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velvetvowsandvikingdreams · 2 months ago

Text

˗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

#ivar imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless x reader smut #ivar x reader #ivar x you #viking #vikings #vikings ivar #ivar the boneless smut #ivar smut

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entitled-fangirl · 4 months ago

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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

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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."

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milkb0nny · 5 months ago

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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.

#ivar the boneless x you #ivar x reader #vikings ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings x you #vikings #vikings x reader #ubbe ragnarsson #hvitserk ragnarsson #ivar ragnarsson

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fantasydreamland · 6 months ago

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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

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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.

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theinheriteddutchess · 5 months ago

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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

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〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

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.

#ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #Ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless x you #ivar ragnarsson #Ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar's heathen army #a Life Long

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kallichorescript · 2 months ago

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• ivar who looks at you like this when you choose him over his brothers.

• ivar who’s so hopelessly in love with you he simply doesn’t know how to handle it

• ivar who gets cuteness aggression when you play with his hair and it ends up with you both in absolute disarray in the bedsheets

•ivar who just loves you so much and would do anything you ask

• ivar who touches you in public, his chest swelling ever so slightly when someone compliments you

• ivar who’s incredibly possessive and has deep insecurities when you are chatting with another man, practically biting through his tongue as he watches silently and then making a big scene, “wife!” he would shout over and turn your attention to him, always needing you to be by his side

• ivar who appreciates your care, who is bashful when you both bathe together and who gets stiff and shy when you massage his muscles and slowly talks to you about not being enough, about how he feels inadequate as a man and unworthy of your love while you just quietly shush him and assure him that he is more than enough

• ivar who cant go mere hours without seeing you, who becomes secretly taut with fear when he has to ease his violent tendencies, his mind always thinking of his pretty wife on sleepless nights

• ivar the boneless, the fearless, violent man who just is putty for his little wife and wishes for nothing more than to be by your side forever and spend eternity with you in valhalla

#ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar lothbrok #vikings #headcanon #vikings ivar #ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar imagine

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multific · 3 days ago

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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/

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mads-weasley · 5 months ago

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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

#hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk fluff #hvitserk vikings #ivar the boneless #ubbe ragnarsson #vikings #ubbe #sigurd ragnarsson #hvitserk x reader #vikings imagines #hvitserk raganrsson x reader #hvitserk imagines #vikings x reader #hvitserk x y/n #hvitserk x you #vikings history channel #hvitserk ragnarsson imagines

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axelsagewrites · 11 months ago

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Where Am I?*Part Five

Pairing: modern!f!reader x (to be determined...) Ubbe, Ivar, Sigurd, Hviserks, Bjorn

Word count: 1531

Warnings: reader learning archer, sassy bjorn, emotionally complex ivar, threats, time travel, drinking, hangover

Series Summary: After falling head first the reader wakes up face to face with a group of strangely dressed men who look eerily like the vikings she studies

Part one Part two Part three Part four

Masterlist Here

Last night had been the first truly relaxing nights of your stay so far. You drank, sang guitar round a campfire on the beach, learned some Viking songs and tall tales, and now woke up with a splitting hangover. “Time to get up,” Ubbe said as he opened the door.

You just grumbled in response, pulling the covers further over your head. You heard sighing then footsteps then suddenly felt the shivering cold. Ubbe stood grinning over your, “Revenge,” he grinned down at you, offering you a hand.

“Die,” you grumbled, burying your head into the pillow.

You could hear laughter from the door, “Finally becoming one of us,” Ivar, you think, laughed.

“Or worse. she’s becoming like you,” Sigurd’s teasing led to more cursing, some thuds, and Ubbe running to split up some kind of fight as you sat up in bed. This was going to be a long day.

“Why do I need to learn this?” you whined as Hvitserk helped you load an arrow onto your bow.

“Well if you like to eat you need to learn how to shoot,” Ubbe said as he and Sigurd leant against a tree to watch your struggles. Ivar was sat just a few feet away on a cut down tree.

all boys were noticeably behind you as they watched the arrow sink into a tree three feet from your target. Hvitserk helped you load another arrow before making the mistake of joking to a very hungover, very fed-up woman. “How are you getting worse?”

You huffed, spinning around still holding the bow making all the boys duck. Even Hvitserk jumped away, “Watch where you point that thing!” Sigurd said, hands covering his face.

“Scared of some little girl?” Ivar laughed. Though it stopped when you turned the arrow at him. He held his hands in the air in mock defence, “I thought we were friends,”

“Don’t test me,” you grumbled, turning back to the target. “This was so much easier on the Wii,”

“What’s a Wii?” you sighed as the four asked in unison. Instead of answering you ignored them, rolling your shoulders back before taking aim again. Breathe in, breathe out, and release.

Thud. The arrow hit the edge of the target. “You’ll get there- “Ubbe tried to speak but you cut him off.

“I did it!” you almost screamed, jumping up and down. “Ha take that!” you said, thrusting the bow up like you’d won the Olympics making the boys laugh.

“Please if we were hunting not only would you scare away the deer, but you only would’ve shot his ankle,” Hvitserk said, as he pulled out another arrow for you to use.

You rolled your eyes as you loaded it yourself this time, all be it with a slight struggle without his wins, “Don’t you guys ever celebrate the small victories?”

“What’s the point of that?” Ubbe asked with all seriousness.

“For motivation? To be happy?” you said, like it was the most obvious thing as you lined up your shot. Breathe in and release. “See!” you said, the arrow now slightly closer to the centre than before, “Positive thinking gets you places,”

“Yeah, like the bottom of a pile of dead bodies,” Ivar chortled.

You turned around with a sickeningly sweet smile, “Would you like to be one of them?”

A small smirk formed on his face as the other boys laughed. You felt Hvitserk place his arm over your shoulder, “Oh you’ll fit in nicely soon enough,”

By the end of archery practise you were now able to hit the target each time. Not the centre but still. Progress was there. Then it was there turn to do their real practising. Watching Ivar hit the bullseye with his axe each time as he glared at Sigurd made you thankful guns weren’t invented here. You almost told them about them but even if they were nice to you, you didn’t need to give them anymore ideas.

By the time you got back to Kattegat the sun was beginning to set and dinner was nearly ready. Bjorn joined you once again. Apparently, this was unusual for the Ironborn however it was Hvitserk who told you this and you quickly learned he was a massive gossip. Not that you were complaining. However thankfully for you Ragnar and Aslaug were not joining you. Its not that you didn’t like them, but Ragnar asked you a million question while she had a way of staring through your sole.

Somehow you ended up between him and Ivar and any time someone told a story your legend you didn’t understand he was quick to whisper in your ear. “What lies are you telling her brother?” Bjorn, who was sat across from you, asked as he was telling a story of his latest travels.

“That you truly are as tough as you look,” Hvitserk smirked. Despite not having Ivar’s rage or Sigurd’s instigation, Hvitserk was clearly able to hold his own.

Bjorn hummed disapprovingly before turning back to you, “How unfortunate you travel all this way to be stuck with these fools,” he said, glancing round the table, “Not a real man among them,”

“Maybe,” you said, deciding if you were going to be surrounded by argumentative Vikings you may as well try fit in, “Or maybe we have a different definition of a real man,”

“And what would your definition be?” he asked, putting his elbows on the table, and leaning in closer.

His eyes were locked on yours, so you decided instead to let yours look him up and down before sitting back, “Why? Do you need some lessons on how to be one?”

The younger Ragnorsson’s sniggered while Ubbe watched the whole scene carefully. Your eyes stayed locked on Bjorn’s until he sat back in his chair with a smile, “There’s hope for you yet, little one,” he said before dropping the smile, “Though I don’t recommend questioning me again,” The sight made your blood run cold but you did your best to smile, bringing a cup of wine to your lips as the meal soon continued.

Somehow you managed to escape from the brothers while they were distracted by finding a new crate of ale. While drinking wasn’t exactly restricted in university, they drank like it was a sport and there was no way you could keep up.

Even though you now wore a Vikings dress and apron there was some things from home you couldn’t let go of; modern underwear and sleeping in a comfy t-shirt. It was the one you had arrived in though admittedly you were going to have to wash it and your other clothes soon. The issue was that meant asking one of the brothers where or how to wash it and you had no desire for them to see these items. Well not yet at least.

When you got back to your room you slipped out the starched dress and into the soft cotton shirt and got under your furs about to sleep. Before you could however the door opened. “Ivar?”

