#hvitty/reader

[hoteldreamss]

Imagine || Hvitserk

Предупреждение: убийство.

Хвитсерк был твоим мужем уже пару лет, и, хотя ты доверяла ему, ты всё равно помнила о его прошлой славе распутного мужчины. Ваша любовь всё равно была безукоризненной друг к другу, и вы не собирались разрушать это.

Приведя себя в порядок, ты выходишь из спальни. Хвитсерк сидевший за столом и поедая свой завтрак сразу обращает внимание на тебя, в отличии от вашей рабыни, которая продолжает очищать посуду после приготовления еды.

— Как спалось? — Хвитсерк не отрывает от тебя взгляд, когда ты подходишь к нему. — Ты, кажется, ворочалась ночью.

— Но в итоге, я заснула. — Твои губы растягиваются в нежной улыбке, когда ты склоняешься к своему мужу и оставляешь поцелуй на его губах, чувствуя тёплые ладони на своей талии.

— Знаешь, я мог бы помочь тебе, с тем чтобы быстрее заснуть, если бы ты только попросила меня, — он говорит тихо, но ты уверена, что ваша саксонская рабыня всё равно его слышит. Она с трудом понимала ваш язык, и прибыла к вам недавно. На самом деле ты была той, кто купил её, думая, что она будет хороша в работе по хозяйству, но ты заметила, как она вела себя рядом с твоим мужем и с тобой, и тебе это не нравилось.

— Может, в следующий раз, я так и сделаю.

Он снова тянется к тебе за поцелуем.

— Сванхилд приготовила вкусный завтрак. Тебе должно понравиться, — произносит Хвитсерк, но ты замечаешь, что девушка всё ещё не оборачивается на тебя.

Тебе не нравиться это. Она всегда так делала, обращала внимание только на твоего мужа, предлагала есть только ему, иногда даже готовила только на него. И сейчас она не предлагает тебе завтрак, ты уверена, что она ждёт, пока ты прикажешь ей подать тебе еду.

— Я не голодна. Потом поем. — Ты проходишься пальцами по волосам Хвитсерка, но кидаешь взгляд на девушку моложе тебя всего на пару лет. — Я хочу сходить в город. Мне нужно на рынок, купить немного ткани.

— Ладно. У тебя есть чем расплатиться? — интересуется Хвитсерк, возвращая внимание к еде.

— Да. Может, я задержусь, хорошо? Я хотела проведать Фрейдис.

Хвитсерк кивает, возвращаясь к своей еде.

***

Ты знала, что делала твоя рабыня. В отличии от неё, ты обладала умом. Поэтому уже несколько дней думала о том, что не одобрил бы твой муж. Хотя ты заметила безразличие Хвитсерка к девушке, ты просто была раздражена её неуважением к тебе, и сколько бы ты не разговаривала с ней, или не пыталась объясниться, ты заметила, что это было впустую.

Поэтому ты приходишь раньше положенного, заходя в дом без стука, и обнаруживаешь её слишком близко стоящей к твоему мужу, который склонился над ней. Они слишком близко. Его руки на её лице, а её на его талии.

— Т\И! — Хвитсерк отстраняется от рабыни. — Я просто помогал Сванхилд, её глаз, туда что-то попало, — Он выглядя как провинившийся щенок.

— Я отрублю тебе голову, если ты не перестанешь так себя вести, — твой саксонский был хорошим, идеальным, потому что ты затратила много дней на его изучение, ещё когда впервые отправлялась в рейд.

Сванхилд сразу всё понимает, отходит от Хвитсерка, выглядящим удивлённым твоим познанием саксонского языка. Он смотрит на тебя так, будто видит впервые.

— Проваливай от сюда, займись своей работой. — Ты всё также говоришь на саксонском, прогоняя девушку.

Она молча и слегка напуганная убегает.

— Ты не говорила, что знаешь саксонский.

— Ты говорил, что любишь меня.

Хвитсерк виновато опускает взгляд, делая шаги к тебе.

— Она сказала, что ей что-то попало в глаз. Я просто пытался ей помочь.

— Она хочет трахнуть тебя. И если ты позволишь ей это сделать, я убью её у тебя на глазах и кастрируя тебя. — Твой голос на самом деле звучит пугающе, заставляя твоего мужа напрячься.

Но он всегда знал, что ты намного мягче и милее, чем кажешься, поэтому его губы растягиваются в довольной улыбке.

— Но ты не сказала, что разведёшься со мной.

Ты сдержанно выдыхаешь, чувствуя себя всё ещё слегка злой.

— У тебя не будет члена, Хвитсерк. Хотя мне нравится твой язык, язык есть и у многих хорошеньких женщин. — Ты пожимаешь плечами. — Зачем мне муж без члена.

Он хмурится от твоих слов и чувствует себя поникшим. Ты лишь проходишь мимо него, направляясь в вашу спальню.

***

Хотя твой муж не одобрял то, как правит Ивар, он всё ещё был его братом. Поэтому Хвитсерк собирался сегодня к нему. Ты же всё ещё валялась под мехами на вашей мягкой кровати. Одна нога была высунута, пока ты прижалась животом к матрасу, твои волосы были беспорядочно разбросаны по подушке, и это зрелище было по-настоящему прекрасно по мнению твоего мужа. Он с трудом отбросил мысль о том, чтобы не залезть снова под одеяла и не доказать свою привязанность к тебе.

— Я вернусь к обеду. — Хвитсерк наклоняется к тебе, оставляя один поцелуй у тебя на щеке.

— Я приготовлю что-нибудь. Не объедайся там.

— Люблю тебя.

— И я тебя.

Конечно, Хвитсерк никогда не сомневался в твоей любви к нему. Он знал, что ты дорожила им и чувствовала к нему, половина слов, которые ты бросала, чтобы напугать его, были не серьёзными. Он никогда не навредил бы тебе, Хвитсерк ценил тебя, потому что на самом деле он потратил много времени и сил, чтобы заполучить тебя в жёны. Ты была лучшем, в его жизни.

***

Конечно, ты никогда не сомневалась в привязанности своего мужа. Но ещё ты также не сомневалась, что он знает, какая ты. Тебе так легко удалось найти общий язык с его младшим братом не потому, что ты влюбилась в Хвитсерка, а потому что у вас было немало общего. То, что пугало всех, но не вас двоих. Эта кровожадность, это властолюбие и собственничество. Если бы Ивар увидел, как какой-то раб неуважительно себя ведёт по отношению к нему и пристаёт к его жене, он бы убил беднягу на месте. Поэтому твоему мужу следует сказать тебе спасибо, за то, что ты хотя бы вывела девушку в лес.

Конечно, это было ради сбора грибов и ягод. Ты отрезаешь очередной гриб, когда одновременно следишь за Сванхилд, которая собирала ягоды. Она наклонена слишком низко, чтобы заметить, как ты размеренно подходишь сзади.

***

Хвитсерк на самом деле не думал, что ты можешь убить вне рейда. Вернувшись домой, он оставляет несколько поцелуев на твоей щеке и шее. Его руки обвиваются вокруг твоей талии, заключая тебя в объятия.

— Как всё прошло? — интересуешься ты.

— Как обычно, — ворчит Хвитсерк.

— Почти всё готово, садись. — Ты оставляешь несколько поцелуев на его губах, чувствуя себя намного довольнее чем раньше.

***

Ты знаешь, что тебе следует быть более аккуратно, когда ты скажешь о том, что сделала сегодня днём. Поэтому ты просто надеялась, что он поймёт тебя правильно.

Тёплая вода ласкала твоё кожу, пока ты сидела напротив своего мужа. Хвитсерк привык, что обычно вы лежите вместе, прижавшись друг к другу. Но сейчас, ты захотела сесть напротив него. Он внимательно и с вожделением следит за тобой, поглаживая твои колени и бёдра. Ему хочется быть ближе с тобой, почувствовать твоё тепло, нежность, твою кожу и привязанность.

— Ты сегодня слишком тихая. — Хвитсерк оставляет поцелуй на твоей коленке. — Всё в порядке?

— Да. Всё хорошо.

Ты меняешься своё положение, пододвигаясь ближе к своему мужу и дотрагиваясь до его талии, обнимая его.

— Я сделала кое-что, что может напугать тебя, я предполагаю.

— И что же? — интересуется он.

— Я убила Сванхилд.

Ты видишь удивление в глазах Хвитсерка, который теряет дар речи на несколько мгновений. Он слегка поникает, пока ты наблюдаешь за ним.

— Иди сюда, — произносит он, приглашая тебя в свои объятия.

Ты прижимаешься к нему, занимая место уже ближе к нему, теперь прижимаясь спиной к его груди. Хвитсерк утыкается носом в изгиб твоей шее, он обнимает тебя одной рукой, вторую держит на твоей ладони. Ваши пальцы переплетаются.

Хвитсерк знал, какая ты. Он видел это ещё до того, как пытался завоевать твоё расположение и доверие. Ему на самом деле не на что жаловаться, потому что его любовь к тебе была безусловной.

[jadelynlace]

A Slice of Lime, Please⎮Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader]⎮Deleted Scene

read more Ink Drinker here

Author's Note: With the general time line of this blurb, and the video I saw earlier, I've concocted this piece. And trust me, I was grinning like an idiot the whole day at the station as I kept going back to this. This is a much lighter piece over the angst of the next blurb coming. I said what I said.

It’s sweaty bodies, music a bit too loud for your liking, and the general wave of the patterns voices as eye swatch the game on the screen. They pull out quietly, only to round up their decibels a moment later. You agreed to the night out when you were in much better spirits and now you’re following through with it all and you hate it. 

These are the moments you loathe—being out with nothing to show for the fact that you and Ivar are together. Except, you’re not. To keep the bubbling beast of Ivar’s anxiety at bay, but you would go to the ends of the earth if you thought it would help him.

Sometimes, you wonder if anyone knows; every so often you catch Hvitserk looking at you for a second more than what seems appropriate. And rather than question it, you let him sit in his own unease with whatever it is he’s searching for. Right now, it’s his expression as he watches you, watch another woman offering to buy Ivar a shot. 

You watch this woman undress him with her eyes, pulling the black tee from where it’s tucked to reveal the ink on his chest, the muscles you traced your nails over that morning. How she brings her pupils up and down and wonders if his size matches with what she’s looking at. You have half a mind to tell her that it does. You wonder if she wants to know about his interest, his quirks, or if she just wants to look at him. Instead, you look back at Hvitserk and raise your brows; if you’re going to have a feeling, it better be towards something you can handle.

“What?” You ask Hvitserk and he shakes his head. 

“Nothing, nothing,” He lies and you narrow your eyes.

“Hvitty?” You then ask. “Hvitserk,” You demand.

“Y/N, it’s nothing,” He then tells you and you can see he’s starting to dig the hole.

“You’ve been doing that for the last week,” You grumble.

“It’s just…” Hvitserk starts.

“Yeah, a slice of lime, please,” You hear Ivar say to the bar tender.

“On the rig check yesterday…” Hvitserk starts.

“Hey, brother,” Ivar snaps his fingers behind him, “No work talk. No firefighter stuff,” And Ivar turns back around.

“I’m trying to tell something to my partner,” Hvitserk says, placing a very careful emphasis on how he speaks. 

“Are you having a stroke?” Ivar tries.

The woman follows, two shots, two lime slices, and she hands Ivar’s respective parts to him. 

“No, I’m not,” Hvitserk snaps.

