs psychotically. "And it worked! It worked all according to plan! Everything fell into place exactly as I wanted! Uchiha Madara will no longer bear the shackles of mediocre idiots! With this I have finally exacted revenge!"

Hashi frowns at him. "You are such an idiot," Hashi says.

#solatium #crash pad #birdsong #my crappy fic #doing the five things thing #uchiha obito #uchiha madara #obirin

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what-big-teeth · 4 years

Text

Spark (Male Fire Elemental, pt. 2)

There are two sides to every story. And for many, both are worth hearing. To help her father heal and to better understand Ignis, Simone knows she must learn of the fire elemental’s past. That is, if he chooses to tell her.

Female Human (POV) x Male Monster [Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4]

TW: self-harm

As a child, I used to scream myself awake at night.

Sweat soaked my pajamas every time and my muscles ached from thrashing around. The only thing that brought me to my senses was the gentle touch of Nana’s hands.

My lungs always struggled to take in air and there were times when I threw up. But Nana would just draw a warm bath then gently wash my body with lavender soap. And she never let me feel ashamed.

But during the worst nights, I couldn’t look at her. Even after she’d dress me, change my bedsheets, and tuck me back in. I wanted nothing more than for her to leave so I could stay angry at myself. She never did.

“Simone?”

“Mm.”

“Are you too old to be my grandbaby?”

Every time she’d ask that question with a playful tone, I’d meet her eyes and shake my head.

“Then you aren’t too old to hear me tell your favorite story. Are you comfy?”

I’d nod, only after snuggling further into bed. The act would bring a smile to her face every time.

“Ready, Nana.”

And without fail, she’d spin her tale. Once upon a time, there was a brave, Black girl who lived in a quiet town. It was so quiet that the girl decided she wanted to go on an adventure in the woods. So, she did.

As she explored the forest, the girl found something amazing: fire trapped in an unbreakable glass sphere. But neither were ordinary fire or ordinary glass. The flame was a tricksy spirit and the sphere was its prison, etched with strange symbols. At first, the spirit didn’t want anything to do with the girl and told her to leave. But the girl refused and told the spirit that having company was better than being alone. To the girl’s surprise, the spirit agreed.

Years passed, and with time, the girl and the spirit grew close. The girl eventually found a way to shatter the glass sphere and released the spirit. But once he was freed, the spirit didn’t leave. Instead, he declared his love for the girl. But the girl couldn’t accept because her heart belonged to another. This angered the spirit and he vowed to destroy the quiet town where the girl lived. To save the boy and the town she loved, the girl tricked the spirit and trapped him again using her own blood.

“The girl later married the boy and lived a happy life, but she still thought about the spirit from time to time.”

“But he turned bad. So why Nana?”

“Because before he became the girl’s worst enemy, he was her dearest friend.”

________________________________________

I can feel Mica’s gaze trail after me as I unload my large, rolling suitcases and from Mason’s pickup. He slams the tailgate home with more force than usual and the bang drowns out her sigh.

“Are you sure about this, Simone?”

Going from “tidying up Nana’s house” in November to “living there for a week as a test-run” the next month didn’t sit well with her. More so when we found evidence of forced entry in Grandpa’s old den. Just about everything was turned over and rummaged through. And the back-door handle laid mangled in the backyard. The discovery spurred Mason to buy two, top-of-the-line locks and install them while we were still there. I offered to repay him for the locks and new keys, but he refused.

When Dad learned about our discovery, all the color drained from his face. Not surprisingly, he lost his composure when I told him my idea. Mason immediately offered to come along for additional safety as did Mica. Mainly to keep Mason in line and to help ease Dad’s growing worry. Thankfully, after I promised to put his number on speed dial and check in with him daily, he agreed.

I haul the heavier of my suitcases up the front steps and lean it against the door. Once I’m sure it won’t topple over from its own weight, I grab the second one and give Mica a reassuring smile.

“Positive. I don’t want my inheritance to go to waste.”

Mason frowns in return, but Mica quickly intercedes before he can speak.

“If you need anything, give us a call, okay? The motel’s only ten minutes away.”

“I will,” I say.

But neither twin moves. Or says anything. A long silence follows, one that’s filled with unvoiced concern.

“I’m serious, you guys. If anything happens, you’ll be the first to know. Promise.”

The tension in Mica’s shoulders subsides, but Mason just shakes his head and heads towards the driver side of his truck without saying goodbye. As he closes the door, Mica pinches the bridge of her nose with a gloved hand and lets out a deep breath.

“Don’t worry about him,” she says. “His bad mood will blow over and he’ll be back to his normal grumpy self soon.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Mica’s hand falls away from her face and she stares at me with narrowed eyes.