“My brothers bore me,” he sighed as he crawled over to your bed. You pulled the furs slightly closer, realising you only had the t-shirt on as your cheeks flushed. Ivar took no notice as he pulled himself up to sit beside you, “You were the only interesting one there,”

“A little flattery goes a long way,” you said but he quirked his head at that, “It’s an expression where I’m from,”

“Is flattery not a good thing?” he asked.

You shrugged, “Depends. My professor told me flattery and insults raise the same question; what do you want? Though I think he stole that from someone,”

“Well, all I want is your company,” he answered and at rare moments when you were alone Ivar didn’t look blood thirsty and terrifying. In fact, he seemed kind of gentle as he let a small smile escape. You couldn’t help letting out a light laugh, “Though I don’t understand how someone can steal words,”

Again, you shrugged, “I guess our people just value different things,” you said as a silence washed over you both.

After a few moments Ivar broke it, “I don’t think so. I think, deep down, all we all want is to be safe,” he said it quietly, as if he was worried someone may eaves drop.

It broke your heart a little though, “I suppose but I would’ve said happy,”

“Happy is a dangerous emotion,” he said, staring off into the distance, “everyone craves it, so they chase it, but they assume there is only so much of it to go around so they steal it. I do not need to be happy. Just content,”

You weren’t sure why you grabbed his hand, but you gave it a soft squeeze. His cheeks tinged pink, but you pretended not to notice, “I think content is a different kind of happy. Maybe if we were all so content with it, we could all be happy,”

“Maybe,”

“It’s a dangerous word,” you said.

Ivar snorted, “How can a word be dangerous?”

“How can happiness be?” you shot back with a small smile.

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kaivenom · 1 year ago

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How the Vikings men would bath with you

Masterlist

Ivar the Boneless

It takes a lot to him to trust you enough to see him naked.

Due to his body, he is very self concious so previously to entering the bath, you need to be sure he will let you in.

It is sure to say this is one of his most vulnerable moments, always expecting you to run away or something.

You position yourself behind him and tun your fingers up and down his back.

Giving him massages and hugging him, trying to reasure him that you are not afraid.

Once he gets used to this time of intimacy, having baths together starts to be a more usual activity.

Ubbe Ragnarson

He got to you side and started rubbing your legs and chest with slow almost sensual motions.

Never breaking eye contact from you, even when is hand dissapeared underwater.

With a nod you invited him to join you and what started with his attempt to seduce you is now a relaxing tradition.

Your back against his chest, connecting fingers and talking about nothing and everything.

Feeling his heartbeat against you is beautiful and calming, he also feels safe while doing this with you.

Dark ambience, small candles iluminating the room.

Hvitserk Ragnarson

The first time he entered by accident and you give him the option to join, obviously he didn't refuse.

Then started to be more often, he judt likes to have you in front of him.

After his travels to Algeciras and the Mediterranean sea, he discovers the roman baths, aromatized soaps, etc.

He is like a child, sometimes splashing you while laughing.

But dont get It wrong, he always treats you like a princess.

Now, when you raid together, he always wanders around the town, trying to know if there is some roman baths or saunas.

Sigurd Ragnarson

I somehow think that he doesn't like to bath so the only way for him to get in water is with you.

He tries to stay as much as posible in the water while you wash his blonde hair but he just makes sarcastic comments, makes weird faces and that.

He tries to splash you like a revenge and you end up having a water bottle.

The only place he likes to be in water is on the lake, but ussually is to cold to be there so... big no.

Not even mentioning that in some particular ocasion he threw you there, obviously you pushed him after.

It's the most fun and risky one to bath with.

Bjorn Ironside

He obviously starts bathing a couple of minutes before you do, that's why you always tell him when you are going to do It.

He has this hope that bathing and spending this time with you will make you reward him.

Bathing in such a small place with such a man, you feel a little overwhelmed.

He doesn't tent to do anything but always wants you to rub and wash him, he finds it relaxing

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imtryingbuck · 2 months ago

Text

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

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velvetvowsandvikingdreams · 2 months ago

Text

⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧˚ Of Blood and Desire ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆ (Pt. 3)

Summary: Pleasuring Ivar and bathing together

Warnings: mdni!, smut, m!receiving, choking, praising, fluff, aftercare, talks of norse mythology, unprotected!sex, p!in!v

Word count: 5k

Pairing: Ivar x reader

His body was taut, his muscles tensed beneath your touch, his stomach clenching as you stroked him, teased him, brought him right to the edge—but you weren’t letting him fall over just yet.

His breath was shaky, his hands gripping the furs beside him, his hips desperately fighting the urge to thrust up into your touch.

And then—You slowed. You stilled.

His brows furrowed in confusion, his lips parting in a breathless whimper.

And then you leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"Not yet," you murmured, your voice sweet, teasing, dripping with power.

Ivar shuddered, his whole body tensing.

He lolled his head the side, his jaw clenching as he tried so hard to control himself.

"Not before I’ve tasted you."

His eyes snapped open.

He stared at you, his pupils blown wide, his lips slightly parted, his chest heaving.

"Hm?—” His voice broke. “What—?"

He hadn’t known.

Hadn’t even imagined a woman would want to put her mouth on him.

You shifted, slipping down between his legs, your hands smoothing over his thighs, feeling the way they tensed beneath you.

His cock twitched, aching, desperate—so ready, so close—and then you kissed him there.

Soft, teasing, lips pressing against the tip, tasting him, your tongue flicking out just slightly—the sound that tore from his throat—a wrecked, shuddering moan, his hips jerking up instinctively, his hands shooting out to grip the furs, fisting them desperately.

You looked up at him through your lashes, smiling so sweetly, so softly—and hummed—moaned on him.

The vibration shot through him, and his whole body twitched.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice wrecked, his head falling back against the pillows.

You trailed your tongue slowly down his length, licking a hot, wet stripe all the way down to his balls, taking your time, letting your breath fan over his sensitive skin.

"Stop teasing," he pleaded, his voice hoarse, raw with frustration. "Please—I—I need—"

But you only smirked, your hands gripping his thighs tighter, holding him down as you finally—Took him in your mouth.

All the way down.

Until your lips met the base of him, until he could feel your throat tightening around him, feel the warmth, the wetness—

You choked on him, moaning softly as your tongue flattened against the underside of his cock.

Ivar let out a shattered gasp, his hips trembling beneath you, his head snapping back, his mouth falling open in a desperate moan.

He had never felt anything like this. Your mouth was warm, so wet, so tightly wrapped around him.

His whole body quivered, pleasure shaking him to his core, taking his hands placing them to your hair, fingers tangling in it desperately. "Please little dove."

And then you moved.

Your head bobbed, your lips dragging torturously along his length, your tongue teasing, swirling, sucking his pink leaking tip—and Ivar—Ivar broke.

A guttural moan tore from his lips, his body shuddering, his fingers clawing at your scalp, his thighs trembling beneath your hands.

"Faster—" he begged, his voice utterly wrecked, frenzied . "Please—please"

He was so close, teetering on the edge, his whole body tightening, his stomach clenching, his muscles tensing—He was gone.

Completely lost to the pleasure, drowning in the heat of your mouth, the wetness of your tongue, the way your lips wrapped so perfectly around his thick, aching cock.

He had never felt this. Never been touched, wanted, worshipped like this. He never wanted it to end.

His head snapped back against the furs, his chest rising and falling in desperate, trembling breaths, his fingers tightening in your hair as you sucked him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, your tongue swirling around the swollen head before taking him all the way down again. "Just like that little dove—so beautiful with my cock inside your mouth." He groaned.

His cock was thick, pulsing in your mouth, the veins along his shaft throbbing beneath your tongue. The tip was so sensitive, flushed red, leaking with arousal as you swallowed around him, the vibration of your moan making his entire body jerk as you gag on him over and over.

"Fuck—" His voice was hoarse, raw with desperation, his hips trembling as he fought the urge to thrust into your mouth. "Gods—you feel so good—so perfect—"

You hummed in approval, letting his cock slide from your lips with a wet pop, your hand wrapping around him, stroking him slow and teasing as you looked up at him, eyes dark, lips slick with spit and arousal.

"You like that?" you moaned, looking up at him, your eyes all teary, your voice dripping with honey, teasing, sinful.

His gaze was wrecked, his pupils blown, his lips parted as he looked down at you. Trying to catch his words.

