AN: Thank you to those who've faved, followed, and commented. I'm glad people are reading this and enjoying it. This is a bit short compared to the other chapters, but let me know what you think, and enjoy! (BTW, SMUT!)

Chapter Three

Every molecule in Tove's body was charged, fueled by the fight, and nowhere near settled. Her skin felt as though it had been electrified. She was desperate for action, but the battle had ebbed. With her decimation of the droogs, the New Gods had fled leaving her fully unsatisfied.

As she stood in the background, anxious and unable to stop pacing while the others spoke, her eyes drifted to the giant looming in the distance. Tove instantly froze. Sweeney was leaning against the wall, lazily smoking as he tended to. He couldn't care less what was happening around him, watching Wednesday do his best to keep Laura from taking Shadow into another room to speak to him.

She knew, the moment her eyes landed on him, what she wanted to do. Her focus intensified as a result.

Tove noticed Sweeney flinch, his brows tugging together briefly, before his gaze began to dance around the room. They landed on her shortly after and she held it. She noticed him narrow his eyes questioningly. Tove's response was to jerk her head to the side, silently beckoning him to follow her. He looked a little curious, but she gave him no time to debate from across the room before she left the group.

Tove was still filled with the need to act as she wandered the halls to Ostara's mansion. She didn't know where she was going, nor did she truly care, she only wanted to separate herself from the rest of the party goers.

At the end of a random hall, Tove found an equally random room. It was decadent and light like the rest of the home with floral wallpaper, white furniture, and freshly cut flowers everywhere. Despite being surrounded by the sweet and calming signs of spring, Tove couldn't stand still.

As Tove began to contemplate a Plan B, the door to the room opened. The ginger giant stepped through with his stare leveled on her. Tove turned to face him completely while Sweeney closed the door behind him.

For a moment they stood in absolute silence. Tove chewed on her bottom lip, running it through her teeth as the atmosphere became as charged as she felt. Sweeney seemed to feel the same shift and removed his denim jacket, tossing it over a nearby chair.

Tove's heart began to race, her fingers tingled. She knew what was coming.

Suddenly, Sweeney charged for her and a fight broke out as a result. He grabbed her by the throat and threw her violently into the nearest wall. He didn't have to hold back, not with her, so he didn't.

Tove's back slammed into the drywall just beside the door, but she recovered quickly and swung. Sweeney barely had time to dodge the swipe. Her knuckles raked across his face, likely smashing more than a few bones if she'd connected fully.

When he closed the distance between them in a single long stride, he gripped the collar of her shirt. Without hesitation, Sweeney threw her once more into the wall and pushed himself against her in the process.

He chuckled darkly, sinisterly, as he pressed his body to hers. Tove struggled against him, but knew that if she actually tried to hurt him, she would. Instead, she let him dominate her for the moment. She was more than willing, in fact. It was her thing, her kink. She loved being overpowered because it so rarely happened.

Holding her hips firmly, Sweeney spun Tove and shoved her chest into the wall. He threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair while the other began to unbutton her jeans. He gave her hair a hard yank, jerking her head back at a sharp angle. Tove cried out in response.

"Looks like yer losin' yer touch, Viking." He taunted. "Or maybe ya just like bein' someone's bitch."

Before he could truly enjoy his position of dominance, Tove shoved her back against him, dislodging his grasp. Sweeney scowled as he was forced to take a step away and release her. He didn't have a chance to react, however. Tove reached for him and shoved him into the back of the couch a few feet away.

Sweeney had to catch himself against the edge of the sofa or risk toppling over it. Within an instant, Tove was at him again, peeling his shirt from his body and his suspenders off his shoulders. Their actions were frantic, quick and borderline rash, but it stopped neither of them. This was the release Tove needed, the thing that would help alleviate her lingering energy from the slaughter outside.

In one swift move, Sweeney gripped Tove's ass firmly and lifted her into the air with a growl. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he took only two wide steps dropped her unceremoniously onto the nearby chaise nestled beneath a pair of large, wide windows. The leprechaun quickly threaded his wife-beater from his broad torso while Tove slipped out of her shirt.

