#ragnarssons/reader

[multific]

What the Gods Will Mend

Ivar the Boneless x Reader

Summary: You married a man who didn’t love you, but you chose to love him anyway. Through quiet care and devotion, you gave him healing he never thought possible.

You were not the wife he wanted.

You knew it the moment Queen Aslaug placed your hand in Ivar’s before the gods. You felt it in the stiffness of his grip, in the way he looked through you and not at you.

“A union blessed by the gods,” Aslaug had said, smiling gently at her son. “She is clever, gentle. She will be good for you, Ivar.”

Ivar did not reply.

He only walked away from the wedding fire when the ritual ended, leaving you alone among the ash and shadows.

And yet, you stayed.

You were his wife now. You were bound to him.

Even if he hated you.

He ignored you most days. Barely spoke to you unless forced. When he did, his words were sharp and cold, meant to push you away.

Still, you watched him. Quietly.

The way pain twisted his features in the morning. The tremble in his hands when he forced his legs into motion. The anger he swallowed, the shame he masked with cruelty.

You saw it all. And your heart ached.

Because, unlike him, you wanted this marriage.

You had admired him for years.

Not just his mind or his fierce spirit, but the way he carried himself despite the world’s cruelty.

You saw a man carved by pain, and you longed to soften its edges. To help him heal.

So you sought out old healing texts. Spoke to volvas in secret.

Traded furs for rare herbs. Brewed tinctures to strengthen bones, to ease pain, to mend where time had been unkind.

And every night, you added it to his drink.

Quietly. Carefully.

You knew he wouldn’t accept it if he knew.

It happened on a stormy night.

He came home from the training fields, soaked and furious, dragging mud into the hall.

You had already prepared his food, placed the warm cup of brew beside it as always.

You smiled, ready to leave him in peace.

But his eyes were already on you.

“What is this?” he snapped, lifting the cup. “You give me this every night. Do you think I don’t notice?”

Your breath caught. He was holding it like it was poison.

“It's nothing. Just herbs, to help you rest-”

He threw the cup against the wall. It shattered, making you flinch.

“Do not lie to me,” he growled. “Are you trying to kill me, Wife? Is that how much you hate being mine?”

His voice was venom. His hatred, a sword.

You swallowed hard. Your hands trembled, but you didn’t back down.

“It’s not poison,” you said quietly. “It’s medicine. For your legs.”

He stared at you. Something in his eyes cracked.

“What?”

“I asked the volvas. Searched scrolls from the East. It's a mixture of roots and silverleaf, it's meant to help rebuild strength in damaged bones. You’ve been in less pain lately, haven’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

You stepped closer.

“I just wanted to help. I know you didn’t want this marriage. You don’t even like me. But I still see you. And I care. Even if you never… feel the same.”

Silence fell.

The storm outside raged, but in the hall, it was still.

Ivar looked at you, truly looked at you, for the first time since your wedding night.

“You’ve been doing this… for how long?”

“Since the second week we wed.”

He lowered his gaze. You saw the war in him, between pride and pain, between mistrust and something softer.

“You are a fool,” he said. But his voice had lost its edge. “A stubborn, strange little fool.”

You turned to leave, swallowing your humiliation.

“Wait.”

You stopped.

He rose from his bench with difficulty, but stood nonetheless. He looked at you, blue eyes unreadable.

“I’ve been walking farther. I thought it was the gods.” A pause. “You’re the one who did it.”

You nodded slowly.

He stepped toward you.

“Why?”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Because I love you.”

The words stunned the air.

He didn’t speak. He only looked at you, and for the first time, you saw no hatred in his eyes. Only confusion, and something like awe.

He reached for your hand, his fingers trembling.

“Sit with me,” he said. “Stay tonight.”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

That night, for the first time, Ivar did not eat alone. And when you touched his hand beneath the firelight, he didn’t pull away.

The fire crackled low, and outside, the rain turned soft, tapping gently on the roof like the gods themselves were listening.

You sat beside him, closer than ever before, your hands folded in your lap, unsure of what to say now that you’d spoken the truth.

You had confessed love to a man who never once gave you kindness.

But tonight… he had not turned away.

Ivar’s eyes were unreadable, but they didn’t look through you anymore. They held you.

“How long have you loved me?” he asked, voice quiet as the flames.

You hesitated, but answered honestly. “Since before the wedding. I admired your strength. Your cleverness. The way you held your head high when the world gave you every reason not to.”

He looked away at that, jaw tight. “You saw something good in me. Even when I couldn’t.”

You nodded.

“And yet I treated you like the enemy.”

You gave him a soft smile, one born of pain, not pity. “You were protecting yourself. I understand.”

He exhaled through his nose. Then, after a long silence:

“No one has ever done what you’ve done for me. Not like that. Not in secret. Not without asking for something in return.”

You turned toward him. “I didn’t want anything. Just… for you to be in less pain.”

He looked at you then, and something cracked open behind his gaze.

“Come here,” he murmured.

Slowly, cautiously, you moved toward him.

Ivar shifted with effort, wincing as he opened his arms, awkwardly at first, as if the gesture were unfamiliar. And perhaps it was. You had never touched more than his hand or shoulder since the wedding.

But now…

You moved into his embrace.

He wrapped his arms around you, hesitantly at first… then tightly. Desperately. As if the idea of being held like this might break him, but also save him.

His forehead pressed into your neck, and you felt it.

The tremble.

The breath he was holding.

The surrender.

“I don’t know how to love,” he whispered, voice cracking. “But I want to try.”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“You don’t have to know how,” you whispered. “Just let it happen. We’ll find the way together.”

His eyes searched yours for a long, breathless moment.

And then—he kissed you.

It was not rough or hurried like you'd imagined it might be. It was soft. Curious. Full of unfamiliar tenderness. The kiss of a man learning, trusting, hoping.

And when he finally pulled away, his hands stayed on your face like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered.

“I’m yours,” you replied. “I always have been.”

That night, you didn’t lie on opposite sides of the bed like you had for so long. You curled into him, warm under furs, his arm wrapped around you protectively. He fell asleep with his face in your hair, breathing you in.

And for the first time since your wedding, he didn’t wake from nightmares.

He only dreamed of you.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[velvetvowsandvikingdreams]

˗ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗Only for Me˗ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗

Summary: Ivar returns from a successful raid bearing many gifts for you...

Warnings: implied!smut, possessive!Ivar, nudity, mature themes, sensuality, fluff, established relationship, Ivar just spoiling you

Pairing: Ivar x reader

Words: 1,3 k (short & sweet) 🫶🏼

You were alone in your chamber, the low fire casting golden shadows on the walls, lost in your thoughts, when the sound of the door creaking open made you turn.

And there he was.

Ivar.

For a moment, you simply stared—your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t even known he’d returned from his raid, but now, standing there in the doorway, wind-tousled and grinning mischievously, he looked like everything you’d been missing.

A cry of joy escaped your lips as you turned and rushed toward him, arms flinging around his shoulders.

“My love…” he murmured against your hair, breath warm at your temple. His crutch wobbled as your sudden embrace nearly knocked him off balance.

“Careful, love,” he chuckled, catching himself with a grunt, but his arm circled your waist anyway, dragging you close. He had missed this. Your body—your scent.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered against the side of his neck, your fingers grasping in the leather of his tunic, unwilling to let go.

His chest rumbled with a soft laugh. “Have you, now?” he said, tilting his head just slightly so his lips brushed your cheek.

You leaned back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes narrowed as you playfully nudged his shoulder. “Don’t get smug. It was peaceful without your loud mouth for a while.”

He gave you a mock wounded look. “And here I come bearing gifts, expecting a warm welcome—and this is how I’m treated?”

Your eyes widened, curiosity immediately betraying you. “Gifts?”

He smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “But now I’m thinking I should give them to someone who actually likes me.”

You gasped, feigning offense. “I love you, you brute. That should be enough.”

“It’s not,” he said, lips twitching with amusement. “I require groveling. And maybe a kiss.”

“Just one?” you teased, rising onto your toes, lips already brushing his.

“Well,” he murmured, voice low, “we’ll start with one.”

“Shut up and come here.” You teased rolling your eyes before kissing him softly.

Ivar made his way to the edge of the bed, easing down with a soft grunt, his crutch resting between his legs as he leaned back on his palms, eyes never leaving you.

“You're staring,” you said, raising an eyebrow as you turned toward him.

“Can you blame me?” he drawled, smirking. “I go away for weeks, and somehow you manage to look even more beautiful. Is this witchcraft?”

Before you could answer, a soft knock came at the door, and a young skald slipped inside, arms full. Then another followed. And another. They carried bundles of fabric, silk, leather, furs—an explosion of color and texture.

Your jaw dropped as they kept piling everything onto a nearby chest and the foot of the bed. When the last skald bowed awkwardly and left, closing the door behind him, you turned slowly, blinking at the sheer amount of it all.

“Ivar…” you said, almost breathless. “What is this?”

He shrugged with mock innocence. “Spoils of war. A few markets. Some terrified merchants.”

“There must be atleast twenty dresses here!” you exclaimed, lifting one deep green velvet gown, the embroidery catching the firelight.

He leaned forward slightly, a hungry glint in his eye. “I thought you could try them on for me. All of them.”

You gave him a look. “All of them? You expect me to be your personal dress doll?”

“I expect you to look stunning in every single one,” he said, voice low and teasing. “And I expect to sit right here and enjoy the view, my pretty doll.”

“You are ridiculous,” you laughed, shaking your head as you picked up a blood-red dress and held it against yourself. “You want me to play dress-up while you just sit there like a king?”

“I am a king,” he said smugly, leaning back again. “And my queen deserves to be spoiled. Now, go on. That red one is calling your name.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but your smile gave you away. “You just want me to undress twenty times in front of you.”

He gave you a slow grin, eyes darkening. “That too.”

You laughed, tossing the red dress at his face. “Turn around. I need to undress.”

“No, I want to watch,” he said through the fabric, not even moving.

“You're impossible.”

“I missed you.”

And there it was again—soft and real beneath the mischief. Your heart squeezed as you met his eyes. Then, with a wink, you grabbed the nearest gown.

“Well then, my king… enjoy the show.”

You turned your back to him, your fingers toying with the ties at the front of your dress.

Ivar fell utterly silent behind you.

Slowly, purposefully, you slipped the straps from your shoulders, letting the fabric slither down your body like water. It pooled at your feet, and you stepped out of it gracefully, standing in nothing but in nudeness—your hands crossing over your chest, coyly covering yourself.

You didn’t have to see him to know he was watching.

The crackle of the fire filled the silence between you, but it didn’t last long.

“By the gods,” Ivar whispered, his voice low and reverent, laced with hunger, “Freya herself would’ve wept if she saw you like this.”

You turned your head slightly over your shoulder, catching his gaze. His eyes were dark, devouring every inch of you.

“You’ve missed this?” you asked softly, teasing.

“I’ve missed the curve of your back, the slope of your hips, the way the light wraps around your skin like it’s worshiping you,” he murmured. “I have faced storms and blood and fire, but nothing—nothing—made me ache the way being away from you did.”

You felt your heart flutter at his words, even as your lips curved playfully. “You’re getting poetic, my love.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his crutch, looking at you like a man starved. “Poets are fools. I am simply a man with eyes. And a wife who tortures me with that slow, wicked way she undresses.”

You laughed, finally turning to face him—still shielding your chest with your arms. “So what now, my king? You just watch while I model for you like some Viking nobleman’s pet?”

“Oh, no,” he smirked, eyes raking down your figure. “You’re no pet. You’re a goddess. And I plan to worship you—one dress at a time.”

You rolled your eyes fondly as Ivar held up another dress, this one a deep blue with silver thread glinting along the hem. He looked ridiculously proud of himself.

“I swear, you raided half the known world for fabric,” you muttered, tossing aside a fur-lined cloak to dig through the growing pile.

He didn’t deny it.

“There’s one more,” he said suddenly, voice shifting—deeper, rougher. “A special one.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “Special how?”

He didn’t answer—just leaned back, arms crossed, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face.

Curious, you turned back to the chest and dug further beneath the silk, the fine linens, the brocade. Your hand brushed something different—lighter, smoother. You pulled it out slowly, and your brows lifted.

It shimmered in the firelight. The fabric was unlike the others—thin and sheer, a woven gauze of fine-spun flax, likely beaten and softened until it flowed like mist. It wasn’t dyed, but it caught the light with a ghostly glow, like moonlight trapped in cloth. It must’ve come from far in the East, perhaps from some Frankish trader—or stolen from the chest of a nobleman’s bride.

You held it up, and the light bled right through it.

“Ivar,” you breathed, glancing back at him.

His gaze was already on you, dark and burning. “That one,” he said softly, “is not for feasts. Not for festivals. Not for courts or halls.”

You swallowed, heart thudding.

“That one is only for me,” he continued, his voice rough like gravel and smoke. “To be worn in this room. In this firelight. When the gods are asleep and it’s only you and I.”

Your fingers tightened around the delicate cloth. “It’s barely even a dress.”

“It’s enough,” he said, his eyes trailing down your still-bare form. “Enough to drive me mad.”

You looked at it again, then met his eyes, challenging. “And what do I get, if I wear it for you?”

He leaned forward, that half-smile curling his lips—the kind he only wore when he was plotting something. “The devotion of a god. And the ruin of a man.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Poets are fools, you said.”

“And I am the greatest fool of them all,” he replied, voice soft now. “For you.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.

Taglist (If you want to get added write/comment) 🎀

@tessakate @ivarlover @deathsthighs

[ch3rrybbie]

Hi lovely, I want to request Ivar from Vikings! I hope that's okay, if not, that'll be totally fine! 🤗

I wanna request Ivar x saxon reader who came to Kattegat as a slave and who was sold to Lagertha. In her hometown she was forced to wear a blindfold made of black lace so no one could see her eyes because they were deemed as demonic from the church. Like her eyes are really crystalline and were unsettling for Christians, and she continues to wear it even in Kattegat. Perhaps the young Rangarsson finds himself to wonder about her and one day a jealous woman rips it from her face during a festive in the main hall when she was serving ivar...?

I know it's a lot but I've been thinking about this all week. 😭✨ Thank you so much!

Angel eyes

summary: Ivar thinks your eyes must be Gods-sent.

warnings: Margrethe being Margrethe, vikings scaring reader, Ivar being Ivar.

ch3rrybbie says: love the request bby, I changed it a lil hope you don’t mind🩷 sorry it took so long lol

———

It’s been three whole moons away from England. Away from the cruelty you knew, but that cruelty was yours. It was home.

Kattegat wasn’t too dissimilar to England but it wasn’t the same.

You trudged through the thick mud of the central market. People didn’t stare at you and you reveled in the anonymity. The thin cotton you always wore around your eyes shielding your oddities was nothing to the people of Kattegat and you had grown to love it during the few days you’d spent here.

Lagethera had brought you along wanting to show you the ways of her culture. After being sold to her she declared you free yet you refused,you would not settle to a life here. You wished to serve her in hopes you could make enough money to flee home.

Slave to handmaiden.

Handmaiden to home.

You refused to learn to fight, to speak her tongue comfortably, to like the viking life. The foolish hope of home held strong within you. And yet you knew you’d never return to England you’d seen what they’d done to the village of those who’d ostracised and belittled you. Luckily your family was away selling the spoils of their labour at market.

They would’ve come back to an empty village stinking of death. The thought makes your heart clench and your steps falter.

Lagertha had playfully commanded you go out and see Kattegat, to see her ex-husbands lands. And to bring her seawater, its purpose left you clueless but you obeyed.

The heathens were strange people after all.

And yet your own had forced you to learn to squint through your blindfold to see shapes and sounds.

To live life veiled.

———

Lagertha was repulsed by the idea. The Christian rigidity that had left you believing in the need to hide your eyes.

She watched you from afar, leant against the entrance of the great hall. You were a sweet girl yet you could be so much more.

And she would see to it.

Ragnar follows her gaze, “what is so special about this slave anyways?”

Lagertha’s head whips towards him, “she is no slave Ragnar, she is blessed by the Gods”

Ragnar’s laugh almost shakes the great hall itself, he walks off still chuckling.

———

Later as the moon begins its race to the crest of the sky you braid Lagertha’s hair. The bucket of seawater stuck out in the corner.

“Why did you ask for the seawater?” You break the gentle silence and she turns smiling at you softly.

“Bring it here” she gestures towards it a sly smirk emerging upon her face.

Standing in front of her seawater at hand she starts to command you.

“Smell it”

“Taste it”

“Feel it”

You end up giggling at the foolish tasks until she asks.

“What is the difference between this seawater and England��s?”

The smile drops from your face and you set the bucket down and return to your tasks bring her dress to ready her for the great feast.

“My sweet girl this is your fate do not run from it, you will come to love Kattegat as much as England as there isn’t much difference”.

“To you, there isn’t much difference to you, my lady” the words bite bitterly at her.

She sighs and you step back from her outstretched arms. You didn’t understand her fondness of you.

“We must go to the hall” you turn on your heel and march into the frosty air, she follows carefully.

———

You pause outside, the noise reminding you of the nights spent around a fire at home.

Perfumed with smoke and stories of old.

You shake the thought away and wait for Lagertha. She come to you a hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently.

“You ready?”, you nod and clench you fists at your sides as she pushes the door open.

Truth is you’d never be ready for a feasting hall full of vikings.

“Mother!” A thundering voice cuts through the rowdy masses.

Bjorn comes thumping over sweeping Lagertha into a crushing hug. Once their greetings are finished he turns to you inquisitively

“And who is this little birdy mother” you manage to grasp from your basic understanding of their tounge.

He reaches to peek under your eye covering and instinctively you slap his hand away. Your breath catches as you wait to be struck to the ground.

Instead a sharp laugh cuts at your action you turn to see someone with eyes almost as striking as yours. He regards you a cruel smile and glaringly sharp beauty confronts you. You hold back a gasp and turn from his gaze. Bjorn is also bellowing out a laugh.

“I am sorry bird, ignore Ivar” he plants a kiss on his mother’s cheek and is gone into the crowd of hedonism.

It was going to be a long night.

———

Refusing to sit by Lagertha’s side you stood ignoring the curious looks from Aslaug.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Ivar. It was so strange, he didn’t seem to mock you.

“Hello birdy” a gruff tease voice floats out behind you.

You whip round to see a man that looks exactly like an older Bjorn, Ragnar you conclude.

“Why do you stand here all alone, hmm? Lagertha tells me you are a free woman, here free woman can do as they please you should try it!” He chuckles and it takes you aback, he doesn’t know you yet he treats you like he has for years.

You don’t speak and turn to watch the crowds further, eyes searching for Ivar.

He’s looking right back at you, with a gasp you turn away.

“You know, I had a friend like you once” Ragnar whispers, voice taught with emotion. The pain in his voice pulls you from thoughts of Ivar.

At that you turn and take him in. Towering next to you he looks deep in grief. Eyes watery and gone to distant memories, you recognise it all too well.

“I’m sorry for your loss” you murmur, their language is crude and harsh on your tounge.

Your voice pulls him back, he grabs your shoulder and thanks you with a smile.

And once again you’re alone amongst heathens.

———

“Girl! Come serve me wine” a voice throws its self against you cutting through the bustle of the hall.

Ivar.

“Ivar do not command her like that!” Lagertha bites at him.

You frown at her remark and make your way over.

Aslaug is watching you as though you are a mirage, you ignore her stares and focus on the task at hand.

“She is no servant, please sit down” Lagertha implores you and you ignore her, Ragnar watches on curiously.

Fingers clasping over the mead jug you come closer towards Ivar ignoring the way he drinks you in.

“Surely she’s just a servant” a pretty blonde remarks from a group of boys, the rest of Ragnar’s sons you presume.

“You will watch your tongue upon my mother’s friend Margrethe” Bjorn booms at her, seemingly tired of her presence.

Lagertha frown and you lean to pour Ivar more mead.

“Thank you” he grins up at you, ignoring him you turn to be met by Margrethe.

“Why do you wear that silly cloth on your face?” She giggles and takes you in.

Everyone watches with bated breath.

Someone cuts out her name as another warning.

Attempting to step past her you don’t make it far.

“Here let me help you slave”

Her nails scrape against your skin, harsh in its endeavour.

The room brightens and grows in life as you see it more clearly.

An outraged roar emerges as Margrethe is chastised greatly. Everyone turns to look and the same whispers you’ve heard your whole life break out.

“Blessed Freya” sounded in a wave of murmurs.

The seer shuffles over parting the crowd and you retreat slowly. His interest peaked at such an odd display.

“My child you are kissed by the Gods, you shall see to their vision” his words curl through the fog of fear.

Embarrassed you flee the hall into the icy night and collapse in a heap by the fjord.

