So this is another request from @vibgyoroygbiv for the amazing art that you can find on their blog here. Seriously, I fell in love with this art from the moment I saw it and could not have asked for a cuter scene to capture with words. Thanks for letting me! You can also find this piece on A03 and FF.
After scrubbing through his damp hair, Kakashi blinked at the reflection in the mirror. Dark circles beneath his eyes suggested that he needed sleep more than a shower, but there were more important things to take care of first. Kakashi had been out of the village for two weeks at a kage summit, and for some idiotic reason, he'd left Tenzo behind to look after the village. He made a mental note to never make that mistake again; the days apart had been miserable.
The pair had been dating, officially, for over a year now, a reality that continued to amaze Kakashi. He'd expected that Tenzo would get sick of him or realize that life was easier without him. Instead, impossibly, Tenzo seemed more determined than ever to stick by Kakashi's side. He couldn't put his gratefulness into words, so he didn't try. Besides, Tenzo knew, he had to. Why else would he put up with the chaos that was Kakashi?
Frowning, Kakashi ran his fingers through his hair to perfect the spikes. He hated the way it laid against his forehead when wet; it made him look more like his father than he cared to admit. He spent a few seconds adjusting the way it fell before giving up. The bedroom was dark enough that Tenzo wouldn't notice anyway. If Kakashi hadn't been covered in dirt and half asleep from rushing back to surprise Tenzo two days ahead of schedule, he wouldn't have bothered with a shower either. The cool water woke him up enough to be semi-functional, at least.
Pulling on a clean pair of boxers, Kakashi flipped off the light. He'd been as quiet as he could be, but wasn't certain that he hadn't woken Tenzo up accidentally. The man was the head of Anbu after all. When Kakashi had first arrived back at the apartment, he had felt the flicker of Tenzo's chakra in the bedroom. The steady strum of sleep hadn't altered over the past fifteen minutes, but he moved silently just in case.
After letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, Kakashi slipped into the bedroom. It was brighter there, pale moonlight streaming through the open curtains. The scene was nearly identical to the one that Kakashi had expected. Tenzo lay on his right side, on the far side of the bed. If Kakashi had been there, an arm would have rested across his hip or shoulder. Tenzo always seemed to want to be touching Kakashi when they slept, maybe to convince himself that he was really there.
Kakashi crept closer, curious to see what Tenzo did with his hands when Kakashi's body wasn't available. He paused a couple of feet away, frowning at the bed. Tenzo had his arms curled comfortably around . . . something. The shadows were deeper with the blankets and sheets, so it took Kakashi a couple of moments to recognize the shape of his replacement. The lumpy form looked almost like a teddy bear, but the proportions were wrong. Then, Kakashi saw the flash of silver against Tenzo's cheek.
"What the hell," Kakashi huffed without thinking. He followed the pale hair of the plushie down to a partially covered face that could only be meant to mimic his own.
Tenzo's entire body tensed at the sound. His eyes flashed open, found Kakashi, then he relaxed with a sleepy half smile. "I didn't expect you home for a few more days."
"Obviously," Kakashi grumbled, gesturing at the atrocity locked in Tenzo's arms.
Pushing into a sitting position, Tenzo flipped on the bedside lamp. Kakashi blinked against the invasion of light, staring hard at the plush that had fallen near Tenzo's hip. The man followed Kakashi's gaze, a blush appearing high on his cheek.
Kakashi stalked toward the foot of the bed, staring at his image in miniature. Whomever made it clearly had no idea what he looked like. The far too spiky hair was the wrong shade of grey, closer to white than Kakashi's silver. And his headband hadn't slanted at that ridiculous angle, it had been adjusted slightly to cover the sharingan. That much of his face wasn't hidden by the mask either, and the eyes were entirely wrong.
"It doesn't even look like me," Kakashi growled.
"Oh really?" Tenzo's laugh made Kakashi's cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Who said anything about it looking like you?"