With his shirt gone and hers as well, Sweeney took Tove's hips once more, spun her onto her stomach and yanked her jeans from her body.

There was no caring when they lay together, no love or kindness. What they had, instead, was primal and animalistic.

Threading the fingers of one hand within her hair, Sweeney pulled causing her to arch her back and cry out loudly. The sound vibrated through him and made him work harder than before. Leaning forward, he made sure the angle was sharp and he could whisper in her ear.

"Bitch," he growled meanly before shoving her head away.

"Fuck you," she hissed.

"Oh no, sweetheart," he replied as he stood upright. Tove glared at him over her shoulder, but stayed on her stomach clutching at the edges of the chaise. Sweeney kicked off his boots as he undid his trousers. She was nearly vibrating with anticipation. "I'm gonna be fuckin' you."

Her grip on the chaise tightened to the point her knuckles turned white. Her core ached and she honestly wanted nothing more at the moment. As he had before, Sweeney grabbed her hips and pulled her back onto her knees.

His massive hand dipped between her thighs and his fingers easily found her core. Tove felt fires race through her as his digits glided easily over her while Sweeney fought a primal growl. He did hear her take in a short breath, however, and felt her thighs twitch just a bit. An evil grin twisted his lips.

"Well would ya look at that?" he mocked as his fingers danced. "Someone's a bit excited, yeah?"

Tove was losing her patience and given she wasn't about to beg for what she wanted, she decided on another tactic.

"Then maybe I should find someone else?" she offered in a deceptively innocent tone. Sweeney's fingers stopped –but remained- as his eyes drifted towards her. "Since you seem incapable."

His eyes narrowed and the glare that saturated them was undeniable. He knew she was teasing him, but he knew she'd do it, too. She'd seek out someone else to satisfy her, just for the spite of it.

"That what ya fuckin' think yer gonna do, hm?" his voice was tight and agitated. "We'll see 'bout that."

He removed his hand. Tove barely registered him nearing her before thrusting himself deep inside. He didn't stop until his hips were flush against her skin, and she felt every inch of him.

A low, throaty groan broke from her lips. Her head spun and her arms gave out just enough her chest fell against the chaise. Tove's breath was stolen from her that moment and she reveled in it. She reveled in being filled completely.

Sweeney growled a few choice words in ancient Gaelic, verbalizing just how unprepared he'd been.

When Tove's head began to clear and the realization that Sweeney hadn't moved sank in, with it came her sharp tongue. She had no issue with berating the Irishman and did so freely.

"Is that the best you've got, leprechaun?" she openly teased. "Pathetic."

Sweeney ground his teeth and stared borderline hatefully at her. He hated that she mocked him. He hated that she could pick at his nerves. But most of all, he hated that he was rendered temporarily dumb by nothing more than being inside her.

Before he could do much of anything, Sweeney adjusted the pair. He looped his arm beneath her thigh, rested it in the crook of his elbow and twisted her in her spot. He barely had to move back to accommodate her, a testament to his true size.

He held her hips up forcing her to plant her feet against the chaise's surface to keep herself up while her shoulders remained down. She stared up at the man glaring down at her with a tight jaw.

As he kept her gaze, Sweeney slowly pulled out. He noticed her brows twitch ever-so-slightly, but she kept her expression primarily blank until he was as far as he dared go. Without warning, he brought her back and slammed into her as hard as he could at such a sharp angle. Whether she meant to or not, Tove let out a cry of pleasure and her eyes drifted shut. Sweeney proceeded to repeat the slow, tedious action again, and again before stopping for just a moment. When he had, Tove forced her heavy eyes open to see him still staring angrily down his nose at her.

"I'm gonna make you eat them fuckin' words." He told her in a dark, twisted voice.

"Promise?" she breathed.

A smile tugged briefly at the corner of his lips. As he had previously, Sweeney thrust sharply into her, eliciting another cry of pleasure.