"You make me—" His breath caught, his fingers twitching in your hair, as if he didn't even know how to say it. His voice broke when he finally whispered, "You make me feel like a real man."

Your heart throbbed.

You smiled softly, your lips pressing against the flushed head of his cock, tasting the salt of him, the need of him.

"You are a man, Ivar," you whispered against his skin, your fingers stroking his thick, aching shaft, feeling the way it twitched under your touch. "You're so strong, so beautiful—so big."

A strangled groan tore from his lips, his thighs trembling beneath your hands.

"Fuck—"

He was losing it. His cock throbbed, so heavy in your hand, so hard it almost ached, slick from your mouth, from your spit, from his own desperate need.

And then—You took him back in your mouth.

But this time—You didn't hold back.

You moved faster, sucking him deep, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head before dragging along the thick vein that ran down his shaft. You let your saliva drip down, spitting on his cock, making him even slicker, letting your hand stroke where your mouth couldn't reach, your fingers tightening just right, milking him, devouring him.

Ivar snapped.

"Gods—fuck, little dove—please, please—"

His hips jerked, his head falling back, his mouth open in a soundless moan, his fingers gripping your hair as if he might fall apart completely.

You could feel him trembling, feel his stomach clenching, feel the way his cock twitched against your tongue—

"Ah—you're—you're going to make me—"

Your lips were so soft, so hot around him, your tongue working his sensitive tip as your hand stroked his thick shaft, your grip just right—tight, slick, merciless.

"Fuck—" His voice was wrecked, barely more than a breathless gasp. "Little dove, I—I can’t—"

You hummed around him, sending vibrations through his cock—Ivar choked on his moan.

"Please—" His fingers tightened in your hair, desperate, his hips jerking up involuntarily. "Gods, please—"

He didn’t even know what he was begging for anymore.

You looked up at him, your spit dripping from your chin, leaking down to his thighs, your braids all messed up in his fist—he had never seen anything so beautiful.

"You want to come for me, Ivar?" You murmured against his skin, your voice sweet, teasing, so hot.

"Fuck—yes, yes—" He groaned, his thighs tensing beneath you. "Please, little dove—"

How could you deny him when he pleaded like that?

You tightened your lips around him, your tongue swirling, your hand stroking faster, working him, pushing him over the edge—

Ivar snapped.

"Fuck!"

His whole body shuddered, his hips jerking as his orgasm tore through him, his cock pulsing, spilling his hot and thick seed into your mouth.

His voice broke on a wrecked moan, his fingers gripping your hair, his thighs trembling as you swallowed around him, drinking down everything he gave you.

You pulled off him slowly, your tongue flicking over his sensitive tip one last time, making him whimper, his whole body jerking.

And then you smiled, wiping your lips as you crawled up beside him, pressing soft kisses against his jaw, his cheek, his lips.

His chest was heaving, his skin damp with sweat, his blue eyes dazed as he looked at you, still trying to process what had just happened.

"You okay?" you whispered, your fingers tracing soft patterns on his toned chest, your voice soft, teasing.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitching against your waist, as he pulled you even closer to him, his muscular arms wrapping around you perfectly, his cheeks flushed, his lips slightly parted as he just stared at you.

"My love, I am the happiest man alive right now." He rasped, his voice hoarse, his expression still drunk with pleasure.

You hummed in response, pressing another soft kiss to his lips, letting him taste himself on your tongue.

He was quiet for a long moment, his blue eyes soft, half-lidded, dreamy as he just stared at you.

"You accept me." He whispered softly as you laid there in his arms.

Your lips curled into a soft smile as you pressed a kiss to his jaw. "I told you."

His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, his nose brushing against your hair.

"I never want to let you go," he murmured, his voice low, vulnerable. "Not now. Not ever."

Your heart ached at the raw emotion in his voice, the truth in it.

But you wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

You stood up preparing a bath for the both of you.

The bathwater was warm, steam curling into the air as you sprinkled herbs into the tub, their soothing scent filling the room.

Ivar watched you from where he laid on the bed, his arms resting on a pillow, his blue eyes soft, his body still relaxed from the pleasure you had given him. "So beautiful." He whispered to himself looking at your body.

You went over to him, helping him to the bathtub. You kneeled beside him, your hands gentle as you helped him shift, easing him into the water with slow, careful movements.

His body tensed for a moment, his jaw clenching as he adjusted, but when the warmth surrounded him, he sighed, his muscles relaxing under the heat.

You ran your fingers over his braids, smiling softly. "Better?"

He nodded, his head tilting back against the tub, his eyes fluttering closed as you reached for a cloth, wetting it before gliding it over his skin.

Your hands moved over his shoulders, softly massaging the tension there, feeling the way his muscles coiled beneath your touch.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice low, strained. "My shoulders—so sore."

Your brows furrowed in concern as you worked your fingers into the tight muscles. "From using your crutch?"

"And crawling," he admitted, his voice almost bitter. "It’s always like this. The pain—it never ends."

Your hands slowed, your heart tightening at the frustration in his voice as you started to place kisses over his shoulder.

You hated that he hurt like this.

That his body ached every day, that he carried this pain alone.

Not anymore.

You slipped in after him, the warmth of the water embracing you as you straddled his lap, your knees bracketing his waist.

Ivar’s breath hitched, his blue eyes darkening as he watched you, his hands instinctively gripping your thighs beneath the water.

"You don’t have to do everything alone anymore," you whispered, your fingers trailing over his chest. "Let me take care of you, Ivar."

His throat went dry, his gaze locked onto you, as if no one had ever said those words to him before.

Your lips brushed against his, slow, tender, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

His hand slid up your back, around your throat, his fingers wrapping around it, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

Your lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

You exhaled softly, your own fingers tangling in his damp braids, your nose brushing against his.

"You like that?" he murmured, his voice low, almost hungry.

You nodded, your pulse quickening beneath his grip.

The look in his eyes—Dark, possessive, hungry—It made your whole body burn.

He watched you closely, his blue eyes dark, studying every flicker of expression on your face, every shift of your body against his lap.

"You like it when I choke you like this?" His voice was low, edged with something dangerous.

Your lips parted, your breath shallow. "Yes..."

His fingers flexed around your throat, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as if tasting your response.

His thumb slipped into your mouth as you sucked on it, looking at him so innocently.

"Gods..." His voice hot, like he was struggling to contain himself, like he had never imagined this.

Never imagined you.

Straddling him, soaked and bare, your skin gleaming in the candlelight, your hands running up his chest as you willingly gave yourself to him.

He had dreamed of a woman looking at him like this—touching him like this.

But never, never, had he thought it would be real.

His free hand slid up your thigh beneath the water, his fingers tracing the curve of your rear, his grip firm, claiming.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, almost breathless, his lips parting slightly as his gaze devoured you. "Like a goddess sitting on my lap..."

You smirked, leaning in, your nose brushing against his, your breath warm against his lips. "Then worship me, Ivar."

His eyes flashed with something wild.

His mouth crashed into yours.

It was messy, desperate, his lips parting as his tongue slid against yours, drinking you in like he was starving for you.

His grip on your throat tightened, his other hand digging into your hip, pulling you closer, pressing you down against his growing hardness beneath the water.

"Fuck..." He groaned into your mouth. "You—you feel so good—"

You rocked against him, your hands falling over his shoulders, his soft, boyish moan sending heat straight between your thighs.

The warm water lapped gently at your bodies, steam rising around you like mist, but all you could focus on was him—the way his strong arms wrapped around you, the heat of his breath against your lips, the deep, hungry look in his eyes.

"You are more beautiful than Freya herself," he murmured, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile. "I would carve your name into stone so even the gods would know of you."

Your cheeks burned, a soft giggle escaping your lips. "You flatter me."

"No." His expression turned serious. "I only speak the truth. If I could steal you away to Asgard and place you among the goddesses, I would. But I would never let Odin or Thor have you. You would belong to me."

Your heart pounded at the way he said mine, the possessiveness in his voice sending shivers down your spine.

He kissed you again, even more eager to do so this time.

His fingers curled in your hair, tugging slightly, he shuddered beneath you, a soft, needy sound escaping his lips.

"I want to taste you forever," he murmured against your lips, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you were sure it left a print. "I want to drown in you."

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body pressing closer, heat curling low in your belly at the way he was finally touching you without hesitation.

"Ivar..." You moaned softly into his mouth.

