#Maybe pinky swears are a thing in Insatiable

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Insatiable -  Part Three

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Frankie Morales x OFC

Word count: 2k

Tags: Wolf shifter AU, Supernatural AU, Slow burn, Mating bond, Canon typical sex and violence, Attempted kidnapping, Blood, Injury, Hurt/comfort, Eventual smut

Summary: You’ve travelled the world looking for home, but what if it finds you?

Author’s Note: I hope people don’t mind the shorter chapters, but they’re helping me stay motivated! 

Missed Part One? You can read it here.

Moodboard by @acrossthesestars​

It takes 27 seconds to walk around the perimeter of the cramped living room in your rented apartment. You know this because over the last three days of your doctor-ordered rest, you’ve nearly worn a track into its scuffed wooden floor with your pacing. It kills you to know that there’s an entire city outside your door, one bursting with life and color and new experiences. You’re dying to roam the botanical gardens and visit the many crumbling ruins of centuries past, to visit the Basilica or hike in Parque Nacional Volcán Irazú or go white water rafting or-

But no. You’re stuck here, with nothing but a tantalizing glimpse of the world outside and your laptop for company. Sighing, you reach for said laptop. Its profusion of colorful stickers (mostly from coffee shops and bars) are more than merely decorative, hiding various dings and cracks from where it’s slipped onto gravel paths or been hastily shoved in a bag as you ran to catch one flight or another. Faithful as ever, it whirs to life when you power it on and you resist the urge to stroke it like a pet.

Maybe you have been cooped up for too long.

There’s not much to do online that you haven’t already taken care of. No new emails other than spam, nothing new to share on your blog or Instagram. You find yourself scrolling mindlessly through your newsfeed, nothing snagging your attention- until a headline jumps out at you.

Famed Cryptozoologist Found Murdered - Police Baffled By Bloody Crime Scene

Immediately hooked, you scan the article, gleaning bits and pieces as you go. The man in question, a professor at some obscure college and an author of several books about cryptids and other extreme possibilities, had been found in his home literally torn limb from limb. It’s a grisly story, one mercifully free of pictures- except one.

There is a single photograph taken at a dizzying angle, showing a bloodied carpet presumably at the fringe of the crime scene. Even through the chaotic smears of rusty blood, one detail is crystal clear- the paw print of a massive, clawed beast. 

Detectives have reached out to several prominent  biologists but as of yet, none of them have come to a consensus regarding the species that could have left this grim mark - especially as the killing took place not in the remote wilds of some distant forest, but in the heart of downtown Seattle. 

Some have raised the possibility of this being merely a sick joke on the part of a deranged killer. Others are claiming it as the work of one of the very creatures the professor spent his life in search of. 

“Holy shit.” Before you’d been bitten by the travel bug, these were the sorts of stories that captivated your imagination. True crime, sure, but more the hints of mystery lingering at the edges of mundane life. You’d spent an entire summer engrossed in the occult section of your library, devouring anything you could get your hands on about folklore, magic, and things that went bump in the night. To your young mind it made a certain kind of sense - of course there were secrets you simply weren’t allowed to know yet. If you could only find your way in, through a wardrobe or a fairy ring or the right hidden door, you’d be rewarded with all that forbidden knowledge and vast new worlds would open to you. 

Even now a part of you wishes you could still believe the rumors that whisper along the fringes of the Internet: Mysterious disappearances. Hauntings. Shady government agents waiting in the wings to erase the merest hint of anything strange or out of place. Mysterious beings with abilities beyond what even you could dream of.

If only. 

Even when you were escaping into books about mermaids and dragons and werewolves, part of you knew all too well that the only monsters that prowled the night were the human kind- like the man who’d tried to drag a terrified girl into his cab and left you with a gash over your eye that will almost certainly scar for having the temerity to tell him “no.” It’s a nasty reminder that nowhere on the planet is that much different than any other and that no matter where you go, the world is full of predators like him. 

Well, at least there are some good people out there, too. 

Time and again your mind drifts back to Frankie and Santi as you sift through the fractured memories of that night. They come back to you in dreams, tantalizing snatches of half-remembered conversations.

“ - take all these pictures yourself?”

“You really free climbed that mountain? Shit.”

“I’ll get you some more water.”

“Oh you haven’t lived until you’ve surfed Ponta Preta. One time Santi wiped out so hard he-“

“Just finished a job in-“

“Come on sweetheart, don’t fall asleep yet. Tell us some more about backpacking in Banff.”

“ - sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

“ - says she doesn’t have any painkillers.”

“You stay here, I’ll go.”

“Está bien, duerma un poco.”

“You’re looking at her like-“

“Dulces sueños. Cuídate.”