His muscles flexed and his shoulders tensed as Sweeney began his assault. He used the angle to his advantage and thrust as deeply into her as he could, which wasn't an insubstantial amount.

Sweeney managed to remain standing for only a few moments before he fell onto of her and continued to drive into Tove. He propped himself up on one elbow, held her hips down with his free hand and slammed into her, relishing in the sounds that escaped her lips. Tove clung to him, digging her fingernails into his broad shoulders while he assaulted her, and she loved every bit of it. It had been decades since she and Sweeney had slept together, and at the moment, she couldn't for the life of her remember why she'd waited so long.

"Fuck," he growled as his head dropped into the crook of her neck, "I think I'ma-"

"No," she replied in a voice to match. Before he could fathom it, Sweeney felt his back slam into the floor. She had rolled them off the chaise and was on top of him with her hand at his throat. "Don't you dare," she whimpered as she began to move once more. "Don't you fucking dare."

Sweeney wanted to come through his skin. He didn't know if he could hold off for however long it could take for her to get off. To make matters worse (or better, he wasn't sure) she rocked and thrust her hips with precision and strength. She knew what she was doing and he suffered for it.

Bruises would form beneath his fingers with anyone else, he held so hard, but Tove didn't even notice. Instead, she raked her fingernails down his stomach and did her best to push herself over the edge while Sweeney ground his teeth. His face twisted with concentration. She'd hurt him if he came first, he knew it, so he had to stave off release until-

Tove's head finally fell back as she cried out. He felt her body erupt around him the instant she came, and when she had, he followed shortly after. He growled deep in his throat as he released himself within her, but again, Tove didn't notice. Instead, she felt nothing but the purest euphoria wash through her. She felt her nerves explode, her heart race and her body shake. She felt a true and pure release.

Actions slowed before finally stopping completely. With a heavy sigh, Tove collapsed onto the floor beside the leprechaun. She groaned softly as her eyes drifted shut. She felt so wonderfully heavy that the world could explode that moment and she wouldn't give a shit.

Sex was the best thing after a battle and there was no one better for her than the only man who could handle her at her most ruthlessly demanding.

After a few moments of letting themselves revel in their orgasms and calm, Sweeney shifted. His pants barely hung from one of his ankles and had become irritating. Gripping the tweed fabric, he yanked it off and fished through his pockets for his cigarettes. After finding the last one he had previously rolled, he struck a match and inhaled the deadly smoke gladly. As he did, Tove rose.

Naked as the day she was "born", Tove approached the window. It overlooked a fair portion of the party. A few dozen guests littered the garden below, ignorant to the naked woman standing above. There were so many Jesuses that she couldn't help but scowl. Tove had been in America longer than the hippie, and yet, she had no followers. She had no one who paid tribute to her because no one prayed to the elves. They prayed to Santa.

When she turned, she saw Sweeney still lying on the carpeted floor as naked as she was. He had his head propped up on a bent arm as he smoked. He dragged his eyes along her body as she approached. Tove had to admit, Sweeney had nothing to be ashamed of, and she was more than happy to ogle. Not many people knew how full of muscle he truly was. They could tell from a distance that Mad Sweeney was a big "man", but he was filled with muscle definition as well –a delicious amount of it.

Tove reached his side and stood over him with a foot on either side of his hips. Sweeney smirked up at her as she sat down on his lower stomach, straddling him.

"How long's it been?" Tove asked as she gently plucked his cigarette from his lips.

Sweeney shrugged a single shoulder. "When was the las' president shot?"

Tove grinned as she inhaled the noxious smoke before offering the cigarette back. Fifty years seemed about right.

She and Sweeney were far from a normal wedded couple. They'd been together for more years than Tove could immediately recall, but it wasn't uncommon for them to spend years –sometimes decades- apart. They were both well aware that they were connected in some way, that they were, in many ways, destined to be together, but it didn't dictate their lives.