Realizing he'd been caught by his own words, Kakashi rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. I guess there's a passing resemblance."
Tenzo's smile widened into a playful grin as he plopped the plush into a sitting position beside him. "He's actually pretty cute." He brushed through the hair with familiar ease, rearranging the way the strands poked up, then tugged at the mask. "They stitched it in place, so your secret is still safe with me."
The warmth in Kakashi's face grew. This wasn't how he anticipated his night going. He thought that he would come home and wake Tenzo with a sleepy kiss. They'd been apart long enough that his body had intentions past that, but he hadn't allowed his fantasy to go any further. Now, the entire scenario fled his mind. He couldn't think of a single word to say as he looked dumbly at the pair on the bed.
After a moment, Tenzo lifted the plush and held it near his face, stitched eyes challenging Kakashi with their very existence. "That doesn't look anything like me," Tenzo growled in a mockery of Kakashi's voice, making the plushie's head bob angrily. "I'm much more serious in real life."
Kakashi's right eye twitched when Tenzo answered in his normal voice. "I know, but they probably thought your normal expression would be too scary for a toy."
The whimpery, whiny noise that Tenzo made definitely didn't sound anything like Kakashi's manipulative prodding to get his way. His mind rejected the possibility that anything older than a ten year old girl could make those sounds naturally.
"Aw, don't pout. I still love you," Tenzo murmured in a sing-songy voice that Kakashi had heard only a few times before. It took him a startled moment to realize that the man wasn't talking to him. Rather, he spoke to the plush that he hugged tight to his chest.
Kakashi didn't have to fake the growl that rose in his throat at the sight. He knew the jealousy surging through his veins was irrational, but he couldn't stop it. Tenzo's arms were supposed to be around him, not some stuffed imitation. He leaped toward the bed, landing beside Tenzo on his knees. The man cringed away in an attempt to pull the plush out of Kakashi's grasp. Having none of it, Kakashi made a swipe at the offending object, clamoring half on top of Tenzo to reach it.
"Hey! That's mine," Tenzo complained as Kakashi plucked the doll from his hand. His lower lip stuck out in an overdone pout.
Ignoring the look, Kakashi tossed the plush over his shoulder. His gaze met Tenzo's as he leaned in closer. "And you're mine."
Their lips met in a rush of longing that Kakashi hadn't even been conscious of until it melted away. Tenzo's hands stopped trying to push Kakashi off and came to rest on his chest instead. When they pulled apart to breath, Tenzo chuckled. "You can't seriously be jealous of something that looks like you, can you?"
"Yes," Kakashi answered matter-of-factly, nipping at Tenzo's throat. "Besides, you've got the real thing right here in front of you. Why waste time with a cheap imitation?"
Tenzo licked his lips, brown eyes smoldering under the intensity of Kakashi's gaze. "I guess that's true." He trailed a finger along Kakashi's shoulder, leaving chillbumps in its wake. "You're home early."
"I missed you," Kakashi answered, kissing one corner of Tenzo's mouth. He savored the curve of the man's smile, then brushed his lips against the other side "I wanted to surprise you, not find you happily in bed with someone else."
Tenzo's laughter filled the room as his fingers traced down Kakashi's spine. "You know, you're kind of cute when you're jealous. I think I'll keep little Kakashi around for a while."
"Little-" Kakashi spluttered, trying to pull away to find the plushie. He'd just tear the thing to bits, or crisp it with fire jutsu so Tenzo couldn't-
Kakashi lost his train of thought and forward momentum when Tenzo wrapped tight arms around him. Warm lips brushed along his throat, then kissed over his collar bone. He groaned, forgetting everything but the torture of two weeks without Tenzo's touch.
"Why don't we talk about it later," Tenzo suggested, voice lowering with desire in a way that set Kakashi's blood to racing. "I have an idea on how to make it up to you."
Grinning, Kakashi nuzzled against Tenzo's neck to nip lightly at his ear. "You have a lot to make up for."