Echoes of conversations that may or may not have happened aren’t the only things crowding your sleeping mind. You’re consumed with the phantom feeling of Frankie’s careful hands on yours and the ghost of Santi’s hungry kiss heating your blood, the press of their bodies surrounding you, the comforting weight of them caging you in and freeing you all at once. You’ve woken up gasping more than one morning, sweat dripping down your spine and their moaned names on your lips. 

That night is a blur, and it’s nearly impossible to untangle truth from dreams. The only parts you know didn’t happen are the stolen kisses, the hot tangle of limbs and ragged panting you can almost feel against your ear just before you wake. Those are purely the work of your fevered imagination, your wish that you’d met them some other way than with you laying concussed on the sidewalk. But no, the one truth you know down to your bones is that they’d done nothing more than help you get home safe and leave before you could ask them why. 

The call from local authorities that you’d been half expecting and half dreading had never come and you’re left hoping that means everything is sorted, that there were enough other witnesses to tell them what happened without your fractured recollections. Then again, at least you would have been contributing something, rather than sitting on your ass. God, you can’t remember ever staying in one place for this long. You’d planned to be on your way to Ecuador or Peru by now, the restless urge to move on clawing at the back of your mind.

Impatience grows and snarls until you’re straining with it. If you don’t get out of here for a bit you may actually lose your mind. Slamming the laptop shut, you stalk towards the small bedroom and your luggage. You can take things slow. Stroll down to the nearest bar for a quiet drink. No more excitement, no adventures, just you and a glass of wine and your battered copy of your favorite book. Even making that decision raises your spirits and by the time you slip out the apartment door, carefully locking it behind you, you’re practically bouncing on the balls of your feet, eager to see where the night takes you. 

A gentle wind caresses your cheeks, warm and scented with night-blooming flowers, beckoning you into the heart of the city. You're heading for a bar you’d spotted when you’d first arrived in Cartago, one tucked away on a quiet side street, the perfect site for a low-key evening, but you’re in no rush to get there. You meander slowly, basking in the atmosphere. 

In the midst of idly window-shopping, the hairs on the back of your neck creep up. You whirl around, but there’s no one behind you aside from the usual bustle of people returning home from work or heading out for a night on the town. No one staring at you balefully or even feigning casual disinterest. Still, it’s hard to shake the sensation of being watched, and you hope the events of the last few days haven’t rattled you more than you’d realized. 

“Get it together,” you mutter, nails digging into your palms before you notice, exhaling slowly and forcing yourself to release the tension in your shoulders. “Don’t let him win.” The all-too familiar mantra helps to clear your mind and, with a shake of your head, you set out for the bar once more.

Turning the last corner, you come to a jerking halt when you see what’s waiting for you. You’ve locked eyes with a massive dog, one whose shaggy brown and cream coat looks far too thick for this climate. Your rigid limbs relax a bit when the creature, his golden eyes fixed on yours, wags his tail once, twice, before lying down with his head on his gigantic paws- the very picture of a well-mannered house pet, despite his size and wild appearance. The image is so bizarre that it startles a laugh from you. 

“Very convincing.”

His ears swivel to attention, alert and questioning.

“You almost don’t look like you’re about to ask me what I’ve got in my basket, or how far it is to my grandmother’s cottage in the woods.”

The tail swishes once again and he opens his mouth in a doggy grin- one that reveals a glimpse of fearsomely sharp teeth set in powerful jaws.

“Ok,” you chuckle, edging past and resisting the mad urge to try to stroke him. “I definitely needed the night out if I’m standing here having a conversation with you about fairy tales. Go find some water and air conditioning before you collapse- you can’t be comfortable under all that fur.”

As you’re moving past him, the dog huffs and you’d swear it almost sounds amused. 

You make it the rest of the way without incident, creepy or canine. The bar is just as you remembered it: a small patio slightly crowded with tables, chairs, and potted palm with strings of lights running between them and bathing everything in a golden glow. French doors stand open and inviting, showing you the way to a bar lined with stools and beyond that, several cozy booths. The night is still young but the place is already full and dozens of people are dancing to the lively beat pounding out of several large speakers. 

You slip into the throng with a sense of relief, glad to be out in the world again. A friendly server leads you to a tiny corner booth, returning in just a few minutes to hand you the drink you’d ordered. Just as you’re settling in with your book, movement near the entrance catches your attention. 

Two familiar figures have just entered the bar-  and they’re headed right for your table.

Part Four

[lihikainanea]

What if its Christmas and Tiger is insatiable. They are either at Tigers parents house or the Skarsgard retreat and she canNOT get enough. She wants it 24/7 and Bill is just looking at her exhausted like "Really? You don't care that everyone can hear you?" And Tigers like "Nope!". Lol!!