"Say my name again..." he pleaded, his voice almost boyish in its desperation. "Please... gods, I need to hear it."

Your lips brushed against his, your fingers tracing his jaw, your breath warm against his lips as you whispered—

"Ivar."

He groaned, his hips jerking up beneath you, the hardness of his arousal pressing against your soaked core, making your breath hitch.

Ivar’s lips wandered, trailing soft, lingering kisses along your jaw before pressing hot, open-mouthed ones down the curve of your neck.

His breath was warm, his tongue teasing as he licked over your pulse point, before nipping at it gently, making you gasp.

He smirked against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction. "You like that, little dove?"

You let out a soft laugh. "You’re getting smug now."

"Mmm." He hummed against your throat, his hands running down your back before gripping your hips beneath the water. "You make it easy."

Before you could respond, he suddenly nipped at your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and giving it a playful tug.

"Ivar!" you gasped, half laughing, half breathless.

"What?" He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling, his fingers tracing your lower lip, sending shivers through you. "You look so pretty when you pout."

His hands slid up, cupping your breasts beneath the water, his thumbs brushing over your already sensitive nipples.

You bit your lip, your head tilting back slightly as he massaged, squeezing gently, testing your reactions.

"So soft..." he murmured, his lips following the curve of your collarbone before dipping lower.

He licked across your nipple before closing his lips around it, sucking lightly.

You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Ivar..."

He hummed, clearly enjoying himself, his other hand kneading your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

When he pulled away, his lips glistened, a grin stretching across his face. "I could do this all day."

You giggled, biting your lip. "Greedy."

"I am." His teeth grazed against your skin again, his hands roaming your body. "And you love it."

Ivar chuckled, low and deep as he nuzzled against your chest, his hands still cupping your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples just to hear you whimper.

"You make the sweetest sounds, little dove," he murmured, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before gently biting down, making you gasp.

"Ouch!" You smacked his shoulder, laughing, but he only grinned against your skin, looking up at you through mischievous blue eyes.

"What?" he teased, squeezing your breasts in his large hands. "Does my pretty princess not like it when I bite?" He smirked.

You wiped his smirk with a kiss, moaning into his mouth, your fingers trailing up his chest, over the tattoos of Odin’s birds, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch.

"What do they mean?" you murmured, your eyes flickering up to meet his.

"Huginn and Muninn," he finally said, his voice lower now, more careful. "Odin’s ravens. Thought and Memory."

Your brows furrowed slightly, your fingers continuing their slow exploration of the tattoo. "Why did you choose them?"

Ivar swallowed. "Because Odin sends them out every day to fly across the world… to bring him knowledge. To see what he cannot." He exhaled. "To be his eyes… his strength."

You realized, then, why he had chosen them. Why he had marked himself with symbols of a god who relied on something other than brute force.

"You are like them," you murmured, watching the way his jaw clenched, as he swallowed. "Your mind is your greatest weapon."

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. "A weapon that means little when I am seen as less of a man."

You frowned, your hand slipping from his chest to cup his face, your thumb brushing along his faint stubbles. "You are not less, Ivar."

His lips parted slightly, his breath warm against your fingertips, his eyes scanning your face as if he were trying to believe you. You kissed him, showing him that he was enough—he is enough.

You grinned, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "I love the way you tell these stories. Tell me more." Your voice soft, placing kisses around his neck.

A faint smile crossed over his lips, as he exhaled, his hands kneading your waist, but there was something in his expression now—pride. No one ever asked him to speak of these things. No one ever looked at him like this, with curiosity and admiration instead of fear or pity.

"Odin gave his eye for wisdom," he continued, his voice deep, steady, carrying the weight of stories told over generations. "He hangs himself from Yggdrasil, the world tree, for nine days and nights to understand the runes. He seeks knowledge, no matter the cost."

You listened, entranced, watching the way he spoke with his hands, his fingers tracing small circles over your skin as he lost himself in the story.

"And what of Thor?" you asked, tilting your head.

Ivar smirked. "The favorite of fools."

You laughed, and he squeezed your waist playfully. "Thor is strong, yes. Powerful. But he is not the wisest of gods. He acts before he thinks, relying on his hammer to solve his problems." His expression darkened slightly. "The gods do not favor the crippled. Strength is all they see."

Your brows furrowed, and you cupped his face gently, making him look at you. "They are blind, then," you whispered. "Because wisdom is far greater than strength alone."

Ivar’s lips parted slightly, as if your words caught him off guard. No one had ever said such things to him. No one had ever looked at him the way you did now.

After a moment, he scoffed, though there was no real bite to it. "You are dangerous, little dove," he muttered. "Putting such thoughts in my head."

You smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. "Maybe I just see what others are too blind to notice."

His fingers tightened on your waist, his breath shaky, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he studied you. "You have bewitched me," he admitted. "You sit in my lap, tell me I am wise, and expect me not to worship you?"

You grinned. "And are you a god that needs to be worshipped, Ivar?"

His smirk returned, sharp and hungry. "Maybe..." His voice cocky now.

Ivar’s smirk faltered as you reached between your bodies, your fingers wrapping around his thick length. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked at you like he could hardly believe this was happening—that you were happening to him.

"I—" He exhaled sharply as you stroked him, his head falling back against the edge of the tub. "Gods..."

"Ivar," you murmured, pressing your forehead to his. "I need you inside of me."

His blue eyes searched yours, dark and filled with something wild—something almost desperate—before he nodded once, swallowing thickly.

Slowly, you lifted yourself, guiding him to your entrance, feeling the way his breath shuddered as the tip of his cock pressed against your heat.

"Fuck," he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as you began to sink down, taking him inch by inch, stretching around him.

His grip tightened, his arms trembling slightly as he tried to stay still, tried to let you set the pace.

"So tight..." he panted, his jaw clenched, his eyes squeezing shut as you took more of him. "I—fuck—I don’t want to hurt you."

You gasped, adjusting to his size, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "You’re not hurting me, Ivar..." you reassured him, rolling your hips slightly, making him groan from deep in his chest. "You feel so good..."

His eyes snapped open, blown with pleasure, his lips parted as he watched you—his goddess, his queen—take him so beautifully.

"Gods help me..." he breathed, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, his lips capturing yours in a kiss so hungry it stole the breath from your lungs.

Ivar’s grip on your hips tightened bruisingly as you finally took all of him, your walls squeezing around his cock in a way that made his head fall back, a groan ripping from his throat. His chest heaved, his wet skin glistening in the candlelight, his blue eyes blown wide with pleasure as he looked up at you like you were something holy.

"So wet..." he panted, his hands sliding up your slick body, kneading your breasts, tracing your curves, his touch reverent. "You are... you are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes upon."

You rolled your hips, and he shuddered, his fingers twitching against your rear, his jaw clenching like he was fighting to hold himself together.

"Look at you..." he breathed, his hands sliding up your back, then up—one wrapping around your throat. "Skin like silk..." He squeezed, his thumb tracing along your jawline. "Like a goddess.."

His lips parted as he watched you move, his other hand trailing down between your bodies, his thumb circling your clit.

"And all mine."

You gasped, gripping his wrist, your back arching as his fingers circled slowly, teasing, making your legs tremble. The chamber being filled with slick sounds as you bounce on him over and over.

"Ivar..." you moaned, rocking against him, feeling the way his cock twitched deep inside you.

He groaned, his head falling forward, his lips dragging along your damp skin, kissing and biting your neck, your collarbone.

"So fucking perfect," he growled against your skin, as he forced you to take him deeper each time.

"Ivar! Fuck—" You whimper.

His biceps flexed as he held you tightly, his forearms tensed, the veins in his hands standing out as his fingers dug into your waist.

"You feel so fucking tight..." he panted, his head falling forward, his lips brushing over your breasts before he captured your nipple in his mouth, sucking hungrily, his teeth scraping against the hardened peak.

You whined, fingers scratching his shoulders, making him groan.

"That’s it, little dove..." he hissed, his voice strained, his hands everywhere—one on your throat, around your rear. "Take it... take all of me..."

His hips snapped up into you now, his movements becoming rougher, more desperate, the water sloshing around you both, but neither of you cared. He was lost in you, in the way your body clenched around him, in the way you moaned his name, in the way you looked at him—like he was a man.