He knew that Ivar was angry with him for the incident with Ubbe but when he not-so-kindly suggested what he did, Hvitserk’s eyes had been blown wide. He was still not… sure about this. Everyone was there to witness this humiliation and so would Harald and fearfully so, Ubbe. It was a punishment unlike what he ever underwent before.
“Where is my queen?” Ivar pushes apart the sheets to where Hvitserk stood loathing his appearance in front of a bowl of clear water. Hvitserk grips the wooden rim of the bowl tight when his younger brother came to stop behind him, wandering his hands down the side of Hvitserk’s long white dress.
“Turn around.” He commands Hvitserk around. Hvitserk doesn’t comply, lowering his head in disgust to his kohl lined eyes and rouged lips. He’s disgusted by the dangle of pearl earrings wrapped in gold. “Don’t be shy, wife.”
“I am not your wife!” Hvitserk hisses, turning around with no fear. Ivar looks up to his raging brother, tongue stroking the inside of his cheek. Ivar turns over his honey hair away from his lightly rouge cheek.
“You will be. You will like it.” He hums. “You look just like mother.” He drags his thumb down to Hvitserk’s lip, smearing his rouge a little more than purposefully. His hand drops down to the choker that covers the apple of Hvitserk’s throat, humming in approval for his brother’s new look.
It isn’t just the suggestion of being a woman. It was admitting to laying underneath Ivar and ceasing raiding as a queen that would have to rule in his absence. He did not want to stay here and nurse a nonexistent womb. Hvitserk wanted to raid!
“You’re crazy.” Hvitserk says. Ivar takes a step back to admire the work that Hvitserk had done in preparing himself for this great feast. One where Hvitserk would play his new wife under this strange disguise. He never would have wiggled into this dress if he hadn’t been tricked with Ubbe’s livelihood.
“I’m not the one in a dress. Now come, sweets.” He mocks, reaching out to offer Hvitserk his hand. His eyes shift aside, trying his best to ignore the fact that he would be playing this soft wife. Hvitserk takes his brother’s hand, stepping out from the side of the curtains.
“I would like to announce my new Queen!” Ivar calls out to the public. “This is Hvítr, your new queen.”
“No relation to Hvitserk Ragnarsson, eh?” From the crowd, he hears Harald call out. Hvitserk turns his head in the direction where Harald sits with Ubbe-- a begrudging forgiveness on Ivar’s part.
“No, of course not. Hvitserk has gone raiding with my army. Isn’t that right love?”
“Of course it is.” Hvitserk sweetens his voice, despite the knowledge that everyone damn well knew that it was a lie. Everyone knew this was a lie… but more than that, that Ivar the Boneless had lost his mind. It would not harm Ivar-- this lie? It would hurt Hvitserk’s reputation.
“To be fair, there are many that would not be able to tell whether Hvitserk is man or woman by looking at him.” Harald roars into a laugh. The others surrounding him join in on such words. All but one-- Ubbe.
His electric eyes focus on Hvitserk’s shameful frame, staring down to the floor while Ivar raises Hvitserk’s willowy hand to his lips for a kiss. Hvitserk’s lips are sealed shut, teeth gnashing against teeth in his attempt to stay quiet.
“He might take after my mother.” Ivar releases Hvitserk’s hand jerking his head as if to make him sit down. He takes his mother’s throne. Seconds later, Ubbe stands up and sways forward. Hvitserk’s hand folds over his long, creamy white dress.
“Where are you from, hm?” Ubbe stands in front of the throne covered in furs.
Hvitserk freezes cold-- but Ivar swoops in, dropping in his throne and leaning over to take Hvitserk’s hand.
“Hvítr is from Hedeby.” Ivar hums, bringing his hand to his lips for a kiss.
“I was asking her, my brother.”
Shit, shit, shit what the hell! Ivar sneers at the label of his name, face hardening-- it had been some time since that they had gone by such names with their falling out.
“He is right.” His voice strains with the force put into lightening his voice. “My father is the earl.”