Finally you have peace.

They hadn’t cast curses or spat at your feet. They were almost reverent in their discovery of you. Perhaps they truly believe you were someone sent or blessed by their heathen Gods.

A repetitive click and shuffle sounds behind you and you whip around to see Ivar approaching. Embarrassed you turn back to look at the still waters, struggling to think upon his intentions. He groans as he lowers himself aside you.

“You know you didn’t have to run off so quick birdy” he chuckles cruelly

“You would do well not to mock me” you bite back and he simply laughs in your face.

“Maybe you really are sent by the Gods, no other woman in the whole of Kattegat would speak to me this way” he seems to grow serious and take you in.

Fixated on your eyes he stares into them, “They really are beautiful you should not cover them anymore, I command it so”.

“You command it so!” You can’t help exclaim incredulous. Dragged from home and commanded by the bratty son of a king.

“Yes I command it so!” He giggles and watches your perplexed face. You resort back to silence and the pair of you just sit there until he coaxes you to talk of England.

So you do.

You tell him of its fields and wildflowers. How the moon feels different and the sun is sweeter. How the grass will always be greener to you and the songs louder.

And for once he just listens and he knows you were meant for him. Every laugh and lilt makes his heart climb. Without telling you he makes a prayer to the Gods commanding you be by his side every day till death do you part. That you may tell him what you please and speak how no woman ever had to him.

And for the first time you’d found something wholly dissimilar to England and you wouldn’t compare it for all the homesickness in your heart. You could not have found Ivar in England. You would never have found the appreciation of your beauty there.

With the intermission of his laugh at your tales, you thank his Gods and yours for kissing your eyes.

———

Lagertha and Ragnar watch your silhouettes from the mouth of the great hall. They needn’t speak the thoughts they share but they know the nights they’d spent together talking till the sun kissed the fjord had seemingly come to life in front of them.

[entitled-fangirl]

A ring and a cold heart.

Ivar the Boneless x Lagerthasdottir!reader

Summary: Lagertha's gift of a daughter and Ragnar's monster of a son have loved one another for far too long. But things in Kattegat are fragile, and the two now must make choices.

Warnings: mostly spoilers for S4b

A/n: I had to break this into sections. Trust that p2 is gonna get serious real fast.

Masterlist

........................................

The Seer had been right.

Lagertha would never give Ragnar a son, never bearing one after her Bjorn. But when Earl Kalf came into her life, she suddenly found herself with child.

There was little hope that the child would make it. After all, the Seer said so.

But a daughter?

Lagertha's second chance to make up for the death of her sweet Gyda. She held the babe close.

And yet.

No one predicted that she'd one day end up in the arms of Ivar the Boneless.

…

"It seems like a death sentence," she explained to Ivar. "Suicide, even."

"My father wants me to go," Ivar shrugged. "He needs me. I can't say no to that. To the gods."

She sighed. He was beyond stubborn. A true Ragnarsson trait.

She often traveled between Hedeby and Kattegat, staying with Bjorn when here. It was a strange thing to have her around, but Bjorn was the Prince of Kattegat, so others didn't have much room to question.

Plus, the Ragnarssons didn't mind a bit.

She was neither the daughter of Ragnar or Aslaug, but because of her connection to Bjorn, she was a sister to all five of them.

Well, four of them.

Ivar's love had always gone beyond that. As did hers for him.

"What if you go with Bjorn instead?" She tried. Her hand stretched out over his. "To the Mediterranean."

His head lulled. "My brothers have always doubted me. Not my father. He knows what the gods have in store for me."

"And what if all that is store is your death?"

He ran his tongue across his teeth. "Then I will die."

"Marry me before you go," she rushed out, immediately caving in once it was uttered.

"I will not risk making you a widow before you get to truly be a wife."

She felt tears well up in her eyes. She was never the strong one around. Lagertha swore to have a peaceful reign when she became Earl. There was no need to teach her daughter the hardships of being a shield maiden. She had no need to- Lagertha on one side and Bjorn on the other always. Gyda was so soft. So kind. Y/n was no different, only older. She had a chance to grow up kind.

"Don't cry," Ivar huffed. He had no idea what to do with tears. "I'll be back soon enough."

"Swear to it."

He shook his head. "I will not swear if I don't know the will of the gods."

"Then swear you'll marry me if you return."

He couldn't stop another scoff, "woman-"

"-Ivar, please."

"Ivar!" Aslaug's voice interrupted.

The queen stepped into the room, her worry turning to amusement at the sight of the two. She'd always had an odd relationship with Lagertha. How strange was fate to bring their children together? 

"Let me speak to my mother," Ivar gently waved.

Y/n nodded and stood, but her wrist was caught by him. "I swear to it," he remarked, looking her firmly in the eye.

…

Lagertha had come to Kattegat with the help of Torvi and Margerette. She hadn't dragged Y/n into the plans.

So when she took Kattegat, Y/n stood at the sidelines in shock, even letting out a shriek when Aslaug fell to the ground dead.

She wanted to feel betrayed by her mother. She should have. But she couldn't find it in herself. Lagertha had sat on the sidelines for too long as her world was taken away.

So she was torn when Ubbe and Sigurd had come to her privately.

"How are you not angry," Ubbe lectured his brother. "Our mother is dead."

"And it is for the best," Sigurd huffed. "Y/n's mother is the only one around here that knows how to truly mother. Look at Bjorn."

"Y/n?" Ubbe questioned.

She sat with her head in her hands, utterly confused by it all. "I won't choose sides."

"We all know it will come to it eventually."

She lifted her head with a heartbroken look. "Then I side with Bjorn. The side he chooses, I follow."

Ubbe nodded. "Very well. So, we wait for Bjorn."

"No," Sigurd shivered. "We wait for Ivar more."

The three exchanged nervous glances.

…

Ivar had returned first. Carried by soldiers of King Ecbert's guard, he was set onto the wooden dock of Kattegat.

She couldn't muster the strength to go welcome him. He wouldn't find out such devastating news from her.

But the next day, Ivar crawled his way into the feast hall with his picks. The entire room quieted as they waited for what the angry son of Aslaug would say.

His eyes slowly trailed from Lagertha, to Torvi, to Astrid, then finally, Y/n.

She stood to the side, a completely guilty expression strung across her face.

No one was immune to noticing the way his eyes glued themselves to her in every room.

It had been like that since her first visit to Kattegat.

It's what finally drove the stake between Sigurd and Ivar. The love Bjorn had for Y/n that he never had for his own daughter, Siggy. And how Sigurd had loved little Siggy.

Y/n's life was always a comparison to one's already dead. All did it but Ivar. Perhaps that is why she was so content to be stuck in his web.

When Largertha refused Ivar's challenge, he was becoming angrier. He knew his easiest chance to kill her was by hand-to-hand combat. Ivar was a cripple, but a damn good one.

"I will kill you, Lagertha. Your fate is fixed," he growled.

Content with his threat, he looked back to Y/n, pulling a chain from around his neck.

A ring.

She felt something in her stomach twist at the shimmer that crossed her vision. His fingers rubbed over it a few times, egging for a reaction from the girl he promised to marry.

He let the chain drop to his chest with a smirk. Especially when her eyes followed it.

…

As soon as the meeting was adjourned, she rushed out to Ragnar's old cabin. The children had found it when he'd left, and it was their designated space away from the rest of the world. Plus, that was all the boys had to live in now. Ivar would be there.

She rushed in, not caring that the other brothers were gathered around. "Ivar?"

The three others looked at one another with questioning glances before completely packing up and walking out. The brothers weren't about to intervene.

The door closed before Ivar finally spoke. "What do you want?"

"Are you not grateful to be home? To be back? To be the only survivor?" She sat next to him, her voice lowering. "Are you not happy to see me?"

He scoffed, turning away.

"I didn't know, Ivar. I swear to you."

"Seems like we enjoy making swears we don't intend to keep, hm?" He mocked. 

Her eyes moved down to the chain again. She sat up straighter and brushed a hand over his chest. Over the ring. "You truly won't marry me now?" She asked softly.

His hand wrapped around her wrist gruffly. But after the initial touch, his grip softened. His jaw was clenched, his anger unchecked. But he couldn't help the flutter that still moved through his chest. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I don't know if I want children with traitor blood."

Her fingers twiddled with the ring. "You know better than I that we don't choose our mothers. The gods do."

"And yet, you'll never help me get my revenge."

"No," she agreed. "I won't."

His eyes wandered over her face. The anger bubbled under his skin. But not at her. And that frustrated him more. "I'll still marry you. But you cannot fault your future husband when he has his revenge."

"But Bjorn will-"

"-That is my offer to you, my love. If you want this ring," he offered, pulling the chain from around his neck and setting it on the wooden table, "Then that is your choice. I have taken my stand. You know what I will do. Will you still marry me?"

She stared down at the jewelry. She'd longed for this for years now. Being his wife.

This could make or break everything.

"I… I don't know," she admitted back to him.

"You don't know?"

"I should wait. For Bjorn to come back. And Hvitserk."

He set a heavy hand on her thigh. Not menacing, but not softly either. "Will you ever choose things for yourself? Or will you wait on Bjorn hand and foot as he decides your fate?"

"Ivar-"

"-No. I do not mind if you must think on it more. But do not do what Bjorn says purely because you think it is right. He makes mistakes." His head tipped down and his gaze turned menacing. "You will choose."

She nodded. "I need time."

"Good," his voice lightened. He even managed a smile. His body leaned forward like he was thinking of kissing her, but he paused and gave a quick nod of his head in acceptance. Then he looked at the ring and her one last time before pulling himself down to the floor and leaving.

She exhaled a long breath, taking the chain and placing it around her neck, tucking it away.

…

Another feast, another problem.

Y/n wasn't far off from Torvi and Astrid, hearing them speak about something being wrong as the large doors closed.

"Like what?" Astrid asked.

"I don't know, but something."

Sigurd let out a small grunt as someone grabbed him from behind and held him at knifepoint. That began a whole group coming forward and grabbing at Lagertha's shield maidens and earls alike, restraining them all.

A hand grabbed Y/n's wrist, holding it out.

Ivar's ring was wrapped around her finger. She'd chosen.

Whoever it was dropped her hand entirely and stepped away from her, meaning she stood amidst the chaos, entirely left alone.

Everyone began to part, and Y/n tucked away towards Sigurd. Her hand grabbed the wrist of the man holding him in an attempt to pry him away.

Ivar and Ubbe approached Lagertha's throne. Lagertha was rather unfazed by it, standing and grabbing her sword slowly. She was a fighter to the end.

Ivar was impressed by her willingness to face him. He sat up with his spike as Ubbe circled around the queen.

The tension could be cut with a knife. Waiting for someone to make the first move.

The door burst open, and in walks Bjorn.

"If you kill her, my brothers," he sauntered, "you'll have to kill me too."

Y/n and Sigurd both let out relieved sighs. The argument was far from over. But with Bjorn there, the fight would not be one-sided.

"Maybe we should," Ivar warned.

"Shut up," Ubbe immediately countered. He respected Bjorn immensely, and starting conflict with Ironside was like starting to dig your own grave. "She killed our mother," he mentioned. Bjorn would see where he was coming from. Surely.

"I know. You want revenge. So would I." He took in a deep breath. "But more importantly, we have to avenge our father. That is why I came back. And that," he tapped his axe against Ivar's cheek, "is what we are going to do."

Lagertha smiled and threw down her sword, prompting the rest to follow.

As Sigurd was let go, Y/n immediately tended to him, rubbing a soft hand over his neck at the irritated skin. 

Frustrated, Ubbe and Ivar left.

She was torn between following them and staying with Bjorn and Lagertha.

But after speaking to the new queen, Bjorn spotted her. That made the decision. She approached him, smoothing out her dress as she weaved through everyone.

Within a few minutes, the feast began again like nothing had happened, but Bjorn was still far from jovial.

She wasn't even sure the viking knew what that word meant.

"So, I travel all the way past Frankia, through pirated seas and storms, I keelhaul my own uncle, and still," he grumbles, "things turn to ruin here the moment I turn away."

"You hated Aslaug," Y/n points out. "You always have."

"Since I watched her sleep with my father the first time they met, yes. Yes, I have," he complained. "But our mother has caused a rift that I'd rather not have now. I have revenge of my own to get and I need my brothers in order to do it."

"You have your brothers," she pointed out. "Of Ragnar's wrongful death, you all agree."

"I will not play guard to mother's kingdom more than I did before. I want to sail. To travel."

"Then don't."

He let out a long sigh. "This is why I love the sea. It is predictable. People are not. Like you," he pointed his cup towards her.

"Like me?"

"You wear a ring and you say nothing about it. You have not asked for my allowance. Let me see it." He held out a large hand, to which she slipped the band off and gave to him. 

Bjorn flipped it in his palm a few times before a daunting thought came over him. "Where did you get this?" He questioned roughly. "Who is proposing with this ring? I'll kill him."

"Brother," she scoffed. "Why the sudden rage?"

"Does mother know?" He asked in complete ignorance of her previous question.

"No. No, and she won't. Not right now."

"I'll ask one more time," Bjorn growled, leaning across the table. "Who is proposing with Mother's ring?"

Oh.

Where had Ivar gotten Lagertha's ring? 

"Our mother wore this ring until the day she and I left Ragnar. Her wedding band. Now answer the question, sister."

"Give it back, Bjorn." She tried to muster up confidence. It didn't quite work.

Bjorn's lips quirked up at that, all too amused. "I don't think I will. I think I'll hold onto this until you decide to ask for my blessing."

"That is cruel!"

He shrugged. "I don't care. Either you tell me now or he can come get it from me himself."

She let out a tantrum-like grunt and stood up, her chair scrapping against the wood. She weaved through the crowd and finally out into the cold air.

…

The journey was a little harder in the dark than she'd thought. The air was cold and frigid, and she was far from dressed for it. The wind chilled her immensely, traveling down her bones. Her chattering teeth exhaled a visible breath when she saw the cabin.

"Ivar? Ivar!" She called out as she neared.

Hvitserk was the one to come out with a concerned brow raised. 

Y/n felt guilty, still not welcoming Hvitserk after the raid. She all but collapsed into his chest, wrapping her arms around him and finally relaxing.

Hvitserk froze for a moment. Touch was never his thing. "You miss me?"

"Like hell," she mumbled against his chest.

He chuckled and circled his arm around her. "Already using Christian phrases, hm? Don't let Ivar hear you. Congratulations, by the way."

It was her turn to freeze, her head tilting up until she looked straight up at him. "What?"

"You're to be married, are you not? He said so." At her hum of agreement, he rubbed a hand down her back. "You're freezing, sister. You'll catch a chill if I don't get you inside."

He guided her in. The warm air from their small fire immediately caused a shiver down her body. Hvitserk frowned and held a hand to her forehead. "Gods. I'd think you were half dead like this."

That caught Ivar's attention. His head snapped up, his entire body relaxing at the sight of her. "Did you travel this far like that?" He questioned, his hand motioning to her lack of heavy clothing.

She stepped to the fire, sitting down next to Ubbe. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to transfer some of his heat. After all, he'd been scheming over the flames for a while now. He could afford to give some of the warmth up. 

Ubbe gave a small glare to Ivar, effectively telling him to drop the question. "Let me see this ring Ivar said so much about."

Her face dropped. "Oh. I… it's…"

One by one, the siblings realized that something was not quite right and Ubbe should have minded his own business. In all honesty, it was a fair ask. One that usually is fine to ask to an engaged woman. 

Ivar let out a long, loud breath. He seethed from his place at the table. "Where is it? I was told it was on your finger only hours ago."

How to explain that Bjorn had taken it without Ivar immediately growing angry? After all, Ironside didn't know that it was Ivar's. It wasn't personal at all. But that's not how Ivar saw things.

"Where is it?" He asked in a firmer tone. His head tilted. His tongue ran over the back of his teeth. "Did someone take it from you?"

"Don't be angry-"

"-No I AM ANGRY!" He yelled. "Tell me yes or no. Have you gone back on your word?"

"Ivar," Ubbe scorned. "Let the woman speak." He pulled a piece of hair from her face. "Go on."

She sniffled and moved closer to the fire to warm her hands. She stared at her ring finger longingly. "I do, Ivar. I want to marry you."

Hvitserk smirked widely, peering at his brother in a tease. His brother. In love. 

Ivar exhaled in a hidden form of relief. "Alright."

"I did not tell Bjorn about it yet. I wanted to wait…"

"-But?" Ubbe interrupted.

"But Bjorn saw it before I could." She frowned. "Where did you get Lagertha's ring?"

Every head shot to Ivar in shock.

He shrugged. "Father gave it to me. On our way to Wessex. I told him that we would marry when I returned and he gave me the ring. Chain and all. He said he'd worn it around his neck since the day your mother left him."

............................................

[imtryingbuck]

Jealousy? Never.

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Ivar Ragnarsson x fem!Reader

Summary: Ivar the boneless jealous? Absolutely not.

Word count: 862

Warnings: possessive and jealous Ivar. fluff. slight angst. insecurity (ivar). naked reader - not sexual. mentions of murder (not detailed). shorter than i honestly wanted it to be, sorry.

A/N: thank you anon for sending this request🤍

Masterlist

Ivar’s jaw was clenched painfully tight that Ubbe thought he was going to crack a tooth or two. Jealousy burning his veins as he watched the scene before him. Hvitserk was playing with fire and he knew it, Ivar knew it, everyone in the Great Hall knew it, not that he cared as he continued to dance with Ivar’s queen.

You didn’t see a problem with having fun and have a dance with your brother in law, however your husband clearly thought differently, his blunt nails digging into the wooden arms of his throne, it wasn’t until he banged his crutches down loud enough to catch the attention from everyone in the room - without saying a word he walked out.

That was your queue to follow.

Bidding goodbye to Hvitserk and thanking him for a wonderful night, you made your way towards your shared chambers, twisting the lace of your dress nervously as you pushed the door open. “Husband.”

“Husband? I’m surprised you remembered.” He muttered as he unlanced his braces. “You were all over him tonight.”

“I-I was-”

“All over him! My brother.”

Flinching at his tone, you lowered her head. “It was a dance, nothing more. I promise.”

“He was all over you.”

“It was a dance Ivar I swear.” Carefully shuffling closer to him, to nervous of his reaction, when he didn’t react to your action you knelt down in front of him. “I was just having fun, I’m sorry.”

Raising his hand, he smoothed your hair out of your face - loving the way the soft strands felt against his rough fingers. “He wants to fuck you.”

“Don’t be silly.” The glare he gave you took the smile straight off of your lips. “I do not want him, I swear.”

“You are mine.”

“Yours, and yours only.” It was true, you didn’t want any other man, it was always Ivar from the moment you saw him one day in the market. He was sat on the steps leading up to the Great Hall, a scowl on his face as he watched people walk around, standing by your fathers stall as he spoke to a customer you couldn’t take your eyes off of the man. From that day on, you kept a look out for him, when you saw him crawling around you didn’t even find it weird or funny - not like your father. It took you nearly three months to gather the courage to speak to him, finding him sat on the beach on his own, you were a stuttering mess - only getting worse when he told you he was one of the princes of Kattegat, but from there a friendship was formed between the two of you. He told you several months later that when he became king he wanted you by his side as his wife and queen, at first you thought he was joking but his face said otherwise. When the brothers and the Great Heathen Army went to England to avenge king Ragnar’s death, Ivar made sure he took you with him, against the wishes from his brothers, whilst over there you two got married and from that moment he called you queen. “I love you and only you, Ivar.”

His only reaction was to pout. The ruthless, fearless Ivar the Boneless sat there on the bed he shared with his wife pouting. “You could if you want.”

“Could what, my love?”

“Have him, or-or anyone.” He whispered, twisting your wedding ring around. “It can not be easy with being married to a cripple.”

“I do not wish, want or need anyone else Ivar. I am happy, I am loved- you do love me d-”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence! You know I love you.”

“And you know I love you.” Turning you hand around, linking your fingers with his. “Please never ever doubt me.”

“I didn’t like the way he was holding you.”

“We were just dancing Ivar.”

“Still don’t like it.” He huffed. “Only I get to touch you.”

“Yes, only you get to touch me.” Lifting up and walking over to the vanity you removed the heavy crown that was given to you by Ivar, you began to attempt to undo your dress.

“Want a hand, my love?”

“Please.”

“Come here then my beautiful queen.” Standing between his legs, your skin began to tingle as he fingers danced along your bare skin. Turning around as the dress pooled around your ankles, his hands went straight to your naked waist. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Climbing into bed after helping Ivar undress, he instantly pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arms around you. “Ivar?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I like it when your jealous.”

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m never jealous.”