"Fuck—" he choked, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot and uneven. "I can’t—gods, I’m—"

Ivar's grip tightened on you as he thrust up into you, his cock buried deep, his body trembling beneath you as he fought to hold himself together. But you could feel it—he was close, his panting, his muscles tense, his hands clutching at your skin like he never wanted to let go.

"Ivar..." you gasped, feeling yourself tighten around him, your own release building, winding inside you like a storm ready to break.

His fingers dug into your hips, his grip possessive, his wet skin sliding against yours as he pounded up into you, his desperation raw, hungry. "I can feel you clenching around my cock—Fuck so tight." He whined. "Come for me..." he pleaded, his voice breaking, his lips trailing over your neck, your jaw, your ear. "I want to feel you... I need to—"

His words sent you over, your body arching, your breath catching in your throat as pleasure exploded through you, your walls clenching tight around him, milking him.

He panted heavily, searching for your eyes, seeing how good he made you feel. His head flew back, his muscles tensed, his body jerking as he finally broke, his pleasure ripping through him. His deep groan filled the room as he spilled inside you, his hands gripping you so tightly it felt like he was branding himself into you.

You collapsed against his chest, your body boneless, your breath ragged as you both came down, your heart still racing. His arms wrapped around you, holding you there, his lips brushing against your damp hair.

"I—" he started, but his voice was hoarse, his chest heaving beneath you.

You smiled, tilting your head to kiss his throat, his jaw, his lips. "I know," you whispered, biting down his lip. "I know."

"I don’t want to let go..." he murmured, his voice softer now, almost boyish, nothing like the ruthless warrior the world feared. His lips brushed against your forehead, pressing a kiss there, lingering. "You feel so perfect... I never knew it could be like this."

You smiled, tilting your head to press a kiss to his jaw, your fingers tracing the lines of his tattoos. "It can always be like this," you whispered. "If you let me love you, Ivar."

"No one has ever wanted to love me before..." he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "Not truly."

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. You shifted, pressing your lips to his, slow and lingering, "Then let me be the first," you murmured against his lips. "I’m not afraid of you, Ivar."

He sighed against your mouth, almost like he needed to hear those words, like they healed something inside him. "You should be," he whispered, his lips brushing over yours. "You should be afraid."

"But I’m not," you countered, smiling softly, your hands cupping his face. "You can’t scare me away."

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

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

Taglist (If you want to get added for future fanfics of Ivar, write me/comment) 💐💞

@ivarlover @tessakate

#ivar imagine #viking #vkings #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless x reader smut #ivar x you #ivar x reader #slow burn #ivar smut #ivar the boneless x you #vikings ivar #vikings #ragnars sons #ivar beinlausi

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entitled-fangirl · 1 month ago

Note

Can you make a Ivar x reader, where the reader is Christian and forced to marry Ivar and she’s only heard stories of him, but when she actually meets him in person she thinks he’s an angel at first cause he so prettyyy. I just love Ivar and this idea, any fic with Ivar would be amazing!!

If not it’s okay, I hope you have an amazing day!!💛💛💛

A little blurb for your good behavior 🤍

………………………

A monster. A beast. The Antichrist himself.

She heard every rumor that was ever whispered in the halls of the castle.

A warrior with the blood of innocents on his hands. A cripple with a hunting instinct to kill everything he saw.

Ivar the Boneless.

And the day her home was conquered, she feared the devil would truly take her soul.

And he would indeed.

…

“Please. Oh, great Father. Restore and protect your people,” she pleaded at her bedside.

Her father and brother were out in the midst of battle, fighting as a true king and prince would.

And she was stuck praying for their souls.

Each scream, each cry, every clashing sound of metal only brought more fear into her heart.

“Save them from the heathens! I plead, Father!”

She couldn’t dare to look out of her window. She didn’t want to see the bloodshed. It would risk haunting her pleasant, innocent dreams.

There was a horrid thump. It shook the walls of the study stone castle.

They were breaking in.

Her eyes closed tightly, her knuckles turning white in the earnestly of her prayer.

“Father, please!”

Thump.

“Holy God, hear my prayer!”

Thump.

“Please!”

Thump. Silence.

There was no battlecry. No sounds of dying soldiers. Just… silence.

She stayed there, on her knees, without a word. Without a prayer. Just waiting. It felt like minutes, like hours, maybe days for all she knew. In reality, maybe a couple minutes. But it was like lifetimes.

And the door to her chamber opened slowly.

And in stepped in an angel.

She let out a breath.

Her prayers had been answered. He was here to save her.

The mysterious angel stood in the doorway, leaning against it with a curious look in his eyes. All knowing.

Blue eyes like the sea at its purest. Hair braided out of his face carefully, like he was ready to fight for her. To protect her. Sword at his side.

She rushed forward, dropping down on her knees in front of him and clung to his tunic. “Praise the Lord for hearing my pleas,” she whispered to the ground.

The angel’s head tilted curiously at the girl at his feet. “Why do you cry?”

She looked up at him. “My father is defending the kingdom with failing progression. I have asked for help and the Lord has answered. You, angel.”

He smiled with a slight swagger to him now in amusement. He bent down at the waist carefully to not knock himself over. He grabbed her biceps and helped her up.

Their distance didn’t change, her standing body only inches from his.

He was beautiful.

He studied her, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. His hand wandered down to her waist and he leaned in. “I’m no angel, princess.”

She froze. “Wh-what are you?”

He smiled. “The Devil.”

Ivar the Boneless.

#ivar the boneless fanfiction #ivar the boneless fic #ivar ragnarsson imagine #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar imagine #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x y/n #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings x you #vikings x reader #vikings ivar #vikings imagines #vikings fandom #vikings fanfiction

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milkb0nny · 2 years ago

Text

The Aftermath of Intimacy

Ivar The Boneless x gn!reader

Comfortember Day 9: Aftermath

Summary: The shared moments after your intimate hours always were your favorite. His aftercare and love embraced you in Ivar's vulnerability. You loved it so much.

Note: Aftermath, but not violent. I thought of throwing in a different vibe after the rather sad 8th day. This one is sadly very short due to my very stressful week. Life was too much to handle this day, but I managed to create a very comforting prompt. Enjoy! 🤍

Warnings: aftercare, mentions of smut, slight nsfw

word count: 595

Ivar descended, lowering himself onto your body, his head coming to rest upon your chest. His breaths were deep and ragged and he was exhausted from the intimate moments you both shared before. Your hand traced soothing patterns up and down his spine, you enjoyed his weight on your body. The two of you were a sweaty mess, relieved yet exhausted. The air hung heavy with a heady mixture of shared desire and the intoxicating scent of your entwined bodies.

Both of you lay in the aftermath, a sweaty and tangled tableau of passion. Ivar’s heart pounded so strongly you felt his heartbeat on your lower stomach. It was a moment of vulnerability and closeness - a bridge between the raw intensity of your lovemaking and the quiet tenderness that followed.

Ivar, panting and visibly tired, slowly began to lift himself from your body, his blue eyes glancing at your smile. He reassured himself that you were okay, not hurting and alright. Soon his expression softened to a tender smile, as he dragged himself off of you. The room was filled with a gentle hush as Ivar, still catching his breath, shifted to rest beside you.

His fringes gently brushed against your face, an act of adoration. In times like these his anger vanished from the earth. No one else but you knew of his loving side, where not a single madness tormented him.

“Are you alright?” He murmured, his voice a low, comforting rumble. His questions was simple, but in that moment, they carried a weight of sincerity. Your eyes avoided his blue focus, looking down on his body. You rolled over, getting closer to his body.

Your voice hummed, “Yeah, Ivar.”

In this private sanctuary, away from the chaos of the outside world, he allowed himself to be not a warrior but a companion in the aftermath of shared intimacy. Leaning in, Ivar pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

His kisses after your shared intimacy were your favorite. His care and love flowed through your whole body, telling you how much he admired you. As Ivar deepened the kiss, the warmth of his embrace enveloped you. His arms dragged you closer you, pulling you on his warm body. Breaking the kiss, Ivar rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort or unspoken need. He didn’t want you to hurt, feel used or being scared.

“Trust me, I feel good,” you reassured him, whispering these words in his ears.

The man you shared your bed with hugged you, petting your head. His voice once again filled the room. “I worry that I am too rough with you, my love,” he admitted, looking down at you and meeting your sparkling eyes. Once again you reminded him of your angelic presence, of your strength and love.