Okay, I officially hate Tumblr. There was an ask that came in a few days ago about cousin Leila and I saw it, I squee’d in delight, I archived it in my memory because I wanted to talk everyone’s ear off about it, and NOW IT IS GONE FROM MY INBOX. TUMBLE YOU HO.

But then I saw this ask, and I very, very much wanted to combined the two.

Looks guys, cousin Layla, right? God she’s a cunt. And after the whole attempted threesome ordeal, maybe tiger is still not allowed in the same room as her without Bill’s supervision. And it’s not because tiger’s in trouble, not by any means--but it’s because if Layla and her are in a room together, Layla doesn’t stand a chance. Tiger will maim her. Bill would rather not deal with that kind of family drama.

But you know, maybe that makes Christmas a little....tense. Maybe the Skarsgard Christmas was a bit early this year due to filming schedules, so Bill and tiger were back from Sweden by December 23rd which left plenty of time to do Christmas with her side of the family. And maybe tiger’s family went a little off the beaten path this year, rented themselves a little compound in the woods somewhere--a main house, a few guest houses sprawled on the large grounds. Tiger doesn’t have nearly as big a family as Bill’s, so her parents and aunts and uncles take the main house, a few cousins take a guest house, tiger and Bill take the other guest house....along with Layla. It’s a suggestion from both of their moms (Actually, does tiger have two dads? I like that concept). Either way, one of Layla’s parents teams up with one of tiger’s parents to get the two girls talking--god they used to be so close when they were kids, didn’t they?--and Bill just thinks this is like, a terrible idea. He wonders how well tiger’s parents actually know her and HOW they’re so convinced that she’s not capable of murder, because he doesn’t share that conviction.

“Tiger...” he stutters when the living arrangement is announced, “Maybe we should--”

But tiger is stoic, perfectly still, glaring daggers at Layla--who is glaring right back. Two bulls locked in a challenge, neither one of them backing down.

“Tiger,” he tries again, tugging on her sleeve, “We can--”

But tiger’s psychotic, wide smile stops him in his tracks. God it’s terrifying.

“How delightful,” she says and it’s sugary sweet, “It will be great to catch up, won’t it Layla?”

Tiger looks insane. Wide eyes, a psychotic smile. Bill shifts his eyes nervously between the two.

“Indeed cousin,” Layla purrs, the same fake smile on her face. Bill is terrified. But tiger grabs the key from the entrance way, and stalks off towards the guest house. Bill catches up with her after a few strides.

“Tiger--” he grabs her arm and spins her around, but she’s already laughing to herself.

“Stop kid, you’re creeping me out,” he mumbles, “Tiger, you can’t....I don’t want..”

“Spit it out, sunshine.”

Bill frowns.

“No murdering people,” he says sternly, “Or maiming, of any kind.”

“No promises.”

“Tiger,” he says harshly, “I mean it. I’m scared.”

“You’re not the one who should be scared big guy,” she pats his cheek, but she rolls her eyes at his glare, “Look, I promise. I won’t START anything, alright? I won’t start it. But that’s all I’m promising.”

“Fine,” he says, and he holds out his pinky finger, “Swear on it.”

She hooks her finger around his and pulls him down for a kiss.

But like...we all know where this is going, don’t we? Because tiger is just oh so sweet to Layla every waking moment. Really pouring it on thick--and Layla, herself, is a little taken aback by it. She’s not entirely unconvinced that tiger didn’t poison the drink she just offered her, and from across the room--neither is Bill. But the drink is fine, and tiger is just being so pleasant.

Until nightfall.

Because look, tiger? She’s got herself a plan. And Layla retreats first, goes back to the guest house early, and then sometime after midnight--tiger drags Bill back. Except just on the way there, tiger is all over him and Bill can’t keep up--she’s everywhere, launching herself into his arms and pulling him down for a heated kiss, her hands already working to get his scarf off. When they’re on the porch she jumps up into him and he catches her, trying to unlock the door while she bites his neck.

“Tiger,” he moans softly, “We can’t.”

“Oh yes we can.”

And it’s loud. Bill is trying to contain it, trying to bite back any noise he wants to make, but tiger’s going all in. Her moans are loud and guttural, she keeps begging for it harder, and when it’s not hard enough she slams him down and climbs on top. She grabs hold of the headboard for leverage--and to make sure she can whack it against the wall so that it hits the bedroom next door, which is...oh, Layla’s.

And listen, Bill wants to say something--wants to tell her to quiet down, but honestly Bill never had any hang ups with other people knowing he’s having sex. He’s always quiet for tiger’s sake, if other people are in the house. Also, he’s getting it so goddamn good that he can’t speak, and even if he could the only thing he’d likely be able to utter is more. If this is how tiger wants to throw down, then Bill is just holding on and enjoying the ride.

She’s raking her nails down his chest, and when he moans she’s digging them in deep.