“Well, you’re about to,” Ivar says and he takes the lime slice—and much more quickly than you anticipate from his large hands—shoves the rind between your lips. Without a word to the other woman he tosses the shot back, his neck snapping backwards before his hands reach to your cheeks as he pulls you forward, sucking the lime from between your lips.

You feel your heart stop, your body moves with how Ivar dictates, and Hvitserk doesn’t miss the way you close your eyes, or the way both yours, and Ivar’s beings deflate. He tries so very hard to hide the smile that comes over his lips and he fails. But, he doesn’t quite care.

The moment you feel Ivar slowly pulls back, your eyes open quickly, widely as they watch his slowly open. 

“Oops,” He tries, “Must have mixed you two up…” He says so that only you can hear it, bastardly smirk on his lips. “Is she still there?” Ivar adds, louder.

“Nope,” Hvitserk states. “And for the record, Ivar, cardiac arrest is the correct medical term. That wouldn’t cause a stroke,”

“It wouldn’t?” Ivar tries, “Oh, I guess that’s why you majored in para-medicine and I majored in mathematics,”

You spit the lime out into your hand and hand it to Ivar, who only offers you a wink.

“Can’t be surprised by what you already know,” Hvitserk sings. 

Tags:

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*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[artemiseamoon]

The Mate Series

Vikings

Read full works on A03. Yes, you need an account. Previews posted to tumblr. (Unless it’s older work, some of that is still up, for now)

Since I’ve now completed my second within this theme (shifters/creatures and mates), I’ve decided to make this a no pressure, no deadline, casual series. Not sure if I’ll connect any of these universes yet. We’ll see!

Completed Works

Milk & Honey - Werebear! Bjorn x Lovisa

Deep in the woods, the Goatman lives - Satyr! Ubbe x Fiona

When Night Comes - Incubus! Ragnar x Noelle

In progress

Tba

Tba

Untitled - Werewolf! Ubbe and Hvitty x ofc

Sky Full of Stars - Queen Auslug x Shifter! Oc

Rapture - Vampire! Gunnhild x ofc * (no longer a reader when it returns)

…More supernatural Vikings

Vampires, wolves, etc..not all specifically mate focused. Some of this is older and may need revisions and editing, once I have time, some day.

My general Vikings list

Assorted Moodboards

[way-too-addicted-to-fandoms]

Men being excited that they're a dad will never get old for me🥰🥰🥰

Worthy || 5CW: Hvitserk

❛ request | telling hvitserk he is going to be a father

❛ word count | 759 

❛ genre | fluff

❛ summary | he began to think he too was infertile.

❛ warnings | none

More than anything, Hvitserk wanted to be a father.

Not a king… and not even an earl. Hvitserk Ragnarsson wanted to achieve greatness, of course! But… it was for a reason. To live up to his father’s names and by that thought, be a man worthy of being a father. All boys and girls should be proud from the seed and the womb whence they came.

Keep reading

[hvitserkmarcosource]

Could he get any cuter??

[plus-size-reader]

Finally

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2070 words

Warnings: FLUFF

Summary: Hvitserk has always seen the reader as a warrior, but sometimes he forgets that she’s a woman too.  

—————————————————————————————————

You weren’t surprised to come upon both Ivar and Hvitserk sitting together, talking between themselves.

They did it often, more so now than ever.

What did surprise you though was when you heard Hvitserk mention how saddened he was that he’d yet to have children.

Of all the things he could have been thinking about in the eve of a great battle, you wouldn’t have guessed it was that but still, you didn’t question it.

In a lot of ways, you could understand where he was coming from.

So, after Ivar moved from his place, you took it over, the same topic of conversation now flooding your mind.

“I think I would like to have them too” you shrugged, allowing yourself to have a seat where his brother had just been, not bothering to rehash the conversation you’d overheard between the two men.

Everyone thought about having children.

It was just how you’d been raised, and how the Gods intended it to be.

It was how your society progressed and how your family's lines kept going. You would have been a fool to pretend that wasn’t the natural order of things, and that it wasn’t what you wanted.

Every woman wanted children.

Your mother had had them, and so had her mother, for as far back as your family had been and of all things, the last you wanted was to put an end to that cycle.

Still, it would have been a lie to say that your admission didn’t shock Hvitserk, at least a little.

In all the time that you’d known one another, he’d never thought about you wanting to have children, or even caring about something like that. Though, clearly, he’d been wrong.

“You’ll catch flies like that” you scoffed, gesturing to your friend's mouth, hanging slightly agape as he considered what you were telling him.

It was odd.

Not that he meant for his reaction to be offensive to you in any way. He just didn't have much control over what his face did when you said things like that.

“Sorry” he shrugged, the word leaving his lips quickly, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been, and in a way, he had.

It was unavoidable.

“Do you really want to have them?” he repeated your words back to you, almost in awe of the answer he knew was coming before it could.

It just didn’t make sense.

If you wanted children all this time, why wouldn’t you have said something  before now? Why wouldn’t you have settled down and done it by now?

Most women your age had already married and had a few children by this point, and there was nothing stopping you from doing the same if it was what you really wanted.

“Is that so hard to believe?” you countered, not connecting the dots as to why this was so hard for him to understand.

As he knew well, it was just a part of your lives.

People had children and there was no reason you would be any different.

“I guess not. I just never thought about you as a mother” Hvitserk decided, trying not to offend you with every word he spoke.

You certainly could have been, and anyone would be lucky to have you as a wife, it just didn’t seem like what you wanted before today.

You had always been a great warrior.

You had a warrior’s spirit, and more heart than anyone Hvitserk had ever met.

That skill was something that had defined you as you grew older, and by this point, it seemed as though it was what you were meant to do with your life.

It didn’t surprise him to learn that you were quite skilled on the battlefield, when he finally found himself there, by your side all those years ago.

What did surprise him was the number of times you managed to catch him off guard.

This moment included.

Your desire to start a family genuinely wasn’t something he’d seen coming.

“And you see yourself as a father?” you teased, kicking your foot out just enough to bump his boot with your own, finding the whole thing quite humorous.

Your mother had always said you had the body of a mother, and a wife more than a warrior, but the truth was, neither you nor Hvitserk had ever perfectly fit either mold.

You simply moved in the direction the God’s pointed you without a second thought.

It had always worked for you before.

“Perhaps. There are quite a few things I could teach a child, wouldn't you agree?” Hvitserk doubled down, surely signing himself up for even more ridicule from you but doing it anyway.

If anything, he’d earned some of your good spirited torment.

“Of course, someone has to teach them how to eat half a bore in one sitting” you laughed, recalling just how sick he’d made himself on that evening, doing so out of spite and gluttony alone.

Hvitserk couldn’t help but laugh as well, considering the point you made happily.

You had a point.

As far as teaching impressionable children about life skills and survival, neither of you would thrive.

However, that didn’t mean the male in front of you had any doubts about how good of parents you’d be, regardless.

Your heart was made of gold, a gift from the Gods to Kattegat, and there was no possible way you couldn’t pass that on to whatever offspring you may have.

“It is a gift” he chuckled, feigning humility, unable to avoid the obvious truth to your statement. You could both teach children quite a few things, even more if you were together than apart.

It wasn’t until he realized that that he had an idea.

“We could have some” Hvitserk hummed, his words coming out of nowhere, so impulsive and ridiculous that you weren't even sure you’d heard them in the first place.

Surely he didn’t mean that.

He couldn't have meant that.

“I’m sure there is a much more fitting bride in store for you, Hvitserk” you allowed, waving off his comment as an ill received joke. It wasn’t the first he’d told, and it surely wouldn't be the last either.

It was true.

You were sure of it.

There was a beautiful woman out there somewhere, waiting to marry the esteemed Son of Ragnar and bear him as many children as he’d like.

There was no reason for him to fret about it now.

You certainly couldn’t imagine this day to be his last, battle or not, and after this, he had more reason than ever to start the family he so desperately wanted.

“I’m serious. Why shouldn’t we have a few little babes of our own, you and me?” he continued, shocking you with his commitment to the subject.

Most of the time, Hvitserk would have chuckled a bit and moved on to something else entirely but not this time.

For some reason, in the time since you’d sat down, he’d gotten it in his head that the two of you could have children with one another.

Out of nowhere.

“Because Hvitserk, we aren’t married and even if we were, who would raise them? You and I hardly have the time now” you asked, gesturing around you.

A hundred feet to your left, there was a man getting his arm crudely removed with an ax, and to your right was a pit of bodies, scattered about.

It was hardly the place for a child.

Let alone ‘a few’ children.

“We could get married. My feelings for you have never been a secret, and we deserve a family just as much as anyone else, perhaps even more” he kept going, his determination filling you with a familiar pride.

He had always been so passionate about the things he cared about, and you loved that about him.

Above everything else, you had never questioned his heart and whether it was in the right place or not.

Hvitserk was a good person, and the Gods had given you a gift when they brought him into your life.

“You really want to do that? To marry me? To have children together?” you recounted, a small smile blooming on your face as you took your turn considering what it would be like.

As you thought about what kind of father Hvitserk would be, and how you could take a break from all the fighting to raise children of your very own, warriors like their parents.

It was a welcome sight, you had to admit that.

He was right, about all of it.

Hvitserk had always cared very deeply for you, and never tried to keep that a secret. This wasn’t even the first time he’d proposed to you in all the years that you’d known one another, but it was the most serious.

In fact, this was the most serious you’d ever seen him in his life.

The man in front of you took a moment to answer, looking between you and his clasped hands before letting out a sigh of decision.

Of course he wanted that. By this point, he was convinced it was the only thing he wanted, above everything else.

“More than anything”

Again, that finality found its way into his voice, bringing you a peace you never thought possible without even meaning too.

All your life, Hvitserk had been the last one to take himself too seriously, to act as the most mature, prepared between the two of you but now, it was he who was trying to get you to settle down.

It almost felt as if the Gods were teasing you.

Not that you minded.

If Loki himself thought this a proper jest, you would have to thank him every day of the rest of your life.

“Alright, Hvitserk, but you must promise me one thing” you began, setting your sword down completely on the grass, and offering a hand to him which he took without hesitation, bringing him that much closer to you.

Almost too naturally, the male found himself kneeling in front of your seated frame, his hands clasping your own, resting in your lap.

In this moment, you could have asked anything of him and he would have done it happily.

Though, that wasn’t all that different from every other moment you two had shared together. Hvitserk was almost always prepared to pluck the sun from the sky if you asked.

Where you were concerned, he’d always find a way, so whatever it was you wanted from him now, it was yours.

No matter what it was.

“Promise me you aren’t doing this because we may die tomorrow” you prompted, freeing one of your hands to gingerly brush your thumb mindlessly over the bone as you looked into his eyes.

You knew he must have been feeling the pressure this war had brought on, just as you were, but that didn’t mean you wanted to make empty promises to one another.

Love was the most powerful thing in the world but it was also the most dangerous if wrongly placed.

You didn’t want him to promise his heart to you again if he didn’t intend to give it to you fully.

“When have I ever made such rash decisions?” Hvitserk teased this time, finding the fact that you two were having this conversation at all too good to be true.

He never would have thought he’d be here, in the middle of a warzone with the woman of his dreams, discussing children and weddings on the night before he could meet his gruesome end.

Thankfully, if there was one thing Hvitserk was especially good at, it was dealing with things as they arose, rather than having a plan ahead of time.

It was one of the reasons you two worked out so well as a team.

“I’m serious, Hvitserk '' you tutted back, your gentle stroking of his jaw coming to an abrupt stop as you urged the man in front of you to be serious for once, like he’d been before this moment.

