Warrior - Lokixreader

Good Morning - Y/N POV

There was a gentle knocking on the door that roused me from my sleep, but it made me jump to my feet instantly. It was unusual for me to sleep past the sun rising. But here I was, laying on my makeshift bed with the sun streaming in through the widow, bathing me in a warming glow.

I scurried over to the door and pressed my ear against it. An instinct, built into us from children to listen for any threat. For that hungry wolf scratching at the door.

"Y/N? If you are hungry, I have left you some food outside of your door"

His honey, whispering voice drifted though the wood into my head. My heart thundered in my chest as I flung the door open to see no one was there. But there, on the floor, was a tray of food. I looked up and down the corridor, but no one was there, not a soul.

Maybe I had dreamt it was him speaking to me through the door. Not that I had dreamt of him last night, not at all, not once, no. I definitely, did not, dream of him pushing me down to the floor, spreading my legs and... Shit.

I cleared my throat and shook my head trying to clear those thoughts away before I bent down and picked up the tray of foods. It all looked strangely familiar, like dagmal. A selection of lingonberries, cloudberries, porridge and some buttermilk. It smelt like home as the recognizable smells filled my nose. A silent tear fell down my cheek as I slowly closed the door and sat on the floor to examine the food closely, to appreciate the gesture of homely comforts.

I picked up the wooden spoon that was on the tray and started to push the food around, before mixing the berries and honey into the porridge. I smiled to myself. I hadn't prepared this dagmal for a long time. I would usually have the leftovers from natmall nowadays and that would usually just be a stew with some bread.

I quickly drank the buttermilk as that would go lumpy if left for too long once the milk had been churned. It had that sour taste to it which I always used to hate as a child, but now I couldn't get enough of it.

Eating the porridge in silence, I knew it could only be him that would know about how we would take breakfast. Why would he prepare this for me? Perhaps he hadn't made this with his hands, and it was made with magic, conjured somehow. Horror built in my chest and my stomach turned as I coughed spitting out the porridge, cursing myself for what I had just done.

My dreams of him, were probably his magic and tricks as well. I am such a fool.

That was how witches tricked you and put you under their spells. They made themselves familiar, gave you gifts, promises of a better life, pretended to be your friend, a lover that would give you the world.

That was how Asta was tricked into falling in love with a trickster. Telling her he was a God in disguise, visiting our village to bestow a gift upon us if we gave him shelter and food. His endless tales and stories fooled her into believing his lies. I told her not to go with him, it was all a ploy to get into her under garments, but she didn't listen. She fell in love with him too quickly. She was always too trusting. He soon left her to go back to "Asgard" when he found out she was with child. Her, the fool, believing she was to bare a God's child didn't rest when needed, even when she bled whilst with child. Her price for believing his lies was her life. She died trying to birth his child too early and bled out. I watched her as her life faded away from her. I held her hand as she screamed, realising what was happening to her. I comforted her; told her it would be alright. She wept for him, even though it was his doing as she lay on her bed. Sweat, beading across her pale forehead as blood soaked into the linen from between her thighs.

I snapped myself back from my thoughts, to where I was in that sunshine yellow room, sat on the floor with the tray on my lap. I looked down at the food on the tray before rage built inside me and I threw the tray across the room.