You chuckled, kissing his collarbone as a response. Your touch comforted him and his body relaxed further, not needing to worry about your potential discomfort. Suddenly you shifted, sliding off of his body and slowly standing up. You covered yourselves in a long garment.

“I’ll get us something to drink and eat. Do you want something special, my great warrior?”

Ivar’s eyes lightened up, he nodded and smiled. Your pure, naked body in that see through garment charmed him, so much he almost wanted to drag you back into the bed.

Though, your sweetness was too kind and the young Ragnarsson wanted to feel loved and admired.

“Ale, and you as a dessert,” he replied to meet your chuckling laughter.

#ivar x reader #ivar lothbrok #vikings ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x you #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings x you #vikings x reader #vikings

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witchezandwonderz · 1 month ago

Text

Slow Justice

Pairing: Ivar x Reader Word Count: 5.3K Request: Hi can I request from ur prompt list pls can i have number 11 with Ivar Prompt Quote: "He begged me not to kill him. So I did it slow." A hurt Saxon lady finds unexpected affections with Ivar after her brother betrays her. Master List Prompt List (Requests are open) Tagged list: (If you want to be added or removed, please let me know.) @leftoverp1zza @somebody6468 @cheesesandwichsanto @diorpar @tessakate @miksmom-blog @whitedarkmoonflower @imagines-halfpai @thenameswinter99 @oddsnendsfanfics

"You’re not what I expected."

His voice slid through the shadows behind me, low and dangerous. I didn’t turn. I let the silence stretch. A part of me thought that perhaps if I pretended as though he wasn't there, he would magically go away.

Harsh reality kicked in though, and before I knew it, he had grabbed both of my shoulders and turned me around.

"Disappointed?" I asked, keeping my voice steady, even bored. As if I hadn’t been counting his steps since he entered. As if my heart wasn’t a war drum beneath my ribs. As if I hadn't had the worst two weeks of my life.

"No." The smirk on his face grew more prominent. The glare within my eyes also grew more prominent. There was a silence, and then I heard the slow, deliberate rhythm of his crutch tapping against the stone floor. "I was hoping you'd break. That would've been easier."

"For who?"

He laughed then. Not a proper laugh, though- more of a bark. He had a glimmer in his eyes. He looked like a god carved from ice and rage. Beautiful, but unfortunately an asshole. Assholes are easy to identify- from my experience, anyway.

"If you're waiting for me to cry, Viking," I said, lifting my chin, "you’ll grow old before I give you that pleasure."

He stepped closer, the iron wolf’s head at the base of his crutch clicking with each movement. Measured. Predatory.

"Good," he murmured. "I hate begging. It spoils the kill."

I let out a breath of laughter, not due to amusement, but due to disbelief. His eyes widened at my unexpected reaction.

"To be honest with you, this time a month ago I was sat in my chambers, warm and cosy with a full belly," I stepped closer towards him, his eyes stayed glued to me, "then, suddenly, I find out that my own brother has sold me. Not just to a random Saxon man, no, but to a Viking. So now I am here, in your awful country with your awful people." My voice became raised, for I could not fathom the anger that was building within me.

Ivar continued looking me up and down, his eyes tracing my entire body as if to memorise it. After a pause, one that was filled with the sounds of my heavy breathing, he laughed again. Not a bark this time, but a genuine laugh.

"You are hungry?"

My mouth parted, and my brows furrowed.

"After everything I have just said to you, that is the part that you find most concerning?"

He nodded, and I concluded that this was a very strange man.

I threw both my hands in the air out of frustration, and then admitted defeat by sitting on the cold floor beneath me. Then I looked up at him,

"Yes."

He stared at me, confused, so I continued,

"Yes, I am hungry." I brought my knees up to my chest, and folded my arms around them. He laughed once more, nodded and then hobbled away.

After two days of complete silence, he started bringing me food. Not personally, of course- that would imply warmth, or care, or something dangerously close to softness. No, he gave the order, and his men brought. Always the same thing: thick black bread, salted fish, and once- just once- a sweet apple. I don’t know if it was intentional. I didn’t ask. I ate it anyway. It was worth it.

He doesn’t talk much when we’re alone. I think that’s why I find his presence bearable. He watches me more than he speaks. Like he’s trying to read a language he doesn’t know, but is too proud to admit it.

There was one night- Quite a while ago now- when he asked about my father. Just that. "Your father?" No context, no follow-up. I told him he died when I was twelve. Then I told him how. Then I told him my brother stood by and did nothing.

He listened. No interruptions. No mocking smirk.

"He is weak." He said after he had pondered for a moment or two. I feel as though this may have been the first thing he had said to me thus far that I agreed with.

That was the end of the conversation. He left me alone with the fire and a skin of mead, and I sat there trying to decide whether or not I hated him a little bit less.

I still haven’t decided.

The strangest part is that I don’t think he wants me to fear him anymore. Not like before. He knows I’m already angry. Already broken in some places. Maybe that makes me more useful. Maybe that makes me… entertaining.

Sometimes I wonder if he sees a reflection of himself when he looks at me.

Sometimes I worry that I do too.

Regardless, I am not dead. Yet.

I had a strange encounter with him a few nights ago; I was asleep, strangely so. It was perhaps the first somewhat decent night's sleep I have had since arriving here. My eyes fluttered open, and there Ivar was, right in front of me. Staring.

He told me, "I have been trying to wake you."

I was confused, he cannot have been trying to wake me, and I am certain of it; I have mastered the art of sleeping with one eye open, and in turn sleeping very, very lightly. Despite knowing this, I did not argue with him. Only a fool would have done that. I don't know why he was there, but regardless, he was.

"Why?" I asked him, followed closely by a yawn and a stretch.

There was a pause, and I stared at him expectantly. He nodded towards the bed, insinuating that he wanted to sit down. I nodded in agreement, and moved over slightly.

"You did not seem shocked when you got here."

I looked at him blankly, having no idea what he was speaking of. He understood my confusion and continued,

"You were told that this was an arrangement for peace, yet, it is not." He paused, turning his head to look at me once again.

"I was expecting a dramatic reaction when you got here, but it is like you already knew what was going on."

I looked at him, "I think this is the longest I have heard you speak."

He gritted his teeth, I laughed,

"I am joking, Ivar. You know, a joke? Like, ha ha."

He scratched his head, and I could tell that I had made him slightly uncomfortable- not my intention, but yes, I did enjoy it.

"I am not an idiot, I knew that my snake of a brother would ensure that I am as unhappy as possible."

He thought about this for a moment, and then nodded and hummed to himself- almost as though he was having a conversation with someone inside of his mind. Perhaps himself, or an unknown voice. That happens to me sometimes too.

He gave me a small smile, very small indeed. But a smile all the same, one that made me look at him properly. I looked into his eyes, and for the first time, there was something there. I could not pin point what exactly. A glimmer perhaps. A slight indication that he was human.

We stared at each other for a while, I am aware that this sounds strange- but after all, we are quite strange.

"You are strong." He said, and then patted my leg with his hand. Not a patronising pat, no. It was comforting. His hand lingered, the warmth felt pleasant.

Two mornings after this, I was awoken early and informed that I was needed at 'the training ground'- where on earth was that? I had only seen the inside of the building since being here.

The tunic and trousers he gave me were rough-spun, dyed the dark blue of the warriors here. They were also- very clearly- not meant for me.

The fabric clung to my body, a little too tight across my chest, snug around my hips. I tugged at the hem in irritation, feeling the heat of unwanted attention from the warriors who loitered nearby.

But it was Ivar’s gaze that burned the hottest.

He stood at the edge of the training ground, leaning lazily on his crutch, his blue eyes tracking every movement I made.

I pretended not to notice, but the flush rising to my cheeks betrayed me.

"Your stance is pathetic," he said, breaking the silence. His voice was sharp enough to cut flesh.

I adjusted my grip on the sword he’d tossed me. "Says the man who needs a stick to walk."

For a heartbeat, the entire field seemed to still. His jaw tightened- a visible crack in the ice- but then a laugh escaped him. Low, rough, surprised.

Before I could savor the victory, he moved. Fast.

His crutch hooked the sword from my hand, sending it clattering to the ground. I blinked at the empty space where it had been.

"Dead," he said, stepping closer. Close enough that I could see the faintest smirk playing at his lips.

My breath caught as I realised just how much he was still looking. Not at my face- at the way the borrowed clothes fit too tightly over my body.

I raised my chin defiantly. "If you're trying to intimidate me, you're going to have to do better than staring at my breasts."