You needed to know this was really what he wanted, every day, not just on days when you may get yourselves killed.

“Alright, alright. I promise” he hummed, the biggest grin you’d ever seen evident on his face when he finally realized just what you two had agreed to.

He was getting married.

To you.

Finally.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Searching home

Summary: When you stumble upon the ancient Spanish city of Algeciras, it takes you some time to realize that you’ve traveled through time. While that is terrible luck, a merchant couple takes you in. But your peace only lasts so long.

Pairing: adoptivemom!Helga x reader; adoptivesibling!Tanaruz x reader; (skeptic) adoptivedad!Floki x reader; Ivar x reader, Hvitserk x reader; Tanaruz’ family and reader

Notes: tw: mentions/attempts of s/a (this includes a raid so…) back on my time traveler shit rn, the reader is a slight OC (in a sense that she has similar outer characteristics as Angrboda)

inspired by a gifset from @ivarthebadbitch​ that i can’t find rn

My Norse translator: https://lingojam.com/OldNorsetoEnglishTranslator

tagged: @alicedopey | Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3 requests are OPEN!

 The only words you could say when the merchants guided you to their townhouse were “Salam aleikum.”

 They seemed to understand that but smiled at your pronunciation. In time, you learned more of the language of course, which meant that you could hold short conversations with the couple and their daughter, Tanaruz.

 Tanaruz took to you quickly, introducing you to her friends and pulling you along during the day to show you all nooks and crannies of Algeciras. You drew eyes to you, with your height and paleness, together with light eyes and long, blond hair that was almost white.

 In turn, you tried your best to learn the language and culture and entertain Tanaruz, who found you extremely funny for some reason (you suspected it was your terrible Arabic).

 While you never thought that you’d enjoy living in an early medieval civilization, Algeciras was much better than anticipated. It was clean, the people were kind and the weather warm. Your days were much simpler, with a lot of free time when everyone else prayed in the mosques.

 Somehow, they respected you not wanting to go with them.

 Tanaruz’ parents, Aamir and Zoha sold oranges and other citrus fruits on the market, along with chai. In the evenings, the four of you would meet at their stall to eat and close it up. It was simple, a nice reprieve from modern life. Tonight was no different.

 Until it was.

 Suddenly, the quiet night air was filled with screams. Panicked, you looked around until you saw them.

 Men and women armed to the teeth slaughtering everything in their way. You scrambled to get up, ready to run when two reached your stall. Their faces were heavily tattooed and one of them gave you a hungry look.

 Then, he turned away and stabbed Aamir. You clapped your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. Zoha’s eyes were wide with terror, searching for Tanaruz, who was crouched under the stall.

 She looked over to you, a sort of beg in her eyes and you understood, diving towards Tanaruz, and grabbing her by the arm roughly.

 As the two of you began running, you heard Zoha scream Tanaruz’ name, before choking on her own blood. You couldn’t look back, Aamir’s death had been bad enough.

 You’d never seen anyone die, much less in front of you, and now, two people that had taken care of you out of the goodness of their hearts had been brutally murdered. Trying not to let your tears blind you, you pulled Tanaruz, who was still frozen in shock into the heart of the city.

 Eventually, she seemed to regain her senses and led you to a wide, blue doorway. When you turned, a light-haired woman was following the two of you.

 She followed you inside the maze of mirrors too.

 Somehow, you lost Tanaruz and froze in place, not wanting to stumble into someone. You were forced to move when another one of the warriors appeared at the end of the tunnel.

 He was tall and lean, maybe two years older than you with light hair and a giddy smile that looked out of place in midst of all the blood that spattered across his face.

 Abruptly, you turned and ran. You could hear him laugh, before taking up the chase. But you knew the mirrors and the way you had come.

 It was incredibly stupid, but you ran outside again, into the maze of the city. The mirrors were a thing of luck, but this city, this was a place where you could actually outrun him.

 You weaved through alleys and larger streets, barely avoiding these men that attacked and slaughtered a peaceful people and suddenly found yourself standing in the middle of a large piazza with a tiled mosaic floor.

 You recognized this place, because it was the first place in the city Tanaruz took you to play with her friends. The man appeared behind you, and you knew you were in deep trouble.

 Unsure of which road to take and caught up in memories, you’d stalled, but you were determined to not let him get you. You started running again, towards one of the alleys leading out of the piazza. When you turn around, you saw him lift his axe, ready to throw it and threw yourself on the ground.

 The axe whizzed past you as you felt the metallic taste of blood in your mouth and realized that you’d bitten down on the inside of your cheek too hard.

 Still, you scrambled to get up and ran into one of the alleys but the men with tattooed faces cut off your escape. You turned, but the blond was standing in front of you.

 Already in pain, you decided that one was better than eight and ran straight at him, breath leaving your body as you impacted with his. You landed on top of him, and he had the audacity to smirk at you, but you didn’t care, heaving yourself up again.

 One of them said something in an unfamiliar tongue, but you were already running again, turning around a corner. You felt your heart sink as another barrage of warriors was in that ally and backed out of it again.

 As you walked onto the piazza, you realized that you were surrounded.

 “þú skulu eigletr mik takþúr, smár kat.” The blonde said, beginning to circle you like prey.

 Suddenly, the blond woman rushed into the square, dragging Tanaruz behind her. She stood in front of you. You couldn’t see her face, but Tanaruz was shaking with her entire body.

 “Nei! hon's minn dóttir, Angrboda!“ she shouted, before wrapping an arm around you. Unsure of what to do, you let her. You were tempted to show the blonde man the finger and couldn’t stop yourself from giving him a small, sassy nod with your head, telling him that he’d lost.

 ***

 You didn’t expect to stay alive for long after that, but the woman seemed insistent on taking you both in. Tanaruz was silent, not eating or speaking and eyed you with something you couldn’t place when you tried to learn their language.

 The woman was kind, but her insistent need to call you Angrboda confused you. Many times, you’d pointed at yourself and told her your real name, even saying it in their language but she never listened.

 Hvitserk, that was what the blond man was called, looked at you like a kicked puppy every time you sneered. You would’ve felt guilty if you didn’t know that he was about to rape you.

 One night, Tanaruz was crying. You tried to comfort her, but she pointed towards the woman called Helga and then her eyes. It took you a while, but you eventually understood what she meant.

 Tanaruz thought that Helga had the evil eye. A charm with Fatima’s hand had been given to you by Zoha after you yourself had gotten fearsome looks, but with the liner Helga was wearing, the resemblance was even more prominent.

 Quietly, you lifted the necklace from your neck and pressed it into Tanaruz’ hand.

 “Fatima.” You explained, “From Zoha.” Then, in very rocky Arabic, you gently added, “I be sorry.”

 Tanaruz looked at you, her mouth slightly curving upwards. “I am sorry.” She corrected, but cuddled into your arms nonetheless.

 ***

 Kattegat was the hell you’d imagined from being a time traveler, but at least you weren’t one of the women being sold as slaves.

 Instead, Helga dragged you and Tanaruz into a small house. Floki began to make something out of wood while Helga cooked a stew. You looked over to Tanaruz, feeling a deep worry. She hadn’t eaten since that night, and even then, a few slices of orange didn’t count.

 Helga began to attempt to feed Tanaruz, but she wouldn’t budge.

 “You need eat.” You urged her, still using your terrible Arabic. “If you leave me alone, I know won’t what to do.”

 Tanaruz didn’t even correct you and that worried you even more. You crouched down before her, staring into her deep brown eyes.

 “Please. You need to stay alive. When we alone, we run home.” You promised. It was unlikely, but Tanaruz needed something to hold on to.

 “My home was burnt by the --------.” She said. Still, she slowly took the spoon from Helga and began eating.

 Just in that moment, the door sprang open. No one stood in the doorway, but a noise made you look down. A guy that had to be your age was pulling himself over the ground.

 Fascinated, you looked down at him, while Tanaruz scrambled away. She was afraid of all of them, except maybe Floki.

 While Ivar looked confused, he began a quick conversation with Floki that you couldn’t follow. Then he turned to look at you, asking for your name. That you understood.

 “Angrboda.” Helga said quickly.

 “Y/N.” you corrected firmly. Something seemed to click in Ivar’s head by your name, but you knew him from hearsay too.

 In your terrible, terrible Norse, you attempted to make conversation with him. “You Ivar. Hvitserk and Bjorn talk.” You managed. Ivar nodded.

 Not really caring about whether or not your clothes got dirty, you sat down on the dusty floor and handed him a cup. Ivar glanced at Floki, as if he wasn’t sure what to think about your actions, but the man only shrugged.

 “Hon's stranger mær.” Floki said. You had an idea, suddenly. You liked Ivar and wanted to show him something you’d seen in Kattegat. He looked like he didn’t have many friends his age.

 Glancing over to Tanaruz, you saw that she’d curled up in a corner and fallen asleep. You looked at Helga. “I trust you to take care of her.” You said quietly in your own tongue, but she seemed to understand.

 Then you turned back to Ivar. “Come.” You said, motioning with your hand to follow you. A dragging sound behind you let you know that he was coming along. The sun was already setting when you walked into the small alcove and sat down, patting the space next to you.

 Here, in this alcove where it looked like the sun set the water aflame, you felt like you were at peace.

 Ivar stared at you, confused but you simply pointed at the sunset. Taking off you boots and rucking your skirt up to your calves, you let the waves splash around your legs. The cool water was the only thing keeping you awake, a sudden exhaustion seeping in due to your constant awake state.

 As you leaned your head on the rocks, you realized that Ivar had closed his eyes and was smiling slightly.

 ***

 Two weeks passed, and slowly, Tanaruz was coming out of her shell. Your promise of home seemed to keep her going, but she was still cold towards most people.

 She seemed to like Floki, who showed her magic tricks and let her carve with wood. He taught her Norse in turn, and she assured you that you could leave her alone sometimes. Tanaruz also liked to play chess with Ivar sometimes, to your great surprise.

 Though she always lost, she seemed determined to beat him one day.

 Both you and Tanaruz were relieved when Helga insisted on coming on the raid to England. The two of you only talked to Floki, Hvitserk, Ivar and sometimes Helga, all of which would be leaving.

 On the last day in Kattegat, Ivar showed you his new chariot. Tanaruz and Floki came too, and you laughed as Ivar drove past, while Tanaruz gave a shy smile.

 Together, the four of you walked back towards Kattegat, where a feast would see off the Great Heathen army. You were uncomfortable with taking Tanaruz, since Harald and Halfdan would be there, but Helga insisted.

 The feast was loud, and the Great Hall filled as people danced and drank. Almost immediately, Tanaruz spotted Harald and Halfdan and you quickly pulled her away, into a quiet corner.

 She was silent now, and you knew it was going to take her days until she would speak again. Your own hand was tightly wrapped around a cup you were holding.

 A clear voice ripped you from your dark thoughts. “Angrboda.” The woman said, standing in front of you. Her name was Lagertha, and she was the queen of Kattegat.

 “Y/N.” Ivar corrected, sitting down at your side. You nodded in agreement.

 “You were taken on my son’s raid.” She began, slowly enough for you to understand. “But Helga decided to take you and this girl in.”

 You nodded, unsure where this was going. Ignoring Ivar, she stared at you intensely. “I hope you know who you owe allegiance to.”

 She intimidated you, but you didn’t let that show. “I don’t owe allegiance to any of you.”

 It was probably not the best idea to butt heads with a monarch like Lagertha, but Tanaruz was shaking like a leaf next to you, and you still hated them for transforming her into a ghost of her former self.