She was a Valkyrie, a fighter and shield maiden drawn to the souls of soldiers. Buile Shuibhne was an ancient Celtic warrior. He was a leader, a man who'd been in battles before and was destined for another. It was the "battle to come" that drew her to him. The moment she looked into his hazel eyes, she saw him in his war paint, bathing in the blood of the war that surrounded him. She saw the vicious way he fought, and when he fell.

They may have had their own lives, but it was the promise of what was to come that brought them to each other.

Tove stared down at the man between her legs. He was sarcastic, arrogant, and rude, but there was so much hidden beneath. As she told Laura, Tove could read souls as easily as a book.

She leaned forward, resting her chest against his and kissed him. Sweeney returned the sentiment, cradling her to him as he did.

A loud knock that more resembled a battering ram against a wall brought them back into the moment. Tove glanced up at the door while Sweeney craned his neck awkwardly to do the same.

"Come on!" They herd Laura yell angrily from the other side. "Let's go!"

Sweeney growled and rolled his eyes. Tove genuinely felt the same. She rose to her feet and he followed suit.

The pair dressed ad rejoined the others. Judging by the stares the pair received, it was clear most everyone assumed they knew what happened. Given Tove wasn't silent, it was fairly likely. She didn't care, and neither did Mad Sweeney if his chuckle was anything to go by.

"Come along, children." Wednesday said with an exasperated tone. "Time to leave. Tove, you'll be joining me and the boys."

She nodded and began to leave with Sweeney while Shadow lingered unsurely for a moment.

"Uh, I'm not leaving Shadow." Laura snapped in annoyance.

Tove caught sight of Wednesday's irritation a split second before he wiped it from his face. She could see how badly he wanted to leave her behind, but he wouldn't –not with Shadow standing so close he could hear the conversation. Tove was certain that was Laura's point. She made it impossible for Wednesday to deny her demands.

No one was overjoyed about the prospect of having a rotting body in the car with them for an extended trip, but apparently, that was the plan. Thankfully, Betty was a big girl.

After nearly a day on the road, the small band of merry misfits had finally made it to Wisconsin, but it was still a while before they would reach the house.

Wednesday was driving, Sweeney was sat beside him, while Shadow, Laura, and Tove were crammed in the back. Tove was annoyed. She couldn't wait to get the hell out of the car. Despite the incredible size of it, her legs were longer than Betty could truly accommodate. Besides, she was tired of sitting beside Laura. The fact that the soul was still forcefully clinging to the dead body bothered the Valkyrie. It wasn't the natural order and the longer she was forced to remain near Laura Moon, the more uncomfortable Tove became.

"Dear old Walt," Wednesday said, drawing Tove's dwindling attention to the moment. "Built a magic kingdom without any magic, when in some parts of Florida there is real magic. Oh, remember the mermaids of Weeki Wachee, Sweeney?"

The ginger leprechaun grinned. "Aye. Been there an' done several o' them."

Laura scowled at him with her jaw hanging slack in confusion, as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Tove thought the reaction was a bit ridiculous given everything Laura had been through.

"Who'd have thought they were in to that sort of thing, hm?" Wednesday crooned with a slimy, perverse undertone.

Still smiling and even chuckling a little, Mad Sweeney shifted enough in his seat to meet Laura's eyes. "They're a very passionate species."

Laura grimaced and looked as though she had to force the bile down. It caused Tove to arch a brow and fight the urge to roll her eyes.

"And that doesn't bother you?" Laura suddenly asked Tove in an incredibly judging tone.

"What?" Tove asked with a shrug.

"That he was fucking mermaids."

Tove smirked and let out a small snort of a laugh. "Who said I wasn't there?"

Laura flinched and stared wide-eyed at Tove while Sweeney and Wednesday both laughed happily from the front seat.

"Seriously?"

Dead Wife didn't bother removing the shock and condescending tone from her voice, but Tove couldn't care less what the woman had to say, or thought about anything. Instead, she let her smile broaden with the memory.

"The sixties were fun." She said.