His smile sharpened into something wolfish.

"Flatter yourself if it helps you fight," he said, voice low. His eyes dragged over me once more- slow, deliberate- before he turned on his heel and left me standing there, swordless, furious, and far too aware of the way my heart was hammering in my chest.

I did not want to fight. I never wanted to fight. I miss being me.

"Pick up your sword." He barked, now further away. I looked at the sword, and then I looked at him and huffed. I could pick it up. I could do what he wants. Yet, I do not want to.

"I could pick up the sword." I said aloud, "I could slit my own throat with it perhaps."

Ivar's eyes widened at my words, I stared at him blankly.

"Or I could slit my own wrists, it would be better than this living hell." I tried to stop tears from welling in my eyes. Part of me wanted to pick up the sword and end it all. The other part of me wanted to run and never stop.

I leant down slowly, and picked up the sword. Ivar watched me cautiously, his tongue in between his lips as he focused, shuffling closer towards me.

I changed my mind, instead kicking the sword further away. I could feel tears threatening to spill, so I turned on my heel and ran. I ran as fast as I could. Not to escape, no. But to save myself the embarrassment.

He found me later, though I thought I was hidden well. I was crying- really crying, hysterically. With my knees fixed to my chest, and my head buried within them, I sobbed. All of the emotions that had been building up had reached their tipping point.

He appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his blue eyes studying me like I was some strange puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

"What do you want?" I asked without turning around. My voice was sharp, but underneath, I could feel the weariness creeping in.

"I’ve brought your dinner," he said, the slight quirk of his lips suggesting I wasn’t going to like it.

I didn’t even bother to glance at the food. "You’ve brought it, but I’m supposed to eat it, right?" I asked dryly.

He chuckled, but it wasn’t the usual mocking laugh. This one was softer, almost... sympathetic? "You Saxon ladies always had your fine manners, didn’t you?" he said, stepping inside and sitting across from me. "Finer things in life, isn’t that what you’ve always had?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You really are full of yourself, aren’t you?"

He shrugged, unfazed. "Perhaps. But it’s true. You come from a place where you expect the best-beautiful things, soft fabrics, warm beds, sweet wines. A lady of... status. You’d be out of place here."

I crossed my arms tightly over my chest. "And what, you think I’m just going to bow to your rugged, barbaric ways?" I scoffed. "I’m not that easily impressed."

He smiled, but there was a hint of something else in it. "You might surprise yourself," he said softly, leaning forward just slightly. "You’re tougher than you think. You’re not the delicate little flower you pretend to be."

I felt a rush of irritation flood my chest. "I’m not pretending," I shot back, my voice sharp. "I’m just not a warrior, Ivar. I never asked for any of this."

He paused, the usual glint of amusement fading from his eyes as he studied me more carefully. "I know you didn’t ask for it," he said, his voice quieter now. "But that doesn’t change what you are. A Saxon lady with a fire inside you. A lady who’s used to having things her way, but is smart enough to know when she needs to adapt." He leaned back, crossing his arms, but his gaze never left mine. "You’ve got strength. I can see it."

I felt my breath catch. It wasn’t often anyone spoke to me like that-like they actually saw something in me. And for a brief moment, a flicker of doubt gnawed at me.

"Fine," I muttered, looking down at the floor. "I get it. I’ll adapt. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it."

He chuckled again, the sound a little warmer this time. "No one’s asking you to like it. Just to survive it. And trust me, you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for."

I huffed, rolling my eyes. "Flattery doesn’t suit you, Ivar. It’s almost... charming, and I hate that."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? Maybe you like it more than you let on." He leaned in, his gaze unwavering as he watched my reaction.

I clenched my jaw, trying to hide the warmth that was spreading across my face. "Don’t flatter yourself. You’re still a barbarian," I said, trying to make my voice as cold as possible, but failing miserably.

"I’m sure you’ll find that barbarian useful," he said with a slight smirk. "You don’t exactly have a choice."

The smirk was a little too charming for my liking, and it made my pulse race in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I quickly turned away to hide the sudden flush of heat that had spread across my cheeks.

But he wasn’t done yet. Ivar, in all his arrogance, reached out and gently placed a hand on the edge of my arm, just enough for me to feel his warmth. "I know you think you’re different from everyone here," he said, his voice low. "That you don’t belong. But you do. You’re more like us than you want to admit."

I stiffened at his touch, but I didn’t pull away. There was something in his voice, something soft but insistent, that made me hesitate. "I don’t want to be like you," I said quietly, still not meeting his gaze.

"You don’t have to be like me," he replied, his thumb brushing gently over my arm in a way that sent a shiver through me. "But you can be strong like me. I can teach you how."

I swallowed hard, my pulse thumping in my ears. "I don’t need your pity," I muttered, though my voice didn’t have the same sharpness as before.

Ivar didn’t answer right away. He just sat there, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. I could feel the tension building between us, but neither of us moved, neither of us spoke.

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed, almost regretfully. "You think I’m some kind of monster, don’t you?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

I blinked, startled by the question. "I-"

"Yeah, I can see it," he said before I could finish. "I’m no saint, I get it. But maybe I’m not as bad as you think." He paused, then added with a grin, "Though I’m still a hell of a lot better than your brother."

I couldn’t help it. A small laugh escaped me. "Now that’s something I can agree with," I said, my voice more light hearted than it had been in days. "I do not think that you are a monster, Ivar," I sighed, "I just am lonely, and I do not know who to trust." My voice broke at the last words, embarrassingly. As soon as I felt another tear fall, I buried my head back into my knees.

Surprisingly, I felt Ivar's hand on the side of my face, soft and comforting.

Even more surprisingly, I raised my own hand and held over his, leaning into his touch for a brief moment.

I kept my face buried though, meaning that my following words came out muffled and quiet, "even as a Saxon I could not trust anyone, I have never been loved by anyone. Nor have I ever been made to feel safe by anyone. I can't do it anymore."

Ivar didn’t respond right away, and for a long, quiet moment, all I could hear was the sound of my own ragged breathing. The weight of my words hung between us, heavy and raw. The fire crackled softly in the background, its warmth a strange contrast to the coldness that seemed to settle in my chest.

Then, slowly, as though contemplating each word before speaking it, Ivar let out a long breath. "You think I don’t know what that feels like?" His voice was low, rough-though not cruel, not in the way it usually was. He moved closer, though he didn’t touch me, as if to respect the fragile barrier I had put up.

"I’m not a saint," he repeated quietly, almost as if reminding himself. "I’ve been alone too. Longer than I’d like to admit. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore, not if you don’t want to."

I couldn’t look at him-not yet. I felt too vulnerable, too exposed. But the sincerity in his voice made something stir inside me, something I couldn’t name, something warm that conflicted with the cold distance I had built for myself over the years.

"I don’t know how to trust," I whispered, my voice catching as I tried to hold back the next wave of emotions. "I’ve never known what it feels like... to have someone who isn’t just using me or pretending to care."

Ivar’s hand remained on my face, a steady presence in the quiet. "I’m not your brother," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "I’m not here to manipulate you or take advantage of you. You’re not some... pawn in a game to me, not anymore."

The words were simple, but they cut through me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I let out a shaky breath, willing the tears not to come again, but they slipped out regardless.

Ivar didn’t move, didn’t pull away. Instead, his thumb traced the curve of my cheek, wiping away my tears as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You’re strong, you know that?" he said softly, his words a steady murmur. "I’ve seen it. In everything you do, in how you carry yourself. The world might’ve tried to break you, but you’re still standing. And that means something."

I shook my head, barely able to choke out a laugh. "You’re wrong," I muttered, my voice cracking. "I’m not strong. I’m just... I’m just tired."

Ivar’s fingers tightened on my cheek, his touch grounding me. "You think that’s all you are? Tired?" He gave a small, almost bitter chuckle, like he was sharing in some private joke. "You’re a Saxon lady, aren’t you? You’re more than that. You’ve survived everything they’ve thrown at you, and you’re still here, still fighting. You’re not just tired. You’re stronger than you think."

I wanted to argue, to tell him that he didn’t understand, that it was easier for him because he had power, because he had strength that I could never hope to match. But when I looked at him, when I saw the sincerity in his eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to speak. So instead, I took a risk. A huge risk.