“No, of course not.” Giggling at the memories of all the times Ivar threatened and even killed men who looked at you longer than he deemed necessary, doing it all out of jealousy. “The great Ivar the boneless doesn’t get jealous.”

Rolling his eyes once again with a soft smile tugging at his lips as your giggles filled the room. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

Tags: @cheesesandwichsanto

[milkb0nny]

Touch Cannot Lie

Pairing: Ivar x blind!reader

Summary: You were born without sight, but it never hurt your confidence as much since you managed to navigate and live just fine. However, other people belittle and underestimate you, which builds frustration. Though, one day you would learn someone else was feeling the same way.

Note: So, I haven't been active for some time but I'm trying to get back into it. I've been a lot into vikings and supernatural again, which is why I'm feeling motivated. 💕🫶 With that, I hope you enjoy this fic!

Warnings: fluff and butterflies in your stomach

Word count: ~1200

You stepped through the snow, its cold crunch beneath your boots breaking the silence of the forest. The paths were familiar, stuck in your memory from countless adventures shared with your siblings. These woods were more than trees and trails - they were a place of cherished moments with your beloved brothers. Your siblings had always believed in your strength, your courage, even though you couldn’t see the world as they did. They saw you as you, not as blindness.

The gods had denied you sight, but in its place, they blessed you with keen senses and an ability to see the truth in others. You learned to navigate not just the world, but the depths of people, detecting their intentions with ease. Over the years, you encountered every kind of person: those who pitied you, those who patronized you with unwanted help, and those who pried with questions born of insensitivity. You rarely encountered interest in your person, only the challenges of being blind bothered others. Yet, amidst them all, one man stood apart; someone who saw you for who you truly were, treating you with respect and dignity.

As you made your way deeper into the woods, the stillness was broken by the sound of footsteps. There was something distinct about them, something you have heard before. A rhythm accompanied by a dragging noise, as if someone were pulling a heavy object. Though they weren’t heading back toward the town, but deeper into the forest, just like you did. Before you could wonder further, voices emerged, familiar and comforting.

“Y/N!” a voice called, clear and warm. It was Ubbe. A smile crept across your face, and your pace quickened toward the raspy voice.

“Ragnarssons, what brings you out on this winter’s day?” you asked softly, moving confidently toward the voices.

“Careful, don’t fall,” Hvitserk said, reaching out to guide your hand, but you declined with a slight shake of your head. You continued steadily until you reached Ubbe and Ivar.

Ubbe spoke, explaining that they were discussing family matters and strategies for their revenge against the Saxon kingdom. You listened intently, walking beside Ivar and matching his pace. Ivar‘s voice filled the breezy air as he turned his attention to you.

“What about you? It’s rare to see you alone, Y/N,” he asked gently, though his eyes - unseen to you - glued on your frosty hands which were slightly red already.

“My brothers are busy preparing for the next feast in the grand hall,” you explained with a light chuckle. “I needed a walk to clear my head. Sometimes calmness is the best companion. Though, I imagine you know a thing or two about that, with all those brothers.”

The Ragnarssons laughed, their light heartiness warming the icy air. You had grown up alongside them in a way; your paths had crossed many times in Kattegat especially the past years, forging a bond that was both familial and unique. The conversation shifted back to their plans, but soon another set of hurried steps approached.

“Ubbe! Bjorn needs us for an urgent discussion,” came Sigurd’s voice. “He hasn’t had much time for us lately, but this is important.”

Hvitserk hesitated, glancing toward you. “Then we’ll go,” he said, “but Ivar, can you stay with Y/N? Just to ensure she doesn’t lose her way back to the town.”

The words stung, though you masked it well. Once again, you were reminded of how others saw you. Not as the capable person you were, but as someone fragile and in need of protection. You knew the paths throughout, and you trusted your senses well enough to not lose track. Though you appreciated their care, it still hurt to be defined by your blindness.

“I’m sorry for being a burden,” you murmured, frustration slipping into your voice.

“That’s my brothers’ foolishness, not yours,” Ivar replied quickly, his tone firm yet kind. “Do you want to walk further? I don’t mind spending time with you. I would not find a place in their discussion anyway.” He was mad about the fact he had been left alone once again, but he didn’t mind that he had the opportunity to be with you alone.

You smiled at his sincerity, warmth spreading through you as he lingered by your side. He understood your struggles in a way few could. You liked that, the way he never asked if you were struggling because of your eyes.

Kneeling down to meet his gaze, you felt his presence. A warmth that contrasted with the chill of the snow. The scent of leather and iron lingered around him. “I wish I could see you, Ivar,” you said softly. “I imagine you look simply human, despite what others say about your legs. Maybe you look like a god. Or perhaps a beast. Or maybe something else entirely.”

Your words spilled out before you could stop them, and the blush rising to your cheeks portrayed your embarrassment. Ivar, however, found your flushed face endearing, a rare vulnerability you shared only with him. A moment which only the two of you shared, which he would take advantage of.

“I wonder the same,” he admitted with a small smile. “Would you like me to guide you? Not to help, but to let you see in your own way.”

Your hand hesitated before reaching out, and his cold fingers enveloped yours with surprising gentleness. He didn’t feel violent but you knew his temper well enough. Up to this point you rarely touched him, perhaps a few times as a kid. Though, this moment was something different - a side of Ivar you haven’t heard of yet.

He guided your hand to his face, resting it lightly against his cheek. His skin was cold, yet the moment felt electric. Your heart fluttered as your fingers traced the contours of his face - his strong jawline, the curve of his lips, the furrow of his brows, the shape of his nose. Ivar guided you, and you followed along with a racing heart.

“Are you sure?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to overstep.”

“I’m sure,” he replied, his grip firm but kind. “I’ve seen you do this with your brothers. It’s how you imagine what we look like, isn’t it?”

You nodded, a smile spreading across your lips. His understanding touched you deeply. As your hands roamed carefully over his features, you noticed yourself savoring the moment.

“So,” he asked, a teasing edge in his voice, “am I a god or a monster?”

“You’re neither,” you said with a quiet laugh, your hands cupping his face. “You’re just human. But a very unique one.”

His eyes softened, though you couldn’t see the admiration in them. In this moment, he felt truly seen, not for his weaknesses, but for his humanity. And for the first time in a long while, so did you.

[eu-nicola]

first love

summary: you always hated Ragnar until you realized that that hatred was not hatred but love

warnings: age-gap, infidelity, pregnancy

word counter: 9363

author's note: english is not my first language, inspired by something old that I also wrote

You had known Ragnar Lothbrok for as long as you could remember, and you had always known that his place in your life was not that of a stranger. He had been a part of your world even before you came into it.

Your father always spoke of Ragnar as if he were a son. When you were younger, you sat on your father’s knee as he told stories of Ragnar’s bravery and cunning, of how, as a mere boy, he had shown intelligence that few men possessed. You listened, but those words never filled you with pride. It wasn’t admiration you felt for him. It was jealousy. Jealousy of how your parents looked at him, jealousy of how your father laughed with him, a truer sound than the one you managed to coax out of him.

Ragnar wasn’t just bigger than you in age; he was bigger in every other way. He had always been that way. In your family’s eyes, he was more than an older brother. He was the perfect son they had never had before you.

You clearly remember the first time you realized how deep your connection to your father was. You were about six years old, running through the field near your house, chasing butterflies as your bare feet sank into the damp grass. When you came home, sweaty and leafy, you saw him there at the table next to your father. Your heads leaned forward, talking quietly as if they shared a secret that would never include you. Your small hands balled into fists, and you stood in the doorway, feeling like a stranger in your own home. 

“What are you doing standing there?” he had asked you, with an easy smile that lit up everyone’s eyes but your own. 

“I don’t like the way you talk to my father,” you told him with childlike sincerity that knew no filters. 

He laughed, a sound he had always hated because it was loud, as if the entire world could hear how much he enjoyed life. "And why not, little one? Is it yours and not mine?"

Your father laughed too, but you didn't. You looked down and crossed your arms, muttering something that even you didn't quite understand. At that moment, Ragnar had looked at you like someone would look at a child who barely understands the world, and that only increased your childish rage.

Over time, things didn't improve. Ragnar grew into a strong, cunning, and charismatic man. His exploits began to resonate beyond the borders of your small world, and while others celebrated him, you still felt overshadowed by his presence.

Sometimes, you tried to reason with yourself. It wasn't Ragnar's fault that your father adored him so much. It wasn't his fault that others looked at him with admiration. But those thoughts didn't ease the weight in your chest every time his name came up in family conversations, as if everything revolved around him.

There were days when you wished he would go away. That his ship would not return from the sea, that his laughter would stop filling the rooms, that his stories would become a thing of the past. And yet, there was a part of you that couldn’t deny that you were watching him intently. Like a wolf on the prowl, you memorized his every gesture, every word he said. 

One day, when you were ten, things reached their breaking point. Ragnar had returned from a long journey, and your father threw a banquet in his honor. The entire village gathered at your house, singing, drinking, and celebrating his return. You were at the back, in the darkest corner of the hall, watching as Ragnar moved through the crowd with the ease of someone who knew he belonged.

When you finally crossed paths with him, he gave you an amused look. “Why are you always so serious when you see me?”

“I’m not serious. I just don’t like you,” you blurted out without thinking.

He laughed, but it wasn’t as loud this time. There was something else in his expression, something you hadn’t seen before: curiosity. “Do you not like me because I’ve always been here, or because you think I don’t pay attention to you?”

The question left you silent, because you didn’t know how to respond. Ragnar always found a way to disarm you, even when you didn’t want to admit it.

“Maybe it’s not you who hates me,” he finally said, leaning in to look you in the eyes. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t want to share your place in this world with me.”

Those words stuck in your mind, though at the time you didn’t know what to do with them. Because, as much as you hated to admit it, maybe he was right.

Over the years, you left behind the childish games and tantrums, but Ragnar remained a constant in your life. You no longer openly hated him, but you didn't seek him out either. You avoided him, always hiding behind the responsibilities of the house or the social gatherings that you so detested. But even from a distance, you felt his presence like a shadow that stretched over you, a force that you couldn't ignore. 

It was around your thirteenth birthday that you began to understand something that you didn't want to accept. Ragnar had returned from another of his trips, this time with the triumphant air of a man who had achieved something great. His face was covered in dust and sun, his eyes shining with that fire that seemed to ignite everyone around him. He entered your home as if he owned the place, with that laugh of his that always managed to put everyone in a good mood. Everyone except you, or at least that's what you forced yourself to believe. 

You watched him from the table, hidden behind a curtain of your hair, while he spoke to your father. Ragnar had this ability to capture everyone’s attention, as if words were something created just for him. He was charismatic, strong, and self-assured, and for the first time you noticed something that left you frozen: you didn’t look at him the way you look at a brother. 

The thought hit you like a bolt of lightning. All that time, all that anger you’d felt towards him, all the arguments and resentment, it hadn’t been because you wanted him to go away. You hadn’t hated Ragnar because he was your father’s favorite, or because he made you feel small next to him. You’d hated him because you liked him. 

The realization stunned you. You’d heard other girls in the village talk about what it was like to be attracted to a man, about how their hearts beat faster and their stomachs filled with nerves when they were around someone they liked. You’d always thought those things were ridiculous, that love was something you didn’t need or want. But now, you felt that same uneasiness in your chest whenever Ragnar was around. 

That night, you couldn't sleep. Images of him filled your mind: his laugh, the way his hair fell across his forehead, how his gaze seemed to pierce you every time it met yours. You felt caught between the desire to push him out of your life and the inability to imagine a world without him. 

The following days you tried harder than ever to avoid him. If you saw him coming, you would veer off on another path. If your father mentioned his name, you would quickly change the subject. But Ragnar didn't seem willing to ignore you. Every chance he got, he would look for you with his eyes, with that crooked smile that seemed to know more than he was willing to say. 

Some time later Ragnar had returned from the north with more than just stories of his travels. He returned with a woman at his side: Lagertha. The first time you saw her, you understood why he had chosen her. She was beautiful, with such a strong and determined presence that she seemed to fill the room without needing to say a word. She was not a simple peasant or any woman. She was a warrior, a shieldmaiden, someone worthy of accompanying a man like him.

And you hated her.

It wasn't because she was evil or cruel, because she wasn't. Lagertha, with her open smile and direct gaze, tried from the beginning to win your sympathy, but you refused point-blank. Every kind word she spoke to you crashed against the wall you had raised between you. You didn't want her friendship. You wanted nothing from her.

But what really tore you apart was Ragnar. He seemed different with Lagertha at his side, as if his world had become complete in a way you had never seen before. When he looked at her, there was something in his eyes that made you grit your teeth: affection. It wasn't the camaraderie she shared with your father or the teasing affection she sometimes gave you. It was something deeper, more real.

At first, you tried to ignore what you felt. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that what Ragnar did with his life wasn’t your problem. But the more time passed, the harder it was to contain the rage that was building up inside you.

You became a walking storm. Your words became sharper, your gestures more abrupt. Everything you did was tinged with an anger that you couldn’t explain to others, not even to yourself. When you crossed paths with Ragnar, you barely looked at him. And if he tried to talk to you, your answers were cold and distant.

“What’s wrong?” he asked you one day, after you completely ignored him during a conversation at the family table.

“What would happen to me?” you replied without looking at him, focusing on breaking off a piece of bread as if it were the most important thing in the world.

Ragnar wasn’t stupid. You knew that. He had always been shrewd, able to read people with an ease that was disturbing. But this time, he didn’t seem to quite understand you. He frowned, leaning towards you a little. “You’ve been in a bad mood since I got back. Is it because of Lagertha?”

The sound of her name on his lips made your stomach twist. You forced yourself to remain calm, though. You looked up, staring at him with a hardness you didn’t know you possessed. “So what if she is? I don’t like her. Is that enough for you?”

Ragnar arched an eyebrow, surprised by your bluntness. “She hasn’t done anything to you. Why does she bother you so much?”

“Because I do,” you snapped, bolting up from the table. “Because I didn’t have to bring her here, or marry her.”

He stared at you, and for a moment you thought he was going to insist. But instead, he leaned back against the back of his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t understand why this matters so much to you.”

“And you don’t need to understand it,” you blurted out before exiting the room, leaving your anger and unfinished words behind you.

After that, you avoided any prolonged interaction with him. If he was in a room, you found an excuse to leave. If he spoke to you, you responded in monosyllables or ignored him completely. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he affected you.

But there were times when you couldn’t help but see him, like when he walked beside Lagertha through the fields, his laughter mingling with hers as if they were the only ones who mattered in the world. On those occasions, you felt something inside you break a little more.

When you turned sixteen, the day was a cold, grey sky, as if even the gods shared the melancholy you felt inside. The village was busier than ever; Ragnar and Lagertha had just had their son, Bjorn, a little boy who had already stolen everyone's hearts with his loud cry and inquisitive look.

You received the news while helping your mother in the kitchen. A neighbor came in excitedly, her beaming smile lighting up the room. “A son has been born to Ragnar! A strong, healthy boy. They have named him Bjorn.”

You stood still for a moment, your hands still covered in flour. The air seemed to grow heavy, as if every word of that woman crushed you. Bjorn. Ragnar had a son.

You knew this moment would come. It was natural for a man like him to build a family, for his life to be filled with new bonds and responsibilities. But that certainty didn’t make it hurt any less.

That night, as the village celebrated the birth of the little boy, you stepped away from the crowd. Chants and laughter filled the air, but you couldn’t bear to be there, watching Ragnar and Lagertha receive everyone’s congratulations. Instead, you sat alone on the riverbank, watching the current carry away the fallen leaves.

It was then, in the pale moonlight, that something inside you changed. For years you had carried an unrequited love, a weight that had filled you with rage, sadness, and frustration. But now, thinking of Bjorn and the future Ragnar was building, you realized it was time to let it go.

It wasn't easy. It was like ripping out a part of yourself, a part that had been with you for as long as you could remember. But you knew you could no longer live trapped in that cycle of emotions. Ragnar wasn't yours, and he never would be. And that was okay.

You decided that if you wanted to find your place in the world, you had to free yourself from that weight. So you let it go, like the leaves falling into the river, allowing the current to carry them away to a place you couldn't follow.

Letting it go didn't mean forgetting it, though. Ragnar was still a part of your life, as he always had been. But now you saw him differently. He was no longer the man you wanted, but someone you had learned to respect from a distance.

He was still there when you needed him, though those occasions were becoming less frequent. You were no longer a child, and the world did not revolve around him as you had once felt it did. You were a woman now, and you were determined to forge your own path.

One afternoon, while you were working in the fields, Ragnar approached you. He was carrying Bjorn in his arms, and the boy looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and adoration that made you smile despite everything.

“Aren’t you coming to see the little one?” he asked you, with that smile of his that still managed to disarm you, although in a different way now.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead and walked towards them. Bjorn stared at you with his big blue eyes, so similar to his father’s. He extended a small hand towards you, and you couldn’t help but gently take it between your fingers.

“He’s strong,” you said, more to yourself than to Ragnar.

“Like his mother,” he replied with a soft laugh.

You looked at him, feeling a calmness you hadn’t known before. “And like his father.”

Ragnar watched you for a moment, as if trying to decipher something in your expression. But he didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

That was the last time you allowed the ghosts of your past love to visit you. From then on, you focused on yourself, on your own goals and dreams. Ragnar was still a part of your life, but no longer the axis of your thoughts.

A year later when you turned seventeen, your world began to expand in ways you had never imagined. Ragnar, always restless, had begun to embark on more frequent trips, exploring new lands and discovering unknown horizons. It was on one of those days, while he was planning his next expedition, that you decided to accompany him. It wasn’t something you thought about much; you simply felt it. You wanted something more, something far from the confines of the village you had called home all your life.

“Are you sure you want to come?” Ragnar asked you when you proposed, with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile. “The sea is not as kind as it seems.”

“As kind as you, I suppose,” you replied with a spark of humor that made him laugh. “I don’t mind. I want to go.”

And so it was that you found yourself on the ship, surrounded by men weathered by wind and water, the smell of salt filling your senses. At first, you didn’t know what to expect. The constant movement of the waves was disconcerting, and the sound of the wood creaking beneath your feet made you feel small and insignificant. But as the days passed, you began to understand why Ragnar loved these voyages so much. 

There was a freedom at sea that couldn’t be found anywhere else. There were no village expectations, no inquisitive glances, no questions about your future. On the ship, you were simply you, facing a world that stretched beyond the horizon. 

Ragnar taught you to navigate by the stars, pointing out constellations you’d never noticed before. “Look there,” he said one night, as the sky spread out like a black blanket studded with diamonds. “Those take us north.”

“And those others,” you added, pointing to a group of stars that seemed especially bright to you, “where do they take us?”

He looked at you with a calm smile. “Wherever you want to go.”

It was in those moments, amidst the vastness of the ocean, that you began to understand something about yourself. You had spent years feeling trapped, first by your emotions towards Ragnar, then by the weight of your own expectations. But here, far away from everything, you realized that freedom was not something anyone could give you; it was something you had to claim for yourself.

When you reached land, every place you discovered filled you with wonder. The villages you visited, the new faces, the unfamiliar languages… everything was a reminder of how big the world was and how small you were within it. But that smallness did not intimidate you. On the contrary, it inspired you.

Ragnar seemed to notice the change in you. Although he did not say it openly, his gestures made it clear. When she watched you interact with the villagers or explore the markets with eyes full of curiosity, there was something in her expression that almost seemed like… pride.

When you returned from travels, there was always a mix of relief and melancholy. Returning meant safety, the warmth of home, but also the return to routines and inevitable questions.

Lagertha, who you had learned to get along with better, always greeted you with a smile and a question she couldn’t seem to avoid: “Well? When are you going to marry one of the men?”

That question always made you feel uncomfortable. You knew it was common for you to be engaged at your age, but the thought of tying yourself down to someone had never been appealing to you. Not after everything you had felt for Ragnar. Not after having tasted the freedom that travel offered you.

“I haven’t found anyone worth it yet,” you always answered with a noncommittal smile, trying to downplay it.

Lagertha would often laugh at your answer, though she would insist. “You are beautiful and strong. There is no shortage of men in this village who would want you as a wife.”

You would simply shrug and change the subject. Although you could now see that Lagertha was not your enemy, you could not confess the truth to her either. You could not tell her that deep down, there was still a part of you that could not imagine being with anyone but Ragnar, though you knew that dream would never come true.

It was not long before you were once again embarking on another journey with Ragnar. This time, the destination was beyond anything you had ever imagined. There was talk of faraway lands, with riches and wonders that few had ever seen. The preparations were long and meticulous; the journey would be longer and more dangerous, but the excitement in the air was palpable.

“Are you sure you want to come?” Ragnar asked for the umpteenth time, as he adjusted the oars on the boat.