 Lagertha looked like she wanted to say something, but another brother, Ubbe, called for her.

 After a while, Hvitserk sat down next to Ivar, completely ignoring you and Tanaruz. No one was watching, and you took your chance to pull her away, outside.

 The cold night air was harsh on your skin, and Tanaruz began to shiver as you wrapped her furs tighter. The new clothes as well as your jewelry had been gifts from Ivar, and a few from Hvitserk, who still seemed insistent on flirting with you.

 All in all, the two of you looked much more regal than two kidnapped people should. But the clothes felt like a metaphor for your gilded cage.

 Tanaruz pulled you to the beach and you sat down on the cold sand. A few meters away, a foreign merchant had lit a fire, looking out into the ocean alone. Ignoring him, you laid back, trying to explain all the different stars to Tanaruz. The girl’s eyes began to close, and you picked her up. She was too heavy to carry, but you could give her a piggyback ride home.

 When you’d settled Tanaruz into her bed, you walked back out towards the beach. Suddenly, you stopped feeling uneasy. When you looked behind you, a tall man was at the other end of the alley.

 You’d seen him around, and he’d always filled you with unease. He was a creep, invading the personal space of slaves that couldn’t say anything about it. Speeding up, you began to walk away, but he matched your pace.

 When you began to jog towards the Great Hall, he picked up his pace. Realizing that this guy wasn’t going to let off, you bolted towards the Hall, but he caught you around your waist and threw you to the ground.

 Before you could scream, he clapped a hand over your mouth. You searched for something to protect yourself, finding a small rock on the muddy ground and brought it against his temple, hard.

 He stumbled backwards and you got up, but there was a house behind you. He began to run towards you when suddenly, he gurgled and fell to the ground. An axe was sticking out of the back of his head.

 Hvitserk stood right behind him, chest still heaving from an adrenaline rush. You felt queasy at the gory sight in front of you.

 “Hello little cat.” He smirked.

 You wanted to insult him, say something, but your mouth felt dry. Reaching up, your fingers felt blood trickling from a cut on your forehead you didn’t realize you had.

 “Ouch.” You complained, wiping the blood off.

 Hvitserk said something about Helga, and you wanted to stop him, knowing that she would be a little overbearing, but he already walked away. Then, Hvitserk turned back and pressed a knife into your hand, before disappearing again.

  You sank down on the ground, still scared from prior events. A few minutes later, Helga ran into the alley, visibly shaken. Behind her, Floki, Ivar and Hvitserk followed. Ivar looked positively furious, staring at the dead body next to you with an expression of anger while Hvitserk seemed almost proud of himself for saving you.

  Helga seemed unsure what to do, but Floki stepped forward and pulled you up. Only then did you notice how shaky your legs actually were. Hvitserk stepped forward to support you, oblivious of how his own actions might be uncomfortable to you now. Together, they brought you to the longhouse.

  Tanaruz was still sleeping as Helga began to fuss over the cut on your forehead, just as you'd anticipated.

  "Who sent him?" Ivar asked you. "Was it Lagertha?"

  You shook your head. "I've seen him around. I think he mistook me for a slave."

  Hvitserk snorted. "You don't look like a slave." he said. "He just couldn't control himself."

  "Like you?" you shot back. He had the grace to look away.

   ***

  Tanaruz was finally beginning to learn to speak Norse.

  She was sitting with Helga, trying to copy her stitches as the woman fixed a sail. You were a little off to the side. Ivar had stubbornly put his head on your lap, silently asking him to play with your hair.

  You didn't mind, watching as the other brothers loaded up crates on longships.

  Suddenly, Ivar sat up. He stared at you with a suspicious expression.

  “You’re not a spy. Right?” he asked.

  You had to laugh. “What makes you think that?”

  “The way you treat me.” Ivar mumbled. You felt your heart break for him.

  “Don’t you think I’d be a terrible spy. I could barely speak Norse when I came here!” you giggled, smiling at Ivar brightly.

  Ivar was still looking at you with a hint of unsurety. “What can I do to prove you wrong?” you asked, throwing your hands up in mock surrender.

  He stayed silent, but a blush appearing on his cheeks told you that his thoughts were running wild. Well, if that was what he wanted…

  You placed a soft kiss on Ivar’s lips, hoping that he wouldn’t immediately kill you, before turning away. “That enough proof?” you muttered, already regretting the action.

  “Do it again.” Ivar commanded. Ignoring the butterflies in your stomach, you turned around and kissed Ivar, your heart fluttering at the innocence of the kiss.

  “Brother we’re-“ Hvitserk began, suddenly standing in front of you. Slightly annoyed, you let go off Ivar. He let out a huff, staring at his brother angrily.

  “What?” he snapped.

  “Nevermind.” Hvitserk said. Was that jealousy in his voice?

  You patted the free spot next to you. “Come on, tell us what you wanted to say!” you commanded.

  “We’re ready to go. Everyone’s already on the ship.” He replied.

  Nodding, you got up and climbed into the longship, where Tanaruz was already waiting for you. This time, she looked excited rather than scared, looking out to the sea as another passage began for her.

  The peace of it all was suspicious, but you were glad that Tanaruz was adapting. She’d told you she wanted to try, if only it meant that she’d be able to go back home. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that it probably wouldn’t work.

  Almost immediately after leaving, a soft rain began to patter down. Quickly, Helga gave you and Tanaruz a few furs while warriors and slaves began to cover the ship.

  Under the plane of fabric, it was dark, but peacefully. Tanaruz burrowed into your side and the rocking of the ship quickly made your eyes droop with tiredness. You let yourself fall asleep, the darkness and warmth of the fur giving you a feeling of security.

  Hvitserk’s POV:

 He sat at the other end of the boat as he watched Tanaruz crawl into her lap and fall asleep. He still wasn’t sure what to call her, Angrboda or her actual name. He still remembered the old Angrboda. They had nothing in common but Helga’s features. Pale hair and blue eyes.

  Truth be told, Hvitserk was jealous of his little brother. He was the one who discovered her. Why couldn’t he have her?

  Yet she’d kissed Ivar.

  Speaking of him, the nuisance his brother was now sitting next to him.

  “You still want her.” Ivar observed. Hvitserk nodded before he could stop himself.

Ivar was wearing that smug grin when he turned to look at him. One that Hvitserk would’ve wiped off of him with a punch if he was Sigurd.

  “You can’t keep her to yourself, brother.” Hvitserk mumbled. “She has a mind of her own.”

  “Whatever you say, Hvitty.” Ivar teased cruelly. He was wearing that shiteating grin of his again. Hvitserk looked away, back to her. She shifted in her sleep, mumbling something unintelligibly as she rolled over. The cut on her forehead was barely visible anymore.

  He’d saved her. Hvitserk knew why she stayed away from him, but still, hadn’t that been enough to get her to trust him.

  Unlike Margrethe, he couldn’t read her.

  “She’ll come around.” Hvitserk replied, settling down to sleep. He’d had enough of Ivar’s ramblings for the night. Of course, Ivar would keep on talking for the next few hours, but as long as Hvitserk nodded form time to time, he’d be left alone.

  Unbeknownst to both, she was half-awake, hearing their argument through the fog of her dreams.

[way-too-addicted-to-fandoms]

😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️ PLEASE THEY'RE SO CUTE

Fallen Star III (Hvitserk x Reader)

Summary: Hvitserk learns something new about you. He shows you around Kattegat after he realizes that you feel like a prisoner

Warnings: fluffy

Part 1 II Part 2 II Vikings Masterlist

Hvitserk was true to his word. He never treated you like a thrall and never expected much from you. All he wants from you is your company. To talk to you and find out more about you. Not that there is much to say. You’ve lived the same life every day. Just watching people below you.

He, however, had more to tell you. He told you about his life, all the raids he’s been on, the wars he’s fought in and the women he’s loved. You listen to him closely, frowning at his words with your teeth tugging at your lip. You’ve only seen love from a distance but never experience it before.

It’s odd trying to readjust your sleeping schedule to sleep during the night instead of the day. Most times you’d manage to sleep, but there are nights that you will just stay outside and stare at the stars; your friends and family. You wonder if you ever miss you and if they’re watching you right now.

Keep reading

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

A Taste of Heaven Masterlist *ON HATUS*

Any smut chapters will be marked per Tumblr's community labels, you will need them turned to show to see them.

Contains: Lots of fluff, Smut (oral sex F and M receiving, P in V, CONSENT, food play but not feederism, gentle dom Hvitserk, fingering.) OC is a chronic pain/migraine sufferer, there will be themes of this throughout the story. Rest Your Weary Hands the relationship between the brother will be healthy and loving. Ivar will still have osteogenesis imperfecta. Food, cooking, recipe books, historical food and meals.

Smut💦 Angst😨 Fluff ❤ Violence🔪 Gore🤢 Medical 💉Triggering material🚩

Some of the chapters and snippets will be put to music, not listening to the music won't affect the story. Updates will vary, some days I might do two and other times I'll go a week without posting anything, there will be a time where I will open requests for snippets so you as the reader can have a piece of the universe I've cobbled together.

What's a snippet?

A snippet is an optional one-shot that adds context to the story and expands on some small themes that will appear throughout the story, not reading them won't affect the story but it will take away some of the more fluffy and/or mundane 'day in the life' elements.

After years of study and effort, you finally secure your dream job, as one of the head curators at the best museum in New York. After inheriting a huge brownstone you're looking for a roommate when your best friend Ubbe comes up with a suggestion, his younger brother Hvitserk. Better yet, you're a food historian and he's a three Michelin star chef.

Comment if you want to be tagged.

Prologue❤

Part 1❤

Part 2❤

Part 3😨❤

Part 4 😨🔪❤❤

Part 5❤❤❤❤❤❤💦

Part 6 ❤❤💦

Part 7❤💦💦💦

Part 8 😨���💦

Part 9 😨❤💦

[miss-madness67]

The Broken Christian

Hvitserk x Reader

Vikings

In court, there was a Christian man named Athelstan that always looked sad. In his face lingered the expression of someone that has seen a lot during his lifetime, and he was not that old. Mostly, he tended to keep to himself in social gatherings, but he seemed rather close to King Alfred. Even though back then I was fairly new to the King’s villa, I heard he had not been there long either. Perhaps it was the desire to meet someone like myself, someone who was also lost in the vastness of court and the emptiness of etiquette. Or maybe there was just something in his dark eyes that attracted me to him. I am not sure what it was, nor do I care, but it was that sentiment there that lured me to speak to him.

Continue reading on:

AO3 / PA

[golddaggers]

wreck my plans (hey, that's my man)

pairings: hvitserk x reader, dad!hvitserk x daughter!ofc

warnings: nsfw! so +18. nothing too wild, he gets a bit jealous, semi-public touching, sex, oral sex. loads of cursing.

a/n: so i am going through a phase. look. i don't know. bear with me. to the people who still read the shit i write, thank you soooooo v much. and yeah, this blog is officially a mess. there's also more ubbe coming so welp, my viking fever is getting intense. you also can read this story on my ao3 profile :)

word count: 4,3k+

Ever since you met him, green has become your favourite colour. You could spend days and days just staring at those eyes, that shimmered with amusement whenever he caught you looking. Today, however, the roles had been reversed, it had been yours shining because he wouldn’t stop scrutinising the littlest movement you made. Attuned to the smallest of details.