“Louder,” she demands, grabs hold of his hair and gives it a solid tug. He obliges with enthusiasm.

The bed frame is thumping against the wall, Layla hears Bill’s deep, guttural moans and the squeaking of the mattress, hears tiger demanding more out of him and uttering the filthiest shit. And listen, the next morning? Tiger thinks a round two (or four) might just be an EXCELLENT way to start off the day, and Bill wakes up to her growling and pawing at him roughly, and before long he’s yelling out cusswords as she rides him into oblivion. And even better? She marks him. Tiger stakes claim to her territory, and when Bill gets up to shower he finally notices--the hickeys all over his neck, some dotted with teeth marks, the scratches on his chest. He smirks to himself just a little as he pulls a turtleneck out of his suitcase, gives tiger a firm swat on her ass as he gets dressed. And tiger thinks--oh, what an excellent idea for tonight.

Layla avoids eye contact with both of them. When they head to the main house for breakfast, tiger takes a seat right beside Layla and Layla promptly gets up and goes somewhere else. Bill is quiet, but tiger?

Tiger likes to play with her prey.

“Did you sleep well Layla?” she asks, but before Layla answers, tiger shoves a forkful of food into her mouth and she moans--loudly, salacisouly, a lot like she did last night.

Bill drops his fork immediately, caught off guard by the sound he’s only ever heard tiger make in the bedroom, and his cheeks go a bit red.

“These potatoes are just...” tiger takes another bite and lets out a loud moan again, “Heavenly.”

Poor Bill is just collateral damage.The two cousins glare at each other, and Bill is suddenly all flustered at having heard tiger’s sex noises in public. His cheeks go red, he’s starting to sweat because he’s getting turned on, and he clears his throat subtly.

When Layla looks away tiger smirks, but Bill squeezes her thigh in warning. He leans in close when the others go back to their own conversations.

“Do that again,” he threatens lowly, “And you’re going to be in real trouble kid.”

So she does it again.

And tigers just kind of revving him up too for later on that night. And sure enough maybe that night Bill and tiger head back early, and when Layla gets back they are already well into it. Bill is punishing tiger for being a brat that day, and the hefty spanks can be heard well through the thin walls.

And tiger is also embellishing a tad. Moaning louder than usual, begging for it harder.

“Daddy,” she groans loudly, “Please.”

“Again,” he commands.

“Daddy,” she moans even louder. Three hard whacks from the other side of the wall are heard. And listen, Bill is not a petty motherfucker. But Bill has younger siblings. Bill doesn’t think too highly of Layla. Bill is still pretty angry at her for all the shit she’s pulled with him, and all the shit she has tried to pull with tiger. And right now tiger is on all fours in front of him, begging him, she’s wet and uttering the filthiest shit and revving him up and Bill is just all in. So he gives her hair a soft tug, and tiger looks back.

“What do you think kid?” he juts his chin at the wall, quirks a brow.

“I think if that’s all you’ve got,” tiger shimmies her bottom at him and smirks, “Then that’s fucking pitiful.”

The next morning, both of them are covered in markings as they sit quietly, smirking to themselves, eating breakfast. 

Both of them raise their heads and smile pleasantly when Layla stumbles in late to breakfast, dark puffy circles under her eyes.

“Coffee?” Bill asks Layla with a smile. Tiger just mimics his smirk, chewing slowly on her fruit as she stares her down.

[literary-spirit]

"I'm sorry we couldn't offer you little more comfort while residing with us." Genuineness threaded itself through Torvi words as she watched while Bonnie settled herself behind Hali underneath the furs of unknown heritage.

A gratitude inspired smile made a conquest of Bonnie's lips. "No need for apologies, Torvi. Fact is, I'm grateful that you've allowed me somewhere safe to lay my head. Especially with everything being so new and unfamiliar."

Truth be sold rather than told, Bonnie didn't understand one damn thing about her predicament. One moment she lay bleeding out in her fiancé's arms in 21st century New Orleans, and the next she lay sprawled on Bjorn's ship during the freaking Viking Era. After some thought she'd begun to believe herself to be on the other side she'd created for Enzo, but there was a few sizable holes in that working theory. One, Enzo didn't hail from the ninth century so why would she tailor the world he'd spend his afterlife in after it? Two, she'd had the displeasure of being dead stranded on the other side a time or two and neither time did the imitation of life after death explode with a passion that could only be rivaled by reality.

No, Bjorn, Ivar, and Kattegat was real. It was all real! But on everything and everyone she loved she couldn't understand why. What did her giving up her mortality to become the immortal witch and finally embrace the prophecy have to do with this particular place in time?

"Bonsie?" The dulcet cadence of Guthrum's voice snatched her away from her thoughts. "Can you tell us a saga about your land?"