“What kind of question is that?” you replied with a defiant smile. “Of course I’m going.”

Ragnar nodded, though his eyes reflected more than just acceptance. It was a mix of pride and concern, but you didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

The first leg of the journey was exciting, as always. The wind filled the sails and the horizon stretched out before you like an endless promise. But as the days passed, the conditions began to change. The waters grew colder, the air heavier, and your strength began to fail.

At first it was a simple malaise that you tried to ignore. A slight fever, some weakness. But soon it became impossible to hide. Your body was exhausted, and every movement cost you more effort than you wanted to admit. Ragnar was the first to notice.

“You look pale,” he commented one night as you stood by the fire, trying to warm up from the cold sea.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your tone firmer than you felt.

But the next day, when you tried to get up to help row, your legs wouldn't respond. Ragnar caught up with you before you could fall to the ground.

"Enough!" he said, his tone so authoritative it brooked no reply. "You're not well. You need to rest."

You were placed on a makeshift bed inside the ship, and though you resisted at first, your body soon gave out. The fever rose, and the weakness became unbearable. You could barely open your eyes, and when you did, everything seemed to spin around you.

Ragnar remained by your side from that moment on, like a constant shadow. He barely ate or slept, always attentive to any change in your condition. His face, normally full of confidence and energy, was now marked with worry.

In the moments when you were conscious, you could hear Ragnar speaking softly. You couldn't always understand what he said, but his words were often directed at you.

“This is my fault,” he muttered one night, as he changed the damp cloth on your forehead. “I shouldn’t have let you come. I was selfish to think you could handle this. I always wanted you around… but I should never have put you in danger.”

You wanted to respond, to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that this trip had been your decision, but the words wouldn't come out. All you could do was weakly squeeze his hand when he took it, a gesture that seemed to give him minimal comfort.

Your illness lasted for weeks in those distant lands, an unknown place where every dawn seemed just as uncertain. No one knew exactly what had caused you such extreme weakness: the change in climate, the different food, or simply the exhaustion of the journey. The days passed in a mix of hope and worry, and although the others continued with their tasks of exploration and looting, Ragnar did not leave your side.

The fever slowly subsided, and your strength began to return. At first, getting out of bed was a triumph, a small step towards normality. But as the weeks turned into a month and a half, you found yourself trapped in a state of endless recovery. Ragnar did not let you do absolutely anything, which at first you were grateful for, but soon began to drive you crazy.

“You’re not ready yet,” Ragnar insisted every time you tried to get up to do more than walk a few steps.

“I’m better,” you protested one day, crossing your arms in frustration. “I can carry something, help around camp, train even.”

“No, you can’t,” he replied, his tone firm enough to shut down the conversation before it even began. “I don’t want to see you lifting anything heavier than that plate of food.”

The concern on his face was evident, and though you understood where he was coming from, you couldn’t help but feel annoyed. You weren’t used to someone limiting you like that, least of all Ragnar.

“You’re worse than any disease,” you murmured, your tone more playful than angry.

Ragnar smiled slightly, but didn’t relent. “You can hate me all you want, but you’re staying here. I’m not going to risk you relapsing.”

With Ragnar acting as a relentless guardian, your world shrank to the walls of the house where you were staying. It was a simple building, with wooden walls and a roof that barely protected you from the icy wind. Although you were grateful to have a place to shelter, the stillness made you feel useless.

You did small tasks: cleaning utensils, mending the clothes of the men traveling with you, and even cooking when you were allowed. But none of that filled the void you felt from not being able to participate in training or scouting. The lack of action weighed on you like an invisible burden, and though you tried to hide it, it was clear that you were not satisfied. 

Sometimes, as you worked in silence, you felt Ragnar's eyes on you. When you faced him, he would simply smile and look away, as if he wanted to reassure you that everything was okay. But that only made you more upset. 

There were days when you felt like a burden. Seeing the others return to camp with stories of what they had seen and done while you had barely stepped out into the yard was a constant reminder of what you had lost. You didn't want to admit it, but you felt weak, and that was something you had never handled well. 

Ragnar seemed to sense your emotions even when you said nothing. “Why are you so quiet?” he asked you one night, as you ate dinner in silence.

“I’m thinking,” you replied, not wanting to go into details.

“Thinking about what?”

You paused, unsure if you wanted to tell him the truth. Finally, you decided to be honest. “About how useless I feel here. Everyone is out there, exploring, fighting… and I’m here, mending clothes.”

Ragnar set his bowl aside and looked you straight in the eyes. “That doesn’t make you useless. You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s all that matters now.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you replied, your tone bordering on resentment. “You’re out there, being who you are. I’m stuck here, being… nothing.”

Ragnar sighed, as if he understood your frustration more than you cared to admit. “Sometimes, surviving is the hardest thing we can do. But don’t think for a moment that you’re not important. I wouldn’t be here, wasting my time with you, if I thought that.”

His words, though well-intentioned, didn’t completely dispel your unease.

In those days you tried to convince yourself that it was all behind you. The childish love you once felt for Ragnar was a distant memory, a whim buried beneath the years of maturity and the reality of his life with Lagertha. You had spent enough time hating him, loving him, and finally letting him go, or so you told yourself. However, as the days passed in that small village, something began to change.

The way Ragnar looked at you was different. You weren’t entirely sure at first, but there was something in the intensity of his gaze, in how his eyes seemed to search yours for no apparent reason. It was like every time you moved around the house, even in the most mundane moments, he was watching, watching.

That invisible weight, that tension between the two of you that seemed to fill the air. Every time you were near him, you felt a warmth in your chest that you hadn’t experienced in a long time. You tried to ignore it, to convince yourself it was just your imagination, but it wasn’t that simple.

For his part, Ragnar was experiencing something he couldn’t explain. For years, he’d always seen you as the little girl who ran around the camp, the younger sister who looked down on him or argued with him about anything. He’d been by your side like an older brother, like a protector. But now… now he couldn’t help but see you differently.

He didn’t know when it had started exactly. Maybe it was when he realized how strong you’d been during your illness, fighting weakness with silent determination. Or maybe it was simply the fact that, by spending so much time together, he’d started to notice things he hadn’t seen before.

The way the sunlight lit up your hair as you moved near the window. The softness in your gestures as you worked on chores around the house, even if you did it in annoyance. The way your eyes sparkled when you were angry at him for not letting you do more.

Everything about you intrigued him.

One afternoon, as you stood alone in the yard trying to mend an old coat, Ragnar appeared. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat next to you, watching your fingers move with precision.

“Why are you always staring at me?” you finally asked, without looking at him.

Ragnar smiled, but didn’t answer right away. “And why are you always so attentive to what I do?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the blush that rose to your cheeks. “Because you’re impossible to ignore. You’re always there, like a shadow.”

“Maybe because I like being where you are,” he replied with a sincerity that took you by surprise.

You stopped, the thread in your hands hanging. His words weren’t brazen, but they weren’t innocent either. You looked at him, trying to read on his face if he was joking or if there was something more behind his words. What you saw in his eyes disarmed you: there was no trace of mockery, only a curiosity that seemed to dig deep inside you.

From that moment on, everything seemed to be charged with a new energy between you. Casual conversations were filled with awkward silences, as if both of you knew something was changing but neither of you wanted to admit it.

Ragnar couldn’t help but find excuses to spend time with you. He always had some reason to come over, whether it was to bring you some water, check on how you were feeling, or just sit quietly beside you. And you, despite your frustration, couldn’t help but feel more aware of his presence than ever.

One night, while the others slept, you stepped out into the courtyard to get some air. Ragnar appeared shortly after, as if he knew exactly where you were.

“You can’t sleep,” he said, more of a statement than a question.

You shook your head. “The air here is different. It’s hard to breathe sometimes.”

He nodded, coming close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body in the cold night. “Do you regret coming?”

“No,” you answered quickly, looking up at the stars. “Despite everything… I don’t regret it.”

Ragnar was silent for a moment, before saying, “Me neither.”

You turned to look at him, searching for some meaning in his words. But before you could ask, he had already looked away, as if he was afraid to say anything more.

The day after the conversation in the courtyard, you decided that you couldn't allow what you felt for Ragnar to take shape. If you allowed those feelings to grow, you would lose control over yourself, over your life, over your ability to decide. And worst of all, you would lose Ragnar in a way you didn't want to even imagine. So, for three whole days, you avoided him. 

You didn't look him in the eye more than necessary, you kept yourself busy with tasks that took you away from him, and you always looked for excuses not to be around. Every time Ragnar showed up at camp, you somehow slipped out of his reach, seeking to avoid the tension you knew existed between the two of you. 

But despite all your efforts, you couldn't deny that every time Ragnar looked at you, there was something in his eyes that overwhelmed you. The tension grew like a storm about to break. You knew he felt the same way too, and even though you tried not to admit it, the emotions were eating you up from the inside.

On the fourth day, confrontation was inevitable. Ragnar found you in the small tent where you were busy organizing the equipment. He closed the entrance behind him with a soft knock, and stared at you silently, knowing you had been avoiding him.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he said, his voice low and calm, as always, but this time with something more. An urgency.

You stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as he came closer, closing the distance between you. “Stop running away from what’s happening between us.”

You breathed quickened at the closeness, at the certainty in his voice. You knew he was just as caught up in this game as you were. But you couldn’t let this be real. You shouldn’t.

“You’re right,” you murmured, looking away. “But we can’t…”

“We can’t keep ignoring what we feel, can we?” Ragnar interrupted, leaning slightly towards you, searching your eyes.

The space between you shrank to inches, the electricity in the air palpable. You could hear your own heartbeat quickening, the heat of his body overwhelming you. And before you could stop him, Ragnar raised a hand and gently touched your cheek.

The contact ignited a spark that ran through your entire body. You couldn’t resist it any longer. Without thinking, you launched yourself at him, your lips meeting his in a fiery kiss. It was as if all the time of tension, of repressed desires, exploded in that single moment.

Ragnar responded immediately, his hands moving up your back, pulling you closer to him. Your hands tangled in his hair, as the kiss deepened, moving from something passionate to something more urgent, more desperate.

“I love you… I always have,” you managed to whisper between the kisses, unable to keep quiet what you had held in for so long. The words came out of you with the same intensity you had repressed those feelings with for years.

Ragnar didn't respond. He looked into your eyes, as if he wanted to make sure you had really said it. But he didn't say anything, he just kissed you again, harder, as if the answer was in the act, not the words.

The intensity of that kiss didn't go away. Instead, it intensified as his hands moved with an urgency you had never seen in him. There were no more barriers, only the desire to explore what had been dormant between you.

Ragnar took you firmly, guiding you towards the bed with gentle but determined movements. You didn't say anything, because you knew you didn't need to. Everything that had been left unsaid between the two of you was now expressed in a much more intimate and direct way.

That night, was the first time you spent in his bed. And he was the first man you had ever been with. You felt it in every touch, in every caress, in the way he knew you and wanted you with an intensity you had never experienced before. At that moment, Ragnar was not only the man you had secretly desired, but the only one you wanted to share your body and soul with.

When you finally rested, breathing intertwined, you said nothing. There was no need. There was no turning back, no way to deny what had grown between you and finally unleashed.

The night stretched between you like a blanket of calm after the storm. The two of you lay together, the softness of your breaths intertwined in the stillness of the bed. Despite the intensity of what had happened, something in your chest was still churning.

Ragnar, lying next to you, watched you with an intensity that overwhelmed you. His gaze was deep, as if he were trying to decipher something that had been hidden for a long time. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low, but with an unmistakable weight.

“You love me… Why didn’t you tell me before?”

The question left you speechless for a moment. You turned to look at him, and although his face was serene, his eyes reflected a mix of surprise and something else, something that seemed to be a request for explanations.

You knew you couldn’t hide it anymore, but how to respond? How to explain all the suffering and anguish you had felt loving someone who seemed unattainable?

“I didn’t say it because I knew you would never love me back,” you replied, your voice cracking, the pain of all those years of silence making a dent in your tone. “And besides… you have a family. Lagertha… your son…”

Ragnar looked at you in silence for a moment, as if he was processing your words. The seconds seemed eternal as his gaze softened, as if he too understood the weight of what you had just said.

“Don’t think about it,” he finally said, his tone filled with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “Let’s not think about what we can’t change.”

Before you could respond, Ragnar kissed you again. A deep kiss. In that kiss there was no room for doubt or fear.

The nights that followed were like a dream from which you didn’t want to wake up. Every night you spent in his bed, every night Ragnar adored you with an intensity that made you feel like you were the only woman in the world. In his eyes, you looked more beautiful than ever, and every word that came out of his mouth, every touch his hands offered, enveloped you in a feeling of ecstasy you had never known.

He treated you with a tenderness and fervor that overflowed from what you had imagined in your most secret dreams. His caresses were soft, but his kisses were ardent, as if he wanted to erase all the distance that had existed between you during all those years. You felt that you were finally seen, that Ragnar saw you, not as the girl who was once part of his life, but as the woman you were now. And, for the first time, you did not care what the future might bring.

However, that peace you had found in his closeness, that security that Ragnar seemed to give you, was shaken when the time of staying in distant lands came to an end. The journey home was long, tense, and for the first time, uncertainty settled over you.

Every day that passed, the question hung in the air, even if neither of you said it out loud: what will happen when we get home? You knew Ragnar had a family, and even though he told you not to think about it, you couldn't help it. Lagertha, his son and the one on the way, his life... it was all there, waiting for them. And what was left for you? What was left for what you had shared? The distance between the realities you faced became more and more evident as the journey progressed.

Despite everything, hope was still alive in your heart. Despite the doubts that haunted you, the constant question about what would happen when you returned home. 

Ragnar didn't talk much during the trip, and perhaps, in part, neither did you. You both knew there was something that needed to be resolved, something that couldn't be left hanging in the air. 

The wind blew hard, the waves of the sea crashed against the rocks, but as you approached the familiar shores, the weight of the unknown seemed to increase. You didn't know what you would do when you set foot in your home, nor how you would react to seeing Lagertha, nor what Ragnar would think of everything that had happened. 

Returning home was a heartbreaking contrast to the intense emotions of the trip. As soon as you arrived, the usual routine seemed to take its place as if time in distant lands had not happened. Lagertha had given birth to a girl while you were away, and Ragnar's joy for his new daughter filled the air. 

You stood by, watching from a distance. You went back home to your parents, trying to put a physical and emotional barrier between you and Ragnar. You thought that distance might help you forget, that staying away from him, from his family, might ease the weight of what you shared. 

You didn’t visit his home, not even when your parents mentioned his name. You tried to distract yourself with your own tasks, with the life you’d put on hold while you traveled. But, despite all your attempts, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. Every corner of your memory seemed to be permeated with his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered. 

And then, as if fate wanted to mock you, he appeared. Ragnar arrived at your house without warning, his laughter echoing from the living room as he spoke to your parents. You heard his voice before you saw him, and something inside you tensed. You knew you couldn't avoid him forever, but that encounter took you by surprise.

You decided to stay in your room, taking refuge in the distance you could still maintain. You figured that if you didn’t see him, it would be easier to ignore the reality of his presence, easier to remind yourself that you couldn’t keep feeding what you felt. 

But Ragnar wasn’t one to be ignored easily. As night fell and the house fell silent, you knew something was about to change. You felt his presence before he knocked on your door, before he peeked into the room with that look that always managed to disarm you. 

“Are you going to hide from me all night?” he asked quietly, closing the door behind him before you could answer. 

“I’m not hiding,” you replied, even though you both knew it was a lie. You didn’t look up from your hands, afraid that if you did, all the control you’d tried to build would crumble in an instant. 

Ragnar didn’t say anything. He walked over to where you were sitting and, with a calmness only he could project, knelt in front of you. His eyes searched yours, and when you finally looked at him, you felt all the weight of your will evaporate.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“And yet, here I am,” he replied with a smile that only made things more complicated.

You didn’t know how it happened, but before you could stop him, his lips were on yours. It was a slow kiss, filled with an intensity you hadn’t forgotten. Everything you had tried to bury, all the distance you had tried to impose, crumbled in that instant.

“Ragnar…” you tried to speak, but he shook his head, silencing you with another kiss.

That night, you had him in your bed, and the weight of the forbidden made every moment even more intense. You tried to keep quiet, afraid someone might hear, but Ragnar seemed to be in no hurry, taking his time exploring every corner of your skin as if he wanted to memorize you.

Every caress, every whisper in your ear, made the outside world disappear. For a few hours, there were no wives or children, no families or responsibilities, just the two of you in that room, sharing something that couldn't be explained with words.

When the heat of the moment was behind you, your body intertwined with his. The silence in the room was deep, broken only by the sound of your breathing calming down. Ragnar wrapped one arm around you, pulling you towards him, while his other hand gently rested on your bare belly.

He began to trace slow, abstract movements on your stomach with the tips of his fingers, almost absentmindedly, as if his mind was somewhere else. You could feel the weight of his thoughts, though you couldn't guess what was going through his head.

“Once,” he began in a low, contemplative tone, “a witch told me I would have many children. More than I could count.”

His words, spoken with a mix of seriousness and curiosity, struck something deep within you. Even though he didn’t seem aware of the impact they might have, you felt a pang of sadness creep into your chest. You didn’t know exactly why; perhaps because those words were a reminder of the life he led, a life that didn’t include a future with you.

You swallowed, trying to contain the lump that formed in your throat, but it was useless. A silent tear rolled down your cheek, followed by another. You tried to turn your face away, you didn't want him to see you like that, you didn't want him to know how much those words had touched a wound you tried to ignore.

“What's wrong?” Ragnar asked, noticing your silence and the trembling in your breathing. He sat up slightly, turning to you with a worried expression. “Did I say something that hurt you?”

You shook your head, but your lips trembled. “It's not that... I just... I don't know.” The words escaped you; you couldn't explain this whirlwind of emotions that invaded you.

Ragnar took your face with both hands, wiping the tears with his thumb while looking at you with an intensity that disarmed you. “I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Never.”

His eyes, as blue as the clear sky, reflected a sincerity that hurt you even more. You wanted to tell him how you felt, but how to put into words something so complex? How to explain that it wasn’t his fault, but the weight of everything you shared, of everything that couldn’t be?

“I’m fine,” you finally managed to say, though your voice was a broken whisper. “I just… sometimes wonder how I fit into your life. Or if I do.”

Ragnar watched you in silence for a moment, and then pulled you into his chest, enveloping you in a warm, protective embrace. “Don’t think about it now,” he said softly, his voice echoing in his chest against your ear. “What we have here, now… that’s what matters. I don’t want you to cry for me. I don’t want this to hurt you.”

You clung to him, letting his warmth comfort you, though the questions in your mind remained unanswered. His words were a temporary balm, but they couldn’t undo the truth of the situation. Yet, at that moment, you decided to allow yourself to believe him, if only for that night. Because when you were in his arms, the world seemed a little less complicated, and that was enough to keep you going.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions for you. You had tried to get back to the routine, to the normality that you so wanted to get back, but something inside you had changed. It wasn't just the guilt or the love you still felt for Ragnar, it was something deeper, something you hadn't faced until you started to notice the first signs.

At first, you ignored it. The constant tiredness, the nausea that hit you without warning, it could all be attributed to the wear and tear of the trip, or the stress you had accumulated. But you couldn't deny the truth for long. With each passing day, the signs became clearer, until you finally accepted what your body was trying to tell you: you were pregnant.

The revelation was a shock that left you breathless. You sat on the edge of your bed, trembling hands holding your belly as reality sank in. The life you carried inside was too big a secret to share, a secret that could change everything.

You couldn't tell your parents. Their disappointment would be an unbearable weight, and the scandal that could be unleashed if anyone else found out was something you weren't willing to face. You couldn't tell Ragnar either. He had a family. The last thing you wanted was to further complicate their life, or yours.

So you decided to keep it to yourself. He was yours, and yours alone.

Days turned into weeks, and you learned to hide the signs. When you felt sick, you found an excuse to get away. When tiredness got the better of you, you made sure no one noticed. But keeping the secret wasn't easy, especially when Ragnar was around.

There was something in his gaze that seemed to pierce through you, as if he could see past your attempts to hide the truth. Even though he didn't say anything, you knew he suspected something was bothering you. His questions were subtle, but constant, and every time you evaded them you felt the tension between you grow.

At night, when you lay alone, the weight of your decision crushed you. You wondered if you had done the right thing, if keeping the secret was really the best option. But every time you thought about what could happen if the truth came out, you convinced yourself that you had no other choice.

It was madness, a storm you couldn't control, but you had no choice but to face it alone.

The days continued to pass with a tension that seemed to cut off your air. Every glance from your parents, every conversation with Ragnar, was like walking on brittle ice. You knew you couldn't stay much longer. Not because you didn't want to, but because every moment prolonged the risk of your secret being discovered, and that wasn't something you could allow.