I felt how close he was beside me, so I shuffled closer towards him and stretched my arms around his torso. He may throw me off, I thought. But I didn't care. It was a risk that I was willing to take. But he did not throw me off.

The tension between us had settled into a strange, unspoken understanding. Ivar didn’t pull away, and neither did I. Neither of us said anything, but the silence between us was different- softer, more fragile.

I wasn’t sure how long we sat there, the warmth of his chest against my back and the steady rhythm of his breath grounding me. He didn’t let go, and I didn’t want him to. I wanted to stay like that, to let the quiet moments pass, to allow myself to feel something other than fear and anger.

And then, without warning, Ivar shifted. His hand moved to my back, pulling me closer to him with surprising gentleness. Before I could react, he lifted me effortlessly, settling me onto his lap. My heart skipped a beat as I instinctively stiffened, but he didn’t force me to move, didn’t demand anything from me. He just held me, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I didn’t protest. I couldn’t. My body, despite the panic that briefly flared in my chest, seemed to understand the need for comfort in a way my mind didn’t. We didn’t speak, didn’t need to. His arms wrapped around me, strong but tender, holding me close but not restricting me.

For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to relax into him. The weight of everything that had happened, the bitterness, the betrayal, the loneliness- just seemed to dissipate in the silence. All that existed was the warmth of his body against mine, the steady beat of his heart, and the sound of his breath.

I let my head rest against his chest, my fingers loosely clutching his tunic as if it were the only thing anchoring me in that moment. His scent- earthy, sharp, and strangely comforting- filled my senses, and I closed my eyes, breathing him in.

It was peaceful. Too peaceful.

And then, I felt it. His lips brushed my head, the kiss so light it was barely there, but it still sent a jolt through me. His lips lingered for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, a soft sigh escaping his chest as he gently rested his chin against my hair. It was such an unexpected gesture, such a small one, but it carried so much weight.

But then, it was as if a dam had broken. Ivar’s whole body stiffened beneath me, and I felt him pull away just slightly, his hands slipping from my back.

“What am I doing?” he muttered, his voice rougher than before. His grip on me loosened, and I felt the shift in his energy. There was a sudden awkwardness in his movements, and then he stood up, carefully lifting me from his lap and setting me back on the ground.

The air between us shifted again, charged with something unspoken, something neither of us knew how to deal with. Ivar didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he muttered a curse under his breath and stood up abruptly, his crutch scraping the floor as he started to back away.

“I… I shouldn’t have- ” He stopped himself, words halting as he glanced at me, his eyes wide, a mix of confusion and discomfort written all over his face. “I’ll… I’ll give you space.”

Without another word, he turned and left the room, his footsteps fading down the hall.

I sat there for a long time after, the emptiness in the air thickening, as if the silence between us had grown into something more awkward and fragile than ever before.

I didn’t know what to feel. My heart was racing in my chest, my emotions a chaotic mess that I couldn’t untangle. There was something about his touch, about the way he held me, that left me aching for more. But I didn’t know if I could trust that, didn’t know if it was real or just another thing to make me weak.

The next week passed in a blur. I barely saw him. When I did, he kept his distance, his eyes avoiding mine, his movements stiff and hurried. I couldn’t understand it- what had changed between us? I felt as if we had crossed some line, but neither of us knew how to step back over it.

And then, just when I thought I was beginning to understand the distance between us, everything came crashing down.

The night my brother came for me started like any other, with the chill of the air seeping into my bones, the haunting silence of the compound. But that night, the silence was broken by the unmistakable sound of boots and the heavy rush of men.

I could feel the ground shaking beneath their march, hear the angry shouts of soldiers as they closed in. My breath caught in my throat. This wasn’t a rescue. This wasn’t a negotiation. My brother wasn’t here to bring me home. He was here to end me.

Panic flooded me, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, not fast enough. I rushed to the window, hoping against hope that I was wrong, that this was all just a nightmare. But no, there he was- my brother, standing tall in the moonlight, leading his men toward the fortress.

I turned, racing to the door, but it was already too late. The door was kicked open, and Ivar stormed in. His gaze flicked to mine, dark and intense, full of a mixture of worry and resolve.

“He’s here,” I managed to say, my voice trembling.

Ivar nodded, his face hardening, but there was something else in his eyes. Something soft, just beneath the surface. Something I didn’t understand.

“You stay close to me,” he commanded, his voice low but firm. “Do not leave my side.”

I didn’t have time to respond. The first arrow struck the side of the door before I could even react. The next came so quickly that I didn’t have time to move. I felt a sharp pain explode in my shoulder, my body jerked from the force, and I collapsed to the ground.

I screamed as the world around me spun, my shoulder burning with an intense fire. Blood began to spill down my arm, but I could feel the sting of something even worse. Another arrow. Another. Each one buried itself into my legs, pinning me in place. The pain was unbearable.

Ivar’s voice echoed through the chaos, full of rage. "No!" He shouted, and I felt hands lifting me, pulling me out of harm’s way. “Get her to safety!”

But I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I couldn’t hold on. Darkness crept in, and everything faded.

Ivar’s men carried her swiftly to the hidden chambers within the compound. Blood soaked her clothes, and her breath came in ragged gasps. The arrow in her shoulder had missed her heart, but her legs were another matter. She was in danger-of bleeding out, of losing everything. Ivar could barely breathe, his mind racing as he barked orders to his men.

He stayed close to her, his hands clenched in fists, torn between fury and helplessness. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not like this.

He paced the room, his eyes never leaving her still form as his men did what they could. The chaos outside intensified, but Ivar paid no attention. His only concern was her- her survival.

When the battle outside finally reached its bloody conclusion, Ivar and his men emerged victorious. Her brother, the bastard who had tried to kill her, was captured. Ivar didn’t waste time with niceties. His anger, his rage, boiled over, and he pulled her brother to the front of him.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Ivar hissed, his voice full of venom. “No idea what you’ve cost me.”

Her brother dropped to his knees, as he begged and pleaded not to be killed.

Ivar chuckled darkly. “I’m not letting you die quickly. You deserve to feel every second of what’s coming.”

The torture was slow, deliberate. Each blow, each action, was a reflection of the pain that he had caused. Ivar didn’t hold back. He showed no mercy. He did what was necessary. What was right. And as he finally ended his life, standing over him, bloodied and triumphant, he looked down at the lifeless body and whispered, “I love her, you coward.”

Ivar spent the next week by her side, never leaving. He stayed in her room, watching as her body slowly recovered. The wound on her shoulder was deep, but not fatal. The arrows in her legs had been removed, but the pain had left her in a restless, endless slumber. She had still not awoken from her long sleep.

Days passed, and Ivar didn’t sleep. He stayed awake, keeping vigil, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. The sound of her soft breathing was the only thing that kept him from breaking. His heart was torn in two- half of him wanted to scream, wanted to unleash the fury of the gods for what had been done to her. The other half simply wanted to hold her, to never let her go.

Finally, she stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, but they didn’t focus. She was still caught between the realm of dreams and reality.

“Ivar...” she mumbled, her voice thick and weak. Her hand reached out, her fingers trembling as she touched his, as if feeling for the only thing that made her feel safe.

“I’m here,” Ivar whispered, his voice low, barely audible.

She rambled, her words coming in a disjointed mess, half-sentences slurred by the haze of her fever. "I need Ivar... I feel safe with Ivar.. I love you, Ivar... don’t leave me..."

The words hit him like a thunderclap, his chest tightening as he listened. She was still caught in the aftermath of her injuries, her mind fractured with exhaustion, but her confession- her vulnerable, broken confession- shattered something deep within him.

He climbed into the bed beside her, carefully pulling her into his arms, feeling the warmth of her body, the fragile beat of her heart against his chest. His own heart hammered in his chest as he buried his face in her hair.

“I love you too,” he whispered, the words feeling so raw, so right, despite everything that had happened. “I’ll never let this happen again. I’ll keep you safe, I swear it.” He did know if she could hear him, but he spoke nonetheless.

Her hand curled into his, and she relaxed against him, her breathing finally evening out, though she was still far from fully awake.

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there, feeling the warmth of her skin against his.

“He begged me not to kill him,” Ivar murmured, his voice full of emotion, as if confessing to a truth that weighed heavy on his heart. “So I did it slow. He didn’t deserve the quick death, not after what he did to you.”

For now, the war was won. The battle had been fought.

He did not know why he felt so deeply for her. He did not know what would happen in the future. He just hoped that she would not betray him.

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