Ivar had put together a celebration for his wedding. Several pitchers of ale and mead, roasted meat, fish and lamb, whichever one might prefer, with cooked potatoes and fresh herbs. Endless chunks of black bread, cheese, and honey. Not even five hundred men could’ve been able to topple down this banquet. You had a hunch your brother-in-law hoped Thor would visit him, it was the only thing that could explain why he put the cooks under the strain of providing so much food.

The invited people cheered him on. They spoke in loud voices, between the contagious fits of laughter, above the glee music that brought couples to the centre of the room, dancing. You’d been invited to twice. The first had been by Ubbe. Your best friend never drifted too far away from you, more so when you were with child, he’d orbit around you to make sure you were okay, well-fed and pleased. Hvitserk himself wasn’t this protective of you, and he was obnoxious to a fault, his hands always finding their way to rest on the soft round of your stretched stomach. You danced, Ubbe leaning in to whisper in your ear that you looked so lovely his brother had been rendered unable to fight the inevitable pull of you, his sight unwavering towards you. The second one, however, had put your husband in a sour mood. He didn’t like Leif one bit, it made him queasy that you had been pursued by him.

As soon as the song was over, Hvitserk rose to a stand, making his way to you, not even bothering that he’d stumbled some people in the crowded trail to where you were. His hand found the dip in your waist, pulling you back so you were flush up against him. Though you couldn’t look at it, you knew his semblance had been a warning. You search for his hand, twinning it with yours, and offer Leif a measured, polite smile, then walk away, Hvitserk threading behind you as a lost child.

You find your baby girl sitting next to her uncle. Little Hildi was the light of Ivar’s eyes, you had never seen him beam before she was born. He was yet to have his children, though you felt no one would take the soft spot your girl had carved in his heart. All the love he hadn’t given to his brother, he was sure to give his niece. It also meant she was taken care of, so you could slip away with your husband without probing looks from others, lost in the faces of the mass. When the festivities were over, Ivar would take her back to their home.

You intend to take him back to your house, drop to your knees and show him that there’s no other man that you would ever do this for. Hvitserk, on the other hand, seems to have other plans swimming in his mind when he stops in his tracks as soon as you’re out. The chilled breeze of early spring makes you shudder, but when he touches you, you feel warm everywhere. Tingling, shaking with anticipation.

“Think it’s cute?” His voice dips low as he pins you to a wooden wall. He’s brought you to a narrow alleyway, not at all secluded, though the night’s darkness forbids others from seeing who are the lovers lost to their passions there.

“What?”

“Making me jealous,” He points out, his hips tight on yours. “Do you think it’s cute?”

“‘M not trying to make you jealous, my love,” The hard touch of his cock against you makes a whimper slip out. “Never. I’m yours.”

“Fuck yeah you’re mine,” The green becomes a slim ring around the dilated pupils. “Don’t and won’t share you with anyone. Mine.”

It’s a sound akin to a wolf growling that he lets slip. He begins to lift your skirt, the hot, feverish skin exposed prickles, and your lips part in a tremulous gasp. You knew what he was going to do, you also knew you should stop him. Then he fell to his knees, glancing up at you while he kissed your inner ankle. It’s a view that you can’t resist. Hvitserk, when he wants, can always get away with his biddings.

He pushes down the short, linen braies you had on, balling it up to shove deep in his pocket. The cool gush of air makes you gasp, which, on its account, makes him smile. Proud of himself. He’s a big teaser. He loves to see how much he can delay his skilled touches until you beg. Until you’re whimpering him to please do something.

His cheek mashes against your thigh, it forces your legs to drift so he can fit in the snug between them. The soft rubbing of his hands is the only grounding you can get as your mind starts to spin with how close he is. Hvitserk bites a patch of tender flesh before grunting, your cunt on display for him to do as he pleased. Even in the wavering light, he could catch the gleam of your slick pooled at where you thrummed overcome with desire.

The pad of his thumb finds its way to your clit in one fleeting touch. You groan in frustration, rolling your hips towards him, beseeching. His concealed laugh fans warm air all over you, a broken cry filling the night’s silence in reply.

“I should take you right here,” He muses, a quick nip on the flesh of your inner thigh. “So anyone who wanders by knows who you belong to.”

“Serk…” The sound is so pitiful you can see a gleam of compassion on his face, but you know better than to think he would be so pliant. “Everyone knows I’m yours. And everyone knows you’re mine.”

He scoffs then rises to a stand, and his full height makes you feel small. Your skirt falls back to its original place, rustling as it slides down your legs. His sudden draw-back leaves an uncomfortable aftertaste, you feel the emotion bubble at the bottom of your throat. The second pregnancy has left you even more emotive, always bursting at the seams.

Hvitserk runs his knuckles along with your cheekbone. It was crystal clear that the welling tears had got through him. He never knows just how to act when you are upset, so he just looks at you, a silent offer of his unspoken care. You aren’t sad or angry at him, but you haven't been able to keep yourself in check, which you do often for his sake.

You lean into him, on your tippy-toes to wrap your arms around his neck. His gentle embraces feel like the first breeze of summer, warm and with the hope to bloom.

The way back home is quiet. No one meanders the cobblestoned streets, no houses seem to have inhabitants. Ivar made a point to invite everyone, so they’d see him wed the love of his life. You remember what it feels like, to be so in love you want the whole world to witness it. To savour, to envy. When you married Hvitserk, a good few years ago, now, you felt the same. An urge to let all the others be assured that this man was yours, that this love, his love, was worth screaming about.

His hand is looped with yours, as he leads the way up a narrow path that leads to the front door of your home. It was built a little far-off from the city, surrounded by bright green grass that threaded with geraniums during spring, and it's hidden amidst tall trees. Wild animals often roam about, your cooks drove insane with them ruining the backyard garden with the fresh spices they use to prepare supper. You wouldn’t have liked to live anywhere but.

As expected, your servants aren’t there when Hvitserk swings the door open. It’s dark, the candles are long blown out. Once inside, however, you feel a pleasant balmy air shroud you, so the fireplace must’ve been fed new logs, its screaming orange flames a source of light for you to take in the smooth features your husband now donned. He pushed you down in a soft, caring motion.

You struggle to find a comfortable seat. Each day, it seemed, your baby grew bigger, your tummy a pointy thing that made it hard to sleep, stand too long on your feet, or even breathe in a normal fashion. It always seemed like you ran a marathon. He bends to kiss the crown of your head, then disappears into the darkness.

Only the gentle creep of dying wood filled the room. You stretch your hands to gather some heat, the tips of your fingers tingling as blood comes rushing to warm them up. Your cheeks sting, too. The warmth seems to wake the sleeping dragon that rests within, your baby moving around, stretching and kicking. You can’t bite back the smile while you touch your stomach, in hopes that the soft shushing would put the boy at ease.

Hildi was always the quiet babe. Even when she was born, she did not cry, not until the midwife slapped her tiny tush. You could see him embedded in the last fibre of her being. They were both good at playing people, using their sharp tongues to sneak out of harsh punishments, too smart for their own sake. She was her father’s daughter in every sense.

It softened you out to see him so devoted to her. You thought, when you were told you had a healthy baby girl, he’d slight her. His green eyes, that you saw each time she looked at you, had glistened in genuine happiness. Hvitserk was enamoured by Hildi, taken by her in a way you didn’t think he’d be. Part of you wondered, now that you were so certain you’d be giving him a son, that he would dismiss his firstborn to regard his first boy.

“Is everything okay, my sweetness?” His voice is pinch lower, hushed as he sits beside you. There’s a puzzling hint that scrunches his face. “You seem lost in thoughts.”

“Do you love Hildi?”

“More than anything.”

“More than me?” You bite the tip of your tongue so as not to smile.

“She’s my princess, my baby girl, I love her more than anything in the world,” Hvitserk leans closer, nestling his face between the soft plush of your breasts. “But I love her momma more.”

“Will you love this boy more than you love you love her?”

His chin rests at your collar when he looks up at you, confused, “What?”

“I just… I don’t want her to feel neglected. She adores you, you know,” Your fingers slid to the end of his braids, tugging at the rubber bands that keep them in place. “I know it’s important to have sons, but I want her to be seen, too.”

Hvitserk straightens up, taken aback by your abrupt confession. You feel his lips on yours not too long after. It’s not harsh or passionate. It’s gentle and soft, like the forehead kisses he gives her each time she leaves for a riding lesson with her uncle. All the love you feel for him boils in your blood. It makes you want to scream out loud. Your love is a body of water that would flood an entire city.

You press your forehead to his, “What was that for?”

“Sometimes I think you’re not real,” He discloses in a little voice, but you feel the weight of the words he’s speaking. “I wonder if this life I now have is not some figment of my imagination to safeguard me from the rotten reality I must be in.”

“My love,” A soft plea for him to dismiss those thoughts almost tumbles out, but before you have the chance, he quiets you with a finger.

“I love our house, coming home to a screaming Hildi that will hang on one of my legs like the nasty little monkey that she is and coming home to you, to kiss you, to kiss your pregnant belly. I don’t care if the babies you give me are boys or girls. All of this is more than I think I deserve.”

“Hvitserk,” You call for him, your mouths meeting in a desperate kiss. You’re not used to having him be so open about what he feels, it suits him. “You deserve so much more. You should know you settled for me because you could have any woman your heart would desire-”

“I don’t want anyone else,” It’s an even, pure statement. His eyes flicker with earnest. “You should know, though, that Ivar taking a liking to you has made it possible for me to keep you.”

“I have to disagree… Ivar could hate me, and still, he couldn’t take you away from me. I’d tear anyone apart before they take you from me.”

The timid light bounces on the mischievous smile he’s got all over his face. Hvitserk helps you to a stand, your back facing him. It was his favourite mundane activity, undressing you. Each delicate button was undone, his aptitude far exacerbated for a man such as him. You had seen him fight, seen him wield weapons as thick as one’s thigh. The first time he stripped you, you couldn’t stop your mouth from hanging open. Stunned that he had such a mastery.

Each layer is unbound until you’re standing naked. He kisses the crook of your neck, then up to the shell of your ear, where he tells you how gorgeous you look. Your nipples, enlarged and darkened, are hard, too sensitive when he twists them, his mouth busy scraping each available patch of skin. The sounds you make echo across the empty room.

That’s a sight you could never get accustomed to, him, on his knees, wielding his strongest weapon, those hungry eyes, at you. Hvitserk had cornered you against a wall, parting your legs so he’d have a taste. Not the first taste today. He had to have you before leaving the house to tend to his daily tasks. His index finger runs down your cunt, bullying the snug entrance, not quite sliding it in, a taunting that brought a hefty weight to the bottom of your tummy.

He brings his finger to his mouth, sucking the tip. His delight hum does things to your body, it’s a hoarse, untamed noise that pulls out a frustrated groan. Hvitserk repeats this sequence of hellish steps until tears roll down your cheeks, too distressed to have him touch you. Not fading touches, no, you wanted the ones that would be certain to undo the budding knots coiling inside you.

The primal sound he makes when the back of your knee is set on the curve of his shoulder, and his tongue gets all the free room to do whatever he finds suitable, turns you into a weak stew. A pathetic, meek thing that’s been held up by the iron grip of his hands that steady the undulating of your hips. Hvitserk takes and takes and takes, like a man who’s known hunger would eat.

All the while he’s looking right up at you, devouring you in more ways than one. You rest your palm over his own, a quiet request for him to hold it while you let go. He complies, the warm meshing of fingers releases a wave of tenderness that envelops you. Even at his most distraught times, never once had you felt like he didn’t care for you. It was what made you fall in love with him, this unspoken bubble of sincere affection that would will into stillness the fiercest ocean.