You hadn’t made the decision lightly. For days, you’d been turning it over in your mind, searching for options, wondering if there was any way to stay, to keep what you carried inside you safe without destroying everything else. But every path you imagined led to the same place: to chaos, to pain, and to a scandal that would affect not only you, but everyone around you.

You couldn’t allow that. And so, one night, as you sat alone in your room, you decided you had to leave.

The conversation with your parents was one of the hardest things you’d ever faced. You sat with them at the family table, your hands clenched in your lap to hide the shaking.

“I need to go,” you finally said, breaking the silence that seemed to weigh like a slab in the air.

Your parents looked at each other, confused. It was your mother who spoke first. “Leave? Where?”

“Away,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “I need some time to myself, to find my own way. I’ve been feeling… trapped.”

It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Your parents seemed to hesitate, exchanging glances that clearly argued your request without the need for words.

“Does this have anything to do with Ragnar?” your father finally asked, his tone sterner.

Just hearing his name made your heart stop for a moment. But you shook your head. “No. This is something of mine, something I need to do.”

Your mother tried to convince you to stay. She told you about how dangerous it was to travel alone, how you’d always had a safe home with them. But you had already made up your mind. You listened to her in silence, letting her words flow over you like water over rock. When she was done, you simply repeated, “I have to.”

“If Ragnar knows you’re leaving…” your father began, but you cut him off with a gesture.

“He mustn’t know. I beg you. If he asks, tell him I left because I needed some space, but don’t tell him anything else.”

Your mother looked at you with concern, while your father frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the request. But eventually, they nodded. You gave them no other options.

You had planned everything in secret. You knew where you would go: a small settlement far from Kattegat, isolated enough to avoid questions. You had packed the few things you needed into a sack and prepared a horse to set out at dawn.

The night before your departure was the longest of your life. You were alone in your room, watching the shadows move on the walls as a storm of emotions raged within you. There was pain, sure, pain so deep it seemed to cut your soul in two. But there was also a strange sense of relief, as if you had finally taken control of your destiny.

You didn’t sleep that night. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, you got up, got dressed, and grabbed your things. Your parents bid you farewell in silence, though your mother couldn’t help but hug you tightly before you mounted your horse.

“Be careful,” she told you with tears in her eyes.

“I will be,” you promised, though you weren’t sure it was true.

As you left Kattegat behind you, you felt an emptiness in your chest that threatened to devour you. Each step of the horse seemed to take you further away from everything you knew, from everyone you loved, but also closer to a future that was now yours alone.

You knew this path would be difficult. You knew you would be alone, and that there would be times when you would question whether you had made the right decision. But you also knew you had no other choice. You had to protect your son, even if it meant sacrificing everything else.

As the landscape changed around you, you held on to that thought. Because while the pain of leaving Ragnar and your family was unbearable, it was also a reminder of how strong you were. And that no matter what, you would find a way to move forward.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Behave- Ivar x Reader

Summary: Reader makes sure her husband Ivar is on his best behaviour at a dinner with his brothers

Word count: 486

*want to be tagged in my next Ivar fic? Click here*

Confusion swept across Ivars face as you asked him to sit beside on the couch.

“My love, while I want nothing more than to sit with you, I have to see my brothers for dinner,” he argued as he tried to get through the door.

“Ivar, sit,” you calmly but sternly demanded.

Ivar could never argue with you when you ordered him like that. Though he may be a fierce warrior on the battlefield, he was no match for you off of the battlefield.

Complying without even a single huff or sigh, Ivar quickly sits beside you on the couch.

Smiling sweetly at each other, your hand gently rests upon his cheek. Ivars eyes begin to close and he hums at your soft and sweet touch.

His hum however turns into a gasp of surprise, which becomes a light moan as he opens his eyes wide, to see you straddling his lap.

Before he can question your motives, your lips are already pressed against his. Moaning into your divine kiss, his hands gently grasp at your hips.

Ivar has no time to complain about you breaking the kiss, as you begin to nip along his neck.

“Ivar, listen to me,” you whisper enchantingly into his ear, like you’re casting a powerful spell, “you will behave at this dinner with your brothers. You will be the good boy I know you can be.”

Grasping his throat, you force his head back against the back of the couch, to look deep into your eyes. You take a while to play with Ivars braided hair, driving him wild and making him desperate as you bite your lip.

Suddenly your eyes change, from his powerful and fearsome wife, to his sweet soft darling. You knew playing both the enchantress and the docile flower would completely shut down his defences, and he’d have no choice but to do exactly what you say.

“Be a good boy for me? Please? You’re so smart, why would you let what they say get to you, darling husband of mine?” You ask him softly, both stroking his ego and his strong muscles.

“I-I will behave,” he softly complied, looking at you with reverence and amazement.

Your sweet pout quickly turned into a wicked smirk as you quickly but passionately kiss his lips.

“I know you will, sweet boy. Now go have fun and don’t come home too late,” you order.

Lightly patting his chest, you quickly move from his lap to sit beside him once again. It takes a moment for Ivar to come back to himself, your powerful hold having him in a daze.

Once his mind comes back to reality, he gives you a soft smile and a gentle kiss, before making his way to the door.

“I’ll be home before you are in bed. I love you, my enchantress,” he smiled at you from the door.

“And I love you, my king.”

[fantasydreamland]

Answered Prayers

ragnar lothbrok x fem reader

Summary: After being captured by the Vikings your prayers to god remain unanswered, as you come to realize they always have. An intriguing Viking man teaches you of their ways, and all your prayers are answered. (No language barrier & Ragnar is unmarried for the sake of the story).

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! Smuttt, maybe some fluff, loss of virginity, p in v, fingering, oral (f), angst, kidnapping/violence/raiding in opening story, possible spoilers.

I’m very into Norse spirituality so I loved writing this

Word count: 3.7k

masterlist

taglist

Everyone in the city moves in a panic as the bells ring, alarms in response to the Northmen pulling up to your shores. You find a spot in your house to hide and clutch your cross close to your chest as you pray to god to protect you from these heathens.

A bang startles you as a Viking man kicks down your door. Your heart races as you hear him tearing apart the house searching for valuables. You hear screams outside and continue whispering prayers to god begging him to keep you from being found.

The Viking eventually finds you hiding in a corner between your bed and the wall. Your heart stops when his bright blue eyes meet yours. His eyes examine you from head to toe before he smirks.

“Please… please don’t kill me.” You beg through oncoming tears. “Take whatever you want, just please.”

“Come.” He reaches his hand out for you to take.

You look up at him with furrowed brows in confusion.

“You said I can take whatever I want.” The man says. “So come.”

“No, no, please. Please don’t hurt me…” You cry.

“If you come with me, I will have no reason to hurt you.” He steps closer. “Otherwise…” He gestures to the axe in his hand.

You sniffle as you get up onto your feet. The Viking gestures his hand out to you again which you reluctantly take. He rushes out of the house, dragging you along with him. A small shriek escapes you as your eyes take in the dead bodies and blood everywhere. The man pays no mind to any of it as he pulls you through the city and leads you right out the front gates and into their Viking camp.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” A large Viking man with long dark hair approaches you. You pull away as he tries to brush hair from your face.

“Leave her be.” Your captor says as more of the men come over to ogle at you.

“Why? She is a useless Christian. Only good for one thing...” The man smirks at you.

“She is mine, keep your hands to yourself Rollo.” Your captor replies. “That goes for all of you! No one touches her, she belongs to me.”

You take a small breath of relief before your captor grabs your hand again and leads you far from the group and into a tent.

“Sit.” The man gestures to a small cot. “What is your name?”

“(y/n).” You say as you sit.

“(y/n)…” He hums. “Interesting name. I’m Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“Thank you Ragnar.” You say lowly.

“For what?”

“Out there, protecting me from the other men…” You respond. “And I guess… thank you for not killing me.”

“Like I said to the men, you are mine. They will not harm you as long as you are with me, understand?”

You nod your head.

“What are you going to do with me?” You ask.

He smirks in response before looking you up and down, making you nervous.

“I have not decided yet.” He shrugs with a smirk still on his face.

**********

The journey back to their land was long and dreadful. You had never been on a boat before and the ride made you nauseous. Ragnar kept a close eye on you and made sure no one bothered you.

As soon as they dock Ragnar quickly sneaks you away like he is trying to hide you. He leads you to his small farmhouse outside of town.

“Am I your slave now?” You ask once inside.

He laughs at your response and you scowl.

“I have no need for slaves.” He shrugs.

“If you wish to cook or clean for me, or do other things…” He smirks at you suggestively, making you blush. “I would certainly not object, but you will not be forced to do anything.”

“So I am not a slave… but I am not a free woman?” You question.

“Yes.” He simply responds.

“Then why am I here?”

“I do not know. The gods have not revealed your purpose to me yet.”

“There is only one god.” You say sternly.

He laughs again making anger rise in your cheeks.

“Maybe your god will reveal to you your purpose then.” He says teasingly.

**********

The next couple days were surprisingly peaceful. You did not dare to try and leave the house. Although he never asked you to, you cooked and cleaned mostly to have something to occupy your time but Ragnar appreciated you either way. He would disappear for most of the day to god knows where, but when he returned you would have a hot meal waiting for him.

Ragnar would ask many questions, about your life and your god. You asked about him in return and he told you all about his adventures and of his gods.

“Are you a virgin?” Ragnar asks out of nowhere while you are eating supper.

You choke on your drink, the question taking you off guard.

“Pardon?”

“Well, you are unmarried right?” He continues. “I have heard Christians remain virgins until they are married.”

“Well, um, yes. It would be a sin otherwise.” You respond shyly.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is it a sin?” He asks with curiosity in his tone.

“I- um, I don’t know. It’s just a sin. You should only make children with your husband or wife.”

“Well, that is a bit silly isn’t it?”

“What is so ‘silly’ about that?” You scowl.

“Because making children is not the only reason to have sex.” He shrugs.

“What do you mean?” You ask, heat rising in your cheeks from annoyance and another feeling you couldn’t quite place.

“Do they teach you nothing?” He raises his brow.

“Not really… especially us women. They keep us sheltered from everything.”

“Well,” He says, taking the food bowl from your hands and placing it down.

He leans towards you until his breath brushes your ear, sending shivers up your spine.

“Sex can provide you with the greatest of pleasures…” He says lowly in your ear, your heart races. “If you know where to touch.” His fingers graze up your knee.

“Your gods… they do not care if you sin?” You ask but it comes out as a whisper.

He chuckles.

“To our gods, it is not wrong. The gods gave us the gift of such pleasure, why would they deny us from taking it?” He shrugs.

“I guess that is true…” You whisper.

“I can show you our ways, if you want.” He says with a devilish grin, moving his hand back to your knee.

“What? No. No I- Um, no… thank you.” You stutter, taken aback by his offer.

“Well, if you change your mind you know where to find me.” He whispers in your ear before standing and cleaning up from supper.

You go to bed early, trying to hide your flushed cheeks since your conversation. Ragnar eventually begins to lightly snore from the next room that was only separated by a thin wall with gaps you could see through. His words replay in your head, “greatest of pleasures if you know where to touch.”. Curiosity gets the better of you as you lightly trace your fingers along your neck and collarbone, the feeling creating goosebumps. Without even realizing, you start imagining Ragnar’s hand as yours travels lower. You grab onto your breast before your hand continues down. Your fingers tease at the hem of your pants before slowly moving down into them. You lightly touch the sensitive skin and it sends a jolt through you making you gasp louder than intended. You hear Ragnar stir in the next room and you quickly pull your hand from your pants as you look to him, still asleep. You sigh and try to get comfortable to sleep. Everything that has happened within the last few days has left you so lost and confused. You have been praying to god every day but nothing changes, nothing reassures you and what you are supposed to do in this place. Your mind continues to race until sleep eventually pulls you under.

**********

“I would like to go into the mountain to pray.” You say to Ragnar.

“Why? So you can run away?” He gives you a teasing scoff.

You can’t hide the small laugh that escapes your lips.

“You know I would not make it very far without you.” You roll your eyes at him. “Besides, I need you to show me the way.”

“Alright then… perhaps tomorrow.” He shrugs.

“No, today.” You push. “Right now… please.”

You were desperate to have a moment of solitude and a private moment speak to god.

“Very well, we should go now while the sun is still high.” Ragnar says as he heads towards the door, you stand and follow after him.

He leads you up the hills of the forest until you reach a clearing facing the water. The stunning view took your breath away.

“I… I need to be alone.” You say to Ragnar.

“Do not try to escape.” He winks at you. “I will be just down this hill when you are done.”

You give him a grateful smile and you watch him walk away until he is out of sight. Turning back to face the edge of the cliff, you close your eyes take a deep breath as you feel the breeze brush across your face. You crouch to the ground onto your knees and bring your hands together in prayer.

“Heavenly father… Please help me to find my path. I feel so lost in this unfamiliar world and do not know what I am to do next or who I am meant to be now… And I feel… as if my prayers to protect and watch over me have gone unanswered, especially when I was taken by these people.” You pray with tears coming to your eyes. “Please god, if you are there, if you are watching over me… if you are real… please send me a sign.”

You open your eyes and watch for any sort of sign that your god is with you. Nothing happens.

“Please, give me any sign so I know you are watching over me as I have always believed.”

You wait again, and wait, and wait. The world was still, not even a stronger gust of wind to show a possible sign from god.

You drop your hands into your lap in defeat. Tears begin to roll down your cheeks until an idea crosses your mind. You breathe out a laugh to yourself feeling a bit silly for what you were about to try. You bring your hands back together but instead have a strange urge to connect to the earth. You bow, reaching your hands forward into the ground, feeling the dirt and grass between your fingers.

“Odin…” You close your eyes and begin, whispering so quietly it’s nearly silent. “Freyja… Thor… Please hear me. Hear my prayers. Help me, guide me, to who I am supposed to be now… what I am supposed to do.”

Suddenly, a raven lets out a loud ‘caw’ startling you. Your head shoots up and you look to the bird watching you from a rock to your side. Your heart races and your eyes go wide as you watch each other. A tickle on your hand makes you look down to see a white butterfly that landed on you. You lift your hand to admire it and it flies around your head before flying away, at the same time the raven flies off with it.

As your brain tries to comprehend the unmistakeable signs that the pagan gods are answering your prayers, you hear a rumble of thunder. The skies turn grey within a matter of seconds before rain suddenly begins to pour down. You stand and let out a laugh of disbelief as you spread your arms wide and look to the sky as you let out a heavy breath of relief. The rain washed over your entire being, cleansing you of your troubles. It felt like a different kind of baptism, a rebirth.

“(y/n)?” You hear Ragnar call from behind you.

You turn to him with a wide smile on your face. He noted how beautiful you were when you smiled like that, he realized he had never seen more than a faint one cross your lips.

“Are you alright?” He smiles back at you. “We should head back. Thor’s wrath may become brutal soon if we remain all the way out here.”

“No, he is speaking to me.” You smile, making Ragnar’s brows furrow in confusion.

“Your gods… the gods…” You continue. “They answered my prayers…”

“So, suddenly you believe in our gods now?” He teases. “And what of your god?”

“The Christian god has never answered my prayers. Never even given a small sign he is with me.” You explain. “I prayed to Odin, and a raven appeared… Freyja, a white butterfly landed on my hand the same moment… and Thor…” You gesture to the skies the rain continues to pour down from.

You walk closer to Ragnar.

“I want to teach me your ways…” You say lowly.

“All of our ways?” He smirks, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“All of your ways…” You say as you move even closer until your noses brush.

He traces his finger up your neck, making you shiver. His finger continues to move along your jaw before he gently lifts your chin, making your eyes meet his piercing blue ones. “Are you sure about that?” He says with his classic devilish smirk.

Instead of responding you bring your lips to his, which was answer enough. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back hungrily, a small growl escaping him. He cups your cheeks as the rain pours down on you both, the kiss is wet and passionate. His tongue demands entrance to your mouth and you let him take the lead, following along a little awkwardly. His hands move from your face down to your hips as he pulls you against him. The hardness pushing against your stomach makes you gasp.

“Do you wish to return to the house…” Ragnar whispers, against your lips before kissing you again.

“No… I want you to take me right here… under the eyes of Thor and all the gods watching over us…” You whisper back, bringing your hand to his cheek.

Your words light a fire in Ragnar as your eyes meet in an intense gaze. He reaches out and begins to slowly pull at the strings of your dress. His eyes watch yours carefully, as if daring you to stop him. You would do no such thing. Once the ties were loose you let him pull the dress off your shoulders, completely exposing your breasts. They instantly perk up in the cold chill of the rain, droplets of water falling down your skin. A moan escapes you as he leans down and takes one in his mouth, flicking his tongue over your sensitive nipple. Your entire body felt aflame. You welcomed every cold raindrop that touches your heated skin.

His sinful tongue continues to explore down your stomach until he’s on his knees in front of you. You look down at him with lust filled eyes as pulls down the skirts of your dress, leaving you completely bare for him. His gaze meets yours as he squeezes your thighs hard and gives you a smirk.

“Ragnar what are you-“

Your words are cut off when his tongue licks your most intimate area. You gasp and whine as he begins to messily eat you. Your legs shake and wobble as you try to hold onto his shoulders.

“Ragnar I can’t…” You breathe.

He could sense you were barely able to hold yourself up. In one swift movement he hooks your legs over his shoulders and you yelp as he lifts you up. His tongue does not stop working at your bundle of nerves as he walks you over to a tree. You lean your back against the rough bark. The feeling of him was so overwhelming that you hardly felt the tree scratching at your skin. He ate you ravenously like a man starved. Your hands quickly find their way into his hair, tugging lightly, he grunts against you in response. You pant as you look up to the grey rainy skies, the entire moment felt like a dream. A knot begins to tighten in your stomach and your vision starts to blur. Ragnar dips his tongue into your entrance and that is your undoing. You scream out as your thighs squeeze tightly around his head. You would be worried about hurting him but you could swear you felt him grinning against you as his tongue works you through your orgasm.

Ragnar carefully lowers you back to the ground, you feel both your body and your mind come back down to earth. You shiver as he lays you down on the cold wet ground. He removes his now soaked shirt before climbing over you and capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, you moan at the taste yourself as your tongues dance together.

He stands again to quickly remove his pants, your eyes widen at his length before he climbs back on top of you.

“Are you certain?” Ragnar asks lowly, noticing your worried expression.

“Yes but… I don’t think it will fit…” You whisper shyly.

He gives a cocky chuckle before he begins kissing on your neck.

“It will.” He mumbles against your skin.

You feel him rub his length against your core making you whine and buck your hips in response.

“So eager.” He smirks.

He slowly begins pushing in making you grimace in pain. You instantly question his reassurance that it will fit.

“Shh,” Ragnar tries to soothe you.

His lips move back to your neck kissing, sucking and biting, trying his best to distract you from the pain. You moan at the feeling before he pushes right through the barrier and you gasp loudly. Ragnar groans loudly as he feels you squeezing tightly around him like a vice. You pant heavily with tears in your eyes as you adjust to his size. He does not move until you’re ready, then he starts pushing in and out slowly. The pain soon fades and you wrap your legs around him, forcing him deeper into you.

“Please…” You breathe out.

“Please what?” Ragnar whispers directly in your ear, making you shudder.

“More…”

“More what?” He teases you.

“Ragnar, please.” You groan in frustration. “Faster. Harder. Give me more.”

He smirks before finally obliging your wishes and starts pounding into you relentlessly. You quickly begin to see stars as your second orgasm washes over you and you cry out his name. Ragnar slows his pace once you have hit your peak.

“So this is…” You pant. “This is how Vikings… fuck?”

“We fuck however we want to.” He says as he kisses your neck, still hard inside you. “Viking women enjoy riding their men like wild horses.” He mumbles against your skin, like a challenge.

“Then I shall do that…” You say as you sit up and force Ragnar onto his back.

Ragnar’s eyes widen as you move to straddle him.

“I shall ride you like a wild horse.” You look down and meet his eyes, fire in your eyes and a devilish smirk on your lips. “I shall fuck you like a true Viking woman.”

He does not take his eyes off you for one second as you start to sink back down onto his cock, causing your mouth to drop at the feeling. Being new to all of this, you awkwardly try to bounce up and down until Ragnar grips your hips and guides you to move them back and forth.

“Oh…” You moan, eyes rolling back.

You follow his direction and rock your hips back and forth, increasing the speed. The position sends tingles through your entire body. Ragnar watches you in amazement, taking in every inch of your wet naked body as your beautiful moans ring in his ears. His hands move from your hips to grab your breasts and you ride him harder in approval, earning a groan from him.