Tricky, tricky. Ubbe sways in spot, legs spread as he folds his hands one in front of another. Obviously he has some fight to pick with the claim that Hvitserk was a woman-- but for Hvitserk’s sake of being an ergi, he drops it.
“Go drink your ale and leave my queen alone.” Ivar flicks his fingers and hands Hvitserk his ale. The longing brews in the pit of his stomach-- don’t go, he wants to say. But he can’t, he can’t do a damn thing to beg his big brother to save him.
So he drinks his ale and disassociates from Ivar’s tender kisses on his slim lips, knowing that this would always be his fate. To belong to him.
Mr Buttons (Yuya’s creepy doll) for TheDarkOne121 on ao3.
Requested work for TheDarkOne121 from their Yu-Gi-Oh ARC V fanfic A Demon’s Smile. If you haven’t read it I do recommend. I tried my best with description you gave in chapter one, I only hope it turned out a way you wanted! Thank you so much for the interesting request, and apologies that it took so long to get back to you with it! Keep up the great story DarkOne, I can’t wait to see what happens next!
A Demon’s Smile by TheDarkOne121: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13755999/chapters/31612281
A/N: This is part one of two. I kind of mixed two requests to come to this clusterfuck tbh.
Anonymous asked: Imagine being Ivar’s little innocent wife you 5ft (shocking cause No one would have guessed) and aethelwulf & bishop heahmund somehow manages to kidnap you and was going to kill you in front of him but you know how to fight and after taking out some men leaving everyone but ivar shocked you happily skip to ivar covered in blood and kiss him saying I’m back
ateliefloresdaprimavera said Thank you😊 I just have this idea on my mind that Ivar is in love with his childhood friend,and they’re total oposites (she’s pretty much a disney princess viking😉).but they complete one another and are the definition of power couple, and he’s about to propose.what do you think?
Since the day you were born, everyone took you lightly. You were the small runt that no one thought was capable of fighting. So you took to womanly tasks, but no one knew your best friend trained you. Of course, even if they knew they would say it was the blind leading the blind. That best friend was Ivar the Boneless and while he was a Ragnarsson, he had much to prove. As did you. Rumors carried themselves to Aethelwulf that you were the wife of Ivar the Boneless, captured in a settlement he burned to the ground. Your dainty nature and soft appearance made Aethelwulf think light of you. Small, dainty and meek. You were used to being called small and not formidable.
“You are not at all what I expected of a Heathen Queen.” Aethelwulf bends down beside your side. With wrists weighed down by heavy ropes, you look up to him with a biting glare. The ropes itch across your normally untouched skin.
“I am not a Queen.” You say, your voice heavy with your native tongue. Your braid has fallen out of its ties, spiraling around your body in waves. Aethelwulf drifts his fingers up to jingle the expensive golden earrings that dangled down from your lobes. The tips of the glimmering fringe tickled your shoulders.
“Then you are Ivar’s whore. It doesn’t make much difference to me.” Aethelwulf snarls the words in your face. It hurts to know someone thinks that Ivar would hold you in such light regard. You admit that you knew about his time with Margrethe but it was short lived and a poor relationship at best. Your nose squeezes with a valley of irritable wrinkles before you
“Ivar doesn’t keep whores, he never has. He’s a good man!” You shout back at him. Aethelwulf snorts sharply at your words, muttering that a heathen is many things: but never a good man. Your stomach churns when he turns back to you.
“Of all the pagans I’ve seen in my life, you are the most beautiful. So how is it that you expect me to believe he hasn’t made you his wife?” Aethelwulf suggests in a mocking but somehow sweet tone. You’re not sure whether to be insulted or flattered by his comments. It softens you, ever so slightly, to Aethelwulf.
“He… Ivar is not my husband but he is my friend. He spoils me.” You murmur softly and gently, so much so that it brings a smile to his face. A friend that spoils with gold and riches is a friend that is most likely, not just a friend.