He and Hali stared up at her. The gleam of excitement tinkled bright in both of their eyes. She faked a sigh and played at reluctance with a roll of the eyes, all the while a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth for freedom. "Are you sure? Because you and Hali look really tired," she began tickling Hali who squealed and squirmed to get away, "And I don't wanna start one of my dull stories only to bore you both to sleep."

"Please!" They both squeaked in unison. "You have our vow we won't slumber before the end of your tale. Right Hali?" The blonde cherub face child with eyes just like his father nodded.

"Alright, but the vow I want from you is, that if slumber comes for you or Hali while I'm telling you the story you won't fight it," she said, her gaze moving from one boy to the other. "That's the only way I'm going to speak of this saga. I won't waste words on tired ears."

The boys stared at each other for a moment, before Guthrum looked back at her, "If our slumber takes us before the conclusion, will you continue when we rise?"

"Maybe not when we rise. You know, because we'll have to break our fast and I'm sure there'll be chores needing to be done-"

"There will definitely be chores needing to be done," Torvi confirmed as she watched from the bed.

Bonnie shrugged, tapping her chin while staring up at the ceiling of the keep. Her eyes flared as if the proverbial light bulb had erupted into a thousand ideas, "I know! If you fall asleep before the saga is finished, then I'll continue it tomorrow before we go to bed."

Guthrum looked to Hali, who nodded his head, "You have our vow, Bonsie."

"Okay," she held up her pinky. They stared at her finger for a moment then gawked at her as if she'd open a third eye on her forehead, "Well if you're giving me your vow boys, I'ma need a pinky swear to consummate your sworn oath."

"How do you perform such a ritual?" Guthrum asked, cuddling in closer.

"Hold up your little finger just like this." She wiggled her pinky. Once Guthrum and Hali raised their fingers, she entwined both of her pinkies with theirs, tugged and pulled away. "And just like that we have consummated our oath with a pinky swear."

"So, what of the saga?" Guthrum questioned.

"It's a story that takes place in a land where my ancestors once thrived. A continent called Africa," she began, "There a wise lion king was blessed with a cub who too would one day be king of everything the light touched in that land."

For the next thirty minutes or so Bonnie retold the story of the Lion King. By the time she reached the part about Scar throwing Mufasa off the cliff into the surge of stampeding antelope she noticed the boys had fallen asleep. Lowering her voice, she allowed her words to trail off, to avoid awakening the kids.

"Ack! Why'd you stop?!" Bjorn snapped. "Did Mufasa find a way to save himself so that he could exact revenge over his treacherous brother?"

"And what of poor Simba?" Torvi grilled, "What will become of him now?"

Bonnie's brows collided. She hadn't realized that they had even gave her a benefit of an ear let alone hung on to every word of the story. "I'm sorry, I didn't think you guys were paying attention."

"Why wouldn't we attend you, Bonnie?" Bjorn shot her one more unit before settling back on the bed to stare at the ceiling. "Are we not sharing the same space?"

"Bjorn," Torvi lightly scolded, cuddling down next to him.

"It's okay, Torvi," she said, rolling away to face the wall, "Bjorn's right. I'm wrong for not considering you both may wanna hear the ending of the story, but even if I wanted to finish it my sacred oath with the boys wouldn't allow me to continue until next eve. So, have a good night's rest and I'll see you both in the morning."

Bonnie allowed her eyes to close and not much later she dosed until squeaks, moans, and grunts ripped her from the verge of a deep sleep. Confused about why the hell she was on the floor instead of in Klaus' Californian King, her eyes darted around and then finally collided with a folded up Torvi getting piled drove by Bjorn.

When Torvi noticed her watching, she blushed and attempted to stifle another moan, "Apologies, Bonnie. We didn't mean to wake you with our coupling."

"It's fine," she said, not knowing what the hell else to say. It's not like she could go in about them banging one out in their own keep. Bjorn's lava hot blues bore into her, while he began to grind slow circles into Torvi. Bonnie attempted to clear her throat, but only managed a super dehydrated cough, "P-please c-continue—I-I mean if that's what you both wanna do. Not that I'm gonna keep watching or anything."

"Would you like to join us?" Torvi offered between gasps and moans. "Bjorn's vigor is insatiable. He would have no issues pleasuring you as well."

"T-That's not necessary!" Bonnie flopped back over on her side to face away from them, "You two enjoy, I'm good." She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to ignore the snickers coming from the bed as she willed herself to go back to sleep.

****

After daggmal what Bjorn called breakfast, Sigurd offered to be her guide while she explored the forest. They spent almost half the day trekking through the woods gathering recipes she would need for hygienic purposes and basic spells. For the first half of their outing, Sigurd merely helped and watched her without saying anything. When she'd had enough of him side-eying the hell out of her she spun on him without warning and he almost ran her down.