You still felt like you were dreaming. You had lived such a strict sheltered life and felt so trapped for so long… But as the grey clouds swirl above you and the rain pours down over your shamelessly naked body, as you ride this god of a man who made your entire body vibrate with life, as you cried out loud enough for the gods to hear, as your prayers had finally been answered and your path now clear, as you feel your very souls connect. For the first time in your entire life… you felt free.

Your peak hits you even more intense than any time before, zings of pleasure radiate throughout your entire being. You felt yourself cry out Ragnar’s name but the sudden crack of lightning in the distance completely drowned out the sound. Your eyes shot open and you caught a glimpse of the fast line of lighting across the mountains at the same moment you came. Ragnar digs his fingers hard into your hips as he finds his own release. A loud rumble of thunder booms as he chokes out a moan. In that moment you felt so tremendously powerful, like a you were a god and goddess.

As you come down from your high the rain suddenly becomes much lighter. Panting, you look down at Ragnar who’s grinning smugly up at you. You give him a smirk back before leaning down and capturing his lips in a hungy kiss, your tongue instantly demands entrance and Ragnar happily obliges, moving his hand to your cheek as he eagerly kisses you back.

You roll off of him onto the wet grass, the rain now stopping completely. You felt so wild and free you that had no care about the mud that had gotten all over you.

“So…” Ragnar huffs, still catching his breath. “You really believe in our gods now?”

“They answered my prayers…” You respond, also panting. “It is hard to deny their existence after all of that.”

Ragnar just grins at you.

“We should get cleaned up.” He says as he stands, lending a hand to help you up.

As you stand he pulls you into a quick passionate kiss.

“Welcome to my world, (y/n).” Ragnar smiles.

masterlist

taglist

[theinheriteddutchess]

A Life Long

Pairing: Ivar the boneless x reader

Summary: You have a talent for storytelling, it caught the young prince's attention. It means your life isn't yours anymore.

Word count: 2135

Warnings: implied non-con, possessive behavior, Ivar's entitlement

Notes: my first online Ivar story, 🥹 hope you'll like it

Masterlist

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

You watched as other girls laughed and flirted with the handsome boys around you. Watched as they got married and carried a babe or two on their hips.

You sighed inside of yourself and continued down the market and purchased fresh vegetables and fruit for the day. Mundane tasks to keep yourself busy. Excuses to go outside. Away from Ivar.

How your life could have turned differently. As a small child you enjoyed telling stories. Your parents had told you plenty, and you always begged the travellers for new tales. And so, you were the one to entertain the others at play, or at the long feasts in the Great Hall.

And then Prince Ivar heard you speak. You must’ve not been older than nine.

Surrounded by the other children, you had started your tale, building up to the most exciting part, as he pushed his way through, crawling to the front.

You continued without distraction, looking each child in the eyes as you wove your tale and captured all the attention. As soon as you were finished, they had clapped and begged for another story. You declined, telling them to wait for another time, and skipped over to your parents seeing if any sweets were left for your hungry belly.

It wasn’t until a few days later when a servant of the Queen appeared at your hut, requesting you come with them. Queen Aslaugh has asked you to distract her son from the pain coursing through him, his legs failing him again.

You had heard him scream when you were guided to his personal quarters. You had heard of his temper and you had been frightened. The Queen assured you you’d be unharmed. Ivar was in great pain and he had begged her to bring you to him to tell him a story. Anything to focus on than the agony he was experiencing.

He looked dreadful, and hissed and slapped the thralls as he growled and screamed, while they tried anything to relieve the cramping. He tried to calm down once he spotted you, but you hesitantly took a seat nearby, as his eyes focussed on you.

You hadn’t known what else to do or say so you started your story immediately, picking one full of adventure and scariness, in hopes it would lessen his suffering a bit.

It was the start of many visits to try and help him through his episodes. It seemed harmless, but one day Queen Aslaugh visited your parents. Her request quickly laid down for you to live in her household. You would be treated well, dressed as royalty, if only you would be Ivar’s playmate. Help him through his sicknesses, his moods, be his friend.

It’s not like your parents had wanted to give you up so easily, but they were just common people, and Aslaugh did not want to hear no. She would do anything for her youngest son.

Your mother urged you to be nice, while she packed a bag with a few of your belongings. Strong. Be careful. She warned you of the prince’s temper, and wanted you to be safe.

“He might bore of you. Princes are fickle, once you’ve told him all your stories, once he’s older, I’m sure he will release you. Do not worry, daughter. We will see each other.”

She was right, partially. You saw them at feasts, at market, or sometimes on free days, as rare as they might be. 

But Ivar did not tire of you.

Years went by, and he never stopped requesting your presence. At his sickbed, at his table, when he wished to go to market himself.

He still requested your stories, no matter how many times he had heard them, and seemed to favor them over any new ones you had gathered.

“I like to hear you speak,” he had told you often. Your voice was soothing to him. Your way of storytelling still captured his attention fully. People often praised you for it, but none seemed to be as enraptured as him.

In fact, there seemed to be resentment in his eyes whenever another complimented you, even if it was shared with pride.

But his attachment came with a price.

Sure, you were dressed in fine clothes, fed the best food, and being the favourite of a prince brought safety from unwanted attention. Aslaugh insisted on teaching you alongside Ivar, or perhaps he had been the one to insist on it.

However, you had no freedom to make new friends, or spend much time with those who were. You barely had time to spend alone as his request for your attention and presence became more often and longer.

You had shown interest in a boy before, and it had resulted in him being accused of stealing and being whipped. You were sure Ivar was behind it. It had made you dread your future even more.

Ivar had asked you to share his room soon after, but Queen Aslaugh had put a stop to it. 

It did not go over easily.

He had raged, insisted you were saver nearby, not your room so far from his. Would it not be simpler if you were at beck and call immediately?

She was not fooled. It might’ve been the only time she had told him no. You didn’t understand why she showed pity. Or perhaps she hoped he would choose a woman of higher status? Still, it seemed her decision protected you. She looked at you with worry in her eyes. Suddenly she seemed more present during the time spent with Ivar. Much to his annoyance.

“I am not a child,mother. We have managed without you so far.”

“Don't deny me time with my son,” she had smiled tensely. “Besides, I would like to hear the stories of our Gods again. And you speak so well.”

That was addressed to you, accompanied with a kind smile.

It had been soon after that she approached you privately.

“It seems Ivar wants to bed you.”

You gulped and did not know how to react. You had feared it, secretly, but had not wanted to truly accept it.

“Soon he's the age of marriage. And I wish him to be happy. But I know he can be hasty in his decisions, and I did not see you return his feelings.”

“I-” you stumbled to find words. “I had wished to return to my family.”

She clearly now pitied you. “I am sorry, for I love my son too dearly to cause him pain. I can’t return you, but I will try to give you the freedom to choose. If you do not wish to marry, you will have my protection.”

You did not know what she told him, but Ivar, though clearly agitated, did not treat you with contempt afterwards. He grumbled about it when he thought you were none the wiser what he was talking about, but you managed to get some answers. He had been told you were a free woman, and Aslaugh had brought you here for friendship, not as a bedmate.You were not a thrall and she wished you to be ready for marriage and your own family in your own time. He seemed to believe she had scolded him, and was under the impression he only wanted to lay with you. That the decision was his mother's, not yours.

When he played with your hair, as you sat comfortably near the window and hummed to yourself as you were mending some of your older dresses to gift to your sisters, he spoke softly. “Like you'd be a whore to me,” He tsked. “My mother thinks she knows all. You are more to me than that.”

His touch put you on edge, but he never lowered his hands, or forced you to touch him. Perhaps he had truly respected your friendship, as he did not ask you to join his room again. You hesitantly felt saver.

That did not mean he got any less possessive, however. You were still not to spend any time with a man, if you did not wish to antagonize him, or risk the poor man to be harmed.

You still were expected to sit next to him at feasts. He still asked for your stories.

And then the unfortunate day came when Queen Aslaugh was killed.

Perhaps you were supposed to be relieved, you had regained your freedom. Ivar was gone, in need to prove he was a man. Was in England with his father to raid and gain respect. And despite all her flaws, the Queen had been kind to you. She had treated you like family. Not like a daughter, no, but something close to it.

Before Lagertha had appeared, she had put her hands on your cheeks, observed you and sighed, resigned. “He needs you. I want you to look after him. You will be content.”

Words that haunted you.

When the sons finally returned things were tense. But Ragnar’s death needed to be avenged, and Ivar…there was a darkness in him that not had the chance to properly thrive before. He looked hardened, his contempt showing more and his dislike for his brothers growing.

Being away from him felt like breathing and yet, sadness took you over at all he had to suffer. You could not help the urge to comfort him whenever your eyes crossed.

He did not go to you, though. He was planning. He wanted revenge. You understood. You were in the way right now. His future only revolved around punishing those that hurt him.

Lagertha set to improving Kattegat. You all worked hard. News was few and far between. You spend time with family, tightened friendship bonds. Lived life like any other. Unseen.

The day Ivar came back, it seemed like any other day. It was not.

The battle that followed seemed quickly done once his uncle joined. Ivar was King. Like he always wanted. 

A feast was given. You had expected it, but the servant giving you Ivar’s request - and had it ever been anything less than a demand?- of your presence in the Great Hall should not have come as a surprise, yet it still filled you with dread.

You were glad he was alive. You were even happy that he had chased Lagertha away, after she had so brutally killed Aslaugh. You still remembered the soffication his dominating presence gave you, however.

Yet, you had no choice.

As soon as you arrived you were guided to the throne.

And there he sat, like he had always belonged there.

He looked different. Older. His hair was longer and braided neatly. His posture was relaxed and proud. He seemed happy.

“Come. Sit,” he smiled at you, waving to the chair next to him.

You swallowed but obeyed, as you sat down on the chair meant for his Queen.

“You look tired,” he mentioned.

“I’ve been working hard,” You replied simply.

“Yes, Lagertha worked you hard. But you don’t have to worry about that anymore. You won’t have to work ever again. I will make sure of it.”

You didn’t know how to take thay, so you hummed, not keeping your eyes off of him. It was as if you had to keep watch of his every move. 

“I have missed you,” he suddenly confessed. “But I’m glad I’m back and you’ll never have to part from me again.”

As you worried.

“I know you were not allowed here, while that bitch took over, but you will have your room here of course. And everything you’ll ever wish for.”

You were supposed to be happy so you forced a small smile on your lips.

“I’m happy you’re well and alive, Pr - King Ivar,” you murmured. That, you did mean.

“Ivar, just Ivar for you,” he insisted. Then he offered you food. 

The whole night, it was a blur or drink, food and talk. Ivar watched the celebration from his seat, occasionally grabbing your hand to kiss it affectionately. You started being nervous and drank more than you normally would.

When you couldn't stay awake you requested to retreat. And as you were guided to your room, all you thought about was getting out of the fancy dress Ivar had gifted you, and sleeping until all your worries lessened.

As you fell into a light slumber, it seemed like hours had passed until you felt movement in your bed. You woke with a startle. Blinking to see in the darkness, you heard Ivar beside you speaking.

“Even if I had to wait for years, I always knew you were going to be mine. And now, finally, the time has come where nothing is stopping me.”

As his hands crawled over your skin, you realized you were never going to be free.

[pyschosoda]

Caught Staring

feat - Osferth, Finan, Uhtred, Sihtric

In which Uhtred and his pretty boys are caught staring at the woman their heart desires

a/n: my first post finally!!! I decided to start small in order to get the feel of writing for these characters! likes and reblogs are appreciated!!

“I can feel you staring at me…”

You watch the timid monk stiffen and look away from your peripheral. You often noticed Osferth’s eyes were drawn towards you when in the same room. You didn’t mind, of course; it was quite cute, so you never felt the need to call him out on it, but the poor boy looked as if he was about to explode if you didn’t speak up soon. 

“Ah…apologies… I don’t mean to stare." His eyes involuntarily straying back towards you for a moment before he forced his gaze to the wooden floorboards beneath his feet. 

 

“Have I got something on my face?” You tear your gaze from the arrow you had been crafting, now trailing over the anxious-looking monk. “Or perhaps my hair is askew?” A smile curls its way onto your lips as you watch Osferth shake his head at your teasing, his eyes flickering up to your face before dropping back down as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to meet your gaze. 

 

"N…n-no, my lady, you-“

 

"I’m teasing you, Osferth,” you cut him off, not wanting him to embarrass himself further, his own lips curling into a smile as his eyes finally decided that he did want to meet your gaze. 

 

“Oh…” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Right…”

 

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as your attention is drawn back to what you were doing before. 

 

and again, Osferth is staring. 

 

He watches as your hands craft arrow after arrow as if it were nothing more than muscle memory. 

 

From the corner of your eye, you notice Osferth fidgeting again, unsure if he should leave or try to start another conversation with you. 

 

“Come, sit,” you break the silence, making the decision for him as you offer him the seat across from you. “I’ll show you how to make an arrow.”

“I can feel you staring at me.”

 

Your voice cuts through the loud ale house, but Finan seemed to hear you just fine from where he was standing, slumped against the wall next to where you sat. 

 

“What? Now I’m not allowed to look at ya?" He scoffs, bringing the mug to his lips. 

 

“First ya take my seat, and now ya won’t even let me look at ya?" He jests, shaking his head as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

 

Your eyes roll at his words, unable to hide the smile Finan seemed to always bring to your lips. 

 

“I’m going to get us some more ale,” you state with a laugh, plucking the mug from his hands as you stand up and make your way to the barmaid behind the counter. 

 

Of course, once you left, Finan reclaimed his stolen seat. You opened your mouth to protest, but before you’re able to get a word out, he’s pulling you into his lap, the ale in the mugs sloshing around, coating your hands in the sticky liquid. 

 

“Finan!” you scold. “I’m covered in ale now, you bastard!”

 

He shushes you as he takes one of the filled mugs from your hands. “I’ll help you clean it off later; just sit still and let me enjoy a nice cup of ale with a pretty girl on my lap.”

“I can feel you staring at me,”

 

A grin stretches it’s way onto Uhtred’s face as he tore another piece of chicken from the bone, his eyes flickering down to the meat as he slips it into his mouth before his gaze moves back to yours. 

 

“Am I not allowed to look at my woman anymore?” He said in his usual smug tone that only added to his charm. 

 

“There’s a difference between looking and staring,” you say with false annoyance lacing between your words. 

 

This, of course, only makes him more smug, causing laughter to bubble up past his lips as he continues to enjoy his meal. 

 

“I can’t help that you look so beautiful tonight." Uhtred shrugs, looking back down at his plate as he finishes his food. 

 

“I look the same as I always do,” you argue, standing up to put away the plates.

 

As you walk by, Uhtred catches your waist with his hand. He leans back in his chair, his thumb gently moving back and forth, tracing the skin beneath your clothes. 

 

“That doesn’t make you any less beautiful to me." His voice was softer than before; the smugness was gone as he gazed up at you. 

 

“Sit, I would like to enjoy this moment with you a little longer." He releases your waist at the request, and you obliged, of course. Who are you to deny Lord Uhtred such a simple request? A request that ended up leading you right into his bed. 

“I can feel you staring at me.”

 

You pull your hands from the cold water of the river, giving Sihtric your full attention. It was hard to believe he was the warrior that people said he was because every time you got a look at him, he looked more like a puppy than a man to you, much like he did now, staring at you with wide eyes, shifting in the place he stood as he worked up the courage to speak more than his usual two words to you. 

 

“I wasn’t staring." His voice was light, almost light enough to be carried away in the wind, but you heard him. You always did. 

 

“No?” you hummed, turning your attention back to the wet dress in your hand. “Just happened to be strolling by the river, looking in my direction then?” 

 

There was a pause; for a moment, the only sound you heard was the sound of the river as you used it to wash your clothes. 

 

“You shouldn’t be out here alone." Sihtric spoke up, changing the subject. It seemed he’d rather focus on you in this moment. 

 

“I’m not alone,” you replied, squeezing the water from the dress you were cleaning. “You’re here.” You look back at him from over your shoulder, smiling at the sight of him moving his gaze down to his feet. 

 

“Will you come and make yourself useful, or are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” Your invitation seems to break the barrier between you two, the leaves crunching beneath his feet getting louder as he gets closer. 

 

“I was not staring,” he mumbles, taking one of the dirty pieces of clothing from her basket and dipping it into the river. 

- dividers by @dollywons and @thecutestgrotto -

a/n: again, this is my first post!! feedback in the comments would be appreciated! ^-^

[mads-weasley]

Next Time

Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: After being pushed by Ivar and the rest of his brothers, Hvitserk finally speaks to the girl he'd been admiring for months, but an unwelcome interruption breaks the conversation before he can get more than her name.

Word Count: 1.1k

The great hall was alive with chatter, but Hvitserk didn't may it any mind. His attention was stuck across the room...on her.

"You are staring again, brother," Ubbe commented gruffly, sipping his ale.

Hvitserk grinned, his eyes not leaving her figure. "She's beautiful, isn't she, Ubbe?"

With a grunt, Ubbe returned to his meal and ignored his younger brother. A few minutes later, Ivar and Sigurd joined them, and all it took was an annoyed glance from Ubbe to cue them in on the situation.

"I don't know about you, Hvitserk," Ivar said, following his gaze to the girl. "But I think I will go talk to her."

Hvitserk finally tore his eyes from her, his lip twitching as he glared at his brother. "You will not, Ivar."

"And who will stop me?" he shrugged. "If you do not wish to speak to her, why can't I?"

Sigurd chuckled at Hvitserk's pouting expression but quickly hid it behind his cup of ale when his older brother's scowl turned to him. He knew they were right, of course, but it was easier to stare from a distance and admire...he didn't even know her name.

He was going to learn it tonight, he told himself as he rose from the table with a grunt. Downing the rest of his almost full cup, Hvitserk wiped his mouth and set off across the room.

Noticing the commotion from her throne, Auslaug watched Hvitserk cross the hall before shooting her oldest son a raised brow. Ubbe did nothing but chuckle and shrug back at his mother. If he was being honest, he was just happy Hvitserk was doing something about his crush. It had been months since the girl first arrived in Kattegat. He'd grown tired of Hvitserk's longing expressions and endless comments about the poor girl he was clearly infatuated with. They ribbed him endlessly about talking to her, but he remained in his seat each time, choosing to look instead of speak.

Hvitserk wove through the crowded hall with more confidence than he felt, the warm buzz of ale bolstering his courage. He thanked the gods he wasn't doing this sober because he probably would still be sitting beside Ubbe, watching her from afar. He ignored the knowing glances from his brothers at the table, especially Ivar, who wore a smirk as wide as the fjord before Kattegat.

Her back was to him, her (y/h/c) hair falling over her shoulders as she laughed at something one of the women beside her had said. Hvitserk couldn’t help but smile to himself, feeling his nerves flicker in anticipation.

When Hvitserk reached the empty seat beside her, he hesitated briefly before pulling it out and plopping down in it with forced casualness.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, though it was clear he’d already decided to stay.

She glanced at him, her (y/e/c) eyes flickering with curiosity. “It would seem you’ve already made the decision, Hvitserk.”

Her voice was steady but amused, and the way she said his name...like it wasn’t the first time she’d noticed him...sent a spark of surprise through his chest. Hvitserk leaned back in his chair and quickly glanced over his shoulder at his brothers, trying to mask his excitement with a grin.

“Well, I thought it was about time we spoke,” he said, drumming his fingers lightly on the table. “You’ve been in Kattegat for a while now, yet we haven’t been properly introduced.”

She raised a brow, clearly skeptical. “And whose fault is that?”

Hvitserk chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his neck. "Fair enough. I guess I could've come over sooner, but...better late than never, yes?"

“You have an interesting way of making first impressions, Ragnarsson,” she replied with a playful glint in her eye. “But I’ll allow it. I’m (y/n).”

Hvitserk’s grin widened. “(Y/n),” he repeated, testing her name out, savoring the way it rolled off his tongue. “It suits you.”

“And what exactly have I done to capture the attention of one of the great Ragnar Lothbrok’s sons?” she asked, her head tilted slightly as she studied him.

"You haven't done anything," he said, leaning closer, his grin growing into a cocky smirk. "It's hard to ignore someone who could make even the gods stop and stare."

Heat rushed to (y/n)'s face, and she laughed softly, looking away from his gaze. She knew he was handsome from a distance, but up close...with those eyes and that smirk...she felt herself melting.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a loud voice from behind her beat her to it prompting her name. "Do not let him fool you..."

(Y/n) turned around in her chair to look at the man, but her eyes fell to the ground...or rather who crawled on the ground. "(Y/n)."

Hvitserk groaned audibly, though he didn't look at his brother. "Not now, Ivar."