“Wait, he hasn’t told you yet?”

“If you mean the reason he’s been acting weird lately, then no. He hasn’t.”

My guess goes unanswered until she stomps her foot against the cold, hard ground.

“That dumbass!”

“Uh, Mica—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” She waves off my question and gives me a horribly forced smile. “I’ll take care of it and text you later!”

Before I can say anything, Mica jogs over to the pickup’s passenger side and climbs inside. She starts tearing into Mason the moment she’s settled in. But Mason’s stony expression doesn’t crack. He just focuses on reversing the truck and driving away.

I shake off the feeling of forced ignorance and head inside. No use in getting frustrated over what I can’t change. Not when there’s something I can. And it’s past the foyer and down the main hallway, disguised as a normal fireplace piled with ash.

I stare at the dark hearth, thinking of how to best announce my presence. I’m tempted to let my noisy air mattress pump do the job for me, but any sort of pettiness will hinder my goal. So, I pick up a nearby fire iron and knock it against the brick mantle.

A tiny burst of sparks emerges from the ash slowly followed by bright flames that curl upward until they fill the iron hearth. Unlike the sharp grin Ignis first wore when he first appeared, his features are stretched wide into a yawn.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I say.

Ignis takes his time coming around, his mouth closing with a sharp crackle. When his gaze lifts to meet mine, I give him a smile. His eyes narrow.

“You’re back.”

“Considering how I’m the rightful owner of this house, yes. I am.”

The bit of flame acting as his mouth stretches into a joyless sneer.

“Does your newfound ownership extend to me?”

I back away from the fireplace and plop down in the middle of the clean area rug.

“No, it doesn’t. And it never will.”

Ignis falls silent and his mocking smile melts into an unreadable expression. I keep going, not wanting to lose his attention.

“All I want is to know the truth. Nana told her side of the story as best she could to a young child. And Dad won’t say anything about what he knows. That just leaves your perspective, if you’ll let me hear it.”

The outline of his humanoid face wavers then vanishes. Ignis retreats altogether, leaving unlit ash in his wake. That was…unexpected. As much I want to learn what happened between him and Nana, I know it’ll take time. Hopefully before Christmas week rolls around. Interfering with my friends’ holiday break isn’t an option and neither is causing Dad further distress. But for now, there’s plenty to do pass the time.

It doesn’t take long to inflate the air mattress and unpack the bedding. Or plug in Nana’s old portable heater. My clothes stay put inside my suitcase, but I drop off my nighttime essentials in the nearby guest bathroom. Mason’s suspicions about rotten wood weakening the second floor were dead on, so the upstairs is off-limits for now.

With all of that taken care of, I kick off my boots, grab my laptop and the mobile wi-fi hotspot, then settle on the loveseat across from the sofa. The lumpy cushioning keeps me alert while doing some early job searching.

I break for lunch after bookmarking a few promising offers and call up Mica. The twins soon arrive and we head into town for food and groceries. Ignoring the suspicious stares from the other shoppers would be easier if Mason and Mica weren’t giving each other the silent treatment. Even the drive back to Nana’s house is awkward with the air charged with an undercurrent of anger.

It’s sad to say, but I’m happier once I’m left alone again. As the day slowly dwindles into night, I make dinner then tuck myself into bed. The dark fireplace is the last thing I see before drifting away. It soon becomes a common sight.

Ignis remains unseen the next day. And he doesn’t appear during following day, either. Worry starts to gnaw at my mind, but I keep busy as best I can.

Clearing Nana’s garden of weeds and wild plants takes an old pair of gloves, lots of elbow grease, and the better part of the day. But it’s worth the sharp aches and stiff fingers once I’m able to see usable soil. With careful planning and the right fertilizer, it’ll be green again. That is, if I can remember what Nana used to grow.

I drop onto the couch and take a much-needed sip from my bottled water. Glancing at the dark fireplace, my curiosity gets the better of me.

“Any ideas about what plants would grow best in the backyard?” I ask.

Nothing. Not even a hint of cinders. Sighing, I flick some dirt from my cheek and get up.

“Abigail was fond of daylilies.”

I freeze in my tracks. Ignis looks at me with that same unreadable expression.

“At least,” he says, “that’s what I heard during the times I was aware.”

My chill-bitten lips stretch into a grin. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

“Thanks! I’ll give them a try.”

Progress is slow but steady after that. Ignis becomes more open to talking, and even though I’m left leading our conversations, he still provides his own opinions and ideas. He tells me that he likes the sunrise, since the sight reminds him a growing flame. But he prefers the darkest of night as that’s when he used to shine brightest. When I ask him about any powers he may have, he tells me to be patient. The next day, to curb my excitement, I decide to tackle re-painting Nana’s front door.