His honey words reach your ears, hushed while he’s still busy between your thighs, lips wrapped around you in a salacious kiss. You were dangling from his lips, such as mead that trickles down the barrels after being poured into a cup. A thin thread that each assault of his soft tongue tore it further, unravelling. The pleasure was just a puff away, numbing the edges of your head until it snapped.

Hvitserk holds you through the trembling of limbs, the sputtered curses. His murmurs only spur you further, your hands shaking as you try to hold on to something. A tower built so high that when it toppled down, it shook the grounds, that’s what it felt like. Each time, it seemed, he cemented it higher, so when it crumbled, you’d be stuck in a haze.

You don’t acknowledge him taking you to the room, so soon after he kisses the jut of your stomach, whispering words to the unborn babe. He lies you on the bed, cradled in furs to protect you from the cold, then moves away. His laugh fills the room when you whine, like a child being denied staying up a little later. But being apart from him was lonely, regardless of whether it was miles or steps. You always longed for his skin against yours.

When he joins you, he no longer bears the heavy coatings, all bare for the touching, that you can’t help but do. His fingers trail down your back, a kiss pressed to your forehead as he scoops you closer to lie your head on his chest.

“Want you to take me, my love,” You ask, your hand splayed across his chest. “I can, now. And I want you to.”

The air shifts when he chuckles, it’s almost dismissive. In one quick swivel, however, he’s hovering above you, settled between your thighs. You feel him, so hard, so wanting. Hvitserk finds your lips with his first, biting down on the tender flesh, the tip of his nose bumping against yours.

“I love you,” He says in a serene, serious tone. “Love you so fucking much, you know that?”

“I love you, too, honey,” You tug at the hairs in the nape of his neck. “You should hurry up. Who knows when Ivar will bring Hildi back? He could be on his way.”

“Got myself an insatiable woman,” It’s only a half-joke, though you still laugh. “I’m sorry, for earlier.”

“You don’t have to worry, Hvitserk son of Ragnar Lothbrok,” His eyes gleamed with playfulness. “I’m fucking yours. Now show it to me just how much you want to claim me.”

He bites a tender spot below your ear, one hand going between your bodies so he can finger you and smear your slick around. Only when he’s satisfied with the mewling noises you’re making, do you feel him fist himself. Once, twice, then the fat head of his cock teases the snug heat of your entrance, breaching you at a slow, torturous pace.

Your legs are spread apart so you can take him, so deep into you it’s like he’s rooted. Both stay in a quiet moment of stillness, relishing the soft surrender that making love feels like. His face is hidden in the crook of your neck, his feather touches lighting up a fire within, your sweat-slick skin aching, so responsive to him. To the coarse fingers squeezing, to the small puddle of brownish hairs on his chest scraping yours. Every detail drove you insane.

By the time he moves, it’s measured, stagnant. It’s atypical, your husband can become a different being in the throes of passion, what with the slaps, the foul, dirty names he calls you, and with how hard he gives it to you. Making love is quite a rarity, which makes you appreciate it even further. Though his regular satiates the hunger in both your bones, this, it’s beyond the alluring satisfaction a high can give, it’s a connection. You like when he allows himself to peel away the hard shell he shrinks into every day.

Hvitserk kisses your cheek, then your temple, your forehead, your nose, your lips. His snaps grow harder, though just as deliberate, a hot wave of pleasure hitting you each time his hips meet yours, the friction enough to turn your brain into mush. Gods, how was it fair that this man could be so good at this? He had spoiled you for others. Spoiled you good.

His hips stutter.

“Gods, you feel so fucking amazing,” He groans into your ear, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh they held. “Mine. All fucking mine.”

“Yours, my love,” You clutch a handful of his hair, pulling him up for a breathless kiss. “I’m so… so…”

“I know, baby doll,” His grunt breaks a dam inside, the building pressure tighter and tighter.

He does it before you. Scorching hot spurts of spend, like he’s trying to put another baby inside you before the other even comes out. Hvitserk bites one of your nipples, moaning your name over and over. Perhaps it was when you fell. Wrung up to the breaking point until you split, a bone-crunching fall that had the loudest moans spilling past your lips.

Your toes curled, your heels dug into the back of his thighs. It’s a fire that licks your body, that rattles, shakes, then turns all muscles into lead, falling limp beneath him. An exhausted chuckle fills the short space between you, and your husband inclines to search your mouth in a feverish press of lips. You close your eyes for a beat, savouring how close he is, how your bodies are mended together.

It’s a while before he rolls to your side, his hand finding yours in the mess of sheets. Both of you enjoy a quietude that only a lover can provide to the other. You love his presence so very much that just this, lying side by side, it’s enough. You are not greedy, this life, regardless of how little he thinks it is, it’s more than you could have wished for. He brings you to the warmth of his arms, where you remain until the first raps on the door.

How much time had slipped away, you had no clue, but when he stood, pulling on linen breeches and a woollen tunic, you realised that could only be your daughter being brought back home. The missing piece to your happy family. While he disappeared to fetch her, you force yourself to stand up so you’d be dressed by the time she comes to you.

“Momma, momma!” Her childish little squeals warm your heart. “Uncle Ivar says I’m not just getting a little brother, but also a cousin, isn’t that wonderful?”

Hildi runs to wrap her arms around your hips, her chubby tiny face pressed to the round of your belly. Hvitserk rests against the threshold, arms crossed over his chest and a beaming smile on his face. You could taste on the tip of your tongue how happy he was, how accomplished he felt to have built this life with you.

“Yeah, cricket, yes, it is.”

“Papa says I can sleep with you tonight?”

“Did he, now?” You look at him, his face turning sheepish.

Wearing that look, he’s once more the boy you fell in love with, back when you were a bit older than your daughter is now. A boy that’s up to no good. Gods, if you’d known. That one day, when you joined a playful sword fight with him, that he’d be the one, you would never have let him slip away from your fingers. Sometimes, when there’s nothing else but the eerie silence of your thoughts, you regret the lost time. You could’ve held him. Could’ve protected him from the hurt he went through.

You'd break your heart in two if it means he'll be happy.

“Can I, momma?” She pushes, her chin resting on your stomach. “Please? Asa sleeps with Uncle Ubbe and Aunt Torvi all the time, she told me!”

“Of course you can,” You pinch one of her cheeks. "First you need to take off those feast clothes."

You mean to start removing her garments, but you are stopped before you get the chance to even touch her silver kransen. Hvitserk lifts her into his arms, her legs dangling as she settles on his hip, and he takes her to her bedroom. You smile at the gesture, your hand falling to yet again quell the restless growing babe. He’d woken again, moving around as if feasting inside your womb.

The room has dipped a degree colder, you shrink within the thin chemise you have on, though you dismissed it as quick as it rattled your body. It’s come to your attention the mess you’ve made, pillows and furs and linen sheets sprawled, tossed to the ground. You groan when dropping to your knees to pick them up, returning them to their original place.

Hildi is half-asleep on his lap when your husband returns. Her small fist clings to the collar of his tunic, her green eyes fluttering between closed and opened. Hvitserk nestles her between the bundle of covers, then he moves to you. Your arms wrap around his waist, his around your shoulders. Inside his hug, you get to hear the even heartbeat.

“See?” He says in a hushed whisper.

“What, elskr?”

“Whenever I’m with you, I always feel calm,” Your hand splays over his chest, and he rests his own above yours. “My heart never beats faster, never slower, always even. You’re my calmness after the wildest of storms.”

“You already married me, Serk, why are you wooing me like this?”

“‘M not wooing you,” His chuckle raises goosebumps all across your skin. “I’m making sure you know that you’re everything I need.”

You pull his hand to the swell of your left breast, “You’re my calmness, too.”

He moulds your body against him when you’re back to bed, comfortable under the heavy blankets. And this, sleeping cradled between his arms, watching your daughter sleep in such peace, it’s your definition of happiness.

[honestsycrets]

Say Your Piece II: Heart Breaker

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader, hvitserk x ?

❛ type | double triple? shot, mistakes were made au

❛ chp summary | after the reader says she doesn’t want hvitserk; he makes a bad decision. it gets worse from there.

❛  tags | plus size reader, verbal arguments, extreme social anxiety, extreme body insecurity, drinking, hateful words, illustrator hvitserk x writer reader, mention of infidelity, shame, OCs, sexual frustration, blackmail, cheating mentioned, verbal abuse, sexual blackmail, poor communication? it’s more likely than you think. tags to be added.

❛ request | So Hvitserk request (you a asked for it 😂) Remember the Little Lovers event and the self-conscient plus size reader who didn’t want to have sex ?Well I didn’t get the sex lol. I want my Hvitserk to show a woman how her body is enjoyable. Thank you 😊 for @alicedopey

❛ sy’s note | i’ll eventually get you your sex scene, DAMN IT.

He wakes with a blaring headache caused by a stream of fresh morning light against his soft cheek. He pulls his arms around you-- or, what he thought was you, as the moment he does so, he knows it’s wrong. Where soft folds and overflowing breasts were, he finds thin limbs and small breasts.

It’s not your body-- he realizes all at once. The high rise apartment that overlooked the city wasn’t, either. It was the fruit of an accomplished older woman, whose many books hovered on a white shelf beside a white bed. Everything in the room holds the same pure standard. He flings himself from the bed, his naked ass colliding with a nightstand. The items ripple over the surface and settle into new positions. The woman pushes up, dragging the painfully monochrome white fluffy sheet to cover her flat chest. 

“Hvitserk?” 

Erika, in all her sharp-eyed glory, stares right back at him. Vomit spins up his throat, incited by the affection by with her eyes considered him. Hvitserk scrambles over the perfectly plain hardwood floors, upchucking up what’s left of his agitated stomach after his pathetic night out on the town. 

“Hvitserk!” 

Her spindly hand is at his back. Ordinarily, she was a comfort in your absence. That despite her pushing, and pushing, and pushing to get your name off “his” book, she would always be there for him in ways that a lover could not. Author-illustrators make so much more than being an illustrator alone, she reminded him. Her considerate words now feel like measured steps against his relationship. Her touch rips his skin into gooseflesh. Hvitserk works his shoulder away, his knuckles becoming white around the bowl.

“You drank too much last night.” it’s a non-question. Obviously, if he were here, he had. He groans his miserable response into the toilet bowl, wishing he could smother himself in the water, as it would be a better punishment than anything his girlfriend could do to him. “I’ll make you some coffee.” 

Her steps become distant echoes. When he finishes and cleans after himself, he starts his search for his clothes. He picks them from a singular pile, draws them back on, and reaches for his phone. It bleats a miserable eight percent battery life.

“She didn’t call if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Ericka stands in a silvery slip; although he’s not sure when she put on some clothes. She hands him his cup of coffee and takes a seat on her “divorce couch”, a plain grey chair that she scammed her ex-husband out of. As she sits there, all long limbs, and purposefully sultry clothes-- the guilt strikes him.

Hvitserk takes a sip of bitter, burnt black coffee. She’s never been a great coffee maker but her heart is in the right place. It wouldn’t feel right to snuff her. After all, he probably spent the night before buried in her cunt. 

“You called me to pick you up at the bar last night. You were so drunk all you wanted to do was lay on my chest,” Ericka pulls a sheer black kimono over her thin collarbones. His eyes fall on her hands. “I told you she’d break your heart. Women like that-- once they get over a certain weight-- they aren’t emotionally available to do anything but eat. It consumes them.” 