"What's wrong with you? Why do you keep watching me like I'm gonna turn you into horse shit or something?" She snapped.

His eyes flared, and he took a step back. "Can you?"

"Sigurd!" Bonnie stared at him for a moment like he'd left his mind back at Kattegat, before whirling around to continue her descend down to the cove. "Why did you come if you're so scared of me?" She tossed over her shoulder.

"Because I think you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and I was hoping to plow you," he replied, following behind her.

"Men," she mumbled to herself. Then she raised her voice loud enough for him to hear. "So, I guess Ivar's telling anyone who will listen I'm a witch, huh?"

"Ivar?" He questioned as if he didn't know how one thing had to do with the other. "No, what's he to do with anything? It's Margrethe."

Bonnie stopped once more to turn and look up at him. "Margrethe? You mean the poor servant girl you all pass around like a waste bucket?"

"We don't pass her around and she says when you appeared out of air the gods let their displeasure be known by sending a storm to upset the sea," he walked closer, plucked the basket from her hands, intertwined their arms and guided her towards the cove. "She also said that the storm only went away when she mentioned throwing you over."

"You do understand Margrethe is madder than a bag of cats tossed in a barrel of water, right? Anything that comes out of her mouth is nothing more than rantings of the certifiable," she said, filing Margrethe away for a later day's problem.

Sigurd laughed. "Your turn of phrases are cutting. I've noticed that you wield your words the way Hvitserk swings an ax."

"Runs in the family," she said, distracted by the splashing she heard coming from the cove. "Shh," she stopped, halting Sigurd along with her, "someone's down there."

Stunned disbelief flared his eyes and dropped his jaw, "Really? Well, we should go-,"

"Yeah," her head bobbed in utter agreement, more than ready to turn around, "we should."

"And cut down the trespassers!" He finished.

"Wait, what?"

Without even a notion of a warning, he scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and ran down the rest of the way to the cove. Once they cleared the woods and stepped into the enclosure of the inlet, he strode into the water with her. She caught an upside-down glimpse of Ivar sitting on the bank, while Ubbe and Hvitserk chased each other around in the water with long skinny sticks.

"Brother, what took you so long?" Hvitserk snickered as he bent sideways to stare her in the face.

Sigurd smacked her on the bottom. "This one wanted to pick every smelly flower in the forest."

"Sigurd, take me back on dry land," she said, pounding him in the middle of his back with her fists, "So help me, if you fuck around and drop me in this water and my hair gets wet, it's gonna be hell to tell the captain. And just in case you haven't figured it out I'm the motherfucking captain!"

"What's she going on about?" Ivar called from the bank.

Sigurd laughed, "She wants to swim."

Then he tossed her into the biting chill of the water. She emerged sputtering water and spitting mad. Their laughter only served to piss her off more. Hatemakers shot from her eyes like hollow points leaving the barrel of a glock. When she finally had Sigurd locked and loaded in her sights, she treaded water like she had an engine shoved up her crack and Bobby Boucher'ed his ass so hard he hurtled through the air. He smacked the water harder than Angela did Marcus, and he went under. Now it was her turn to laugh and do the fool she did. Ubbe and Hvitserk gawked at her as if she'd sprouted wings and a tail.

Sigurd clawed his way back to the surface gasping and coughing. "Who in the name of Odin taught you how to swim, Thor?"

The sound of laughter and clapping floated from the bank. Bonnie turned to see Ivar's incandescent methane orbs flashing hella bright. Yet somehow the brilliance of his smile rivaled even the bewitching dazzle of his eyes. He'd baited and hooked her without even casting the lure. Now the unexplainable pull between them would reel her in. Pushing the mass of dripping curls from her face, she began to walk toward the shore.

"Where do you think you're going?" Hvitserk whispered next to her ear, before scooping her off her feet, "You've a lesson to learn."

"Oh, Hvitserk, you just better bring it!" She yelled as she bucked and squirmed in his grasp, "That goes for your sisters too."

With that said he dunked her in the water, when she reemerged Ubbe had a hold of her, "Many apologies, my lady. You were saying?" He questioned, regarding her with eyes the same shade as a cloudless sky.

She gave him a closed lip smile, and then slapped her cheeks, allowing all of the water in her mouth to spray him in the face. When he released her, she dove under the surface, grabbed him by the ankles and snatched him off his feet, literally. Then she went after Hvitserk next. Anticipating an attack, he and Sigurd took on a defense stance. So, they planned to make this a joint effort. She gave herself a mental nod, noted. Tired of playing around, she hiked her skirts up just beneath the curve of her ass and knotted it high on her hip. Sigurd and Hvitserk exchanged a smirk. Not wasting a second she struck. First, she climbed, and then wrapped herself around Sigurd. In a maneuver reminiscent of the Black Widow, she used his body weight and gravity against him. Once more he soared through the air.