“You may want to come inside,” he calls out a few hours later through the open front door.

I wipe the back of my hand against my cheek, smearing more burgundy paint onto my skin. My old overalls and sweater are completely wrecked, still stained with streaks of dirt from Nana’s garden. And a break sounds wonderful, to be honest.

The moment I step inside with the paint can and brush, rain starts pouring down in a steady torrent. My mouth drops open as lightning streaks across the sky.

“But how did you know?” The forecast didn’t predict any showers.”

Ignis snorts, the light of his flame brightening temporarily.

“Nature is as unpredictable as she wishes to be, regardless of the instruments humans use to try and quantify her.

“Oh?” I say teasingly. “Is that right?”

“Yes. And the cool air blowing in told me all I needed to know.”

This is all just another small part about him, but it still leaves me wanting more.

“Think I can learn how to do that?” I ask “Or is it a special elemental thing?”

“Perhaps,” he says. “You’ve shown an aptitude for many things. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did the same with this.”

His warm reply sends a pleasant shiver down my spine and it takes all my willpower to keep a straight face. Deciding I’m done with chores for the day, I give Ignis a quick ‘thanks’ and head to the bathroom to clean up.

Friday night rolls around with Ignis and I having grown more comfortable with one another. We converse a lot more and he keeps me company as I continue to job search, asking questions about the process. I answer him as best I can, but some of my explanations fall short. He tells me doesn’t mind at all and his words send a rush of happiness through my body.

“Are all humans required to sit through an ‘interview’?”

I hum and close my laptop.

“Honestly, I think it depends on the job—”

Glass shatters. A heavy weight hits the floor; a rock. It settles against the rug just as a black-sleeved arm shoots through the broken windowpane. It bends up and starts struggling with the window latch. I jump to my feet and back away.

“G-go away! I’ll call the cops!”

More glass shatters and my stomach drops.

We took care of the doors, but overlooked the windows’ old locks. If the intruder gets in, they’ll see me and then I’ll be—

“Stay calm, Simone.”

A calming heat washes over my shaking body and I remember how to nod my head.

“Close your eyes and trust me.”

Biting back a sob, I huddle against the couch and screw my eyes shut. A blinding, white light pierces through the darkness of my eyelids for a few brief moments. Against the brilliance, there’s a scream. Then, nothing. Only silence.

“They’re gone,” Ignis says in a weak voice. “You can look now.”

I do. The only sign of the intruder that remains are the shredded tatters of their black sleeve clinging to the broken glass. Ignis is still present, but not as a brightly burning fire. He’s nothing more than the cinders and sparking in the glowing red fireplace.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice straining.

I jump over my fallen laptop and scramble towards him.

“Me? What about you?”

“It seems…I expended a greater deal of energy than originally planned. Strained too much against my restraints. If the intruder comes again, I won’t be of much help.”

Restraints? My eyes dart around the fireplace and find two identical marks, both glowing a molten red. Two triangles enclosed by two perfect circles. But the marks aren’t etchings. In fact, they look just like…

“Bloodstains. That’s how Nana sealed you.”

Ignis doesn’t reply. And the light from the cinders is growing dim.

“You wanted to hear my side of things, didn’t you? Call for help, and I will tell you.”

“But I—”

“Please, Simone.”

The heavy fear his plea urges me to locate my phone. My thumbs tap against the touch screen and hit the dial button. A low ring fills the living room three times until—

“Hello? Simone?”

Relief floods by body at the sound of Mason’s groggy voice and I let out a hitched sob. I tell him about the attempted break-in and he immediately comes around. In just a few minutes, he and Mica are inside of his truck, the engine roaring to life in the background. Mason’s voice sound stronger when he speaks again.

“Stay on the line. We’ll be there soon, alright?”

I rub at my eyes with the heels of my palms and promise to do so. Then, I turn back to Ignis. The cinders’ light pulses for a moment, then dims.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Please don’t.” More hot tears scald my cheeks. “You’re dying. You’re…”

“As promised, let me tell you my story.”

The usual steadfast bravado in his voice isn’t present. And the cinders are growing dimmer. But I agree all the same.

“My first memory of humanity is of my captor, binding me to an engraved, glass flask. I had no one but my younger, cocky self to blame. My captor soon sold me for a hefty sum of gold and from there I was exchanged by many hands: philosophers, merchants, nobles, kings. Even Paracelsus possessed me for a moment in time. Each and every one of them never attempted to free me.