“She ain’t like that.”

“If she’s not like that, then why did you have sex with me? Be honest with yourself, Hvitserk. Your needs aren’t met with her. That’s why you needed me.” 

His mouth runs dry. Like he’s been chewing on his regret as if it were paper. He couldn’t remember the night before. It was like a bad memory he never wanted to recover. Hvitserk glances down to his cup as he sinks onto her bed. 

“It was an accident,” he glares at the surface. “I- You know I can’t be with you, right? You’re--” 

“Old?” she asks. He’s never cared about something as simple as that. Twelve years his senior or not, it wasn’t an issue.

“It’s not that. C’mon Erika, you know I don’t give a shit about age. She’s my baby girl.” 

“You’re going to stay with her? A woman like that?” 

“Like what?” Hvitserk sets the coffee on the nightstand as he snaps at her before he could bite it back. He knew what she meant. Erika’s long ranging sigh reminds him of Aslaug. How tenderly her hands would wrap around him even though they were truly tainted with alcohol perfuming off her breath. 

“I’ve been your agent for years Hvitserk. We go through this every time you find a girl. This oen is by far the worst. She doesn’t care about you. Look at all that work you did for her yesterday. The pendant you bought her. The work you’ve put into her books! You even pick up all the food she eats. She won’t go outside of her house and you still expect that she’ll suddenly become this fat trophy wife on your arm.” 

“Just because she’s fat don’t--” 

“It isn’t about the fat, Hvitserk.  How many times does she have to show you, or tell you for you to get the picture through your stupid head, huh? She doesn’t want you! And you have the balls to call me a fucking accident.” 

“Erika--” 

She leaps up from her chair. Hvitserk sucks in a hard breath and tries to find sense through the nonsense, looking through his phone. Erika was right. You hadn’t sent a message. Not in his texts, not on his social media. More egregiously, he spots a new post. Ericka’s hands fold over his, pushing him back to sit on the bed. She slides over his thin hips and takes a seat on his empty lap. It was painfully simple, painfully domestic, and painfully wrong.

“Let me tell you what I’ve learned in forty years,” Erika whispered in his ear. Her thin lips move, gliding like butter in his ear. “If someone doesn’t want you, there’s nothing you can do to change that.” Her fingers comb through his hair, like slimy tendrils. “But I’m here.” 

Hvitserk tips his head nack, gazing at the ceiling. Her palm caresses his scruffy jawline to drag his attention from the ceiling to her soft blue eyes, a painless depth, if only he would listen to her words. Hvitserk shifts her back on the bed, loitering around her waist with a supportive hand on the base of her back.

“I know you care ‘bout me. I just-- need some time, okay?” 

It doesn’t slip him that she’s scowling as he walks out of her home. There was someone he could count upon, when things were difficult, his phone buzzing in his palm reminded him of that. 

“Hey, Ivar.” 

Or, maybe not.

“You fucked her?” Ivar stopped chewing his pastry, ambling his head one way then another, laughing against himself. He took his mug of properly brewed coffee to his lips. Hvitserk regrets agreeing to meet him at the cafe. “What were you thinking sleeping with your agent?”

“I wasn’t thinking! I was drunk--” Hvitserk set his hand to his forehead. He has no appetite as he cycled through what he had done, searching out the moment that he called Erika. He fails to locate anything but quiet sobbing behind the neck of a beer bottle and a distant, squeamish feeling of fingers down his nape. “I think she took advantage of me.” 

Ivar sets down his cup of coffee, picking up a fork and knife as he leaned over the table, lips punctuating each word. 

“Yes, well, I am sure that will go over with your girlfriend well. I’m sorry, I slept with my skinny, well-established agent who has been wanting me to get rid of you. That bitch has been after you for years. What do you think she will do now? She won’t let you go.”

“She understands,” he reflects at the monochrome crowd. His plate is full but has gone cold with his lack of appetite. Normally, this was the place he came with his brother to binge breakfast and muse about women. Ubbe wouldn’t care about his issues: he never had time for anyone but himself. Not really. Ivar scoffed, gazing into the foot traffic flitting by their cafe. 

“Tch, I’m sure she does. She will probably break up with you.” 

He bobbed his head.

“I think she already has.” 

A normal man would come to beg. 

But Hvitserk draws in the deep quiet of the park. With only the barks of dogs, the giggles of children, and the occasional frequency from couples watching movies in the park, it’s a place of solace by the small pond. 

He starts with an outline of Xiao’s small face. It’s a rough outline, budding and ready to be kissed with by watercolours. Soft pinks like petals of peonies droop in his photo. He must have blended this shade wrong. Line after line that he sweeps, he weeps. His phone jingles in his pocket and his heart tightens around his chest like a straight jacket to someone in an insane asylum. He must be going crazy-- if he too can no longer paint.

“Where are you?!” you boom on the other end of the line. Hvitserk fumbles his phone, suckling in a breath. Had Ivar told you? No, his brother wouldn’t. Not Ivar. He was never a gossiper. 

“In-- in the park?” 

“What has gotten into you? You could have at least texted me to tell me you were okay. I was worried sick!” 

You? Worried sick? This wasn’t the you from yesterday. The one that pelted out how selfish he was for craving intimacy. The one that told him that all he wanted was to sexualize you. As if he were some sixty year old pervert with a camera in hand to click a picture of under your beautiful pastel skirts. Hvitserk sets the brushes into his cup of water and sets aside Xiao’s painting to dry.

“Hvitserk!” 

“I’m here,” he blurts out. “I didn’t think you’d care. You didn’t call.” 

“Like I didn’t I call you all night.” 

Something cracks, deep in his belly. With all the days of work he’d done for you and you alone, he forgot himself in the mix. He jerked his phone back, frantically looking at his phone app. No recent calls meant what they meant. When he finds nothing, it only thrusts him into a further rage. 

“Bullshit,” he belts out. “You didn’t. You didn’t care about me last night. You never fuckin’ do.” 

“Hvit--” he turns off his phone. There was a sliver of a moment in which he regrets that on the basis of last night. Maybe you rejected him, but he wasn’t an idiot. A man simply didn’t cheat on his girlfriend because she said no. 

He packs up his bag and heads toward the football field. It’s time to play football.

He smashes Ubbe on the field. If he wasn’t at peace with being an illustrator, maybe he could have been a ballplayer. Flipping the ball from foot to foot with Ubbe on his trailing his tail was fun, but watching him try and miss as he thwacked the ball on its net was even better. Unlike Ubbe’s well-proportioned body, he’s all long limbs and quick feet. Just the right combination to slip out of Ubbe’s grasp. Well, that was, until Ubbe tackled his ass onto the blades of grass, sending the both of them rolling through the grasp.

“Bro, really?!” Hvitserk laughs, dropping back onto the grass. The skid marks on his clothes would be unreal. 

“If I can’t catch you,” Ubbe heaves, digging his hand into his pocket. He finds his phone there, vibrating with messages from Torvi: probably. Hvitserk shoves his arms behind his neck, drawing out breath after ragged breath. 

“Wanna go eat?” 

“Na,” Ubbe shoves himself onto your feet. “Your girl is here.”

His what? Ubbe rushes off. A sinking feeling came over his clammy hands. He opens his mouth to beg him not to go, to take him along with like he used to as a child. He’s terrible at making up and hours ago, he’d hung up on you. His lips press together, soothing himself with the false pretense that-- no, it would be fine. If you didn’t apologize, perhaps neither would he. 

He finds you on the other side of the soccer field, fashioning his favorite sundress. There’s something glamorous about its corset bodice and its draped sleeves that left him breathless. He wills down his terrible arousal, drawn to the pendant he bought you nestled between your large breasts. You wait for him by his things, pulling the rim of a broad pale hat and looking down at beautiful chunky nude heels. 

You’re beautiful and terrifying all in one. He regains himself enough to make his legs solidify from the liquidy mass they were seconds ago. He might feel much like a newborn calf falling over himself to get his things, but perhaps he looked better than he felt. Women like sweaty, stupid men, right?

“What are you doing here?” he picks up his things. “I thought you didn’t like to be seen in public.”

“You hung up on me,” you hold his tablet flush against your dress and offer it out to him. He takes it and secures it back in his bag. “I had to come to find you.” 

“Yeah? I’ll bet.” Hvitserk wills down the painful throbbing behind his joggers, pulling his bag to obscure the pain he was in. The sooner he went home, the sooner he could jerk himself off without the overwhelming guilt of being, as he was, a whore. Why couldn’t he stay mad? He wanted to stay mad! “You look... nice. Never seen you looking so nice. What’s the occasion?” 

“You like it?” You pull out the skirt and stop to do a twirl that he curses himself for stopping for. Normally, his girl wouldn’t even go outside. Who was this? He’s aware of others watching-- the fat girl in a flashy dress. “I wore it for you.”

“Yeah, I do.” He moistens his lips, his voice raspy and thick. “Looks like an angel.” 

“Does that mean you’ll come back home?” You reach out for him. Your soft hands winding around his well-corded arm. He realizes then, the confidence in which you carried yourself masked the desperation in your hands. They trembled over his bicep. “I’ll be good, I promise I won’t yell at you again like that. I wouldn’t even be mad if you-- you found someone else to fuck. I know you-- I know you need it. If you can’t get it from me, I can wait on the side. As long as you’re not in love.”

“Hey,” he softened, settling his hand atop of yours. He stops midstep, turning on his high tops on the sidewalk. He takes your hands and listens waits for your outpouring of emotion. Traffic passes by him. They speak in hushed whispers. “Hey, hey, hey. Baby girl wait-- that’s not -- what are you talking about?”

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that but you were pushing and pushing and wouldn’t stop! I didn’t know what to do. I want to have sex with you,” you squeeze his fingertips. “But you don’t know what it’s like to be fat, old virgin.” 

He was trying to listen. He really was. The moment you spoke that word: that v-word, his mind went blank and numb. You’re still talking long after he’s stopped listening. Hvitserk sucks in a breath: it sends him into a flurry, pursuing the bone of your virginity long after you’ve stopped talking.

“What do you--” his lips twitch, drawing in a smile. “--mean a virgin?” 

“I haven’t had sex-- I… I wanted to--” 

His girl-- a virgin. He wants to smile, if not for the knowledge of the other night, waking up in Erika’s itchy sheets. Hvitserk knows that he has to tell you, he only doesn’t know how. You’re talking again. 

“What did you say?” he asks. 

“I want you to do it,” you answer. “Right now. Just forgive me.” 

He about drops, a moistness coming over his mouth that he can’t-- exactly-- help. His palms feel just as hot, sweating as he pulls them free from yours. Clearing his throat, he slips his hand against the small of your back. 

“Na, let’s… let’s take it easy. We’ll talk ‘bout it later.” 

He wants that virginity. 

But logically, oh woe is he, he knows it’s not really right to take someone’s virginity if they’re not all there. You’re not all there because you don’t know of that night. It’s like, consent, right? Bad consent was just jerking your ankle like some Viking and dragging you into bed with him. If he was going to do it, he told himself, you had to know what he’d done. 

It was a slip-up. 

Hvitserk finished another drawing for his new book independent of your input. It was a children’s book about good bodies-- because as he looked at your good body, he was reminded of Ericka’s cruel words. He wanted to do better for lil kids.

“Hvitserk, your phone is ringing,” you said pointedly from across the room where you sat like a madwoman. Your frantic papers sat nestled around a basket of shared chicken he made for lunch. 