She turned to Hvitserk and he gave her the smile which let her know he thirst for blood and the rush. Yep, she'd saved the most savage for last. Leaping on him, she wrapped her legs around his waist. He automatically grabbed a fist full of ass. Sexual lust overpowered his blood lust. Big mistake. She snapped backwards in a back bend, the memento snatched him off his feet and he went free falling face first into some rather high-quality H2O.

While the brothers attempted to figure out which step led to their downfall, Bonnie left the water to find Bjorn standing on the bank. His look of indifference remained true to the inner workings of his mind.

"You move well," he said as he reached down to place one hand on a bare hip and the other on the knot that secured her skirt. In a swift tug he released the drenched material. "I've never seen anyone fight that way or toss about men twice their size."

A memory of Bjorn giving Torvi the business end of some serious wood flashed at the forefront of Bonnie's mind. Unable to maintain eye contact, she dropped her gaze to the ground, "It's nothing. We were just messing around; I'd hoped to learn how to manage one of their sticks." Ivar snickered and that's when she realized how it sounded. "You know...for fishing." She added to be Visine clear.

"If you're to learn to manage anyone's stick, it'll be mine," Bjorn stepped closer and crowded her personal space.

The heat which came off of him reminded her of the predicament she now found herself. She was drenched and it had to be every bit of fifty-eight degrees out and dropping. The boys came trudging out the water behind her.

Ubbe walked up on her until the hard press of his chest collided with her back. One of his hands moved to grip her neck, while the other rose to lay possessively across her belly. He lowered his mouth next to her ear, "The gods were with you this day, Valkyrie. Yet, we'll see what the morrow brings." He then released her and moved around her to sit next to Ivar.

"You think yourself clever with that trick in the water, do you?" Sigurd asked, while tugging one of her curls as he passed. "Well, I know a few tricks too and mine are sure to put you on your back as well." With his gaze still locked on her, he dropped down on the other side of Ubbe.

Hvitserk spun her around to face him. "One detail," he snatched her skirts up around her hips and lifted her. Her legs wrapped around his waist. A sliver of space remaining between them provoked him to tug her closer until her naked sex pressed firmly against his bare lower abdomen muscles. On contact, the sinewy tissue flexed against her clit and try as she might, she couldn't stop the groan that burst from her lips. His eyes rolled closed, and gasps of air rushed from his mouth as he rested his forehead on hers. "I had to be certain." After a moment he allowed her body to slip from his.

"Of what?" She questioned, slightly swaying as she shifted her skirts back in place.

"I was home," he said, before stealing a kiss and darting away.

Something a breath away from recognition flared within her. She pressed to fingers to her lips to help preserve the feel and weight of Hvitserk's mouth on hers. Where the hell did she know his kiss?

Bjorn shot his younger siblings hell bred units. "Come, Bonnie. It's almost time for second meal and Queen Aslaug would like for us to attend her in the great hall...again." She didn't miss the annoyance which saturated his again.

"Alright, let me just grab my basket," she strode to pick up the wicker carrier and the world turned upside down.

Then it overturned and became consumed by Ivar's sculpted to perfection features. When she'd sacrificed her better judgement and walked too closed to him, he'd snatched her off her feet by an ankle. Once down on his turf, he'd flipped her over and yanked her to him like a virgin slated for sacrifice. Now he loomed over her larger than life. She'd played herself by forgetting he was the one to watch. The most dangerous of them all.

"I can see in your eyes you know your error is grave," he spoke to her in that soft accented tone that all ways fucked over her senses. "Next time you will not dismiss me so effortlessly because you believe me to be at a disadvantage, hmm?"

The sheer beauty of him outshined the ever-radiant torch she still carried for Niklaus. And Ivar the Boneless was right there! Right there in front of her! If ever there was a pass to be given for one indiscretion in a relationship, surely this was the time. Ignoring all the legitimate reasons as to why she shouldn't, she reached up and ran the pad of her index finger over one smooth brow. The perfectly arched hair felt silky to the touch.

Stunned, he stared down at her, confusion bunching those very brows while slightly parting those luscious lips. Her gaze flicked to the bottom one. It drew her thumb like a super magnet attracted to a pile of scrap metal. First contact almost made her swallow her tongue. Nothing could've prepared her for such fleshy softness. You'd think his lips had never known a day without Carmex. Damn, she had to know what it felt like to have his mouth on hers! Cupping her other hand around the nape of his neck, she used the hold to guide his lips towards hers even as she arched upwards to meet him halfway.

"Ivar, we have spoken much on you remaining free of mischief," Bjorn said, yanking Ivar off of her and plopping him back down on the plot of grass next to Ubbe.