“Soon enough, I arrived here in the New World by way of ship. It was a miserable journey crossing the ocean, almost torture. Back on land, my last handler hoarded me, wanting to use my knowledge to become wealthy. But he was discovered conversing with me and deemed a heretic. He ran and unknowingly dropped me in a dense, forested area. I could do nothing but wait and observe. Until one day, a ray of light found me: Abigail.”

He’s still slowly fading. I swallow down the painful lump building in my throat and dig my nails into my palms.

“You loved her,” I croak out.

“Yes. But before then, I only saw her as a means to an end. I tried to trick her into releasing me, but she was too clever. Instead, she sincerely offered me her friendship. After everything I went through, all the years of powerlessness, I was stunned. A mere slip of a girl offering me something so simple? Out of curiosity, I agreed. I soon forgot about wanting to be set free, but Abigail didn’t. Somehow, she found a way to release me from the flask. From that moment on, I already knew my heart belonged to her. But the love she felt for me was only friendship.

“When I learned she had fallen in love with your grandfather, my jealousy consumed me. And in my rage, I threatened to burn down the town with him in it. In return, Abigail asked me to meet her inside her home in three days’ time. I’m ashamed to say I thought she would come to her senses by then and renounce her love for your grandfather. But instead, she bound me using her own blood. And here I stayed, partially aware of the passing time. Of her husband and her only son…and later, you.”

He’s only a few glowing cinders at this point. Almost gone. I ignore the sharp pain of my nails cutting through my skin and bite back a sob.

“It’s strange,” he says weakly. “But I just remembered something from that day.”

“What?”

“Abigail was crying as she sealed me away. My anger back then blinded me to that. And now, I’ve made you cry. Please forgive me, Simone.”

It’s funny. Even as an utter wreck kneeling on the ground, I can’t help but wonder. Could Ignis and Nana have reconciled if Ignis had let go of his anger earlier? Would Nana have released him? Would we have met under different circumstances? I’ll never know. But as I unclench my hands, I realize I still have an option left to use.

“Simone?”

This is a huge risk I’m taking. I don’t even know if this will help or make things worse. But his voice is so weak and it’s the only thing I can think of.

“Trust me, okay Ignis?”

“What are you—”

I slam my bleeding palms against the sides of the fireplace. Right on top of Nana’s original seals. A scream pierces my ears and echoes in my blood. A brutal heat engulfs my body, growing in intensity. I shut my eyes to it all, and soon feel myself falling.

_____________________________________________

When my eyes open, I’m not in pain. Even though I should be. Instead, my body is blanketed by a gentle warmth.

“There you are,” a familiar voice whispers.

The well-built man cradling me in his lap looks down at me with ruby-red eyes. His long, thick black curls stand out against his deep russet skin. He smiles down at me, a kind gesture that highlights the slight bump in the bridge of his wide nose. A soothing heat seeps into my hands and sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. Slowly, the blisters covering my palms flatten into normal, healthy skin.

“But how…?”

“You did mention wanting to learn more about my powers, didn’t you? Although that was a rather careless way of doing so.”

It can’t be.

“Ignis?”

His smile widens into a mischievous grin.

“In the flesh,” he says.

My mind can’t connect the living flame in the fireplace to the man holding me. Because something is missing. As he examines my hands for more injuries, I slowly lift them and place them against his cheeks. He leans into my touch and I bite my bottom lip to steady myself.

“This isn’t what you really look like, is it?”

He stiffens. I keep holding his gaze and eventually feel the tension in his body seep away. He shakes his head.

“Show me. Please?”

Ignis closes his eyes. And slowly, his human appearance evaporates away. The russet tone of his body gives way to black skin, fissured with what looks like molten lava. But the cracks are organic and follow the natural lines of his large, humanoid body. His real form has no mouth or ears, but two white, hot eyes lacking pupils. And his hands are tipped with sharp claws that lightly ghost across my arms.

“This,” he says, “is the true me.”

He starts to pull away from my hands, but I coax him down and press a kiss to the smooth, surface of his cheek. Ignis looks at me stunned and I grin.

“What? I’m just saying thank you for taking care of me.”

Ignis’ expression softens into something that makes my heart race. He chuckles then nuzzles against the side of my head.

“I think I should be the one thanking you.”

I’m content to stay in Ignis’ arms until I fall asleep. But I know that won’t be possible. The familiar hum of an approaching engine is proof of that.

But as long as we have each, we’ll face and overcome whatever comes next. Together.

#monster boyfriend #monster/human #monster romance #fire elemental boyfriend #exophilia #once I get over this illness #I'll start on part three #my writing #female reader #fem reader

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