“Then the answer is, you aren’t his queen yet. Good. It will be better that way.” Aethelwulf moves to the doorway. As he leaves, you have to wonder just what he meant.
The remains of the settlement were strewn over the ground. The ash formed a heavy fog over the still land. The only movement of life was the clank of warriors and shield maidens. The remains of his people were spread across the cold ground. As he counted each, his eyes were constantly scanning across the features of each person. There were faces darkened with fear and horror, their bodies bloating, reeking of death and other spilled bodily functions.None of the faces were the soft and divine features that he looked for.
“She isn’t among the dead,” Hvitserk jots up beside him. Ivar limps along frantically before he realizes his brother is right, shifting around to face him. Somehow, he wishes you had been. It really would have been easier that way.
“Then where did she go? Why would they take her? She’s useless. She can’t even fight.” Ivar trills, knitting his brows together with his large fingers massaging the ball of stress welling in the front of his head. The more he thought on it, the more he was sure this was his fault. Hvitserk kicks over a body bearing Aethelwulf’s colours. Ivar snapped to attention when he heard the words, little more than a whisper, escape the man’s lips.
“He took your wife to camp.”
The man made a wet gurgling sound, coughing something sludgy off the side of his lips. After a tense moment Ivar dropped beside him and grasps his jaw firmly. In his other hand Ivar raises his bloodied axe high in the air. The man gurgles in fear, blood surely rising into his throat.
“Who took her to camp?” Ivar shouts at the trembling foot soldier. He’s shaking profusely either of blood loss or the fear of his impending death. Please, please help me. Please, please don’t kill me. The man’s words fall on death ears. Ivar bring’s his hand to the soldier’s forehead, lifting and thrashing the man back against the crumbling earth until the words finally come out.
“Ae..thelwulf!”
A fraction of a second later, Ivar’s axe came down on the man’s forehead, echoing a rippling crack in tune with the man’s horrified scream. His blood coated Ivar down and washed over his furrowed features. Usually it was gratifying feeling. This time, his brows still contorted in frustration. As he wipes the blood away from his eyes, he looks back up to his brother. Hvitserk’s gaze lingers only moments before looking to a group of soldiers.
“Ready Ivar’s chariot.” He barks orders to the others. The soldiers rush away from the scene while Ivar draws his axe out of the man’s head, flipping the blade in his hand.
It had been some days since Aethelwulf had captured you in the settlement Ivar never wanted you to visit. Every day you relived the regret in coming here, wishing that you had stayed home where it was safe.
“I forbid you from going, (Y/N). I won’t be there to protect you. No one will be.” Ivar was motionless over the table as another man worked markings into his skin. His broad arms hugged the edges of the table and while you were packing, you couldn’t help feel incredibly distracted by his smooth voice.
“I don’t need your permission Ivar. I am a princess. I can go where I wish without you.” You close your chest then move to eye level with Ivar.
“My princess.” Ivar glanced up to you as if disgusted with the ideal that you didn’t need him. Of course you needed him.
“Your mother’s princess.” You correct all too excitedly. That was how Aslaug addressed you. At one point, you were a princess to some far off land. But it was gone now. That was why you were her princess. Now she was gone. Did that really make you his princess?
“I don’t need you, Ivar.”
“The Gods have the last say in that.” Ivar commends the words to you. You agree of course, but find that it is much better to kiss his head and slide out of the room than argue any further.
“Freya, what do I do?” You asked, peering outside of the room you were trapped in. Unlike the other prisoners, Aethelwulf claimed this room would be more suited to you. Not the dungeons, where Ivar might look for you if he even did. You could already hear his snarky voice and bobbling head saying ‘I told you so,’ over and over again.
He’s going to kill you.
Strong feminine words echoed in your mind like the beating of a drum, loud and clear. It made sense now. They killed Ragnar, they killed all those innocent settlers, so why not you? You knew the words were placed into your mind for a reason. You slumped away from the window having received the answer from your goddess.