Bonnie climbed to her feet, dusting herself off as she went. For a moment, their she'd almost pulled a damn Elena. Acting first and thinking never. Difference was she didn't have a scrappy side-chick running to have her back when she wrote a check her ass wasn't equipped to cash out. No! She needed to stay focused and figure out why the hell an immortal witch spell brought her all the way back to the Viking era. And it wasn't even the real Viking era. She was trapped in a television series loosely tailored after a raider who lived over a thousand years ago.

"Thanks for helping me today, Sigurd," She said, while allowing Bjorn to take her hand. "It would've taken me longer to locate the things I needed without you.

"You're welcome to my help whenever you have need of it," He said, grinning up at her.

Bonnie nodded then looked to the other brothers. "Ubbe, Hvitserk...Ivar," she held Ivar's gaze a moment longer than called for, before continuing, "thank you for being superb stress relievers." She wound her shoulders in counterclockwise circles as she cocked her head from one side to the other until she heard the pop. "Didn't realize how backed up I was until you guys worked me out a little."

"Then you should prepare yourself," Ubbe said, giving her a sideways glance, "for stress will no longer be a worry of yours." His bottomless cobalt glare, glanced down the length of her body before returning back to her face. Hvitserk and Sigurd snorted.

She held his gaze until Bjorn guided her from the enclosure of the cove back into the woods. Once out of his and Ivar's soul disturbing stare, she exhaled. For the next several minutes, she and Bjorn walked back to Kattegat in silence. After fiddling with the handle of the basket, attempting to work up the nerve to find something to say, Bjorn spoke first.

"I spoke with Floki today and he told me the fleet I commissioned won't be ready to sail until next Spring," he said, bending to pick up a stick from the path, "which is just as well, since Torvi is carrying again. I've already sent a messenger to King Harald."

"Wait," she stopped mid-step, "Torvi's pregnant?"

He walked a little further before he realized she'd halted. Once he did, he turned back to face her, his expression unreadable as ever. "Yes."

"C-congratulations, Asa's gonna be beautiful," she said, without thinking. Her mind to set on the fact she was adrift somewhere between season 4 part 1 and 2. How the hell would she navigate over the course of the year without knowing what happens from one moment to the next?

Bjorn cradled her face in his hands. "Are you saying this babe will be a girl?"

Damn! Well, the cat has left the bag. She nodded and a brilliant smile that could put the sun out of business blossomed on his face. His joy even provoked the corners of her mouth to travel north. "I'm very much proud to have boys, but after what happened to my first child...Siggy, it is my belief that by blessing me with a girl this time, the gods have shown me favor."

The blend of his happiness and vulnerability disarmed her defenses. She leapt into his arms, hugging him tight to her. The best her lack of height would allow anyway. All she wanted was to give him the comfort and support he'd shown her since her world went bat-shit. Bjorn, however, must've misread into things, because he had her pinned to the nearest tree attempting to raise her skirts.

He pressed kisses into the side of her neck as he worked to hike up her skirts and wrap her legs around him at the same time. "My man stand has nigh burst awaiting consent to plow you." He grind an oversized bulge into her bare center, and she squealed, not sure whether it was in delight or protest.

"Bjorn, I'm so sorry," she gritted through clenched teeth. Not trusting what would come flying out of her mouth if she opened it fully. "I didn't mean to lead you on. I'm a hugger." She babbled. "I only meant to offer you a hug of friendship."

He stilled and leaned away to peer down at her with a scrunched red face. "What?" Backing away, he let her feet drop to the ground. "Who in the name of the All-Father offers passionate embraces as a form of friendship?"

"Look, Bjorn," she lifted her chin, ready to no means no, his ass. "I'm sorry if you misread things, but you're married-,"

"Misread?!" His eyes nearly leapt from their sockets as he snorted his disbelief. "And what of all the lusty ways I notice you watching me when you think I don't see?"

She lied with a straight face. "You're mistaken."

"I'm not mistaken," he backed her into the same tree, "just last eve your eyes pleaded with me-,"

"And that's another thing," she said, cutting him off. "Don't take this wrong, because I'm grateful for you and Torvi's kindness, but when can we start on the restoration of Rollo's house?"

He stared at her a moment without saying anything. "We can begin soon after we finish daggmal on the morrow." Her head bobbed, and then she moved to step around him. He grabbed her arm to halt her movements. "Are you leaving my keep because I chose to lay with my wife?"

Her eyes bucked and she shook her head until she thought it would fly off her neck, "Of course not. I'm leaving because you both deserve privacy and not some stranger interrupting your lives."

"You're not a stranger, Mystical One," he rested his forehead on hers, "we're bonded by the oath we swore. You and I are a part of each other until one of us enters Valhalla."