“Huh?” Tapping over, he recognizes Erika’s photo, planting a kiss on his cheek on his first big break. She had been the first one to really believe in him. It was a long time ago now, he reminds himself to change that to something more… suitable after last night. He gestures his fingers at you. “Thanks, baby girl.”

He answers the phone. The moment he does, he hears Erika’s flat voice snaking into a hiss. It’s a noise that he hasn’t heard. Not in all his years of having her as his patient agent. 

“You’re with her, aren’t you?” 

“No, I’m uh-- with Ubbe.” He throws you a glance. You tilt your head, he shakes his, and that’s the terrible loneliness of holding a secret. “Erika--” Hvitserk sighs, parting his lips to talk. She shushes him with such severity that he thinks she’s trying to lop his head off, too. 

“Break it off.” 

“What?”

He steps outside and leans against the cold metal door separating the high-rise apartments from, well, the outside world. He expects to see her standing out there. All he finds are the many cars parked on the street and the stillness of movement. It’s too quiet. The whistle of the wind through the street chills him. 

“I know you’re with her. I can tell her for you if you’d like.” 

“No. Don’t--” Hvitserk sighs, searching for the words in the silence. “I don’t think you understand. We worked through it.” 

She laughs something from deep in her belly at him.

“I wasn’t asking. Either you do it— or I’ll make you do it. You obviously don’t know what’s best for yourself. Why else are you fucking around with some--” He collapses on the stairs, cradling the phone to his ear as she goes on. “Don’t think I won’t expose her for what she is. A thief.”

“She’s never-- Why the fuck are you doing this?”

“You told me you would take care of it. Something you’ve failed to do-- I should have known you couldn’t do it. ”

“If this shit is about yesterday--” 

“I’ll give you one more chance to break it off if you come over tonight.” 

“Are you blackmailing me?” There’s a pause on the other line. Then a chuckle. A long winded, painful chuckle. He should have known better. That night-- calling it an accident wasn’t exactly tolerable for a woman like Erika. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could be easily ignored.

“If that’s what I have to do.” 

 He chokes out a sob. Ivar was right. She wasn’t going to let him go.

“Fuckin’-- fuckin’ fine.” 

@punkrocknpearls​ @flowers-in-your-hayr @tephi101 @alicedopey​ @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor @strangunddurm @superwolfchild-fan @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

[vikingsarememes]

Me, writing a new multi chapter fic: okay so in this story, Y/N will hate Ivar with all of her guts!

Me, after a couple of chapters when I mistakenly made Ivar too appealing and Y/N is now falling for him: well, fuckity fuck!

[mystic-shadows42]

Savior of the Forsaken

A/N: Not edited

Pairing: Hvitserk x reader

Warnings: Language, sexual innuendo, and violence

Summary: Hvitserk tries to move past Thora’s death by going raiding. He can’t help but protect the woman in the wedding dress who’s being chased.

It was supposed to be your wedding day. Married to the man whom your parents arranged for you to marry.

It all happened so fast. One minute you were at the altar placing your hands over your betrothed’s when the doors were flung open bringing in the snow from outside.

Everyone screamed when they saw the heathens with their weapons in hand. Chaos ensued afterward. Everyone ran in every direction in a panic. People began to push each other knocking those who were too slow at reacting to the floor. It didn’t matter if those inside were well-mannered Christians. All that went out the door when fear struck.

You got lost in the crowd but knew your best hope was somewhere other than staying inside. When you made it outside you were halted with the piles of bodies lying all around.

You had never seen such a sight before in your life. It was grisly to think how a person could do this to another living soul. In your shocked state, a pair of doors squeaked harshly causing you to turn your attention towards it. There was a group of rough dirtied heathen men staring back at you.

“There’s your prize men. Whoever catches the bride will have her in any way he wants.” Their leader spoke trying to get his men riled up for the chase that was about to ensue. He was intimidating to look at with identical tattoos on both halves of his face.

All the men cheered and began to run when their leader threw his hands up.

You ran as hard and as fast as you could with the harsh cold wind rushing against you. It was hard to tell where you were going but all you knew was that you weren’t far enough when the sounds of yelling seemed to draw closer.

It was nearing an impossible cold that you could hardly bear to be in when a sharp pain brought you to the ground. It was a rabid dog that snarled at you.

You ripped off a piece of your dress and stuffed it into the dog’s mouth pushing it away before climbing up the nearest tree. Hiding within a tree wouldn’t do much but if they had dogs out here too then you were closer to death than you originally thought.

It didn’t help that you could feel the dripping of your blood run down your foot. Had you still been on foot it would’ve been worse. You shivered trying your best to gather as much strength as you could to climb.

If you were to die, you’d rather it be the harsh weather than by these heathens. You knew the ways of men, heathen or not, they all had ill intentions when gathered with others for no one to bear witness to the horrors they inflict.

There was no one out here. You were past any help and these men did not care to cater to your cries. They held no sympathy for women who weren’t of their own tribe.

“Why are you hiding? You should be down here servicing my cock. It’s in need of some warmth.”

The men laughed haughtily. They all began to gather after they alerted each other of your presence. They began to throw rocks, laughing whenever they hit you.

As if that wasn’t enough, they began to shoot arrows into the tree. Some hit just mere inches from your fingers. Too close to count your blessings now. No prayer would save you. The bishops were wrong to teach Christian women to pray to god. Praying for mercy would only entice them to further humiliate you.

You knew their insults held true. Where was God now? How could he allow this when you aren’t at fault? Their words were getting to you. They were testing your faith, trying to break you down.

“Come on down bride to be,” the raspy voice of who you assumed to be their leader spoke. “Your betrothed offered you to us just before we killed him. He died a coward squealing like the swine he was.”

He boasted and laughed with his men. Your cold hands shook with both fright and the cold. You hoped the latter of the two would kill you before they even reached you.

What seemed to be like hours in the making there was a pounding of a horse’s feet galloping in the snow.

“That’s enough, Harald. You’ve all had your fun. Now let her go.” Hvitserk was in no mood for games especially the one they were playing currently. Had he not been melancholy he would sure be enjoying himself and in on the fun but he was in no mood.

He grew tired of the games. He thought of Thora and how he’d never want her to be the focal point of a joke and played with like a piece of meat.

“Oh, come on Hvitserk. I’ll let you be the first to try her. It’ll be my treat to you.”

You looked down at the two men speaking. The one speaking in your favor got off his horse and challenged the man that taunted you.

“No games Harald. Let her go. I won’t ask again,” he challenged.

Harald simply threw his hands up. “I can’t. These men want a woman more specifically the bride. It’s been a long trip here. Are you going to deny them the pleasure of a woman?”

The strong gust of wind blinded your vision from seeing what went on below. Everything hurt and was starting to become unbearable being sheltered in one place.

Hvitserk walked up to the tree that you were occupying. You hid as much of yourself as you could behind the broad tree branch.

“Come with me. I promise I won’t hurt you,” his voice was low and gentle.

Your bottom lip trembled whether from the cold or the thought that there was no other means of escape.

You shook your head not wanting to trust any of them.

“You have a choice. Stay up there and freeze to death or take my hand and I shall offer you protection.” His voice held firm.

“Promise,” you whispered.

“I promise.” He held his hand out to you that you hesitantly took. Once you placed your hand over his you settled yourself over the branch and into his arms. He held you by the waist as he gently placed you down.

You were off-balance not having the feeling come back to your legs quite yet. You backed up into your savior finding more comfort with him than the rest.

The heathens that surrounded you stared longingly. Their faces were clear with anger but they didn’t make any move to cease you or the man leading you to his horse.

He helped you up onto his stallion while he settled himself behind you. When the man wrapped his arm around your body, you shuddered. He moved slowly after that assuring you that he meant no harm.

The man with a raspy voice grabbed the reins. “Know that you’re choosing them over us Hvitserk. Is she really worth it?”

The man who you now knew the name of didn’t say anything back. He took the reins back and made the horse go forward. Your mind was reeling with what this man could possibly want. He wasn’t going to let you go if he had you with him now, yet he hadn’t shown any ill will.

Once the horse slowed down and the ocean came into view with various boats, you broke your silence.

“What do you plan on doing with me?”

He got off the horse and gripped your waist as he brought you down in front of him. He shuffled in his pack stuffing the contents back swinging it over his shoulder before walking down to the boats. You were appalled just standing there. Do you run away to escape or were you expected to follow?

You considered your options but as much as you wanted to flee you couldn’t. You could barely move your body without wincing.

The cold had did a toll on your body. Another downturn was that the place you once called home was surrounded by heathens. Everything was either ransacked or in ruins.

You wrapped your arms around your body figuring it was all pointless. No matter the outcome your life wouldn’t be yours.

Hvitserk turned around once he noticed you weren’t following. You walked to him slowly closing your eyes and scrunching your face when the pain became too much. He sighed out loud and made his way to you.

You looked down at the floor and felt ashamed for what you were about to say.

“End it.”

“What?” He took a few more steps forward until he was just an arms reach away.

“End my life. Having me around will only make things worse for me and you.” He propped your chin up and tilted his head not understanding. “What do you plan on doing with me anyway? I can’t fight. I won’t have my body taken against my will. Your people aren’t happy with what you did for me already. So just end it, please.”

Hvitserk squinted his eyes at you then took off his fur coat placing it over your shoulders. You narrowed your brows at him in confusion.

“I’m not going to end your life. There’s been enough killing as there is.”

“So what do you plan to do with me?”

“Keep you safe.” He didn’t give you a chance to respond before bending down and scooping you up in his arms. A small sound emitted from your lips not expecting him to pick you up. You placed one hand over his shoulder to steady yourself.

He carried you to one of the grand ships. The many heathens that passed by stared but Hvitserk paid them no mind. Once you made it onto the ship he sat you down on one of the benches. He sat next to you slowly wrapping an arm around your body to gain warmth.

“Will you keep me as your prisoner?”

From what you picked up from this man was that he was unlike the others. He seemed somewhat disconnected. Sad if you will.

“If keeping you as my thrall is what keeps you safe then so be it.” He said it low but he kept eye contact with you the whole time.

“I’ll be your slave then? Is that what you’re telling me?” It wasn’t very appealing. You were practically a slave here yourself. Having a choice was never an option. Your life was always planned since the day you were born.

“Better to be my slave than anyone else’s. I won’t treat you unfairly. Your title is less than ideal but you’ll be in better hands than in Harald’s. He wouldn’t even give you a choice he’ll use you and throw you out for others to use. I say that I’m being more than fair.”

Who’s to say he’ll tire of you himself and still do that? You shuddered thinking of those odds.

“I wish to be free.”

You looked into his eyes seeing him watching you intently. He most likely can see all the emotions as you sat there with him.

“As do I but if I were to let you go you’ll end up dead or with someone else far worse than me.”

He had a point. ‘Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.’ The saying had never rang more true than it did now. You had been lucky that Hvitserk wasn’t like the rest. You probably wouldn’t be alive if he was.

You didn’t know why he was doing you such a service by taking you in but you didn’t want to question it. For now, you’ll have to take his word for it, but that didn’t mean you trusted him. He was still a heathen at the end of the day.

[hoteldreamss]

an infectious eternity

— Хвитсерк после долгих и сложных лет своей жизни, находит тебя в дворце князя Олега. Но ты уже не такая, как прежде, всё изменилось, но не ваши чувства друг к другу.

Часть 1

Часть 2

Часть 3

Часть 4

Часть 5

Часть 6

Часть 7

[hvitserkmarcosource]

New Marco!! 🩷🩷