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Ivar said, smirking as he shakily used Hvitserk's chair to push himself to his feet. He looked between the two of them with a mischievous grin. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s been staring at you like a lost pup for months.”

Leave it to Ivar to ruin a perfectly good conversation. Hvitserk could've strangled him right there.

“Ivar!” Hvitserk snapped, his face flushing as laughter erupted from the nearby tables.

(Y/n) forced herself to regain composure, tilting her head once again as she met his gaze. Her voice came out teasing, though the nervousness beneath was evident. “Is that true, Hvitserk?”

He sighed, leaning his elbows on the table. “I suppose I have been...admiring you. From a distance,” he admitted sheepishly, shooting a pointed glare at Ivar.

“Well, next time, don’t wait so long to speak to me,” she replied with a smile, unable to hide a hint of affection now.

Hvitserk blinked for a moment, stunned. “Next time?”

She didn't answer and instead rose to her feet, leaving him sitting there as she walked toward the doors. Before disappearing into the cold night, she sent him one last smile.

Ivar's laughter followed her departure, his grin as sharp as ever "You're hopeless, poor Hvitserk."

Hvitserk watched her go, a slow grin spreading across his face despite himself. “Maybe. But at least she wants there to be a next time.”

"She will see she made a mistake, brother...once she gets to know you."

His eyes cut over to Ivar, who stared back with raised brows. In one movement, Hvitserk slid his chair back and stood, making Ivar lose balance and flop onto the hard floor with a loud thud.

"Oh no," Hvitserk tutted, staring at his wheezing form with a smirk. he didn't even try to hide it. "You must be careful, little brother."

A/N: message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

[velvetvowsandvikingdreams]

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Still Waters⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Summary: Every evening, they watch you bathe—but it is Ivar who wants you the most...

Warnings: mdni!, smut!, voyeurism, violence, blood/injury, sexual tension, insecurity, virgin!ivar, m!receiving, choking, fear of drowning, fluff, teasing, norse mythology, romantic

Pairing: Ivar x reader

Word count: 4k

You made your way down to the lake, just as you always had—when the sky burned with the last light of the day and when you knew no one else would be there. The water was yours at this hour, a quiet place to think, to escape.

You glanced around, cautious as ever, before pulling the linen dress over your shoulders and letting it slip to your ankles. The cool evening air kissed your skin, and for a brief moment, you hesitated before stepping forward. Your toe dipped into the water first, adjusting to the temperature, before you sank in completely, letting it envelop you.

But you weren’t alone.

The sons of Ragnar had been watching. They always did.

Perched on the hillside, hidden by the trees, they waited—just as they had many times before. They heard you sing—beautifully.

Ubbe exhaled a slow, appreciative breath. "What a body… like a goddess." His voice was hushed, reverent, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the illusion of you before them. Your skin glistening under the the faint sun.

Hvitserk grinned, eyes hungry. "I want to have her."

Laughter followed.

"Only in your dreams," Sigurd mocked, smirking. "She will be mine."

But Ivar—he said nothing. He only watched.

His brothers words faded into meaningless noise as his blue eyes traced the way your skin glowed under the dying sunlight, the way water clung to your curves, how your hair slicked against your shoulders. He had heard men in Kattegat whisper about you, speak your name with longing. Even Jarls had asked for your hand, and yet, you had refused them all.

Why?

Ivar clenched his jaw, lost in the thought of you. Of your hands. Of how they might feel on him. He didn’t just want you. He wanted to own you, to make you his, to be the only man you ever looked at.

The crude voices of his brothers pulled him from his thoughts.

"She needs a real man," Hvitserk chuckled, nudging Ivar with his elbow. "Not some cripple who crawls around like a baby."

Ubbe smirked. "You think you have a chance, little brother?"

"Pathetic," Sigurd agreed. "You wouldn’t even know what to do with all that body of a woman."

Laughter erupted again.

Ivar’s jaw tensed, his grip on the dirt beneath him tightening. Then, without warning, he lunged.

"I’m going to kill you." His voice was a growl, low and full of fury.

The hilltop became chaos. He and Sigurd tumbled downward, fists and nails clawing at each other, their bodies rolling violently down the slope. When they finally hit the foot of the lake, you gasped.

"Guys—?"

Neither of them heard you.

Blood smeared across Ivar’s face, his breathing trembling as he shoved Sigurd back. But Sigurd had landed the worst blows, his lip curling in triumph.

Then he saw you.

Still half-submerged in the water, your arms wrapped around yourself, eyes wide in shock.

Sigurd stiffened. His smug expression faltered.

And without a word—he turned and ran.

Ivar remained where he was, panting, his chest rising and falling in sharp, erratic breaths. Blood trickled from his brow, mixing with the dirt on his skin. His hands trembled, though with pain or rage, you weren’t sure.

"Shit..." he muttered, dragging a hand across his face.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You waded toward the shore, fingers wringing water from your hair before reaching for your dress. As you pulled the linen over your shoulders, you finally looked at him—really looked at him.

Ivar’s blue eyes burned as they met yours.

And for the first time, you wondered if he had been watching you all along.

His hands, still clenched into fists, trembled slightly as he wiped at the blood on his brow. But it was no use. The wound on his forehead was still fresh, and the crimson streaked down the side of his face, mixing with dirt.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer.

"You’re bleeding." Your voice was softer now.

Ivar scoffed, looking away. "I know."

He didn’t move as you knelt beside him, the damp earth cool beneath your bare knees. His exhale faltered when you reached out, tearing a strip from the hem of your dress. The sound of fabric ripping made him glance at you, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"What are you—"

"Hold still."

You dipped the cloth in the lake, wringing it out before bringing it to his face.

At first, he flinched, his entire body tensing as if expecting a blow rather than kindness. His lips pressed together, and for the first time since you'd known of him, he looked uncertain.

You had seen Ivar be ruthless, cruel even. You had heard the things people whispered about him—the monster, the cripple, the son of Ragnar with no legs but the sharpest mind, the coldest heart. But now, with the way his breath stilled as you wiped the blood from his brow, he looked...different.

Almost vulnerable.

"You shouldn’t let them get to you," you murmured, carefully dabbing at the cut. "Sigurd only taunts you because he knows it gets under your skin."

Ivar let out a small, breathy laugh. "And you think I should just let him?"

"I think you should make him eat his words when it matters, not when he’s goading you like a child."

Ivar swallowed, he stole a glance from your lips to your eyes.

You were close. Closer than anyone ever got to him. He could smell the lake on your skin, the faint trace of something floral that lingered in your hair. His brothers had laughed at the thought of him ever touching a woman like you, but here you were, your fingers pressing so gently against his temple, your expression filled with something he didn’t quite understand.

Care.

His head dipped as he tried to say something—anything—but the words got stuck. His usual sharp tongue failed him.

"There," you said, finally pulling back, eyeing your work. The bleeding had stopped.

Ivar exhaled through his nose, his hands flexing at his sides as if resisting the urge to grab onto something. Maybe onto you.

"You should get back," he huffed, his voice quieter now. "Before someone sees you with me."

You tilted your head. "And why would that be a bad thing?"

He swallowed again, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he looked down, suddenly focused on the dirt beneath his fingers.

Ivar, the man who could spit venom at anyone who dared cross him, looked almost bashful.

And something about that made you smile.

And worse, you were still there.

You should have left by now, should have gathered your things and disappeared back into the village, but instead, you lingered. Watching him.

"You always watched me, hm?" you asked suddenly, mustering his face. A hint of laughter colored your tone.

Ivar stiffened. His fingers curled into the dirt.

"What?"

"You and your brothers." You smirked, shifting your weight as you sat back next to him. "You think I didn't notice? You think I don’t know when I’m being watched?"

He forced down a lump in his throat. He should have denied it, should have laughed it off, should have said something cruel to push you away like he always did with others. But he couldn't.

Because you were right.

"I..." he started, but the words broke off, sticking to his tongue like honey. His teeth locked in shame, looking away, humiliated by the warmth creeping up his neck.

"I wonder," you mused, drawing a slow circle in the dirt beside you, your voice teasing, "what does Ivar the Boneless think about when he watches?"

His head snapped toward you, eyes widening.

"What?"

"You heard me." Your lips curved into something wicked, and then, with intent, your fingers found the front tie of your dress, idly toying with it. "You’ve seen me like this, haven’t you? Every evening. Floating in the water. Undressing."

The knot at your chest was loose from earlier, and with the way your fingers played with it now, it threatened to come undone entirely.

Ivar’s throat went dry. His hands stirred with impatience, as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

"Stop," he rasped out, voice hoarse.

"Stop what?" You leaned in—your voice a secretive whisper. "Making you think about all the things you’ve imagined?"

He wanted to tell you to stop, to tell you that you were being cruel—but he couldn’t. Because he had imagined. More than once. More than he would ever admit.

"You think I don't know what goes through a man's mind when he watches a woman like that?" you murmured, still toying with the tie, still watching him unravel.

His nostrils flared.

"I have never—"

"Never?" You lifted a brow, unconvinced.

"You think I am like them?" he voiced out. "That I sit there and talk about you like they do? Like you are nothing more than something to be taken?"

The intensity in his voice startled you.

"I would never." He whispered, like he couldn't bear the thought of hurting you. "You are not like other women. You are…more."

Something shifted in the air between you.

He was looking at you like you were something untouchable, something he had wanted for so long but had never dared to reach for.

"You are beautiful." The words left his lips so quietly, as if he wasn’t sure he should say them out loud. "Too beautiful."

Your breath caught.

"I have always wanted you to be mine," he admitted, almost in defeat. "Even when I knew I could never have you."

His voice was raw, the usual confidence stripped away.

"But you refuse everyone. Even the strongest men in Kattegat. I know you are not easily won."

Your chest rose and fell, a strange heat curling in your stomach at his confession.

"And yet…" you tilted your head, "you still wanted me?"

Ivar let out a reluctant breath. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for you but didn't dare.

"I still do."

You moved—shifted closer, swinging one leg over his lap until you were straddling him. He inhales sharply, his hands gripping the grass at his sides as if it was the only thing grounding him.

"W-What are you doing?" He stammered, his voice unsure.

You smiled, amused by the rare glimpse of hesitation in him. "What does it look like?"

Your fingers found the front tie of your dress again, but this time, you weren’t playing. You tugged at it, undoing the knot until the fabric loosened. It slipped over your shoulders, baring soft breasts beneath.

Ivar clenched his teeth, his eyes darting anywhere but at you—at the trees, at the ground, at the blood still drying on his fingers.

You laughed, a soft, sweet sound that made his stomach tighten.

"Don’t be afraid, Ivar." Your voice was gentle, teasing, but there was something else in it, something that told him you weren’t mocking him.

He swallowed hard. "I’m not afraid."

"Then look at me."

He hesitated, but when you placed your hands on his, guiding them to your breasts, letting him knead them, his breath left him in a sudden exhale.

His eyes were piercing—wide and almost disbelieving—in awe.

"Is this what you imagined, hm?" You murmured. "While you touched yourself?"

His entire body went rigid beneath you. A deep, vibrating breath left his lips, and his hands almost jerked away, but you held them there, pressing them firmer against you, as you bit your lower lip.

His face burned. His grip was anxious, timid, as if afraid he’d do something wrong.

"I…" He swallowed again, looking utterly spoiled by the weight of your words. His lips opened, but no response came.

You smirked.

"Don't be ashamed, Ivar." You whispered, leaning in so your breath ghosted over his ear. "You don't have to lie to me."

It was intoxicating.

"Hm," you murmured, letting your fingers ghost down his arms before settling on his wrists. "Have you ever done this before?"

His hands jittery against you.

You saw the way his throat tightened, the flicker of something raw and vulnerable in his expression. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

"No," he admitted, almost a whisper.

Your smile was soft, teasing, but not cruel.

"I thought so."

His brows twitched together, as if he wanted to argue, but before he could, you took his hands and placed them on your waist, guiding his fingers to settle against the curve of your body. His grip was stiff at first, uncertain, but you gave him time.

You cupped his face. His skin was warm beneath your touch, a contrast to the cool evening air.

"Relax." You smiled at him warmly. "It's okay..."

You leaned in, closing the space between you, and then—tenderly—your lips met his.

The moment your mouths touched, he made a noise.

"Hmh."

It was almost startled, awkward, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. His lips were tense beneath yours at first, unsure, like he was trying to figure out how to move, how to breathe.

You pulled away just enough to look at him, your breath ghosting over his lips. His pupils were blown wide, his cheeks flushed.

"I-I want...to taste you."

His gaze flickered down, and you could see the way his throat bobbed again, the way his lips parted slightly as if the thought alone was overwhelming.

You nodded—smiling.

But he wanted it.

Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned forward. His lips brushed over the curve of your breasts, a whisper of a touch. Then, gaining a bit more confidence, he kissed again, firmer this time, his calloused hands kneading your delicate flesh.

You hummed in approval, threading your fingers through his hair, encouraging him.

His tongue flicked out, hesitantly circling the hardened peak. When you sighed at the feeling, he grew bolder, wrapping his lips around it fully, sucking softly.

"Ivar," you moaned—full of lust.

Ivar exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping you tighter. His tongue worked over your nipple, flicking and teasing before he bit down—harder than expected.

You gasped, and he immediately pulled back, looking up at you in a panic, his lips slightly swollen.

"Did I—?"

"No," you reassured him with a smirk. "I like it."

Your fingers trailed down his arm carefully before finding his other hand. His grip was still hesitant, still unsure of what to do, of how far he could go. You took it gently, guiding it up, pressing his palm against your throat.

He froze.

His blue eyes flew up to yours, searching, his breath uneven. His fingers trembled against your skin, but he didn’t tighten them—he just held you there, as if he wasn’t sure he should.

"You want me to choke you?" His voice was quiet, volatile.

You nodded, your pulse fluttering beneath his hand. "Yes."

His brows furrowed slightly. He swallowed—tongue darting out to wet his plump lips.

"You’re sure?" His voice was softer this time, almost boyish in the way he asked, like he needed your permission to do this.

You pressed his hand a little firmer against your throat. "I’m sure."

Carefully, he applied the slightest bit of pressure.

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, savoring the feeling, and when you opened them again, he was staring at you. Watching every reaction.

"Like that?" he murmured.

"More."

He swallowed again, his fingers tightening just a little more. But the way your lips parted, the way your body reacted beneath his hands—it made something glint in his expression.

He was still hesitant—uncertain, but when he squeezed just a little harder and heard the way your breath tore—

"Ivar…"

His name, falling from your lips in that soundless moan, sent a jolt through his body. His grip on your throat tightened instinctively before loosening again, as if he was afraid he’d go too far.

"Fuck," he whispered, almost to himself. His free hand playing with your breasts—kissing them.

"You look so beautiful with my hand wrapped around your throat," he whispered, his voice raw, needy. "Like you were made for me."

You whimpered as his grip tightened again, just for a second, your thighs squeezing around his lap in response.

"You like that, don’t you?" His voice was jagged, like he was almost surprised. He let out a small laugh, but it was desperate, crushed.

"You like it when I squeeze your pretty throat while you moan for me?" He teased.

You nodded, gasping when he pulled you closer, pressing you flush against his chest. His lips were right by your ear now.

"Tell me you wanted me, just as much as I wanted you." He growled low.

"I needed you so much, Ivar." You obeyed, moaning breathlessly, as he moaned in response.

"Gods, I want to ruin you," he rasped, his voice shaking with need.

You pulled back slightly, suppressing a smile. "Ruin me, Ivar."

He looked wrecked. Flustered, desperate, like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

You kissed him again, slower this time, coaxing him into it. His fingers dug into your waist as if anchoring himself. He tried to mimic the way your lips moved against his.

You felt it—the way his body strained beneath you, the way his breath stuttered when your hips circled just slightly against his heat. Even through the layers of fabric between you, you could feel him hardening, his arousal pressing against you as if betraying everything he was too shy to say aloud.

"You like that?" You teased, rocking against him slowly.

"You have no idea..." Ivar let out a choked noise.

"So excited, hm?" You taunted, your lips brushing against his ear as your fingers trailed down his chest, tracing the ridges of muscle beneath his tunic.

He swallowed hard.

"Wait—" His voice was hoarse, but he didn’t push you away.

Your fingers reached the front tie of his pants, playing with the knot, tugging at it just slightly, just enough for him to feel the shift.

Ivar let out a shaky exhale, his head tilting back just a fraction, his lips parting—but he was rigid, every muscle in his body coiled like a bowstring about to snap.

"You don’t have to—" He hesitated, hands flexing against your waist. His voice was quieter now, more vulnerable. "I don’t... I don’t know what to do."

You smiled, leaning in to press your lips against his jaw, just beneath his ear.

"You don’t have to do anything."

You felt it—the hesitation, the fear beneath the arousal, the unspoken terror that this was all some cruel joke, that at any moment you might laugh at him, just like his brothers did.

"I'm afraid you will laugh at me."

But you didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him.

Slow, deep, your lips moving against his with purpose, swallowing every unsteady breath, every noise he tried to bite back. Your hand pressed against him more firmly, your palm teasing along the outline of him, feeling how hard he was, how much he wanted this—wanted you.

"I would never laugh at you, Ivar," you purred against his lips, as you traced the outline of his hard length with your fingertips.

He shuddered.

And then—finally—he let you. Your eyes never left his.

You tugged the knot loose, feeling how his stomach tensed beneath your fingers. He looked down—panting.

His whole body was stiff, every muscle locked as you reached inside, weapping your fingers around his cock for the first time.

Ivar gasped.

A sharp, choked sound left his lips, his head falling back against the grass as his hands scrambled against your sides, not knowing whether to pull you closer or push you away from the sheer overwhelming sensation of it.

"Gods—" he groaned, his breath shuddering as you gave him a slow, testing stroke.

You giggled at the sight of him, utterly undone beneath you.

"You’re so sensitive," you mused, stroking him again, watching the way his hips jerked ever so slightly into your touch, his body betraying him. "Have you never been touched like this before?"

Ivar’s eyes squeezed shut, his lips parting around another helpless, shaky breath.

"N-No," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "Never."

Your smile widened, something warm curling in your chest at the realization that this—this moment—was his first.

"So hard for me," you whispered, your thumb caressing over his leaking tip, watching the way his thighs tensed, how his brows knitted together in helpless pleasure.

A broken, needy whimper left his lips, and you laughed softly, leaning down to brush your lips against his ear.

"You sound so beautiful when you whimper for me, Ivar."

His breath hitched sharply, his hands grasping at your waist, but he was powerless beneath you, lost in the sensation, lost in you.

"Wouldn’t it drive your brothers mad?" You teased, your lips trailing kisses along his jaw. "That of all the men who have wanted me, of all the Jarls and warriors I have denied, I did it for you? That I only ever wanted you?"

Ivar let out a shaky moan, his lashes fluttering. "W-Why?" he whined, almost like he didn’t believe you.

You smiled as you worked him gently in your hand.

"Because I hoped—" you whispered, your lips almost touching his—"that one day, we would be this close."

His entire body trembled.

He swallowed, his gaze flickering away. "But I am—"" He hesitated, jaw tightening. "I cannot take you like other men could."

His deepest fear.

"Believe me, you are taking me better than any man ever could." You responded.

He was stiff again, shoulders squared like he was bracing himself for something—mockery, rejection, pity.

"Ivar," you purred against his lips, "I don’t want them. I never have. I want you—just as you are."

"You really mean that?"

You nodded.

You wrapped your fingers more firmly around him, stroking him in a slow, teasing rhythm, feeling the heat of him, the way he twitched in your grasp.

"How often have you imagined this, Ivar?" You whispered, your lips brushing against his neck.

He let out a soft, strangled moan, his hips flinching slightly into your hand before he forced himself still, his grip on you tightening.

"I—" He swallowed hard, struggling to get the words out. "Every time."

You smiled against his skin. "Every time?"

"Every time you bathed," he admitted, his voice wrecked, shaking. "Every time I watched you, every time you let the water touch your body, I imagined—"

He groaned as you squeezed him slightly, your thumb circling over the sensitive tip, feeling the way his body reacted to you, how easily he was unraveling.

"Imagined what, Ivar?" You teased, your strokes slow, torturous.

He let out a desperate breath. "Imagined this—your hands on me, touching me, making me feel—" His voice faltered, his head tipping back as another soft moan escaped him.

You kissed along the line of his collarbone, smiling against his skin. "And did you touch yourself while thinking of me?"

Ivar whimpered.

His grip on you was bruising now, his fingers digging into your hips as if he was trying to hold himself together. His cheeks were burning.

"Yes," he admitted. "Every night."

Your stomach tightened at his confession, heat pooling between your thighs.

"Poor thing," you teased, pumping him just a little faster, feeling how thick and heavy he was in your hand, the way his body twitched with each slow stroke. "You must have been so frustrated, watching me, never being able to touch me."

"Gods...yes," Ivar moaned, his hips bucking slightly into your grip, completely lost in the feeling.

"And now I’m here," you murmured, your lips brushing against his jaw, "touching you, making you feel good. Just like you imagined."

Ivar let out a broken sound, "Better," he choked out, "better than I ever imagined."

He was beautiful like this—completely unraveled, completely at your mercy. Lips and cheeks flush.

You lifted your hand to your lips and spit into your palm, watching as Ivar’s eyes widened, his breath hitching sharply in his throat.

"Gods," he groaned, his hips jolting slightly at the sight.

You smile at him, as you wrapped your slickened hand around his dick again, and he whimpered—a soft, broken sound as you spread the wetness along his length, mixing with the arousal already leaking from his tip.

"Look at you," you teased, your lips ghosting over his, "so desperate for me."

"I—" Ivar gasped, his forehead pressing against yours, his body shaking as you pumped him slowly, teasingly. "Please."

"Please what?" You kissed him, slow and deep, swallowing the strangled moan that escaped him as you worked him in your hand.

"I don’t—"" He broke off into another shaky whine as your thumb brushed over his tip, gathering the wetness there. "I don’t know—I just—more."

"More?" You kissed down his jaw, then his throat, letting your lips linger against his heated skin as you continued your slow strokes. "You’re begging so lovely."

Ivar barely had time to react before you sank to your knees in front of him.

"Gods," he whispered, his voice breaking.

You glanced up at him, eyes filled with desire, before pressing a slow, teasing kiss to his tip.

Ivar moaned—a wrecked, desperate sound, his hips bucking slightly before he forced himself still, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

"Have you imagined this too, Ivar? My mouth on you?" You murmured, your breath warm against his sensitive tip.

"Yes," he gasped, his voice raw with need.

Ivar cut off on a moan the second your mouth wrapped around him, his whole body jerking.

"Gods—fuck," he gasped, his voice wrecked, shaking. His head tipped back, his lips parted as he sucked in a ragged breath, his entire body trembling under the new, overwhelming sensation of your wet, hot mouth around his aching cock.

He was thick, flushed deep red at the tip, already leaking with arousal that smeared against your lips as you sucked him in deeper. The veins along his length throbbed under your touch, his cock twitching every time your tongue flicked over the sensitive head, every time your lips tightened around him.

"Please—" He moaned louder as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking him deeper. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to grab your hair, to guide you, but was too afraid—too lost in the pleasure to even think properly.

"You’re so—fuck—so wet," he groaned, his hips twitching, betraying his restraint. "Feels too good—feels—"" He choked on a moan as you swirled your tongue along the underside of his cock, tracing the pulsing vein there before taking him even deeper.

"Love how you taste," you moaned on him, your voice thick with arousal.

He whimpered. Sweat started beading at his brow, his chest heaving as he watched you through lidded eyes—completely ruined, completely yours.

"I can’t—" His voice was strained, desperate. "I—fuck—I don’t know how much—"

You smirked up at him, your lips wrapping tighter around him as you sucked hard, taking him even deeper.

Ivar mewled, his hands flying to your hair before he could stop himself, his hips jerking forward as his cock throbbed in your mouth.

"Fuck!" he gasped. "I—I'm—"

You hummed around him, and that was all it took.

"Gods," he groaned, his head tipping back, his jaw slack with pleasure. "You—You’re so beautiful like this—lips wrapped around my cock."

You let him take control, let him guide you, your nails digging into his thighs as you relaxed, letting him use your mouth like he’d always dreamed.

"So warm. So fucking perfect."

You moaned around him, your eyes locked onto his, and Ivar lost it.

"I—fuck—" His breath broke off, his whole body tensing as his cock throbbed against your tongue. "I—I'm—"

With a strangled moan, his hips jerked forward one last time as he spilled into your mouth, his hot seed hitting the back of your throat in thick, pulsing waves.

"Gods," he groaned, his grip in your hair tightening as he rode out his orgasm, his breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps.

You swallowed all of it, sucking him through it, drawing out every last drop as he rode out his high.

He was panting, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths as he tried to recover from what you had just done to him.

And yet, as you pulled back, licking your lips with a knowing smirk, his eyes never left yours.

You gazed up at him with something softer now—affection laced with glee, admiration mingling with desire. He looked wrecked, his skin had turned rosy, his lips parted—his icy blue eyes blown.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Slowly, you rose to your feet. Your dress slipping down completly.

His pupils dilated.

"So beautiful," he breathed, his voice hoarse. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if aching to reach out and touch. "I have only seen you naked from afar…but now—up close—" His breath caught. "You are more perfect than the goddesses themselves."

His hand lifted, tentative, his fingertips brushing the air between you, but just as he was about to make contact, you pulled back with a playful smirk.

"Only if you come and take a swim with me."

Ivar blinked, the haze of lust in his eyes sparkling with something else.

"What?" he asked, as if he hadn’t heard you correctly.

"Come," you pushed, stepping backward toward the lake, your bare body illuminated by the fading sunlight. "Join me."

Ivar hesitated, his expression shifting—desire warring with something else—Fear.

"I can't swim."

Your smile widened. "Then I guess you’ll have to trust me."

And with that, you turned, stepping into the water, disappearing beneath the surface, leaving him sitting there—stunned, breathless, and aching to follow you.

Ivar looked at the water’s edge, his body still tense, his breathing still unsteady—not just from what had happened between you moments ago, but from what you were asking of him now.

His sharp blue eyes followed you as you floated effortlessly on the lake’s surface, your naked body half-submerged, the water lapping gently against your skin. The soft glow of the setting sun cast golden ripples across the water, making you look almost otherworldly, like some goddess who had lured him into her grasp.

And he wanted to go to you. But his body betrayed him at the thought.

He had never been in the water like this. He knew his brothers could swim—had watched them play and dive when they were children—but he had always been left on the shore, watching, knowing he could never move the way they did, knowing the water would pull him down like a stone if he ever tried.

"Ivar," you called softly, your voice warm, inviting, as you swam back closer.

You reached out, your fingers barely brushing his hand. "Do you trust me?" you asked.

His jaw tightened. His gaze moving between your face and the dark water around you, breathing heavy, unsteady.

"I—" He hesitated, his pride warring with the deep, unspoken Dread buried in his chest. "I don’t know."

You laughed, but he didn’t. He was watching you too intently, his blue gaze sharp, as if he was truly wary of you.

"What?" you pressed, raising an eyebrow.

Ivar exhaled sharply through his nose. "You are like a Sjörå," he muttered.

That made you pause. "A Sjörå?"

"Yes." His voice was low, deliberate. "Beautiful. Enchanting. But dangerous." His fingers curled into the grass. "Luring men into the water…where they never return."

"And what if I that is exactly what I want?" You chuckled, wading deeper, watching the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

He huffed, looking away, but not before you saw the hint of something heated in his gaze. "Then you are even more dangerous than I thought."

You rolled your eyes before you smiled again, soft and reassuring. "Come on. You will float. Trust me."

"You are really not going to let this go?" He asks.

You shook your head laughing.

His muscles were taut, his whole body coiled with resistance.

"Ivar," you said again, reaching up to gently cup his face, tracing along a scar on his cheekbone. "You just need to relax your body. I promise, I won’t let you sink."

He wanted to let go.

And with you—nude, beautiful, and patient before him, looking at him like he was worth trusting—he wanted to try.

Then, with a sharp inhale, he reached for the hem of his tunic.

His movements were stiff at first, hesitant, but then his clothes fell away, piece by piece, revealing him to you. He was strong, all lean muscle and sharp angles, his pale skin marked with old scars.

But it was his eyes that caught you the most. The way he looked at you—like you were something unreal, something he didn’t quite believe he could have.

You reached for his hand.

"Come," you whispered.

Ivar swallowed hard, his fingers twitching before finally—finally—he took yours.

You pulled him forward, guiding him into the water, the lake cool against his skin as it rose past his knees, his thighs, then his waist. He stiffened immediately, his grip on your hand tightening, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

Then, suddenly, his feet left the ground.

His body jerked, instinct kicking in as he grabbed onto you with both hands, his muscles locked with tension.

"I knew this was a bad idea—" he gasped, gripping you as if his life depended on it. His hands clutched desperately at your waist, his legs tensing beneath the water as he tried—failed—to find something solid beneath him.

"You are screaming like a little girl!" You teased, as he shot a dark look at you.

"Don't look at me like that, you can't kill me or else we will both die." You laughed, your arms wrapping instinctively around him as he clung to you. He moved fast—scared.

"If you push me down, I’m gonna drown right with you, Ivar!" you giggled, your voice full of warmth, of laughter.

"That’s not funny," he hissed, his voice a little higher than usual, his body stiff against yours.

You chuckled, holding him close, feeling the frantic thrum of his heart against your chest.

"Ivar, look at me...don't overthink it," you whispered, rubbing soothing circles along his back. "Just...feel."

"I can't relax—" he started, but you cut him off with a soft press of your lips against his jaw.

"I’m here," you whispered. "I won’t let anything happen to you."

Slowly—so, so slowly—you felt him begin to unwind. His grip on you loosened, just a fraction. His breathing steadied, just a little. His body, still tense, still hesitant, began to trust the way the water held him.

You smiled.

"See," you murmured, your fingers threading into the damp strands of his hair. "you're floating."

Ivar exhaled slowly, his eyes locking onto yours.

And then, you kissed him.

Softly at first, gently, as if pulling him further into ease. But as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your bare body against his, the kiss deepened, his lips parting beneath yours as he melted into you.

A low, shaky moan escaped him as your hands tangled in his hair, his arms tightening around your waist, pulling you closer as if you were the only thing keeping him from sinking.

And maybe, in a way, you were.

You could feel his heartbeat against your own, no longer frantic—just there, steady and real.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He just held you, as if letting the silence say what he couldn’t.

Then, in a voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it, he murmured, “I’ve never felt this way before.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your thumb brushing over his lower lip. His eyes—so piercing, so intense—were softer now.

"What way?" You asked gently, your hand resting against his shoulders, feeling the slight tremble in his muscles.

He swallowed, his gaze darting away for a second before finding yours again.

"Like...like I could be wanted," he admitted, almost ashamed. "Like I could be...enough."

Your heart clenched.

“I’ve spent my whole life hearing what I can’t do. What I am not.” His jaw tensed, and for a moment, you saw the familiar hint of anger—of pain—beneath his expression.

"A cripple. A burden. A man who will never—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, his throat working as he swallowed back the rest of the words.

You cupped his face, gently, firmly, tilting his head so he had to look at you.

"You are everything," you whispered, your voice fierce, certain. "and I have wanted you for so long."

His breath hitched, his blue eyes searching yours, as if trying to find any trace of dishonesty.

"But...how?" His voice was so small, so unsure. “You could have anyone. Even great Jarls have asked for your hand. But you…” He hesitated, licking his lips. “You always said no.”

You smiled, tilting your head as your fingers trailed down the sides of his face, your touch gentle, cherishing.

"Because the Norns wove your name into the threads of my fate," you said softly, your gaze never wavering. "Odin himself could have offered me his throne, and I would still choose you. Not for power, not for glory—but because my soul has known yours since the beginning, as if we were forged together in the same fire that birthed Yggdrasil."

His lips parted slightly. The look on his face like in disbelief.

He stared at you, as if seeing you for the first time—not as a prize, but as something sacred.

"By the gods..." he breathed, voice rough with wonder.

"If the Norns truly wove us together, then let them bind me to you in every life to come. I would face Ragnarök a thousand times if it meant I could find you again."

Ivar inhaled deeply, like he was trying to commit this moment to memory—you and him in the water, wet hair clinging to your shoulders like silk, the feeling of your skin against his, your warmth, your words, your love.

"You are everything to me, Ivar." You whispered against his lips.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 　

Taglist (If you want to get added write/comment) 🪼

@tessakate @ivarlover

[1-800-choke-me]

Hvitserk: I sleep with an axe under my pillow

Ubbe: I sleep with a knife under mine

Y/N: you're both pathetic

Hvitserk: oh yeah, than what do you sleep with?

Y/N: Ivar

[blue-sadie]

Tracing Tattoos

Imagine:

Being in bed with a sleeping ivar and slowly tracing his tattoos, your finger tips grazing his skin leaving a trail of goosebumps, your touch slowly makes him stir in his sleep.

"Hm that feels good my love but I'd prefer if your hands scratching my back as I fuck you making you squirm and scream my name letting the village know your mine"

[imtryingbuck]

The queens daughter.

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Ivar Ragnarsson x fem!Reader

Summary: Ivar falls in love with a woman without even getting to know her, yet her mum is the woman he hates more than anything.

Word count: 1,672

Warnings: slight angst. fluff. doesn’t necessarily follow the series.

A/N: thank you for the request🤍

Masterlist

Lagertha was now queen. A constant reminder of that fact was the many shieldmaidens she had brought with her to Kattegat.

Despite how much he hated the woman who killed his dear mother in cold blood, he couldn’t complain about the new women setting up home around him. One in particular caught his eye. He truly thought that Freya herself had created this woman, he had never seen such beauty before. He would sit on the steps of the Great Hall with his eyes trained on her as she moved through the market with a sweet smile on her lips as she greeted those around her.

For a month he kept watching her, and whilst never knowing her name he fell in love with her.

The Great Hall was packed with people celebrating Bjorn’s safe return from the Mediterranean, Ivar watched as Lagertha’s face lit up and the softest smile replace the straight line her lips had been in for as long as he was watching her, curious to what made her smile he followed her eye-line. Bjorn, nothing special about him, he thought to himself. Bjorn with his arms wrapped around a woman, he frowned - he didn’t realise that his oldest brother had a new wife.

But then the woman turns to face Lagertha, it was the woman from the market.

He was pretty sure everyone could hear his heart break.

Of course the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on was with his brother. Even if he had never gained the courage to speak to her, of course she chose his brother over him.

He sits there with his blunt nails digging into the arm of his chair watching as Bjorn presses a sweet kiss to her forehead, a smile taking residence on her lips as she walks up the Lagertha. Rolling his eyes as the oldest of Ragnar’s sons makes his way over to his younger brothers with a smirk on his lips. “What’s with the sour look?”

Ubbe shook his head - a grin making a way on his lips, Hvitserk shrugged and brought his cup to his mouth, Sigurd didn’t even bother to look up. “Who is that?” Ivar asked.

“Who?”

“That woman you were talking to.”

“My sister.” He shrugs, grabbing a cup and downing the mead.

All four of them looked up at Bjorn with questioning looks on their faces. “Gyda? Father said she died.” Ubbe finally spoke.

“Yes she did. That’s Y/n.”

“You have another sister? Is she Ragnar’s?”

Chuckling, Bjorn shook his head. “No, her father is Kalf.”

“And Lagertha is her mum?” Hvitserk asked.

“No.” The oldest said with sarcasm. “Of course Lagertha is her mum.”

As his brothers talked Ivar kept his eyes on her watching as she laughed along with her mum and Astrid - the thought of this woman who he had fallen in love with was the daughter of the same woman who had murdered his mother made him feel sick, yet oddly enough he wanted to see what would happen if he confessed his feelings to her.

He was Ivar the Boneless. He was the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. He was the son of Aslaug Sigurdsdottir. So why was he so nervous to walk up to Y/n? He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even realise that she was walking up to him until she was right in front of him. “Hi.”

“H-hello.”

“Are you okay?”

“Why?”

She shrugs, picking at the handle of her sword that’s attached to her hip. “You seem conflicted.”

“What do you mean?”

“You look like you don’t know whether you're going left or right.” He frowns at her - his eyes rolling as she grins. “It’s a hard decision I’ll admit, left or right - who can decide?”

“You're hilarious.” He deadpans. “What do you want?”

“Thank you and nothing, just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh okay.” Kicking a stone lightly watching as people walked quickly past them with their heads downwards. “I- I’m sorry for your loss.”

Scoffing, his bright blue eyes scanning her form up and down. “Your mother killed mine and you're saying sorry?”

“I didn’t know what my mum was planning, I swear.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“I guess not but I’m still sorry.”

“Where is your father?”

“Dead.” She says with a shrug. “Mum killed him.”

“She killed your father?”

“Yeah, but he had it coming.” Moving over to the steps leading to the blacksmiths, she patted the space next to her - smiling softly when he moved to sit next to her. “It happened before I was born so obviously I didn’t know him but Bjorn told me the truth after mum lied to me.”

Twiddling with the loose string on his gloves he frowns at her. “What did she lie about?”

“She told me he was a good man, and that he died from an illness. She thought she was protecting me from the truth, I understand, I guess.” Smiling at some of the shieldmaidens that walked by heading towards the training grounds, she carries on. “But it was Bjorn that told me the truth one night when I asked him about my father.”

“I- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She grins up at him. “I don’t blame my mum for what she did.”

From that moment onwards the two would be seen together almost everyday, spending their days either in the woods or the beach away from prying eyes and talking about everything and anything. Ivars eyes would roll at her when she would try to sneak up on him and jump over him, always asking with a grin if she scared him.

Bjorn had started to notice the way Ivars eyes lit up everytime Y/n entered the great hall. Ubbe was the one who noticed that Ivar was trying to control his anger - especially when Y/n was around. Hvitserk quickly noticed that Ivar was quick to shut him down whenever he spoke of Y/n, and Sigurd… he didn’t care for either one of them.

When it came to her daughter Lagertha was overbearing. She knew this herself. Y/n knew this. Even Bjorn knew this. But she had already lost one daughter, she wasn’t going to do it again, she knew every aspect of her daughter's life. So it didn’t come to a surprise when she began to suspect that something was going on between Y/n and Ivar.

“Hello flower.” Wrapping her arms around her daughter, she presses a kiss to her head.

“Hi mum.”

Taking a seat next to her youngest, she watches as Y/n pushes her food around the plate - clearly uninterested in her meal. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Does this have anything to do with Ivar?” Y/n’s eyes snap up to her mothers, her mouth opening and closing before lowering her head. “I take that as a yes. Has he hurt you?”

“No! No he hasn’t.”

“So what’s got you upset, my pretty girl?”

“I like him but I know it’s wrong.” She rushes out. “We have the same brother-”

“Different parents.”

“It’s still wrong though isn’t it?”

“Does it feel wrong?”

“No… not really.”

“Then it’s not.” Placing her hands on Y/n’s she smiles softly. “Does he feel the same?”

Her cheeks instantly turned bright red. The memory of them two in the woods flashed through her eyes.

Ivar was picking at the stick in his hands as Y/n sat to his left creating a daisy chain, the pair sat in comfortable silence as Ivars bright blue eyes went from the stick to her face - a grin on his lips as he watches her tongue poke out as she concentrates on the task at hand.

“Y/n…”

“Yes?”

“I- I like you.”

Her head snapped up at this. His eyes focused on the tree in front of them as she stared at him. “Are- are you serious?”

“Yes, unfortunately for you the cripple likes y-”

She cuts him off by pressing her lips to his.

“Darling?” Lagertha's soft voice snaps her out of the memory. A subtle grin on her lips. “Does he?”

“Yes, and we kissed.”

The blonde haired queen smiles softly once more, tucking in a few stray hairs behind Y/n’s ear. “Does he make you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Standing with a soft groan she presses a kiss to her daughters forehead. “Goodnight flower.”

Bjorn wasn’t too pleased to see his sister - who he still saw her as a baby much to her annoyance - sitting very close to Ivar. Lagertha rolled her eyes at him as he gripped his cup tighter and tighter when Ivar placed a kiss to Y/n’s lips.

“They’re married Bjorn, they’ll be doing much more than kiss-”

“Don’t.” Her oldest child grumbled. “That’s my sister and brother you are talking about, I don’t want that image in my head.”

Four months prior, Ivar walked into the great hall with his head held high as he locked eyes with Lagertha. “Queen Lagertha, I’m here to ask for your blessing to marry Y/n.”

Y/n choked on her mead, Ubbe rubbing her back as Hvitserk and Sigurd laughed as she spat the liquid out. And Bjorn sat there still as a statue. She had no idea he was going to ask her mum for her blessing, they had only spoken once about marriage and that was when her mum was receiving letters of marriage proposals.

“You wish to marry my daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.”

A celebration was held for the newly engaged couple.

Two months after their marriage Ivar had finally forgiven his mother in law for murdering his mother after the pair had a heart to heart one night.

Several months after that, Y/n and Ivar happily told their family that they were expecting their first child. Everyone was extremely happy, even Bjorn… after a while.

“I love you Y/n.” Ivar whispered one night as they laid in bed together.

“And I love you Ivar.”

Tags: @cheesesandwichsanto